#( and some paintings were stolen but he didn't see who did it )

[temeryte]

Adakias stands in the middle of the gallery, surrounded by an air of mystery and intrigue. The stolen paintings cast a shadow over the once vibrant atmosphere, and he is one of the few witnesses to the crime. As he reflects on the strange noises he heard the night before, a woman, accompanied by her team, approaches him with an energetic demeanor.

When she asks permission to inquire about the previous night's events, Adakias finds himself captivated by her confident and charismatic presence. He senses a keen intuition within her but is unaware of her unique abilities or reputation as a skilled detective.

"Yes, of course—I'm Adakias. I did happen to be present during the incident and heard some peculiar noises from the main hall. I would be more than willing to assist however I can."

@stupiidgood — STARTER CALL

[itneverendshere]

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18)

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛" + "def some little smut during the enemies part and a long story"

WARNINGS: maybank!reader; kidnapping; smut!; violence!; rafe is a red flag; guns and blood; p in v;

word count: 8k

part ii; part iii; part iv; part v; part vi; part vii (finale)

The sun dipped low, painting the Outer Banks marshes in shades of fiery orange. Tensions between Kooks and Pogues had hit a fever pitch, and in the middle of it all? Rafe Cameron, the last person you'd want to encounter. Ever. 

Every run-in with him left a bitter taste in your mouth. It was like he had a knack for getting under your skin. Arrogant, volatile, downright psychotic — Rafe was a walking disaster. Each interaction with him sucked the life out of you. You were convinced that nothing good could ever come from being around him. And yet, there you were, another Maybank, caught in the chaos of the island's most influential family feud.

You knew the risks, but loyalty drove you forward. And now? Well, now you were in deep shit.

Your plan had been reckless, driven by the desperate need to save Sarah from her deranged family and retrieve Pope's stolen cross. Everything had gone smoothly until chaos erupted, and you found yourself abruptly yanked away from the corridor by a strong grip on your arm, before you could even call out for your brother and Kie.

Another hand clamped over your mouth, stifling any attempts to scream. In a blur, you were dragged into a dimly lit cabin, the men's hold on you unyielding. Struggling was futile and stupid against his iron grip. He tossed you inside, slamming the door shut and locking it behind him.

The gravity of your situation hit hard immediately – you were alone, at the mercy of the Cameron's. Ward Cameron, the man who'd silenced anyone who dared oppose him, even going as far as faking his own death, kidnapping his own daughter, and manipulating his son into committing murder. Because in his sick twisted world, family trumped everything. Even murder.

Great.

Your mind raced as you took in your surroundings. The cabin was small and sparsely furnished: a bunk, a tiny porthole high on the wall, and a single chair bolted to the floor. There was a faint hum of the ship's engines, a reminder that you were far from land and any chance of immediate rescue. You quickly checked your options but there weren't many. The door was solid, and you didn't have anything strong enough to force it open. Fuck, fuck fuck. 

You took a deep breath, trying not to lose your shit. Panic wouldn't help; you needed a plan. But then, like a nightmare come to life, the devil himself stepped into the room, his eyes piercing as they landed on you. The man who had captured you stood behind him, a smug grin on his face. 

Rafe was visibly surprised to see you, but he quickly concealed it behind a calculating expression. His forehead glistened with sweat, his hair damp and sticking to his temples. His shirt clung to his back, soaked through from the scorching heat, and beads of perspiration trickled down his face. He wiped his brow with a weary hand and his gun gleamed ominously in the dim light.

"Well shit,” Rafe's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Look what we have here. Didn't expect to see ya again so soon pretty Maybank.”

You tried to keep your expression neutral, but your mind was racing with questions. Where were your friends? Were they safe? Was your brother even alive? Before you could ask, Rafe continued, his tone mocking. 

"Your brother really did a number on you, huh? Left you behind without a second thought. Typical Maybank shit. Always knew you were unreliable."

Son of a bitch.

You clenched your fists, fighting to keep your composure. "You're lying," you countered, "He wouldn't leave me."

Not unless he was forced to.

Rafe chuckled, a dark, humorless sound. "Believe what you want. They left. Now, you're my problem. Lucky me."

“You’re lying.”

His eyes gleamed with a dangerous glint as he walked towards you.

You took a step back, but there was nowhere to go. The cold, metal wall pressed against your back, mirroring the chill that settled in your bones. It felt like you were being hunted.

"Now, what am I going to do with you?" he mused, tilting his head as if genuinely contemplating your fate. The gun in his hand swung lazily at his side, but you knew better than to think it wasn't ready to be used at any given moment.

You swallowed hard, your mind frantically searching for a way out of this hellhole. He was unpredictable and volatile; years of snorting cocaine and family trauma did that to some people. 

But maybe, just maybe, you could reason with him. You were always a litte too good for your own good.

“Rafe, listen. You don't have to do this. Let me go and we can both walk away from this. No one has to get hurt."

Again. 

His laugh was bitter, like you were trying to humor him,"You think I'm going to let you go just because you asked nicely?" He stepped closer, his breath hot against your face. "Nah. You're going to stay right here until I decide what to do with you.“ 

You tried to keep your breathing steady, but all you felt was fear.

The odds were against you, as they had always been your entire life.

"What do you want, Rafe? The cross? We can make a deal."

His eyes narrowed, the amusement fading. 

"You think this is about money? About that fucking cross? This is about power. Control. And right now...huh, shit, I control you." He leaned in, his voice a deadly whisper. "The cross is mine now. How do you feel about the Bahamas?”

Your top lip curled in disgust, “I’d rather drown.”

His smile twisted into something even darker. “I think you’re worth more alive, at least for now.”

You refused to show him any more fear. “To you? Or Ward? Do you only get this cocky when daddy’s not around to rein you in?”

Rafe’s expression hardened, and for a moment, you thought you’d pushed him too far. He leaned in close, his eyes cold and unforgiving. 

“Watch your fucking mouth, Maybank. You don’t know anything about my family.”

You laughed bitterly, unable to stop yourself. “Yeah, no. You're right. Just that you're dad’s little lapdog, doing his dirty work while he pretends to be some upstanding citizen. And where’s your mom in all this? Oh! She left.”

The punch came so fast, you didn’t see it coming.

Pain exploded across your jaw, and you tasted blood. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. “You don’t fucking talk about her, dirty pogue. Ever.”

Anger took over you like wildfire, hotter than the pain. Your jaw throbbed, but the rage was stronger. You wanted to hit him back, to wipe that smug look off his face, to make him feel the hurt he had inflicted on you. Your fists clenched at your sides, every muscle in your body burning with desire for retribution. The fury in your eyes matched the darkness in his.

You spat blood at his face, glaring up at him defiantly. “You’re just a puppet. Your sister hates you, your dad uses you, and deep down, you know it. You’ll never be more than his bitch.” 

His grip tightened painfully, rough fingers digging into your flesh, lips twitching into a snarl, but you didn’t flinch. If you were going down, you’d go down fighting.

His eyes flickered with something you’d never seen in him, before he released you, stepping back. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you? So tough.”

“Smarter than you,” you shot back. “At least I know who I am. What are you, Rafe?“

He stared at you, tongue pressed against his cheek, eyebrows furrowed. Then he laughed, a harsh, grating sound that sent chills down your spine. His hand reached out, and your breath stilled throat tightening as he fiddled with a lock of your hair. He’d let out another laugh, entirely dismissive of the way you’d felt.

“You’ve got guts, Maybank. It's gonna get you killed.“

You wiped the blood from your mouth, “I’ve survived worse than you.”

And you had.

If anything prepared you for violence, drugs, and pain, was living with Luke Maybank your entire life. And maybe, if you didn’t hate Rafe with every fiber of your being, after everything he’d done, you’d feel sorry for him. But you didn’t, and he sure as hell didn't feel sorry for you. 

For a moment, the room was silent except for the low hum of the ship’s engines. Then Rafe turned on his heel, motioning to the man by the door. “Watch her. Make sure she doesn’t go anywhere.”

“Do I look like fucking Michael Phelps? Where the fuck would I go? We’re on a ship you crazy bastar—Hey! Rafe! Open the fucking door!” 

The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing through the small, dimly lit cabin. You listened to his footsteps fade away, feeling a sense of dread settle in your chest. What the fuck had you gotten yourself into? They could kill you, dispose your body in the ocean and no would care. No one would think you’d gone missing, because you were a Maybank and that’s what your kind of people did, apparently.

Your brother would probably assume you were dead, he’d try to get justice and fail in the end, because the rich always won.

The musty air of the cabin felt oppressive as you turned away from the small porthole, where the bright sun and endless expanse of blue ocean mocked you from beyond.

The days melded into one another, marked only by the delivery of meals and the sporadic presence of Rafe. You had hoped for some clarity, some hint of what your future looked like, but his visits offered nothing but insults or complete silence.

You paced the small room, your mind racing with the possibilities of what they had planned for you. The guard remained a silent sentinel, a constant reminder that escape was not an option. But then, the cabin door creaked open again, and you tensed as Ward Cameron stepped in, his presence commanding immediate attention. 

He gave a nod to the guard, who stepped out, leaving you alone with the man who held your fate in his hands. A fucking lunatic with enough means to play for all the dramatics he enjoyed. Great.

"Get comfortable," Ward announced, "We're almost there."

"Almost where?"

"The Bahamas," he replied, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "A little slice of paradise, if you will."

"And what happens then?" you pressed, needing to know more.

Ward studied you for a moment, “Keep out of sight, stay quiet. Rafe and I have some business to attend to, and we can't afford any distractions."

"And if I refuse?" you challenged, though you knew the answer.

Ward's smile widened, but there was no warmth in it. You knew he enjoyed watching people squirm around like worthless worms.

"Let's not be stupid, sweetheart. You're here because you know too much. Refusing isn't an option. Cooperation, however…”

A chill ran down your spine at his words. The answer was very clear, and you realized that your only chance was to play along, at least until you could figure out a way to escape this nightmare.

The rest of the day passed in a haze. Eventually, you felt the ship slow, the engines quieting as you approached your destination. When the door opened again, Rafe was there, that stupid frown always attached to his face.

"Time to go," he said simply, motioning for you to follow, "Move."

You stepped out onto the deck, the warm, salty breeze hitting your face as you looked around. The sight of the lush, tropical landscape did little to ease your anxiety. You were led to a smaller boat, and soon you were speeding towards a secluded island, the main landmass of the Bahamas visible in the distance. You were a world away from the familiar streets and faces of The Cut. It was straight out of a postcard. Something you and JJ would fantasize about while high of your asses and writing bucklists. 

God, JJ. You only hoped he made it. You’d never gone a day without each other before you were dragged into this mess last summer. It wasn’t fair. You only wanted enough money to get by, an easy fix to get everything sorted, finish college, ship your dad somewhere far away from you two. But Ward’s greedy ass had to ruin everything for you. 

As the boat neared the shore, you couldn't ignore the feeling of impending doom. Were you going to die there? In between pristine beaches and swaying palm trees?

Rafe’s hand gripped your arm, his grasp tight as he led you onto the sandy beach. Ward followed close behind, as he surveyed the scene before him.

"This way," he said, his voice cutting through the sound of the waves crashing against the shore.

You followed obediently, your mind racing with possibilities. Escape seemed unlikely, but you there was still a slim hope that you could find a way out of this mess. Eventually.

The path led deeper into the heart of the island, the dense foliage casting long shadows as the sun began to set. You could feel the weight of Ward and Rafe's gazes on you, watching their prey.

Finally, you reached a clearing, and your heart sank as you saw what awaited you. A small house. In the middle of nowhere. Oh god, you were a dead woman. 

“This will be your home for the time being" Ward said it like he was offering you a vacation rental and not kidnapping you. A lunatic.

You wanted to protest, to demand answers, but you knew it was futile and there was little fight left in you from how tired you'd been feeling.

“Rafe will be keeping you company."

The way Rafe’s head snapped in his father’s direction told you more than what you needed to know. Once again, daddy dearest was calling the shots without taking his opinion into consideration.

Ward’s casual cruelty was suffocating, a reminder of the power he had over everyone. As he turned to leave, leaving no space of negotiations or pleadings, Rafe’s eyes bored into yours. No questions asked, only blind devotion to his father. 

The door slammed shut, leaving you alone with Rafe once more. He looked at you, resentment playing across his face, like this was your fault and not theirs.

“I’m not going to make this easy for you," You hissed, “I’m not dying here. Not with you.” 

Rafe chuckled, greasy bangs moving as he shook his head, “You really think you have a choice here?” He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming in the confined space, “You think you’re special? Nah, Maybank. He’ll get rid of you eventually, don’t worry.”

“Exactly. He will, not you. You don’t have any control either and I think you hate being here as much as I do. That shit makes us both prisoners.”

He blinked, momentarily thrown off guard, “Stay out my fucking way or I’ll kill you myself.”

You were sure he wouldn't, only if Ward asked him to.

He’d fucked up enough before, when he accidentally shot Sarah and didn’t look the slightest bit apologetic. You knew he wouldn’t do it again, not if he wanted to keep his head on his shoulder and his trust fund. Ward Cameron hated slips ups, hated even more the monster he raised, but he sure came in handy when he needed him. 

"Empty threats," you shot back, squaring your shoulders. "I've dealt with bigger monsters than you, Rafe."

He only started at you, eyes bloodshot red, perhaps from the lack of sleep or maybe because he was high off his mind, you didn’t care to ask. But just as quickly, his usual sneer returned. "Enjoy your stay, Maybank.”

With that, he turned and left the room. Him and the stupid slamming of doors. You were alone again.

You had to get out. You knew it wouldn't be easy, but you were a Maybank—survival was in your blood. You took stock of your surroundings once more, this time with a sharper eye. The walls were thin, the windows barred, but there had to be some weakness, some way to exploit the situation.

You ran your fingers along the seams of the walls, looking for anything that might give. Your mind raced through every piece of advice JJ had ever given you about breaking and entering. You’d done a lot of that over the years, and while most people thought you pogues were simply criminals, they never cared enough to ask why you and your brother spent so much time in and out of the sheriff’s department. 

So, what if two dirty, no-good kids were barely hanging on for dear life? No one gave a shit. 

Weeks blurred into each other, each one marked by the same routine.

Rafe's visits, Ward's passive aggressive threats, and the endless search for an opportunity to escape. You watched Rafe carefully, noting his every move, his every interaction with Ward.

You noticed the way Ward belittled him, treating him more like a tool than a son. It was a toxic dynamic, one that made you wonder if Rafe was as much a victim as you were. You’d seen bits and pieces before, but Sarah had described Ward as some sort of saint up until recently.

Rafe on the other hand? Their dynamic was so different from what you were used to. You and JJ were like two peas in a pod, you’d die for him and you know he would do the same, no questions asked. If there was one good thing in your life, it was your brother. 

You couldn't help but feel a little pity for Rafe, despite everything he'd done. He was a product of his environment, molded by a father who saw him as nothing more than a means to an end.  It was easy to spot the cracks in his armor if you spent enough time in the same room, the secretive moments of doubt and vulnerability. The way his hands would shake every time Ward raised his voice, the way he would bite his nails to hide the embarrassment booming in his cheeks. How he never walked into his father’s space or any other room without announcing his presence.

It gave you whiplash. 

You began to argue less with him, your animosity giving way to a grudging understanding. You hated feeling so…forgiving. This boy had done unspeakable things to you and your friends, to your family…and there you were. Feeling sorry for him like you didn’t know better. 

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the small house, Rafe brought you dinner. He placed the plate on the table, his movements tense, his expression unusually subdued. Strangely so, you’d memorized that expression. You didn’t even have to ask to understand what had gotten under his skin.

"Why do you let him treat you like that?" you asked, your voice softer than usual. You didn’t understand why you did it. You regretted the words the moment they came out of your lips, but there was something inside itching you to ask. 

His eyes snapped to yours, rage and something else—pain—flashing in them. "What the hell do you know about it?" he snapped, but there was less bite in his words. At this point he just sounded tired. 

"I understand,” you replied, thinking of your own father. "I know what it's like to want to prove yourself, to be more than what they think you are."

Rafe's jaw clenched, his eyes dropping to the floor. For a moment, he looked lost, like a boy searching for something he could never find.

"You don't know shit," he muttered, but there was no conviction in his voice.

"I know enough," you said quietly. "You don't have to keep doing this. You don't have to be his puppet."

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "You think it's that simple?"

"Maybe not. But you can choose to be better than him. You can choose to stop this.”

Rafe looked at you, really looked at you, for the first time. It was borderline unnerving. The weight of his stare. The way your stomach flip-flops under his attention. 

“Shut the fuck up and eat, Maybank."

But beneath it all, there was something else. Something you’d seen before, when you looked at yourself in the mirror after you took the biggest beating of your life and Luke finally got thrown into jail: hope. 

He didn't say anything, just turned and walked out, leaving you alone. 

Again. 

The days continued to pass, but something changed. Rafe was less hostile, more contemplative. He didn't treat you as roughly, didn't hurl as many insults. It was a small change, but it was there. And you began to see a way out, not just for yourself, but for him too.

You knew what he did, knew what he was capable of, but no one deserved to rot in hell with someone like Ward. You needed to bide your time, to wait for the right moment. And when that moment came, you had to be ready to act. 

Another day began with the same oppressive humid heat. The sun had just started to rise, casting golden hue over the island. You were in the small kitchen of the house, preparing a meager breakfast from the limited supplies you had that day. The routine had become almost mechanical, a way to keep your mind occupied and stave off the panic.

Rafe entered the kitchen, eyes barely open as he wiped the sleep away. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, the sound of the liquid hitting the glass breaking the silence. Very healthy.

He stood with his back to you, staring out the window. 

“What’s Luke like?”

You froze, your hands pausing mid-motion. It was an unexpected question, one that made you want to hurl on the spot even though you hadn’t had anything to eat yet. 

“Why do you want to know?" you asked cautiously, wondering if it was some kind of trick question.

Rafe shrugged, still not turning to face you. "Just curious. You Maybanks are a tight bunch, right? So what's he like?"

Tight bunch…that was one way to put it. 

You took a deep breath, trying to decide how much to reveal. "He’s a drunk, a thief. But he's still my dad."

He finally turned to look at you, his eyes narrowing. "So why do you stick around? Why not just leave him?"

You knew what he was trying to do, giving you a taste of your own medicine. You couldn’t blame him. 

"Because he's family. And sometimes, family is all you have. Even when they’re terrible, even when they hurt you, sometimes you can’t just walk away."

"Family's supposed to be everything, right?" His voice carried a bitter edge, hinting at his unresolved inner conflicts.

"That's what they say," you replied quietly.

He took another sip of his whiskey, his eyes never leaving yours. "Must be tough, having a dad like that."

Tough? It was heartbreaking. Knowing that the one person who was supposed to love you, cherish you and protect you for life never gave a single fuck about his kids? Yeah, sure it’s “tough”.

"Guess we have that in common.”

Rafe looked away, his jaw tightening. "Yeah, we do." He set his glass down with a heavy thud, the sound resonating in the small kitchen.

For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, but then he took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging slightly.

"I get it," he said quietly. "More than you know."

You watched him, the way his fingers ran along the rim of the glass. "Then why do you keep doing this? You don’t have to."

“It's not that simple," he snapped. "You think I have a choice? I killed someone. For him.” 

It was the first time he had said those words out loud. And it made him sick to his stomach. That he’d been scared and high enough to do something so reckless, just so they wouldn’t take away his dad. 

"We always have a choice," you countered, "Maybe not the best ones, but we can always choose to be better."

He shook his head, turning away. "You don't know anything," he muttered, but there was less conviction in his words than before.

"I know enough," you said softly, watching his retreating back. "And so do you."

He paused at the doorway, his hand gripping the frame tightly.

Without turning around, he spoke, his voice low and strained. "I'll see you later."

As he left, the kitchen felt colder, but you knew you had reached him, even if just a little. And that gave you hope.

After that, Rafe’s visits were less frequent, and when he did come by, there was an uneasy tension between you both. You couldn't tell if it was because of your last conversation or the sheer exhaustion of being trapped in this toxic cycle.

Still, every interaction seemed to chip away at the walls he'd built around himself, revealing little glimpses of the person he might have been, had his life taken a different path.

Tonight, the air is still, the only sound is the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. You have been biding your time, watching for the perfect moment to make your escape. The house is quiet, Ward is gone and you haven’t seen Rafe in two days. By now, you know how the guards outside fell asleep before 2am like clockwork. 

You can it. 

This is your chance, and you can’t afford to waste it.

You move silently, slipping out of the small bedroom and into the hallway. Every creak of the wooden floorboards seems to echo in the stillness, and you hold your breath, praying you won’t get caught.

Your heart races as you slowly turn the handle of the front door, wincing at the faint click that accompanies the action. Once outside, you glance around, ensuring the coast is clear, then make your way towards the small boat moored at the edge of the beach.

The plan is simple: get to the boat, start the engine, and head for the main island where you could find help.

You keep low, moving quickly but cautiously, like a cat. The boat is within reach when a noise behind you makes your blood run cold. 

The crunch of gravel underfoot is unmistakable.

You turn sharply, and in the dim moonlight, the silhouette of one of the guards emerges from the shadows. The asshole who got you here in the first place. He’s closer than you had anticipated.

Your heart pounds, adrenaline moving through your veins as you break into a sprint, abandoning stealth for speed.

"Stop!" the guard shouts, his voice carrying across the trees. You don’t dare to look back, your eyes locked on the boat. A sharp crack split the night—a gunshot. You feel a searing pain in your arm, but you can’t stop. You push through the pain, your goal now just a few yards away.

Another gunshot rings out, but you are too focused to notice where it lands. You reach the boat, hands trembling as you fumble with the ropes. The pain in your arm intensifies, but you force yourself to keep moving, when suddenly, a heavy hand grabs your shoulder, spinning you around.

You struggle, kicking and thrashing, but he’s stronger. He pulls you to the ground, pinning you down as he radioes for backup. It feels all to familiar. You hate very second of it.

"Got her," he says into the radio, his terrible breath hot against your ear. You try to wriggle free, but his grip only tightens. Moments later, two more guards arrive, hauling you to your feet and dragging you back towards the house. This wasn't supposed to happen.

The sting in your arm is painful reminder of your failed attempt as they pull you inside, your brief taste of freedom slipping away. You were so fucking close.

Moments feel like hours as you sit in the chair, the pain in your arm throbbing with each heartbeat. They didn't even try to stop the bleeding.

The quiet murmurs of the guards outside are interrupted by the heavy, hurried footsteps of someone approaching. The door flies open, and there stands Rafe, disheveled and wild-eyed, a gun clutched tightly in his hand.

“What the fuck is going on?” he barks. His gaze scans the room, landing on you. 

The sight of the blood staining your arm makes his expression shift from bewilderment to fury.

He storms towards you, his eyes blazing. “What happened?” he all but demands.

Before you could answer, he whirls around to face the guards who re-enters the room. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Rafe shouts, waving his gun erratically. “She’s bleeding! I try to sleep in peace and this is what I come back to?”

The guards exchange nervous glances, shifting uncomfortably under Rafe’s glare. “She was trying to escape, Mr. Cameron,” one of them stammers out. “We had to stop her.”

His expression twists with rage. “So you fucking shot her?” His voice drips with incredulity and disdain. “Do you even understand what you’ve done? My father wants her in once piece.”

The guard who caught you tries to explain, but Rafe cuts him off.

“Shut up. Just... shut up.” He turns back to you, his eyes softening slightly as he takes in the sight of your injured arm. Or maybe the pain is making you delirious.

 “We need to get that cleaned up,” he mutters, more to himself than to anyone else. Without another word, he holsters his gun and gently takes your uninjured arm, pulling you to your feet. The guards look on, unsure of what to do or say. 

Rafe shoots them a deadly look. “Get out,” he snaps. “Before I shoot you bitches myself.”

Once Ward’s men leave, Rafe's demeanor changes. His concern, which had briefly softened his striking features, making younguer, hardens back into anger. He runs a hand through his long hair, pacing the small room before finally stopping in front of you.

He looks pissed.

He sneers at you, his voice dripping with exasperation, "I thought you had some brains in that pretty little head of yours," he spats out, practically screaming in your face, "What were you even thinking? Do you realize how close you came to getting yourself killed?"

You try to speak, to defend yourself, but he doesn’t give you the chance. His words come fast, "You could've died out there! A bullet barely missed you—do you even understand how lucky you are?"

The monologue doesn't stop there.

His fists clench at his sides, "I just don't get it. Do you think you're invincible? Because you're not. You're just..." He stops himself, taking a deep breath as if trying to control his temper while he paces around th room, unable to stay put, "You're just reckless," he continues, his voice quieter but still seething, "You didn’t think about the consequences, about what it would do to..."

What?

"Don't act like you give a shit about me," you call after him, your voice trembling. You don't know if it's the pain or the weird pull in your stomach making you feel all weird and fuzzy inside.

He stops in his tracks, his back stiffening for a moment before slowly turning to face you,"I don't," he retorts, "But my ass is on the line too. You think Ward won't come down on me if something happens to you?"

You take a step towards him, despite the throbbing pain in your arm, not buying his bullshit speech.

"So this is all about you, then? Your precious ass and how it looks to Ward? Typical Cameron bullshit, only caring about themselves."

Rafe's eyes narrow, his jaw clenching. "You don't know what you're talking about," his voice is dangerously low. "You think this is easy for me? Keeping you safe, dealing with all this? It's not just about me. It's about keeping everything under control."

You scoff through your nose.

“Here we go again. Control? You think dragging me back here, shooting at me, is control? It's chaos, Rafe. You're just as trapped as I am, and you can't stand it."

His face twists showcasing his wrath, and he takes a step towards you, closing the distance.

"Shut up!” he growls. "You don’t understand the pressure I'm under. The expectations, the demands. I didn’t ask for any of this."

"And neither did I," you shoot back, a strict finger aimed at his face in warning, “So shut the fuck up.”

He takes another step, his face inches from yours, his breath hot and ragged.

"You have no idea what you're talking about. You think this is just about me? It's about keeping everything from falling apart. It's about—"

Before he can finish, you grab the front of his shirt, pulling him even closer, your faces almost touching.

“I don’t care about your excuses, Rafe. I don’t care about your pressures or your fucking control. All I know is I’m not staying here.”

The look he gives you was filled with enough ire to have a hint of satisfaction sparking in your chest, the hollow beneath his dark brows deepening as his pretty features contorted. His breath comes in short, sharp bursts. His hands come up, gripping your waist, not gently but not roughly either, as if he can’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer.

"You're impossible," he hisses, like the snake he is.

"And you’re a coward.”

The next moment happens without much thinking. Without any thinking, really.

Rafe’s grip tightens, fingers didding into your skin and before you can process what is happening, his lips crash into yours with a ferocity that you never saw coming. His mouth is demanding, almost punishing, and you, like an idiot, kiss him back, your hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer even as you want to push him away.

The kiss is all rough and desperate, there's only room for anger and frustration, a collision of two souls too damaged to recognize the depths of their own pain. You should know better.

And yet, beneath the layers of animosity and resentment, there is a stupid spark—as if you are both too messed up to understand how much you need each other. Each fingertip of his leaves an imprint wherever he touches, a silent declaration of the strength he’s restraining. And some sick twisted part of you finds that attractive.

It’s like he’s fighting to contain this fury within him, to keep it from overwhelming you both. But you want it.

If someone told you you’d be kissing Rafe fucking Cameron of all people just a month ago, you’d think they were crazy. And yet… 

All you want are his hands on your body, his warm skin against your own.

Oh his hands.

They roam slowly over your lower back, over your waist again. You breathe out a sigh of relief, taking the collar of his shirt in both your hands as you pull him closer, relishing in his warmth. He smells like whiskey and cigarettes. And while you grew up hating that particular combination, it worked on him.

He pulls away slowly, your lips the last to part, and blinks down at you. You watch him lick his bottom lip, swollen, wet with both of your spits, taking in the sight of you.

“’You’re bleeding—“

“Shut the fuck up.”

His blue eyes flare with renewed anger, turning almost black—something darker, more primal. Your words are like a match to gasoline. He doesn’t answer verbally; instead, he takes a half step back before swooping you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly.

With a swift motion, Rafe carries you to the dining table, and you barely have time to register the cool wood against your back before he’s on you again, his body pressing down on yours with a desperation that matches your own. There’s no tenderness there, only raw need.

He pries your lips apart again, his tongue sweeping in as he kisses you deeply, his mouth moving invasively over yours. His fingers grip your jaw with a vice-like hold. A strange sensation flutters beneath your skin, and you wrap your legs around his hips, closing the distance between your bodies as he presses flush against your center.

His hands move with such intent, slipping under your shirt, his fingers tracing every curve with a delicious blend of roughness and urgency. Your hands tangle in his hair, urging him closer as your kiss deepens. Everything around you fades into background noise as the room spins, his body so close making you breathless, his taste lingering on your lips.

You tug at his shirt, fingers fumbling with the buttons because you just can’t wait. He lets out a deep, sexy growl that makes a shiver run down your spine. His hands are all over you, touching your skin and leaving fiery trails wherever they go. It feels like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you, wanting to claim you in a way he hadn't before.

"You're impossible," he mutters against your lips, the words barely audible over the sound of your heavy breathing. He leans down closer to your collarbone, to catch the scent on your skin, and he can’t tell if you are amused or annoyed from the way your cheeks round.

"And you’re an asshole,” your voice comes out breathless.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, the tip of his nose brushing against yours slightly "Drive me fucking crazy.”

"Good," you reply, your fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him down again. You can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding back on you, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

But you don’t want control. You want to lose yourself in this moment, to forget everything you've been through and just feel. Live a little and forget about your problems.

Rafe seems to sense it, his hands becoming more insistent, his touch more possessive. He lifts you slightly, positioning you better on the table, his body slotting perfectly between your legs. The friction is exquisite, a delicious tease that leaves you wanting even more.

"Rafe," you breathe, and he almost falls to his knees at the soft whimper that leaves your lips, unable to stop the jerk of his hips forward.

He responds instantly, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer as he kisses you with a fervor that leaves you dizzy. The table creakes under your combined weight, but neither of you care. Your hand grab his forearm, over the veins strained from his grip on you, your nails sinking into the skin exposed.

You break the kiss, gasping for air, your eyes locking with his. There’s a wildness there, and for the first time in your life, you like it.

You reach up, tracing his jaw with your fingers, feeling the grown out stubble beneath your touch as his mouth, hot and demanding, leaves a trail of fire in its wake on your neck. A noise of pleasure slips from your mouth as he palms at your breast, thumb grazing across your nipple as his teeth graze your collarbone, kissing down, littering your skin bite marks.

"I hate you," you pants, pouring as much venom into your words as possible. Your thighs tighten around his hips, feeling every inch of him against you. 

“Your body doesn’t,” He replies coldly, each syllable slowly drawn from his throat.

“Fucking asshole.”

“Fucking brat.”

You open your mouth to hiss something at him, to fight back, show him that you are the one in charge, but the intention dies the moment Rafe cups you through your shorts.

A pathetic excuse of shorts due to the heat.

Heat blooms in your stomach, melting into a torrent want that floods your skin and leaves you breathless. His determined blue eyes pierce into yours, watching as he presses the heel of his palm against the apex of your thighs, his middle finger tracing your pussy and applying light pressure to the sensitive dip between your legs.

“Cat got your tongue, pretty?” He asks, lips brushing over your mouth, loose bangs brushing against your brow “Thought you had more fire in you.”

He moves your shorts and underwear out of the way and your lips part on a sharp inhale as you feel him touch you for the first time. You can't think properly while he's doing this. Your brain feels to mushy to form a proper sentence.

“Yeah, thought so.” 

All that matters is the man in front of you, his relentless grip on your senses, his control over your body.

"God, I hate you," you whisper again, the words almost a prayer, a futile attempt to cling to the anger that has fueled you for so long.

But even as you say it, you know it’s was a lie. Partly.

You hate how much you need him right now, how much you crave his touch, his dominance. Perhaps you’ve been locked away from society for too long. That’s the only plausible reason for you to let Rafe Cameron touch you.

Rafe smirks, a dark, satisfied gleam in his eyes.

"No, you don’t.” 

You do. At least you used to, everything is confusing now.

He teases you, his touch light and teasing, drawing out your frustration, your need. "Tell me what you want," he murmurs against your lips, his voice a seductive growl that makes your heart race.

You bite back a whimper, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing you beg. But the need is so overwhelming, you nearly give in.

“Fuck you," you spit out, your defiance crumbling under the weight of your desire.

He chuckles darkly, his fingers finally slipping inside you, curling and stroking in a way that makes your hips buck against his hand. Oh, he was going to ruin you.

"That's right," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "Let me hear you."

A broken moan escapes your lips, and you arch into his touch, your body writhing with need. His fingers move expertly, finding all the right spots, driving you near the edge with a skill that makes you breathless. Every touch, every stroke is designed to push you closer to the brink, to break you down until you are nothing but a trembling, pleading mess. You hate that he's so good.

"Rafe, please," you finally gasp, the words ripped from your throat by the overwhelming pleasure. "P-Please, I need you."

You'd be embarrassed later.

His smirk widens, and he pulls his fingers away, making you whimper in frustration. He doesn’t make you wait long, though. With swift, practiced movements, he frees himself from his pants, the sight of him hard and ready making your mouth water. 

Without a word, he positions himself between your legs, the head of his pretty cock teasing your entrance.

"You ready for me?"

You nod, your eyes locking with his, "Please.”

He doesn’t need any further encouragement. With a single, powerful thrust, he buries himself inside you. The sensation overwhelming, a perfect blend of pain and pleasure that makes you cry out. Your back arches involuntarily, your lips parting as he enters you, filling you completely in a way you have never imagined.

He rolls his hips firmly against yours, and your head tips back as his cock rubs perfectly against you. You never felt so full. He doesn’t give you a moment to catch your breath, giving you another firm roll of his hips, testing you out, figuring out his rhythm.

His movements are hard and relentless, pounding into you, knocking the breath from your lungs with each forceful thrust, barely giving you time to adjust. Not that you want slow.

You cling to him, your nails digging into his muscular back, your body moving in perfect rhythm with his. The table creaks and groans beneath you, but you don’t care.

All that matters is the man above you, his relentless drive, his unwavering hips. His hands grips your hips, pulling you closer, deeper, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate. You can feel him losing control, his need matching your own. 

Your eyes squeeze shut, blocking him out so you can pretend you aren’t stupid enough to let the man that ruined your life fuck the living hell out of you.

"Eyes on me,” he growls, his voice all rough and commanding. "Let me see you.”

Even though you really want to shut him out, you just can’t fight the crazy pull he has over you. His voice is like a force of nature. You open your eyes against your better judgment.

Seeing him above you, his face twisting with raw need and determination sends chills down your spine. His eyes are locked onto yours, filled with this unyielding intensity you never seen before and that leaves you breathless. No one had ever looked at you like that during sex.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with approval. It makes you want to run for the hills, "Fucki—Oh, fuck. Y-You're sucking me in so nicely, huh?"

With each thrust, he drives you closer to your orgasm, your body responding to him in ways you can’t hold back. The pleasure is overwhelming, it leaves you gasping, moaning, begging for more. You don't even know what you're doing anymore. His name slips from your lips in a broken, desperate plea, and he answers with a renewed vigor, his movements becoming more frenzied.

"Fuck," he growls, his voice rough and strained. "You're so tight... feels so fucking good."

You can barely form coherent thoughts, let alone words. Your entire world has narrowed to this moment, to the feel of him inside you, to the overwhelming pleasure that consumes you.

"Rafe," you whimper, the sound barely more than a breath. "I'm—I can't..."

He understands.

His pace quickens even more, his thrusts becoming almost brutal in their intensity. "Come for me," he commands his voice a whisper against your earlobe that sends shivers down your spine. "Let go."

His words push you over the edge, and you come with a scream, your body convulsing around him. The intensity of your release is like nothing you ever felt before, a white-hot explosion of pleasure that makes you lose it. So this was what great sex felt like?

Rafe follows you over the edge, his own release crashing through him with a force that leaves him shaking on top of you. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as he rides out his orgasm, groaning as his movements slow down, until he finally stills, still buried deep inside you.

For a moment, everything is still, the only sound the ragged breaths but then he lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, there is something almost tender about him.

“Y-You—“ He sighs, pausing, “Don’t pull that shit again. I’ll get you out, okay? 

“Rafe...“

Before you can process his words, before you can question or argue, his lips are on yours again. Differently this time. Gentle. 

Devastating almost. 

“You’re still bleeding Maybank.”

Right. He'd fucked you good enough to forget about the pain. The moment of vulnerability between you evaporates, leaving you with the realization of your situation.

You just fucked Rafe Cameron. On a table. After being shot.

You push at his chest, forcing him to back off slightly, and hiss through clenched teeth, “Then do something about it."

He just stands there, staring at you as if he has never seen you before. As if he’s truly seeing you for the first time despite having known you since you were seven, despite all the moments marked by violence and terror. And you hate every second of it because your heart is practically leaping out of your chest.

No one has ever looked at you like that before.

And then he simply shakes his head, coming closer again, resting his forehead against yours, hands back on your thighs, fingers pressing as if he needs to ensure that you are real, that everything’s real.

“We’re getting out.”

You want to believe in him more than anything. In that moment, it’s the only thing that matters. Even if it sounds stupid. You need it, at least for now.

“Yeah?"

“Yeah, pretty Maybank. You and me."

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

[femmesandhoney]

i'm not sure how many on radblr are aware of this, but there is an artist named Jingna Zhang who for the last year has been battling a very nasty court battle revolving copyright of her art after it was intellectually stolen by a man. Zhang is a photographer with a very beautiful and specific style (insta: zemotion), and a male painter completely stole an image of hers and entered his painting, a nearly identical replica, into a contest and won a cash prize from stealing her entire photo! Rightfully, Zhang was upset and got a lawyer after he did, and this went to court. Yesterday, it was announced she had won her lawsuit after the first time where she had to appeal the lower courts decision that it didn't, a huge win for copyright law in general, but it's soured by how much racism and misogyny Zhang has suffered over the year and it's now just as bad since she's won the lawsuit.

I just wanted to share her story and tell everyone to go show your support to her and other female artists. People, likely all men, were harassing her for a year and still to this day that the lawsuit was frivolous and she was "throwing a hissy fit" about him stealing her art, to the point they doxxed her. The cruel mix of racism and misogyny she dealt with is just vile, you can see some of the replies and threats shes received on her insta and twitter. This was the art in question on the left vs her photo on the right:

men are not creative, men steal every creative work under the sun from women and they act like chickens with their head cut off when women fight back. why won't the woman easily be pushed aside and let me steal what's not mine? why would this woman think she owns something i want myself? hope Jeff Dieschburg and his supporters rot and he becomes a penniless nobody for the rest of time and digs himself a shallow grave.

[galedekarios]

plagiarism in the bg3 fandom

disclaimer: this post should not be taken as a springboard to harrass anyone involved.

-

as i've stated previously, i didn't want to make this post because i have a lot going on in real life, but i have been watching this being done to others and myself for months now and i can't not speak about my experience anymore.

laiostoudenn (prev urls: lathanderr/spellbooking/wizardblood) is a plagiarist and he has a history of stealing from other creators like @minthara, @mercymaker, @onewingedangels and others.

in this post, i, finally and after much and long deliberation, want to add my voice to theirs.

i'll try to give a chronological overview of what happened as i have come to experience it, through others and myself, and as condensed as possible and to make it easier for myself to tell:

the story

i became aware of this new blog after he @ me and he messaged me. he's been following me. i was slow to engage because i have a lot of things going on in my real life that cost me a lot of energy during the day. i have also grown cautious of too quickly becoming close to strangers online. i became aware, however, that he had been doing this with multiple bigger creators in this space, like my friend @hawke, who is also a creator in the bg3 space, and who has experienced the same behaviour. they asked me if i knew him and i replied that i did not.

that was it for me at that point and i didn't engage much beyond that because i didn't know him and i thought nothing of it - until later.

during that time, whenever i saw his creations pop up increasingly, either in the tags or on my dash, i noticed more and more that they looked familiar to the works of others, from @minthara, to @mercymaker, to @onewingedangels and other creators, including myself.

it was then confirmed that i wasn't simply imagining things when, months ago, two creators were brave enough to speak up about the fact that he has been plagiarising gifsets and edits from them:

@minthara and @mercymaker:

@onewingedangels original set posted on 31st december 2023:

his set posted on 29th january 2024 (now deleted):

this was done without consent, and after he had already copied prior sets from @onewingedangels.

i would greatly recommend reading the posts shared above, and looking at the examples provided in it, so that you get a clear picture of what's happening here. it's not one isolated incident.

if you take a look at the notes in the post, you can also see other creators speaking about their experiences.

@minthara has recently also uploaded a google docs with the screenshots of the sets stolen from them because they either have been deleted, or lead to nothing due to now multiple url changes.

i was made aware today that he, following the first posts detailing @minthara and @mercymaker's experiences, apologised at first and admitted to what he's been doing on 31st march 2024:

but sadly, this wasn't to last, and the opportunity to learn and grow wasn't taken.

instead what happened was now painted as "bullying" from other creators, as "clique" behaviour and as "gatekeeping", despite many of us operating independently from each other. i, myself, have only started speaking to one other creator involved now that i have noticed the stealing and copying still ongoing.

i have in my time on this website never gatekept anything. i have shared metas, gifsets, creations, mods, art, tutorials, and many other things freely.

but back to the matter at hand: after he has been trying to ingratiate himself to me for some time now, following me, unfollowing me, and refollowing me again until i blocked him for my own mental health, i tried to remain civil before this point, engaging rarely if at all, hoping everything would go away on its own - which was a mistake in hindsight, i realise - i noticed that once again he's been lifting entire concepts and frame-by-frame gifs and sets from me.

things that he now claims - likely after he has been made aware of my prior personal posts and @minthara and @mercymaker's post circulating again by being reblogged by other people who have been affected) - were simply "remade" or "expanded" upon, that he may have been "subconsciously" influenced, while simultaneously claiming that he didn't know these sets existed in the first place, that he came up with the ideas independently, and that it's simply inevitable to use the same scenes because it's a limited game.

this doesn't hold up under scrutiny, however.

i want to make clear that i very much understand and that i am acutely aware that i do not own scenes and i do not own mods or outfits. however, what i do like to pride myself on is coming up with concepts and scene choices and captions accompanying these concepts that are unique, inspired by my metas, headcanons pertaining to gale and my own ocs altonaufein and karl, all of which i have seen copied by him several times now.

this is not as simple as simply gifing the same lines of dialogue from a scene as he and others supporting him are now postulating and i want to make that very, very clear.

another reason why this statement doesn't hold up under any scrutiny and, what ultimately confirmed my suspicion that he has been copying me, was when he - after the first post exposing his behaviour by @minthara and @mercymaker was made - reached out to me, asking if it it's ok to copy a gifset i made (note: again, this happened after he was called out for plagiarising the first time):

i didn't respond quickly enough, so he went ahead and posted it without waiting for my response (the response i gave him is pictured above and for transparancy, i responded about a day later bc of work and irl obligations).

below you can see the stolen post and what i managed to save from it:

the set was a 1:1 copy. he wanted a version for his oc so bad that he went ahead and stole my concept anyhow, without even waiting for the permission he asked for.

he went to take it down after my reply, made cautious most likely by his still fresh callout done in march 2024 by @minthara and @mercymaker, and i thought the issue was resolved and it wouldn't happen again, that he wouldn't take again without asking, despite having been told not only by myself, but by other creators as well, no. we are not comfortable.

but no. he "remade" the set, switching out gifs while complaining about how he "had to make it original":

my set in question was made on 1st february 2024, he reached out to me on 22nd april 2024 to "remake" the set. he is well aware of the existence of these ideas and concepts and sets he wants to copy, underlined by the need to ask for permission when it's simply too obvious to otherwise deny.

it's no coincidence.

like others have had the experience, i too noticed that he often would not engage with content he planned on stealing or did go through with stealing. he would sometimes present it as his own "remake" of a set he did, of another he was "inspired" or wanted to "expand upon", sometimes crediting, sometimes crediting someone largely unrelated, sometimes and, more often, not crediting.

as i mentioned above, this was not the first and not the only set/concept, which he copied from me - whether that was before asking or after asking, or not asking at all, if it was ok to copy.

i use this example mainly to show a clear pattern of behaviour that exists across the board: he takes concepts from other creators and inserts his own oc and/or favourite character into it because he wants a version of it so very badly. it does not matter if said creator might be hurt, if they told him no, or if they exposed his behaviour before. it doesn't matter how old the set is or how recent.

it is still going on today, the only difference is that he has stopped asking at all once again.

my story completely echoes that of @minthara and @mercymaker's.

concrete examples

i will now go into more detail about the concept sets he's been copying, include the caption or quote attached to it. i'm sorry that these will not be in chronological fashion. i will add at a later point, just like @minthara has done, a google document to better do side by side comparisons, highlight the similarities visually even more, and preserve some of the sets, which have now been deleted by him as recently as today:

the theme of hands in gale's romance

-> mine posted on 23rd september 2023

versus

-> his 1 posted on 24th february 2024

-> his 2 posted on 17th june 2024

i want to preface this by saying that the theme of hands was and still is incredibly important to story of my oc altonaufein and has concept of romance with gale. again, while i do not own these scenes, i wished to highlight a theme that i identified as poignant and profound within the relationship context. it's also why i added the poetry and quotes accompanying the set.

notice how even the caption format matches. the only thing lacking are my quotes / poems.

the format matches almost entirely: gifs from the same scenes (pulling gale out of the portal, the bench scene in an illusionary waterdeep, the astral sea scene, the boat scene, and more of the boat scene). the only thing that was added in this gifset are scenes that weren't available to me back then, namely the updated proposal scene, the kisses patches, and the epilogue as they came out well after i made my original gifset.

the second re-make even contains a gif that's not only the same minute detail of a larger scene - one that anyone who played gale's romance knows contains a multitude of other parts that could have been used - but also the same frames:

mine vs his:

i suppose adding that one to the original post with the same format i had chosen for mine would have made it too obvious, but that is only speculation.

gale + missing waterdeep/home

-> mine posted on 30th september 2023

versus

-> his (deleted on 18th july 2024) so i will have to include screenshots so you may compare:

same caption format, overlapping scenes chosen, only new additions are of content that wasn't available to me back when i first made my original set (the epilogue, kiss patches and proposal scene).

an attempt at "credit" even though he is only referencing my tags on an entirely separate set of a different creator, not the concept i came up with in my original set months prior.

and even though i have told him no before, just like others have told him no before.

i think it speaks volumes that this set is now, like some others, have been suddenly and coincidentally deleted.

gale of waterdeep vs gale dekarios

-> mine posted on 20th november 2023

versus

-> his posted on 13th may 2024

the concept is entirely the same, the scenes are largely overlapping, again, the caption format is almost entirely identical, with the sole difference of me including the full quote and devnotes as i'm wont to do.

gale + i love you

-> mine posted 16th september 2023

versus

-> his 2 (a "remake" of an "older" set of "his") posted on 13th may 2024

again, the concept is entirely the same, it's same caption format, the scenes largely overlap, some of the gifs added that were not available to me when i made my set (which, again, would include the epilogue, kisses patches, and the updated proposal scene).

mermay gale

-> mine posted on 13th may 2024

versus

-> his posted on 21st may 2024

it's the same concept again, the caption format is similar, it's the same setting (camp at baldur's gate), the same armour, the same armour tint, the same 3/4 pose except mirrored, and, this time, his tags were inspired too:

my tag: #i have the worst art block still and virtually no time but i still wanted to do smth for mermay so have this

his tag: #i can't do art so heres my mermay contribution i guess

copied oc post

-> mine posted on (likely) 30th september 2021

versus

-> his originally posted on may 7th 2024, which has also now been deleted on 18th july 2024:

the only thing different was the font. sadly, i deleted my oc post since i have redesigned some of them and wanted to make an updated version of it in the future.

thankfully i found the link on my friends blog, @ayrennaranaaldmeri.

as you can see, all of these happened after the first cases of plagiarism and after i personally told him that i'm not comfortable with him "remaking" my concept sets as his.

conclusion

there are many other sets that i suspect have been copied or plagiarised, i want to remain objective, however, and include the ones i feel are the most damning examples, supported by the fact that he has been deleting some of them today while again, trying to set up his narrative to his audience.

again, i want to highlight the pattern is here with him. my post is not the first, my suspicious are the first.

he knows what he is doing wrong, highlighted by the fact of trying to ask for permission, by deleting sets in question, by, at first, apologising, whilst now talking about "gatekeeping", "bullying", "inevitable repeats of scenes", "taking inspiration", "scrolling by", being "subconsciously" influenced, etc.

as a conclusion, i can say nothing more on this topic other than that i'm very sad. it doesn't give me joy. it stressed me immensely then and it still does now. i wish he'd have taken the already admitted wrong-doing to heart and grown from it, instead of attempting to change the narrative and doubling down on his past behaviour, not examining what he has done and is doing several times over by now.

i have blocked him now, as have done many others, and will not engage further with him. we have been through this before and at this point, i don't think he will change.

what i do very much hope, however, is that this is the last i hear of this happening.

edit:

updated the links to lead to his "archive" so you can access the stolen sets that he still hasn't deleted and seems to have no intentions of doing so.

[newobsessionweekly]

Family Ties

Main masterlist | 9-1-1 Masterlist

Eddie Diaz x firefighter!reader Fandom: 911

Summary: You and Eddie have been dating for a few months now, but your older brother, Buck, don’t know until you get hurt on a call and he puts all the pieces together.

Angst/Fluff

Warnings: Mentions of fire, injuries.

Requested: No

Words: 1.9k Requests are open for Eddie / Buck! Gif not mine, credits to the owner.

Standing in front of the firehouse, you adjust your helmet and gear and feel the adrenaline rush that comes with being a firefighter. You were proud to become a paramedic at Station 118 in LA, following in your older brother Buck's footsteps. You have always admired Buck's courage and strength in leaving home, building a career, and saving lives. This job is perfect for him since he saved your life back then. You own everything you are in that moment to Buck.

You greeted everyone at the firehouse, eager for a new day. Hen and Chim checked supplies, Bobby inspected trucks, and Buck ate his breakfast undisturbed. Everyone turned theirs heads and smiled, wishing you a “Good Morning” in response.

“I hope you choke on that food. I'll let your lazy ass die anytime.” you greet your brother, still angry about him ditching you up last night and not giving you a ride in the morning.

“Love you too, munchkin!" Buck yelled with a full mouth of milk and cereals.

“Stop calling me that, I'm not five anymore!” you said firmly, pouring yourself a cup of coffee. Eddie laughed, making his way up on the stairs. “Morning to you too!” you greeted him. “Something funny?”

You brightened Station 118 for all to see. Upon entering, the room radiates warmth and light wavily pours down on everyone. You are that magnet of happiness that could cheer up any bad day. Who wouldn't love you?

You watch Eddie enter the kitchen, patting Buck's shoulder on his way to the fridge. He winked and handed you the milk, a sudden burst of warmth covering your cheeks.

Eddie is both Buck's best friend and your secret boyfriend. Well, not that secret, everyone knows except Buck. And everyone is hiding you both until you're ready to tell you big brother.

You and Eddie bonded immediately upon joining Unit 118. All the laugher and deep conversations held in Buck's living room, slowly turned into small electric touches and stolen kisses.

Eddie made excuses for Buck to babysit Christopher while he took you on little dates, most of them between the walls of his home. But you didn't care as long as you were together.

Eddie is the most amazing man you've ever met. Strong, brave, and incredibly smart. All the stories about the war and you still can't believe the man in front of you was some years ago on the open field. He's handsome, all worked up and as cheerful as you every single day. Though, the signs of the war are painted on his skin, he exudes a mature aura that masks his traumas. He's also a perfect father.

Some girls dream of men like this, even fantasies about them being a father, but all you gotta do is open your eyes and admire the view. And it's only yours.

"You're right, Y/n. You're not five. You both are five and acting like idiots.” Eddie poured himself a cup of coffee while Buck's gaze was pointed at you. His face twisted comically in confusion. How did Eddie know you need milk for your coffee without you asking for it?

Eddie is more than thankful to have beside him a woman just as perfect as an angel. You spread love, exhibits passion, demonstrates bravery in saving people, and look stunning while doing so.

However, you still hesitate to reveal your relationship with Eddie, knowing that it could complicate things with your overprotective brother.

As soon as the alarm went off calling a car crash with multiple injuries, you placed your cup on the table and run off to the truck with Eddie by your side while Buck analysing your every move and how the distance between you and Eddie closes day by day. He smells something's going on.

Throughout the day, you and Eddie teamed up seamless and efficient together. Buck, on the other hand, noticed your chemistry and couldn't help but feel a little suspicious. He first lost his partner, but could also lose his best friend and sister ? Buck brushed it off as he hurriedly approached the cars holding captive civilians, ignoring any doubts.

The quiet afternoon allowed your for reflection while washing off the blood under the hot water pouring over your bloody-covered body, then silently enjoyed Bobby's delicious lunch.

“Uh-huh, Buckley siblings aren't talking." "Something's off," Bobby quipped, eyeing the people standing around the table.

Chuckling, you searched for Eddie's sight before the alarm blared once more.

Unit 118 was dispatched to a high-rise building fire. You raced to the scene, adrenaline pumping. The team surrounded Bobby, listening to his command. “Buck, you're coming with me to the back, we need to secure an exit and search for survivors. Eddie, Y/n, Chim and Hen, search the first two floors, pull out the fire, and search for survivors, ten at number.” everyone nodded as he explained to never split up, but if needed, you stay close to a wall and never let go of the hose. “Be safe out there!” Buck nodded to you and Eddie, silently urging caution and a safe return.

As you entered the building, Eddie's firefighter instincts kicked in, and he took charge of the situation. He led the team through the thick smoke and intense heat, searching for survivors and extinguishing the flames.

But as you were making your way out of the building, a sudden explosion rocked the structure, causing debris to collapse around you. You shielded Eddie out of the way just in time, but you were struck by falling debris. Your trapped leg caused a painful mix of blood and agony.

Eddie rushed to your side, his heart pounding with fear. He checked for other injuries with shaky hands.

"Calling for help, ok? Hen and Chim will be back, and you'll be okay!” Eddie comforted, cupping your cheeks, forcing you look at him. You were conscious and likely only suffered a sprained ankle while the blood that flood around was coming from a cut above your knee.

“I'm fine, just a sprained ankle. We should go search for survivors," you suggested, gazing at the ashes of the once-mischievous flames that nearly engulfed the entire building.

Eddie looked at you in disbelief. You and Buck were remarkably alike. Or maybe the gene of recklessness run deep in both you DNA's. He's worried about the leg, despite your pleading to go search for the people stuck in that building, you can't move fast enough. It will only slow down the operation and cause any other damage.

“Here the captain, the building is clear.” Bobby radioed. You breathe easily now, the survivors were out of any harm. “Find your way back safely, the fire spreading quickly to the roof."

“Come on, we have to go.” Eddie said, pushing aside with all his strength the debris that was pinning you down. "Copy that, cap!" Eddie spoke into his radio.

“Y/n, do you copy?" Buck's voice crackled through Eddie's radio. Yours was broken in the fall. Buck searched the perimeter with worry in his eyes.

“Don't tell Buck, please.” you pleaded, afraid your brother wouldn't keep his feet at place, rushing recklessly into the burning building to save you. Eddie nodded, thinking of what he could tell his best friend.

"Y/n's radio broke, but she's en route to the hospital doing CPR.” Eddie fibbed. Bobby nodded at the words and told everyone to go back to the station as Unit 146 could handle the fire themselves. They got every other unit off duty. “Bobby, take Buck and Chim with you. I'm coming right back, Hen can give me a ride. We'll go after Y/n at the hospital.”

“Copy that. On our way now!” Bobby and Buck left, cap confident that the remaining men could handle as the fire was slowly being extinguished.

Buck obeyed Bobby's orders for your sake, though he didn’t really bite that.

As Eddie carried you out of the building with you laying on him, slowly walking to the paramedic truck, you saw Hen's eyes widening. “You said she was on her way to the hospital!" she scolded Eddie, shaking her head in a disapproving gesture. “You hurt?” she checked for injuries on your body.

“Just small bruises and a scars, a spread ankle. "Nothing serious," you report.

Eddie hugged you tight, now clear-minded. He was relieved you both returned from that building in one piece. He admired your courage and dedication. Your kindness towards the injured made him fall in love with you all over again seeing you giving all the injured people a soft smile and help they needed, without a single doubt. You hugged him back, seeking comfort in his arms, preparing your patience for when will Buck find out.

“Ok, Eddie ride with her in the back. We going to the hospital.”

Back at the firehouse, Buck was anxiously waiting for news on the fire. He waited at the station for an hour, pacing through the kitchen, eager for you to get back. His thoughts buzzed with all the worst-case scenarios. Buck rushed towards you as soon as he saw the truck reversing into the station. His eyes turned red when Eddie helped you hop up from the back of the paramedic truck, your leg all bandaged and bruises painted all over you, from your beautiful face to the arms. Slowly limping to him, Buck rushed over to you, his concern evident.

"What the hell happened?" Buck asked, his voice filled with worry.

Y/n got hit by falling debris, but she insisted on continuing to help with evacuation," Eddie explained, casting a proud glance at you. “She's fine now, just a few scratches, but she managed to clear the building.

“Screw about that building. "Why did you do that?" Buck looked at his sister, his protective instincts kicking in. "Why didn't you tell me you got hurt?" he scolded you gently.

"I didn't want to worry you," you replied, giving your brother a weak smile. "I guess you passed to me the recklessness gene," you laughed, trying to ease the tension. “I'm fine, Buck, really."

But Buck's attention shifted to Eddie, and he noticed the concerned look in the firefighter's eyes as he tended to your injury. Buck's suspicions were confirmed as he realized the truth.

"You two are dating, aren't you?" Buck asked, surprised and a little taken aback.

You and Eddie exchanged nervous glances before nodding. Buck's initial surprise turned into a mix of emotions - surprise, worry, protectiveness - but also saw the love and happiness in you both.

"I care about her, Buck," Eddie begins earnestly, looking Buck straight in the eye. "I promise to take care of her." Eddie locked his hand in yours, both of them helping you up the stairs and have a seat on the couch.

Buck couldn't deny the sincerity in Eddie's words, and he knew that you are a capable firefighter who could take care of herself. Reluctantly, he nodded and pulled you both into a tight hug. Buck knows Eddie's a great guy, he also knows about the baggage you're both dealing with, hope you'll both manage to heal each other.

"Just be careful with her," Buck said, his voice filled with emotion. "She's my little sister, and I know how a pain in the ass she could be.” he joked, passing you a glass of water.

Well, maybe all the bad did something good after all.

[nightmare-niko]

ATEEZ responses to “What are we?” [Hyung Line]

Warnings: NON IDOL ATEEZ!! NO MENTIONS OF Y/N!! GENDER NEUTRAL READER!! a lot of lying down and doing nothin! Mentions of weed!

A/n: I found this prompt list on Pinterest! I can link my Pinterest page on my master list!! Also you can def tell which members are my favorites😅 sorry not sorry!!

Copying or translating my writing is not allowed. If you see my work on another site it is stolen. Reblogs are appreciated and encouraged.

Masterlist

Kim Hongjoong:

You would spring the question. on him randomly one night while hanging out in your room. Both of you in baggy pjs, limbs tangled together on your bed.

The room was dimly lit by the purple LED lights lining your nearby desk. You were calm, too calm. That’s why you popped your head up to look at the man next to you.

“Hongjoong, what are we?”

You watched as the corners of his mouth curled up, “You know what we are. You just wanna hear me say it.” He lifted his hand up to play with a lose piece your your hair.

Guilty. You blush, “maybe i do, Maybe I don't…”

He let’s out a content sigh, “you’re mine, l'm yours. Sound good?"

“Sounds perfect.”

Park Seonghwa:

The two of you have been friends for a while. Most of your hangouts consisted of you hogging Seonghwa’s bed while he sat at his desk while he played legos.

Every once in a while you would show him a funny post. After a while, your mind started to wander. You found your eyes falling onto Seonghwa. He wasn’t paying attention to you, all of his focus was on the LEGO set taking up his whole desk. You had bought it for him not too long ago.

The cashier had asked you if the set was for you. Not bothering to lie, you told her they were for your friend. But was Seonghwa just your friend? Buying a boy a set of legos was practically marriage in this day and age!

…Were you and Seonghas a couple— or just friends? You didn't know for sure.

“What are we?" You broke the silence with your intense question.

You heard him chuckle at your question, “I don’t thing that’s up to just me, now is it?”

You were taken aback at his honesty, "well I don't know? Do you like me?"

"Of course,” His voice was as calm as ever while you felt your heartbeat slowly rise. “Do you like me?”

You hum, "sometimes.” You joke.

“Wha-!" He whips his chair around, fake betrayal painted on his beautiful features.

"I'm Kidding!" You smile at him.

Seonghwa crosses his arms across his chest, pouting cutely. "I take it back I don’t like you anymore."

Jeong Yunho:

[a/n 2.0: I use the terms pen and vape interchangeably but I’m talking abt a normal weed pen🤓]

You and Yunho were best friends.

All best friends have rituals, some may shop, or play videogames. But for you and your best friend, it was smoking weed in your room. Yunho wasn’t allowed to smoke at the dorm due to Seonghwa’s rules, he lucked out that his best friend had their own place.

You balanced all of your stacks on top of eachother. Slowly making your way to your bed where Yunho layed sprawled out. You dumped everything onto him before kicking off your slippers and moving him out of the way.

“You take up so much room, bro." You complain, taking out your pen and clicking it five times to turn it on. Before you could even take your first hit of the night, Yunho was taking the pen out of your hand and taking one long hit.

"Thanks babe," he throws the vape back into your general direction.

You groan and cursed at him under your breath, Flustered at the nickname. You were thankful for the dim lighting. Finally taking your first hit, you take a moment to take in Yunhos apperence.

His face bare, his sort black hair fell perfectiy over his forhead. The hood From his hoodie was pulled on, he looked beautiful, but when did he not?

Too busy staring, you forgot to exhale your puff, the burn becoming too much before you let out a nasty cough. Gasping dramatically you reach out to Yunho who nonchalantly opens a water bottle before putting up to your lips to drink.

"Thanks baby." You blow him a kiss, and he giggles softly. God he was perfect.

As the night went on, the two of you got higher, passing the pen back and forth. Maybe it was just the weed (definitely wasn’t), but your best friend was looking too hot for your own good.

Here the two of you were, shoulder to shoulder on your bed, Sharing snacks and drinks. Almost as if the two of you were a couple. More times than not you felt like a couple, how come the two of you hadn't had the conversation?

“What are we?” Your hand flies to slap over your mouth. It was too late, your didn't mean to say that out loud. “wait no-I didn't."

His laughter rung out in your otherise quiet bedroom. Yunho turns on his side to face you, you mirror him, “whatever we are, I wouldn’t ask for anything difterent.”

The two of you couldn’t keep serious at his cheesy line. Immediately breaking out in loud laughter, “Mr. Cool guy over here!!” You tease him, hiding your face against his chest to conceal your laughter.

Smiling ear to ear, his large hand wraps around your arm gently, pulling you back to look at him. "I just wanted to seem cool, you made me nervous!”

Kang Yeosang:

Yeosang wasn’t the biggest fan of physical affection. But for some reason he can't fathom the thought of sleeping with out you in his arms. The two of you didnt live together, not technically.

That didnt stop the two of you from being in the same bed everynight. When you weren't together, he would text you to tell you he couldn’t sleep. Then the next day one of his roomates would text you about how grumpy your boyfriend was.

Wait- Boyfriend? No - Yeosang wasn't—was Yeosang your boyfriend?!

When you heard your front door open and close, your heart sunk. He had a hey, of course he did. What if he got out of work when you weren't home? Going back home to an empty bed was a big no for him.

You stayed on your bed anxiously, his footsteps grew louder as he approached your room.

“Hey, Yeosang. How was work?” You croak out timidly.

Letting his bag flop of his arm he furrows his eyebrows. "Yeosang?" He questions.

"That's your name last l checked,” you chuckle.

"Not to you? Is something wrong?"

You sigh and smile at him, “no Sangie, nothings wrong,” you try your best to reassure him, "Go shower quickly and come back. You’re all sweaty

“Okay..." He looks at you suspiciousy, not convinced your not mad.

One quick shower later and Yeosang was back in your room, excitedly making his way into his Side of your bed. You cursed yourself mentally for being so freaked out about something stupid it was freaking Yeosang out.

“Are you sure nothings wrong…?”

“What are we?” You blurt out, looking at the boy next to you. He looked stunning, his hair pushed away from his face, under his hair you could still see his birth mark.

"Whatever you’d like us to be, silly." He smiles gently.

You pause for a moment, somewhat surprised at how calmly he answered you. "So…boyfriend girlfriend?"

"That's fine by me, darling. But I’m tired so let’s sleep.”

Tag list (If you want to be added just comment!)

@nallasstuff

@chmpgneprblem

@qoopeeya

@lilybellalana

@sleepysongbirdsings

[catapparently]

Kaz Brekker Headcanons

Cat entering her hc era thanks to my maid of honor @x-liv25 . Please go read her TIG headcanons!

MASTERLIST

Kaz once said "you shouldn't make friends with crows," "why not?" "they don't have any manners." I headcanon that he tried to feed a crow and actually be nice to it but it bit him so now he forever holds the grudge

He has a stack of makeup in his desk drawer in case he needs to change his face up a bit for a job and he's excellent at it

At some point, when he was still struggling with finding a job after Jordie's death, he stole someone's purse and found bronzer/contour that he used to draw himself abs to look strong and "hirable".

He doesn't mind touching animals without his gloves

He realized that when he tried to save an abandoned kitten in the rain when he was younger

He felt bad for it because it reminded him of him and Jordie

He saw it as a debt-ish to Jordie to save the kitten

It once brought Kaz a mouse as a gift and Kaz genuinely appreciated the gesture

Kaz POV: "What a distinguished gentleman who knows I'm worthy of great gifts and appreciation"

Kaz knew he couldn't really keep a cat in his line of work, it'd be a weakness, so when it was old enough, he snuck it into Pekka's office and watched the vicious little feline tear Pekka's stuff to shreds

"A cat after my own heart"

When Kaz got the Dregs tattoo, he didn't want the artist to touch him, so he tattooed the logo himself. It was a bit shaky but then he hired a Tailor to fix the edges without touching him

Alternative solution to the bad edges: He fixes them up with stolen foundation whenever he isn't wearing long sleeves or something that would cover it up.

They day he first saw Inej and she snuck up on him, he had a panic attack but hid it well

At this point in his life, he was used to being in control, to knowing everything. Having Inej sneak up on him (and knowing that she could have potentially killed him without him having time to retaliate had she been trained) freaked him out. He felt weak, Kaz Rietveld again.

Kaz spends half an hour every other day locked in his office without his gloves, lathering his hands in hand cream.

Whenever he'd grab someone by the collar or any form of violence with contact, the last thing the victim could think about is why his hands smell nice. Nobody ever lived to tell the tale.

He's a sucker for a good chocolate cake.

He absolutely HATES ice cream. It makes too much of a sticky gooey mess for him.

He also probably has a sensitive throat so he doesn't really eat cold/frozen stuff or drinks

Once he made a deal with Nina which resulted in him going to a café to buy her a pumpkin spice latte. Once he sniffed Nina's, he quickly bought another one for himself and chugged it before he could get back. Obviously he did that in a dark alleyway so that nobody could see him and use it as blackmail.

Once he used (obviously stolen) paint to decorate his very own set of cards.

He then made another elaborate plan of his and managed to auction them off for a grotesque amount of kruge.

Probably forged DeKappel's signature on the back of each with perfect precision

For those that forgot, DeKappel is some famous painter in the series. Kaz stole a DeKappel oil painting from Van Eck.

Help I didn't realize how fun HCs were, I could make a thousand of these

[ckret2]

Chapter 32 of human Bill is convinced he's the best prisoner ever and does not deserve this abuse from the Pines:

Bill gets his fingernails painted! 💅🌈✨ Look at his fingernails, I drew this week's picture just to show them off. They're fun.

Bill also gets bound to a magic poppet that can control his every move.

It's hilarious for Dipper and Mabel, but not for Bill.

The early morning still was broken by Stan's wails of despair.

At some point during the night, the egg-and-toilet-papering kids had come back to Stan's car.

And they'd brought rocks.

####

Bill woke up with a sheet tossed over him and a cupcake sitting on the window seat. The cupcake was pink with green frosting and decorated like a happy jack-o'-melon. It was sitting on top of a note:

"Sorry I didn't mention I had plans tonight! Robbie's mom made cupcakes for everyone so I grabbed you one. The music video's gonna be AMAZING! I'll show you when Robbie posts it!" Mabel had signed with a shooting star.

Bill decided he hadn't been mad at Mabel last night at all.

He battled gravity to heave himself vertical, trudged downstairs to the bathroom, stuck his face under the faucet until his mouth tasted less like sour sandpaper, agonizingly dragged himself back upstairs to his makeshift bed, and collapsed under the sheet to wait until his head stopped hammering.

####

Sprawled on the living room floor, Mabel said, "What should I draw?"

"Draw me." Bill was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, watching the news and nursing a glass of Mabel juice. In an effort to counteract the lingering queasiness from overdosing on sugar and chocolate, he'd spiked the juice with two ground-up Elderly 60+ Vitaman™ brand Man Vitamins (khaki flavor) stolen from a bottle that Ford had bought for Stan and that Stan forgot to take.

"Okay!" Mabel turned around and squinted up at Bill. "Strike a pose!"

"Not like this!" Bill shoved a hand in Mabel's face to force her to stop looking. "Draw me how I really look."

"Bill, that's illegal. Remember?" Mabel pointed at the TV. Bodacious T was reporting on a child who'd dressed up for Summerween as "that weird out-of-towner who bothered us last year, you know the one," and who, under the Never Mind All That Act, had been fined fifty pieces of candy. The child's mugshot showed his crying face, but blurred out his yellow costume.

"He'd be the coolest kid in town," Bill said, "if he wasn't such a crybaby in front of the cops. Draw me anyway."

"I don't wanna get arrested!"

"Do you see any cops?" Bill grinned. "Just don't sign your name, nobody will know it was you."

Mabel considered that. "I can sign it someone else's name." She pulled out a few crayons.

"That's what I'm talking about! Do anything you want forever and frame the innocent!"

"What do you want me to draw you doing?"

"The coolest thing you can think of."

Mabel considered that, and got to work.

The news was boring now. They were talking about the weather, and it wasn't even interesting weather. "So hey, you were gonna tell me about filming last night?"

"Oh yeah!" Mabel said. "Did I mention the part where the dead rose from their graves?"

Bill muted the TV. "And I missed it?"

Robbie had decided the cemetery at his place would be more atmospheric than the trick-or-treater-filled streets (and less likely to have their shots ruined by passersby that didn't appreciate the depth of Robbie's lyrics). It went great, until the vibrations of angsty rock-and-roll stirred the slumbering corpses and they clawed their way from their graves. It turned out Gravity Falls had been having off-and-on invasions of the undead for the past year, ever since somebody decided to reanimate every corpse in town for fun, Bill.

"You can't prove it was me, I'm not the only one who knows how to raise the dead!" Bill laughed. "Hey—you're not drawing this body, are you? You said you wouldn't."

"I'm not, I promise!"

"Then why do you keep staring at me?"

"Um."

"Let me see!"

"No! Don't ruin the surprise!" Mabel picked up a glitter pen with feathers glued to the end and waved them in Bill's face. "And no cheating with your eye-bleeding psychic magic!"

Bill smacked the pen away. "Fine! So what did you do with the zombies? Feed one of the teens to them?"

"No! I chewed like four packs of gum me and Dipper got from the weird homeless dentist and made a fake baby brain. We used it as bait to lead them into an open grave," Mabel said. "And then we realized we could use the brain to train them to do tricks! So now we have dancing zombies in the music video. They actually learned the choreography pretty easily."

"Makes sense," Bill said. "I did fill the space where their souls should be with an insatiable hunger to party."

Mabel grinned. "I thought you said they weren't your fault."

"If they're good at dancing, I'm taking credit!"

"They were pretty good—especially considering how many limbs they were missing," Mabel said. "I'll show you when Robbie's finished editing the video."

"And I'll get to see you playing a creepy ghost kid, right?"

"Yeah! We were the greatest ghosts ever! Check it out, we were like—" Mabel fixed Bill with a dead-eyed slack-jawed stare and whisper-sang, "'We're the things that you have lost. Childhood joy, dead as a ghost.'"

"Chills."

"Dipper tried so hard to get in character as a ghost that he completely zoned out for a minute! When we shook him out of it, he said he felt like he had an out-of-body experience!"

####

At his computer, Robbie clicked play on a clip of the twins standing side-by-side in front of the cemetery gate. As they sang the chorus, Dipper's face went still; and then a spectral gray form rose out of his head, still singing in sync with Mabel.

"Whoa," Robbie said. "Sick. I'm keeping that in."

####

"So, it turns out my bro is an expert method actor," Mabel boasted.

Bill thought back to Dipper drifting up and down the stairs in the middle of the night. "Yep. Sounds like he's got quite a talent."

Mabel set down her crayons and held out a paper. "Okay—what do you think?"

Bill accepted the drawing. "Am I riding on the back of a rocket ship?"

"Like a bucking bronco! See the rocket flames doing a loop?"

"Sure do. Why am I holding a fish bowl?"

"It's like a cowboy waving his hat, but, you're in space. So that's your astronaut helmet."

"It's beautiful," Bill said intensely. "It's the best thing I've ever seen."

"Aw, really? Thanks!"

"When I take over the universe, I'm rearranging the constellations to look like this."

"Don't do that, though."

"Fine, but I'm hanging it up in my throne room." Bill set down his empty glass so he could hold the picture with both hands, beaming at it as proudly as though he'd made it himself. Big change from his lukewarm reception of her house drawing yesterday. She should draw Bill more often. Being a good artist meant understanding what your audience wanted.

Unfortunately, now that she'd finished her drawing, she didn't have anything to distract her from staring at Bill. And she'd taken about as much of seeing him as she could stand. "Bill. I say this with non-judgmental love. But you look sooo terrible."

"Yeah, I know. I think I'm shaped about as nicely as a human could ask for," he pantomimed drawing a triangle in front of his torso, "but let's be real, there's only so much you can do when you're working with a human bone structure. And there's way too much neck—"

"No! Bill, your body is beautiful just the way it is, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. I meant your hair looks awful."

Bill had taken a shower yesterday morning, emerged with his hair all wet and tangled, and done absolutely nothing to detangle it. And then, with it still half damp and totally disheveled, he'd shoved it under a cheap acrylic wig for the rest of the night. And then he'd fallen asleep on the floor still wearing the wig.

And now, with the wig removed, his hair looked like a bird had plucked out half a scarecrow's straw brains and made a nest out of it.

"It sure does," Bill said, with the slightly forlorn air of someone complaining about a war in a far-off country over which one had no power.

"So brush it!"

"No. Never. You can't make me."

"Why not? I thought you wanted to keep your hair all triangly!"

"Not enough to touch it. Either it'll figure out how to straighten out on its own or it won't, I'm not messing with it. I've got enough going on in my life today." By which he meant he had the last lingering traces of a hangover, which was a valid excuse to get out of all social, moral, and aesthetic obligations.

Mabel groaned in frustration. "I can't take looking at it anymore! If you won't brush it, can I?"

Bill gave her a skeptical look; but then he flung his hands out dismissively. "Sure, why not? If it bothers you so much. Have at it."

"I'll be right back!"

She got her brush from upstairs and a spray bottle from the kitchen, and directed Bill to sit on the floor so she could get on the couch behind him. After making such a fuss about brushing his hair, Bill was surprisingly well-behaved with somebody else brushing it for him. He didn't even complain when Mabel accidentally yanked on some nasty snarls a little harder than she meant to.

"I feel like a corpse getting prettied up for my funeral," Bill said. "Grooming each other is how humans bond, isn't it? This is one of your little social rituals? If all you wanted was to make sure we're still friends after you ditched me last night, you could have just asked."

Mabel shoved her foot between Bill's shoulder blades. Wise guy. She joked, "Yeah! We're bonding now! After this we're gonna paint each other's fingernails and talk about what kind of boys we like."

"I want rainbow spiral fingernails."

Mabel really should be used to this—but she still kept getting surprised that Bill was interested in the stuff she liked. And not even in a patronizing sure-I'll-play-along way. He'd turned to look at her. There was a gleam in his eyes. He really wanted rainbow spiral fingernails.

And now she wanted rainbow spiral fingernails, too. "Fine! But look forward until I finish your hair." One way or another, Mabel vowed, she would reform Bill into a proper good guy—even if she had to drag him there kicking and screaming. Fun dress-up partners were hard to find, and she couldn't afford to lose Bill.

####

Soos wandered to the living room to find somewhere to hang up his and Melody's "Best Couple Cosplay" award, but stopped in the doorway.

Bill, Mabel, and Waddles were sitting on the floor, watching some kind of cartoon psychedelic fairy princess lecture a spider on the importance of colors, with a bowl of popcorn between them. Bill and Mabel both had bright multicolor fingernails and were eating the popcorn with chopsticks to avoid touching their nails. There was more popcorn on the floor than in the bowl. Waddles had taken no such cares to avoid dragging his freshly painted hooves through the carpet. 

"Truth or dare," Bill said.

"Dare!"

"Dare you to assassinate the..." Bill trailed off. "I can't have the mayor assassinated, he runs Rainbow Club. And the sheriff and deputy invited me... There aren't a lot of public officials in this dumb town, are there?"

"I'm not killing anybody, Bill. Truth."

"Fine, coward. What's your favorite toxic fume fragrance?"

"That's easy! Gasoline!"

"Hey, mine too! At least on this planet. It smells like—you know that smell that heralds the coming of rain? Gasoline is the smell that heralds a really fun time."

"Yeah! Like going on a road trip!"

Bill paused. "Right! I was... I was definitely thinking about road trips. That's exactly what I meant."

Mabel added, "And it looks so cool when there's a little bit spilled in a parking spot—"

"The rainbow puddles! Yes! Big fan of the rainbow puddles—"

"I love parking lot rainbow puddles! It's like surprise happiness in the most boring place on the planet!"

Soos mumbled, "Girl talk," decided to hang his award up later, and left.

####

Dipper heard the bedroom door open and Mabel call, "Hey Dipper!"

"Hey." He didn't look up from his journal, where he was documenting last night's zombie adventures. "Oh, hey, bad news—Wendy said she got a text from Robbie, it sounds like all the footage from the cemetery last night is ruined?"

"Aww! What? But we worked so hard to train those zombies!"

"Yeah, it's just static. But everything we shot outside the gates is fine. I wonder if it's something supernatural that interferes with electronics?"

"Something supernatural? In the cemetery? Full of zombies? What are the odds of that!" Mabel laughed. "But heyyy, I've got some good news!"

"What?"

Mabel stuck a hairbrush full of gold hair between Dipper's face and his journal. "I got a replacement for the Bill hair sample we gave Pacifica!" She grinned and whispered, "Wanna make a poppet?"

####

It would have been really cool if the first full moon of summer vacation had come on Summerween. But the calendar gods were unkind that year, and instead, it came the next day, on June 23.

Which worked out, in the end, since it meant they didn't have any scheduling conflicts on the one night they could make a poppet.

They had the ritual space set up in their bedroom—a chalk star drawn on the floor with a black candle at each point—and the doll representing Bill—which Mabel had upgraded with button eyes and a miniature version of his favorite knit hoodie. They collected all the shed blonde strands off Mabel's hairbrush, wrapped them around the doll's neck, and tied them on. They set the doll in the center of the star; Bartholomew talked them through the ritual; the flames on the candles leaped a foot in the air, turned a pale blue, and then went out; and the binding ritual was complete. The doll was now connected to Bill Cipher.

"Weird," Bartholomew said. "Usually the flames turn black. I've never seen them turn blue before."

Dipper said, "That's not a problem, is it?"

"No, no. I've just never used the binding ritual on an alien before! I guess it works a little different!"

Dipper picked up the doll and eyed it skeptically. "Mabel, I know we said we're saving this for emergencies only, but—maybe we should test it out just to make sure it actually works?"

"I guess we should," Mabel said, grimacing. "Just—don't do anything that'd hurt him. Okay?"

Yeah, Dipper should've expected that. Whether he liked it or not, Mabel didn't just see Bill as her weird experiment in criminal rehabilitation—she saw him as her friend. He sighed. "Okay. But is it fine if we do something that would embarrass him?"

Mabel shrugged. "I don't see why not!"

####

As they crept from their room, Mabel whispered, "What if we stick him in a box and shake it up? And then tell him there was an earthquake!"

"I thought you were the one who didn't want to hurt him."

"Oh right."

Bill wasn't on his cushions under the window, so they crept downstairs. Halfway down, Dipper stopped, putting a hand on Mabel's arm. Bill was sitting at the kitchen table, chin in his hand, staring out the window.

"This is perfect," he whispered. "He's completely vulnerable. He's got his back to us, he's looking at the moonlight—even if he turns around, he won't see us because his eyes will have to readjust to the dark."

"I don't know if his eyes need to adjust," Mabel said. "Have you ever noticed he never turns the lights on when he goes into a room?"

Dipper considered that. He hadn't noticed—but now that Mabel mentioned it, Bill did have a tendency to lurk in the dark. "Well—okay, but he's still not looking at us. Let's see how this works..." He studied the doll; then turned it around and gently brushed a finger through its yarn hair.

For a moment, nothing happened; and then Bill swatted at the back of his head and looked around, as if he was trying to find what had touched him.

"I think it's working," Dipper hissed.

"Are you sure? What if there's actually a fly in the kitchen?"

Could be. "Let me see if it can control him."

"Careful—"

Dipper grabbed one of the doll's arms and tentatively lifted it.

Bill's arm shot up. He stared at it in bafflement. "Wh...?"

Mabel bit her lip. Dipper waved the doll's arm.

Bill's arm waved. After a pause, he tentatively asked, "Hello?" As if he thought maybe his arm was waving at someone and he should play along with it.

Mabel and Dipper clapped their hands over their mouths, fighting to keep their giggles quiet. Mabel elbowed Dipper, "Hey Dipper Dipper Dipper, get him to stand up, let me control his legs, I have the best idea—"

Bill knocked over his chair and had to flail his arms for balance as he abruptly jerked to his feet. He looked around, eyes wide and wild, an edge of panic to his voice as he hollered, "WHAT'S GOING ON!"

Dipper held the doll out to Mabel. "Okay hurry!" Mabel took it by the legs—

—and Bill started doing the cancan. He shrieked. "WHAT?!"

Dipper shoved his shirt over his mouth to muffle his hysterics. Mabel was letting little wheezy squeaks out through her nose. Bill's voice was almost an octave higher as he screamed, "WHEN I FIND OUT WHO'S BEHIND THIS, I'M GONNA SHRED YOU—" and they both got so close to bursting laughing out loud that they had to pause to punch each other's shoulders for self control.

Still holding one of the doll's legs up, Mabel hissed, "Dipper do you remember the bottle dance. Where they crouch down with bottles on their heads. Can we—can we get a tiny bottle for the doll—"

Bill was failing both arms to avoid falling with one foot held in the air. He grabbed the counter for balance. And then, with a grunt of effort, he wrenched his foot down and stomped it to the ground.

The doll's leg yanked out of Mabel's hand.

Dipper and Mabel fell silent, staring at the doll. They looked at each other. Mabel whispered, "It shouldn't be able to do that, right?"

They looked at Bill.

Bill's face was burning red, and he was so far past fury that his expression was perfectly blank. His eyes were huge, and round, and pointed straight at them.

They bolted up the stairs.

Bill charged after them.

They screamed in terror. They weren't loud enough to drown out Bill: "WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU BRATS—"

Mabel grabbed Dipper's arm. "Dipper, do something!"

"Uhh—!" He tossed the doll in the air and caught it.

They heard an alarmed yelp as Bill was launched in the air and then a crash as he landed on the stairs again.

They scrambled into their room and slammed the door. "Safe!" Mabel said.

"Yeah," Dipper said, panting for breath. "Can't get us here."

The doll's head twisted 180 degrees to stare up at them.

They yelped. Dipper tossed the doll to Mabel. Mabel held it out at arm's length, threw it in her nightstand's drawer, and slammed it. It tried to open again and she leaned against it with her full body weight. "Dipper, the duct tape! In my craft supplies!"

"Which craft supplies?!"

The tiny knocking inside the drawer was echoed by the pounding at the door, accompanied by a string of creative death threats: "—and when I'm finished the coroner won't know which corpse was which! I'll make a belt out of your spinal columns—!"

"We didn't do anything," Mabel shouted, "it wasn't our fault!" She took the duct tape from Dipper and frantically wrapped it around the night stand. Dipper added, "It was someone else! And we'll never do it again—"

Sleepy and muffled, Soos's voice drifted through the door, "Dudes? What's all the hubbub?"

Dipper and Mabel gasped, "Soos!" "Save us!"

His voice the perfect tone of righteous indignation, Bill declared, "I'm being assaulted, that's what!"

Stan's voice joined in from downstairs: "BILL! If you don't leave those kids alone I'll cave your nose in!"

"THEY'RE THE AGGRESSORS," Bill screamed, half hysterical. "They are! I'm the victim here! I'm being victimized!"

Stan shouted, "Kids, good work! Bill, you can go to—" He grumbled as he self-censored, "—sleep! Shut up and go to sleep!"

"You can go jump in the bottomless pit, Stanley Pines! I'll tear you all apart with my teeth if I have to! NOBODY in this stupid junk heap of a shack is getting any sleep until I get my—"

From just outside the attic door, Stan roared, "BILL!"

There was a dull thud as Bill leaned against their door; a lot less shouty, he quickly said, "I'm going to bed, I'm going to bed, I'm going to bed."

"That's what I thought," Stan snapped. The kids heard his footsteps retreating downstairs. Soos said, "Um... night," and his door shut. After a moment, there was the creak of footsteps retreating from the attic door.

Dipper and Mabel slowly, softly snuck across the room to the door, and pressed their ears to the crack. No sound.

They stayed there for several minutes, barely breathing, listening to the silence.

Finally, Mabel pulled away and looked at Dipper. They both nodded, and Dipper opened the door a crack to check if the coast was clear.

Bill's eye stared in. "Hey, kids!"

They yelled. Dipper tried to slam the door; but Bill had already shoved his hand through. Fingernails painted with neon colors and black spirals clawed at the doorframe. He shouldered through the gap in the door, and then he was in the room, smiling much too wide and eyes fixed on them like helicopter spotlights on two wanted criminals. There was blood on his teeth. "Wow! Playing with poppets?"

Dipper upturned his suitcase and held it up like a shield. Mabel pointed a can of spray paint at Bill's face. Bill took a step closer and they took a step back.

"Pretty advanced trick for a couple of children your age," Bill said conversationally. "Not bad, not bad at all. Heck, I'm impressed you pulled it off! Although you didn't make a very smart choice of test subject." He stomped a foot twice.

Something in the nightstand thudded twice. The twins jumped. Bill laughed at them.

Mentally cursing himself for having flinched, Dipper straightened his back and glared at Bill. "You're just mad you got jerked around like a puppet! What's the matter, Bill—you can dish it but you can't take it?" Mabel looked at Dipper like he was crazy.

Bill's indulgent smile cracked, dropping into a snarl of rage. He shifted his weight toward them. Mabel dropped into a judo stance and Dipper sucked in a breath to shout for Stan.

Before anyone could launch a full attack, Mabel took a shaky breath in, forced a nervous smile, and said, "Bill, hey..." (His eyes snapped to her face like a predator that just heard a twig snap.) "This was—just a funny prank, and we're all cool? Right?"

"Mabel," Dipper muttered. "Shhh!"

But Mabel kept looking at Bill. "Right? Buddies?" She held up her arm, showing Bill her friendship bracelet.

Bill stopped and rocked back on his heels. He gave Mabel a long, hard look—like he was seriously considering whether to accept the reality she was inventing. "Yeah. Real funny." Smiling through grit teeth, he said, "You know—it's been a while since I've had my energy strung between two vessels. I didn't even know what that experience felt like for a human! Very interesting. Educational. And it was nice to feel weightless again for a second. Even if the landing was a little rough." He licked the blood off his teeth. One of the teeth shifted. "So—thanks so much for spicing up a boring night. It's been a real blast. Hasn't it." He stared at them like he expected an answer—and possibly like he planned to strangle whoever answered first.

Dipper and Mabel exchanged a look. Dipper shook his head slightly. Mabel looked Bill in the eyes again. "Yeah! Big blast. So, you're not... mad. Right? Nobody's mad!"

Bill stared her down for a moment longer; and then said, "Sure, kid! It's all fun and games!" He forced a laugh—and then another, longer one, hahhh, like he was exhaling all his rage. And just like that, he was back to normal. "I'll admit it—for a second there, you almost got me good! Not bad at all." He held out his hand insistently. "And now the game's over, so you're gonna give me that toy so I can neutralize it. Aren't you?"

Dipper bit his lip, looking past Bill toward the stairs. He could yell for Stan; there was no way Bill could kill them before reinforcements got here—

Mabel elbowed Dipper's side and whispered, "We can't keep it."

And she was right. Now that Bill knew about the doll, he'd be spending all his time plotting how to get past them to take it, and they wouldn't have a second's peace. Either he got it now, or he got it later. Bill wouldn't rest until the doll was out of their hands.

Because he was terrified of it. Why wouldn't he be?

"Yeah," Dipper sighed. "Game over."

"I'll get it." Mabel peeled just enough duct tape off the night stand to wiggle it open a crack and try to squeeze her fingers in. Bill stretched his hand toward Mabel, and the doll stretched an arm out of the drawer. Mabel flinched in surprise, but grabbed the arm and yanked the doll free.

"Ow." Bill grabbed his shoulder and rolled it gingerly. "Careful, kid, are you trying to dislocate my arm? I don't mind popping it back in, but eventually that socket's gonna wear out."

"Sorry! It was a tight squeeze." She held the doll over Dipper's suitcase shield. "Here."

Bill snatched it from her hand. "Thanks a million, star girl." He favored them both with his most nearly-charming, far-too-wide smile. "Good night, kiddos. Have sweet dreams."

"You too," Mabel said weakly.

Bill left. Dipper shut the door. He and Mabel both heaved a sigh of relief.

From the loft over the attic, Bartholomew called, "Is he gone?"

"What are you doing up there?" Mabel asked. "Barty-mew-mew the scaredy-cat."

"I'm not fighting that guy, I'm porcelain and he's crazy."

Dipper flopped on his bed and stared at the ceiling. "Welp. I'm gonna have nightmares about Bill chasing me up the stairs."

Mabel sat on her own bed. "He just wanted to terrify us. And to keep us from seeing we'd terrified him." She fingered the star beads on her friendship bracelet. "He wouldn't have hurt us, I'm sure of it."

"Wh—seriously? You don't think Bill—"

"I know! But he's changed a tiny bit! He'd hurt anyone else, but he won't hurt us," Mabel said. "Or—well, me, at least. But I think he'll leave you alone too if I'm with you!"

Dipper pushed himself up on his elbows to look at her. "If he'd caught us on the stairs, do you really think he wouldn't have tried to tear us apart?"

Mabel considered that; and then reluctantly admitted, "He wouldn't hurt me as long as he remembers he doesn't want to hurt me." 

"Yeah, well. I wouldn't count on him remembering when he's mad." Dipper slid under his covers and rolled over. "Barty, can you get the lights?"

"Sure, one second." All the lights and lamps in the room flickered ominously; and then, with a sinister pop, snapped off without being touched.

"Thanks, man."

Mabel didn't climb into bed. She was staring at her fingernails. She'd painted them the same colors as Bill's; but she'd used a black marker to draw spirals on his, and he'd drawn stars and sloppy tiger stripes on hers.  In the dark, the colors were all faded.

This time, just once, maybe she and Dipper were the bad guys. He might disagree—he'd actually been puppeted, maybe he saw this differently from Mabel—but that probably didn't make it okay to do it back to Bill just for fun. They should've saved the poppet for an emergency. And the cancan, she decided, was definitely too much.

She smoothed out her covers; then she pulled up her knees to her chest, hugged them, and stared thoughtfully down at Bill's face in the middle of her zodiac blanket.

####

In the dark and quiet of the downstairs bathroom, Bill sat cross-legged on the toilet lid. He held the doll in his cupped hands. Soon, he'd disassemble it—but not yet. Tonight, it was his tool. He shut his eyes and focused on it.

There was the thinnest thread of energy, channeled through his shed hair, connecting this doll to him. He studied the thread, feeling it in his mind, exploring it, strengthening it—until he could almost feel it tugging on him.

And then he started psychically groping for similar connections.

He set the doll on the floor, on top of the drawing Mabel had given him.

His other eyes—the billions of depictions of his face scattered across this planet—weren't meant to be used in this dimension. They were designed like windows he could peer through from the Nightmare Realm; here on Earth, he was on the wrong side of the windows to see through them. And he wouldn't be surprised if the Axolotl had somehow found a way to blindfold them on top of that—after all, he seemed to have done the same to most of Bill's other abilities.

But Bill was resourceful, he was stubborn, and he didn't have anything better to do.

He focused all his energy on trying to feel the drawing the same way he felt the doll, searching for a connection between this body and that face—and he searched, and searched, and searched.

He wasn't sure how long he tried. At least a couple of hours. Straining, straining—for nothing. His head hurt.

What was the difference? The doll was shaped like him, the drawing was shaped like him. What did the doll have that the drawing didn't?

The hair. A bit of his flesh.

Bill knelt over the picture, studying it in the dark. He opened an eye wide, wiped a fingertip across the surface of his eyeball to collect his tears, and pressed it to the drawing's eye.

He could feel a thread of energy stringing from his eye to the paper.

He climbed back on the toilet lid, shut his eyes, and focused on that thread. With an effort that threatened to split his head in two, he pried open his inner eye. And then he was staring up at his own human form from the drawing on the floor.

His body was shaking. His head was throbbing. He wobbled dizzily on the toilet; and as he saw himself topple off, his trance broke, the vision disappeared, and he blacked out. White spots burst behind his eyes.

When he next opened an eye, the room was spinning. He shut his eye. It was several minutes before he could sit up without being sick. He leaned against the wall and let the sweat on his forehead and cheek soak the old wallpaper.

The white spots he'd seen as he passed out were his distant all-seeing eyes. 

He'd done something tonight. That was good. But there was no way he was seeing through any other pictures like that. He needed something he could focus his power through, like an antenna.

He needed gold.

####

(Last chapter of the year!! If you enjoyed, I'd love to hear y'all's thoughts & comments! Thanks!)

[wilt1ng]

Brahms Heelshire One-Shot: PRICE TO PAY

THIS IS NSFW. 18+ ONLY.

Tw: NSFW, Mature Content, and CNC themes/dubcon

Please don't proceed forward if any of those contents make you uncomfortable.

-

The estate was much larger than you had initially anticipated. Getting inside would be all the more fun seeing as how many doors and windows there were. Having only your backpack you unzipped it to reveal a crowbar, your key to financial freedom. Word had spread a rich family had completely abandoned the estate, drawing in curiosities from thieves and criminals similar to yourself. Well, you were no criminal, merely someone desperate for a cash grab.

The front doors popped open after a few minutes of prying the metal bar between them, first try. You couldn't help but exhale with a smile as you stored the crowbar into the bag.

Too easy.

It was much bigger on the inside than what you previously imagined. As you walked inside you couldn't help but note the condition it was in despite the circumstances. Sure there were cobwebs and the air was stuffy, but it was shocking how intact it was otherwise. Countless of valuable artifacts sat untouched on wooden shelves and you were betting the jewelry box was also full of treasures. Without another second to waste you began bagging some small vases and objects which look to have some value. You left plenty of room within the bag to assure there was space for the real goodies, whether it be pearls or diamonds.

After collecting what you needed you began your journey upstairs. A large family portrait caught your eye. A mother and father sat with their young boy, their smiles seeming fabricated. You gaze at the painting, seeing the faces of the people which you were robbing caused some unease, but you pushed on forward. Making it up the stairs you notice a master bedroom with the door already wide open.

You step inside and begin looking with the bag of stolen junk in hand. After some investigating you finally came across what you were truly after. You opened a small box which sat on the nightstand. It was full of beauties like rubies, pearls, and gold.

"Jackpot."

You whispered to yourself. This was all too easy, and you wondered how it was you were the one who got there first, seeing as the area was notorious for break-ins. Without speculating it a second more, you stuffed the beloved prizes in your backpack, deciding to wear the pearls. The ambiance of the home had shifted seemingly after you had robbed the possessions. Whether it was guilt or paranoia, something just didn't feel right. You stupidly ignored the goosebumps that rose on your skin as you proceeded down the stairs. As you walked past the painting, it carried a heavier weight, as if all the faces were staring at you in anger.

You swung the heavy backpack around both shoulders and quickened your pace to the front door. Your imagination grew wild with thoughts of what you'd do with your new found treasure that you hardly noticed the figure standing in front of the entrance.

Until you did.

You immediately stopped in your tracks and gazed at the man before you.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You had been caught.

"H-hello?" You spoke. Your tone was surprisingly kind, but nervous as you hadn't expected this at all.

You immediately drop the bag off your shoulders and set it on the floor in front of you carefully, maintaining your eyes on the shadowy figure. Panic was setting in as you knew you were busted.

"I..." You spoke gently, clearly wanting to explain yourself but what exactly would you say?

"I, uh, I didn't realize anyone still came through here..."

At this point you still couldn't make out any details about the man. It was dark and the only thing illuminating him was the moonlight from behind.

"Do you live here?" You finally asked, becoming increasingly uncomfortable as he still hadn't said a word.

The figure cocked his head and for a split second you could almost make out his face. There was something uncanny about it that made your skin crawl. He wasn't answering you and you assumed for good reason, he must be pissed off you trespassed on his domain. This wasn't good. Nothing about this situation was.

On a whim you decide to rip open your bag and pull out the crowbar in which you had used to break in. You held it towards him with both hands gripping onto it tightly. He didn't like that.

"Move out of the way." You demanded, looking at the man and then the door behind him.

"I don't care about the bag, just let me leave."

Taking a brave step forward your eyebrows furrowed as you caught a better look. His once white shirt was stained in God knows what and his face was horrifically pale, as if he was wearing a mask. The sight was enough for you to gasp, dropping the crowbar as you jumped back.

He stepped forward, reaching his hand out seemingly to touch you despite the distance you made.

Fuck this.

Without another moment of hesitation you turned on your heels and bolted the opposite way. You could hardly tell if he was following behind as your eardrums were bombarded with the sound of your beating heart.

After making it up the stairs you made the mistake of looking over your shoulder, eyes widening.

The man wasted no time wrapping his hand around your throat and thrashing you towards him, as if you were a ragdoll. You could see his "face" in full if you could even call it that. He was wearing a mask, a porcelain one at that. His deranged eyes bore into your own, and they were so dark it was as if he had black eyes.

You wanted to scream badly. But you couldn't. With being petrified and the pressure around your neck, you couldn't squeak if you wanted to. Your eyes could only plead into his own, wide in terror as to what he'd do to you.

When he had decided to loosen his grip, you noticed his fingers clenching around the pearls you selfishly decided to slip on mid-robbery. Although he was mostly expressionless, you could see the fury in his eyes. The deranged man tore the beads from your neck. You watched as they fell onto the wood floor, the sounds of its impact being the loudest thing in the room.

"Bad." The man uttered softly.

His voice was hoarse, as if it was the first time he had spoken aloud in a while.

Your chest was rising up and down rapidly. It felt as if you were a mere rabbit in the midst of a heart attack. You could do nothing but stand in front of your attacker. Your eyes never left his own. His messy hair hid the whites of his eyes, adding further to your anxiety.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." You whispered to him, clenching your eyes shut. You felt as if you couldn't speak any louder.

He ignored you. Instead, he pulled you closer, keeping a solid grasp around your neck.

"You'll pay." He spoke, leaning into your ear.

"-for what you took from me."

You released a panicked breath you hadn't realized you were holding. You felt as if the wind was knocked from your lungs. The sides of your throat tightened from choking back tears, and you couldn't stop yourself from trembling.

"I-I don't have money." You began to cry softly.

"I swear I won't return. Please, I'm begging you."

He sighed, cocking his head to the side as you cried for mercy.

He brought his hand to your cheek, wiping a tear away before fixating on your lips. He swiped his thumb across them, seemingly enjoying the sensation of them.

"Kiss." The man uttered to you, almost gently.

You furrowed your brows, unsure if you had heard him correctly.

He grazed your lips once more before finally staring into your blood-shot eyes.

"A price for your freedom." He answered.

"I-I don't understand." You whimpered, feeling emotionally exerted.

He sighed disappointingly, clearly losing patience with you.

"Kiss me." He spoke again, repeating what you feared he had meant.

"Or..."

He laced his fingers into your hair abruptly, pulling it back as to gain better access into your ear.

"I'll have you."

You shuddered against his lips, which brushed against the side of your face before he returned his darkening gaze onto your own.

"I-" You sputtered, unable to even get out a sentence.

He took your hand in his and walked into the darkened living room. You obliged, following him close out of fear, seeing as you had no other choice. The man stopped in front of a tattered couch and turned to look at you, seemingly waiting for you to make your decision.

You were beyond confused and frustrated but were eventually able to put two and two together. You looked at the vintage styled couch, biting your lip in anticipation before returning your gaze to your captor.

Finally, you sat down.

He stepped to stand in front of you. Your face was mere inches from his torso. You noticed the shirt he wore no longer fit him as it exposed his happy trail and a brutal scar near his abdomen. You tilted your head to look at him. His dominating prescense was enough to strike fear in your heart.

"Kiss." He repeated.

Brahms grabbed your wrist and forced your hand onto his stomach, eventually to the hem of his pants.

You ripped your hand back from him instinctively but instantly regretted it. Brahms took you by the throat and bent down eye level. He took your hand once more and held it to an erection beneath his trousers.

"Kiss... there."

Brahms unbuttoned his trousers while maintaining his domineering stare. You felt stuck in place once again, now understanding the consequences of your actions.

Your heart was merely beating out of your chest as he pulled down his boxers, exposing his cock.

Brahms shuddered at the sight of seeing your face so close to his member. He brought his hand to your face and caressed your cheek, gently, before returning his attention to your lips.

"Kiss."

He took hold of your head and adjusted himself close. You mistakenly gasped, and he took advantage. Brahms forced his tip into your mouth, pushing further as you gagged against the intrusion against your throat.

You tried your best to fight him. You attempted to stand, but he pushed you back onto the couch. He forced you to lay down on your back as he crawled on top, just above your chest. This way, you lay immobile against his efforts. His knees sit on either side of your head as he re-adjusted his cock back into your mouth.

Brahms groaned loudly as he tightened his grasp around your hair. He was slow at first, gliding his twitching member deeper into your throat. But soon, the sensation becomes much too intoxicating, and he can feel himself losing restraint.

He grinded himself into you deeply, not taking any account for whether you could breathe or not. With a tear streaked face, you couldn't stop yourself from slobbering everywhere with the force of his cock stretching your throat.

Each of his thrusts felt suffocating as his size was blocking your airways. He'd use your throat or grab at your hair to force every inch inside. He took no shame in face fucking you into oblivion.

It had felt like hours before Brahms came close to finishing. He roughly held your face to his hips as he bucked violently into you, finally cuming down into your throat and mouth. You gagged and choked as he finally removed himself from your mouth.

He stood as you lay messily on the dampened couch. You hadn't bothered to move nor open your eyes as you desperately heaved, catching your breath.

Brahms watched as you lay there, his cock still seemingly hard.

Once you had somewhat recovered, you glanced up at the man that had violated your mouth. He brought his hand to your face, wiping away the semen from your mouth.

~

Some fucking kiss, huh?

Sorry for cutting it short. This was a mere practice to get back into things. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed it. ;)

[kenphobia]

Hellooo, therapy is expensive but reading your stories about silly puppets it's free.

So, I was wondering if I could ask for some imagines of Wally Darling (yeah, again, sorry 😭) with a s/o whose love language is giving gifts? Like, they love to shower Wally (and their other friends) in all kind of gifts no matter the time or place.

I hope that wasn't too confusing and I hope both sides of your pillow are cold.

KINDERGARDEN GAMES!

"T-a-n-g-a ka talaga, Wally." "... What—"

summary. wally is a puppet who loves his neighbors equally and cherishes them in many ways. but when his lover does gift giving more than him, he gets a bit competitive. ( headcanons / 0.9k wc / read end notes )

contents. general fluff, straight up romantic dynamic, implied filipino!wally, bits of playful Wally slander ( nsfw blogs dni )

✦ It started simple, nothing too big or fancy. When you brough him those oil pastels Wally had been eying for a while, he couldn't help but feel flustered. It's not like he haven't received gifts before, few of his neighbors love to give him little presents too, but it was different when it comes to you.

✦ Of course, he accepts with a smile and a slightly flushed face.

"Thanks, (Name)! I really, really appreciate this." Wally paused, switching his gaze from the oil pastels to you in a nervous manner. "I, um, I'll make sure to make great use of it."

You smiled, patting his hair carefully as to not accidentally deform the pompadour he spent half an hour styling and 5 whole bottles of glue. "Well, I'm glad you liked it! I have to go now though, Sally needs me with setting up her stage for tomorrow's play. See you later, Walls!"

Wally waved you goodbye, watching you leave and your figure getting farther and farther, completely disappearing as you turned a corner. He finally focused his gaze to the box in his hands, a gentle smile caressed his face.

For a short moment, He remembered how your eyes twinkled and reflected the warm light. Wally's gaze softened, humming as he went inside his house. He has an idea what to do using the oil pastels you gave him.

✦ It was sweet, Wally would say, but he wouldn't admit how he had dreames of the whole thing several times. Or well, daydreamed since he doesn't sleep. Home had a couple of incidents and scolding Wally for letting his paintbrush go and getting paint on the carpet.

✦ Wally didn't think much of it though, but appreciated it finely. That is until he received some homemade mint chocolate cookies at his doorstep. Eddie had given it to him, informing him that it came from no other than the lovely you.

✦ (Wally doesn't miss Eddie side-eying though. Sadly, not everyone can appreciate mint chocolate like Wally does.)

✦ It didn't just stop there, no, why would it? From cookies to handcrafted beaded jewelry of his favorite colors to little letters and poems to cute little doodles of you and him being pinned on his fridge everyday— Your gifts were endless and Wally wonders how could you make so much in just a span of an hour.

✦ He doesn't have the right to judge you after making multiple portraits of you and sending some of them immediately to your home. It was a lot, but after all of you wonderous gifts that kept him awake and thinking at every hour, your front porch became bombarded with many paintings.

✦ Wally started doing art in other ways too. Pottery, watercolour, jewelries, etc. He even sent a whole basket of (definitely not stolen) apples to your door! The whole gift giving suddenly became a war between who could show their affection more than the other.

✦ Eddie had to intervene because he had been delivering gifts to both your houses every single day. Doesn't bother Wally though, it gives him the advantage of simply entering your home with a key he secretly copied and stuff all of his heartfelt gifts.

✦ You did caught him one time in your room, hanging up pictures of you, some of them were mainly focused on your eyes. You aren't exactly sure how to feel about it, both the paintings and the crime he had just committed.

Arriving to your humble abode, you furrowed your brows upon finding the front door unlocked. You quickly entered inside, trying your best at staying quiet while you put your stuff down on the sofa and wanderes around your home for the intruder.

The neighborhood isn't exactly a crime-filled place, but you still can't shake off the feeling of dread bubbling in your stomach. You gripped the house keys in your hands so firmly that you swear the plastic could cut through your palm.

You neared your room, breath hitching at the sound of shuffling and murmuring. You squinted through the darkness, seeing your bedroom door wide open and the lights turned on. Quickly, you rushed closer and hoped that the intruder wouldn't hear your panicked steps.

"Oh... That wouldn't work at all. Let's try this position." A voice suddenly pierced through the silence. It was soft, warm and awfully familiar that it made bits of your dread disappear slowly.

You leaned against the wall, turning your head and peeking from the doorway. Immediately, you locked your eyes at a portrait of you sitting idly on your bed and then to the blue cardigan the stranger was wearing.

Wait a second, That's not a stranger. No, that's—!

"Wally? What are you doing here?" You voiced out, walking in as your boyfriend turned to face you. His eyes wide in surprise, nearly dropping the painting. You found yourself deadpanning at what was on the canvas, it was a painting of you and Wally unsurprisingly.

Wally smiled, albeit nervously. "O-Oh, *Mahal! You're home earlier than I expected."

You hardened your gaze, squinting at his form as you crossed your arms. "Wally, why are you in my house?"

"Well, you see, Mahal..." Wally began, putting down the painting and making it lean on the wall. "I— I will explain it to you tomorrow. Byee!"

You didn't have a chance to say anything before Wally ran up to your window and jumping out, breaking plastic glass and leaving your room in a state of disaster.

That noseless bastard.

notes. did i completely forgot abt the other neighbors? yes. do i regret it? no. sorry, howdy 😔 but yaya!!! another wally fic, turned out a bit shorter than I like and more crackshippy but that's fineee

i hope you like it tho!!! this was fun to make and i rlly tried racking my brain for any creative juice.

inbox is always open, so come on by again for more wally slander /lh

*mahal - love in tagalog

[stirringwinds]

i know people talk a lot about the us and UK special relationship but it kind of fell after the Suez and France kind of sneakily stole it didn't he? I mean did the same before the wars

thanks for the ask! ngl, as a londoner, i've always personally felt the representation of the "Special Relationship" as this mega-close and affectionate dynamic is kind of...an un-holistic understanding of the UK or England, as well as of the United States. don't get me wrong, it's one of their most important relationships and there's a lot of deep history there—my issue is mostly with rose-tinted interpretations underpinning it and what biases they showcase. these were heavily biased by Churchill's (imperialist) gaze of envisioning Anglo-American affinity and leadership on the world stage. this interpretation quite significantly downplayed the rivalry, power struggles, conflicts and differences that historians existed between the US and the British Empire, or how US presidents tended to see it in far less majestic terms. like, Churchill rather downplays FDR's vehement disagreements with him over the issue of Indian independence lol or decolonisation (because the US was eyeing the world as a chessboard, re: new markets and also whether or not support for the old colonial power would be a bulwark against or risk soviet or other communist influence).

so, while you're right that Suez was a pretty low moment in US-Britain relations due to the US being pissed at Britain and France jeopardising its ostensible goal of swaying Egypt away from the Soviet sphere of influence (sidenote: Egypt itself was trying to navigate the mess of the Cold War rivalry to secure its interests), i don't really see it as "falling" after Suez or stolen by France simply because that dynamic Churchill painted a picture of never really existed in that way. plus, Europe (France included) and the ex-colonies of the British Empire (like the dominions and India) weighed heavily on British foreign policy/its national outlook too; i tend to find an overemphasis on a rose-tinted view of the "Special Relationship" leads to a lot of US-centrism that shuts out this understanding. to me, Arthur and Alfred's relationship is most interesting when we situate them properly amidst all these other imperial and geopolitical cross-currents. of which Francis is an important one, from the time he helped Alfred during the Revolutionary War, to the Entente Cordial, WWI and the post-WWII world of NATO, the EU and so on.

in hetalia-verse, it's one of the reasons I personally headcanon Arthur and Alfred as father and son. their bond is lasting, forged by the blood, steel and saltwater of empire, and all the familial, deep and troubling implications that implies. they are "stuck" with each other in some ways, because post 1945, it's a familial dynamic of the old king and the young, ambitious crown prince who thinks his father is out of time—and out of line. francis never really "steals" anything because he and arthur's relationship is on a very different axes: francis is the neighbour who has been by arthur's side as his enemy, friend, lover, rival in imperial douchebaggery, ally (for better and also for worse, like in suez...)—and everything in between. whereas arthur and alfred have some real patricidal/regicidal, titanomachy-level father-son power struggles going on, mixed in with this dysfunctional level of understanding and them also colluding together shadily (you are different from him in many ways, there are many things he'll never understand about you—but you are your father's son, alfred; to be powerful is to be tainted).

so in conclusion, i see alfred-arthur and arthur-francis as both very important foundational dynamics crucial to arthur's character, but conceptualised differently from that understanding of the "special relationship" because they're two different kinds of relationships, even if there is the overlapping dynamic of power, rivalry and empire. ✌🏼

[mikeysbabygirl]

𝑩𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒅𝒂𝒚, 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚 <3

Warning : Minors DNI, 18+. Smut, friends with benefits who fall in love, Rindou being 100% a dom ( but he got a lil soft spot for you <3 ), his friends are pissed off 😬, unprotected sex.

Happy birthday to the man who makes my p- heart beat faster <3

AND OMG HAVE YOU SEEN HIS BIRTHDAY ART ??

Sun was long gone now, roads emptied for the beasts to walk out of their dens, but it was a rather peaceful night in that old dusty frame. The moon was at its highest peak, above the wolves walking in the parking lot of their hideout.

-" Just leave it there, i'll drive " Ran gestured toward Rindou's Mustang, and immediately, that one froze, what didn't went unnoticed by his brother. " Or you... ?"

-" Haitani ?" That was Haruchiyo this time, who initially chose the backseat of Ran's car for their guy's night, who frowned seeing Rindou's confused expression.

-" yeah uh, I'm actually kinda tired ".

Haruchiyo was the first to answer, Ran started curling a knowing sly smirk that made his brother want to wipe it off his face.

-" Ya kidding right ? It's past midnight bro, it's your fucking birthday! Hoes are waiting at your brother's club !"

Just from Sanzu's facial expressions, he could see he was pissed off. Work has been suffocating them lately and he saw in Rindou's birthday nothing but a chance to let it all out, yet that one's confused face gradually shifted into a more convinced one, and Haruchiyo already knew it was a lost cause.

-" No way, thanks bro, but I've been carburating on caffeine and four hours of sleep. "

Opening the door to his car was his last word for them, as Sanzu kept expressing his frustration by muffled words, Ran winked at his brother in a playful manner that got him rolling his eyes.

-" Have a good time " he emphasized, Rindou only ignored his obvious remarks and Haruchiyo mumbled a " you suck " before they finally left that parking lot.

The trees on the side of the road were painting the first sketches of his evergreen new favorite frame, then the outlines of your little rose colored glasses-world appeared, chasing away his blues.

Isn't pretty now, no matter how many speeches were engraved in his mind before those three usual knocks at your door, you open it, and they just fly away butterfly-in-the-tummy-like.

-" Hey you "

-" Hey you "

And isn't it pretty? You may not share the same worlds, but those mouths stole each other's words. Some stray seconds were stolen from him while you laughed slightly, and honestly he couldn't tell how it happened, but soon he found himself inside your house. The big, strong Rindou Haitani following you through your kitchen like a lost puppy.

-" You said you wouldn't come " you teased, hands on the counter and pressing your back against it. The man who faced you made a step toward you, hands in his pockets with an impassive face.

-" You said you didn't care ".

Another step toward you.

-" You told me not to ".

And through that sugar coated throwing of blames, your little smile and cute face drew him even closer, arms behind you on the counter, caging you in between his biceps.

- " Did I ?" His deep voice dropped few octaves lower, just like his purple hues gliding up and down your so close face.

-" You did. Cause you said you wouldn't come back. "

-" I won't. "

And then, you just raise your head confronting that Yakuza like nearly no one did in his whole life.

-" Then you're at my door again, insisting that friends do this, all the time. "

Rindou's finger flies to your lips, eyes wondering either does he want to kill you or to kiss you. It's been a month or two, running away from the shadows of stolen heartbeats and thoughts full of you, and now almost out of breath, his eyes look back at yours, and you steal the words away from him again.

-" Don't they ?"

You thought you didn't heard it well so much his question was whispered, and as you went for asking him to repeat, Rindou parted your legs with his knee, making room for himself between them.

-" I might be fucked up, then ?"

Your smile widens slightly, as you tease him with a " took you this long to realize ".

-" Why'd you always forget who the hell you're talking to ?" His hands previously caging you gripped your thighs, you thus found yourself sitting on the counter, trapped by his body between your legs.

-" So you always have to remind me " you shrug, and he thinks that thin line he was walking on might break anytime, under the weight of your hands now behind his neck.

-" Then remember. " And that smirk on the corner of his lips would eclipse as fast as it shone, back to that old face, cold-stone.

Rindou would brush his lips against yours, purple in his eyes burning indigo, drawing circles on your bare thighs and whisper.

-" You wanted it."

Back to watching it unfold again, like a familiar movie, or a dance learned by heart, the moves will repeat. Except, it never disappears, the magic you insufflate into his mouth, right into his beating heart, and he hates it because he feels like a teenager, but here you are again, laying on your mattress with your discarded pajamas long gone, and every fiber of his weary soul is singing now.

In all his greatness, Rindou towers above you. That Louis Vuitton shirt slowly undresses his tattooed torso, pants end no different either, and soon you're laying under that tall tattooed man whose eyes express only one thing.

You should run, you should really run.

-" somethin's wrong, love ? "

Ah yes, master in keeping his victims well tied to him, he leans over you, asserting that dominance by pinning your two struggling hands above your head.

-" Got my baby scared ?"

And you know he couldn't care less about that, lips already exploring every inch of your neck, his slightly messy hair tickling you.

-" Friends don't do this, Rin' " you're almost out of breath as you whisper, and he knocks the air even more out of your lungs when he rolls his hard on above your naked thigh.

-" won't you shut up ? Jus' lemme love you".

It only takes his steely glare, and you're cotton between his bruised hands. It's always about how your skins melt together, how chests have to keep the hearts beating against each other, how your hands never leave your fleshes even once.

And he actually figures it out when he opens the condom, and those eyes raise to look at yours, hesitation as obvious as bare in them.

-" I... Wanna feel ya 'round me. I need you. "

-" then don't. " You take the condom out of his hands and throw it away, somehow you seem not to realize you're doing so with all his fears and insecurities.

But now he's inside, inch by inch, and you think you've never seen something prettier than Rindou Haitani, throwing his head back, eyes half-lidded from bliss.

-" You're too much " you gasp at his length stretching you, and you could practically feel his grin on the kisses he lays on your neck.

-" You say that every fucking time. " And he kisses you even more when you chuckle, in fact he knows nothing of what he's doing, you seem to enslave his senses and he seems to take it perfectly. And that's why, when you ask-

-" Rin', oh fu-... Slow down ! "

He wishes he could, but you just-

-" Babe, fuckin' can't. Look how tight your pussy's taking my cock "

Not like you ever wished he would, his hips mold into you ever so perfectly, hitting a spot that soon sends you to overdrive.

-" looks... Just so fucking good when you cum 'round me, shit- quit clenching baby. "

It really is a bliss, he thinks. Watching you slowly coming down, and him, gradually flying until his hips are stuttering, until his head's nuzzled in your chest, and he's panting with your hand in his messy hair.

-" That's it, that's my man "

This must have made a mess of him, considering how he immediately wraps his arms around your hips. In fact he thinks it doesn't hurt that much when roles are switched and he's the one being taken care of.

And oh that moment again, the afterglow and the daybreak. Rindou knows when it's time to go.

The morning peeks, the light seeps and you would be asleep.

Yet... now the gap between fucking, and making love collapses in the space between your arms where he never feels too much, or not enough.

Now he's the last to fall asleep and the last to wake up, and he lasts to leave because he's got no more goodbyes up his sleeve.

And man, he thinks he doesn't know when it's time to go anymore...

In that idyllic, idiotic love story that neither of you dares to call a relationship, Rindou's the man in charge, but he's also the one running scared like a little boy, whenever you're too close to break those walls down.

He swears he tried, his bed full of someone else, dreams full of you, your scent.

Yet today, the holy morning comes and he won't go anymore, the little boy grew, tired of running away.

But the man wakes up to an empty cold bed.

If he wasn't that pissed, he would actually find it ironic...

-" where the fuck-"

-" I see the sleeping beauty never actually needed a kiss. "

It's an arcadian, picturesque sight indeed. A little cliché, it might be, but not the less breath-stealing.

You approach him, his Vuitton's shirt hanging lose on your bare shoulder with a platter of what seems like a tasty birthday breakfast, and you seem to find it funny, the idiotic fool you made of him.

-" you seem to forget that friends don't stay for the morning " you mimicked, putting the tray on the nightstand. And you barely hear his grunt before you're being pulled back on his toned bare thighs. Rindou presses you against his morning erection, and smirks hearing your small gasp.

-" you're not getting bold on me, aren't you ? Cause I'd love to tame you into the perfect lil slut for me"

He thinks he really might do, when you roll your eyes as if he sounds futile. But you just nuzzle into his arms ever so naturally, like those strong bullies are none but your comfy home and Rindou thinks he might be tamed.

-" just do. So I'd be enough, and you won't need no other slut " you playfully smile, straddling his hips.

You seem not to realize, where he could be, the thrill of giant parties and giant hangovers. But now he thrives for this stillness, the lazy morning, your soft thighs on each side of his hips, and a birthday breakfast because you remembered.

-" ain't ya cute ?" He rolls his eyes slightly. " Acting like you don't know no other bitch got me on my fucking knees. "

Another scoff of him follows. -" As if you don't know I've been dying to get ya outta my skin, but I'm so down bad for this damn smile. "

See ? That smile you're making, exactly what he was talking about. And though he's not the type to open up, finally , he lets go of the wheel, because he's done driving now.

Safe, peaceful, he found home now.

And against his lips, hands behind his neck, another heartbeat of him strays aw you whisper.

-" Happy birthday, baby. "

Help, I didn't realized how rushed and stupid this sounds until I did the proof head, but now I can't take it all back.

ANYWAYS, how you doing ? Hope you're all fine, drinking enough water and staying healthy <3

[downtherabbithole-tumbleedition]

Momento Mori, Momento Vivere

A Tom Riddle x OC Fanfiction

Remember you must die, so remember to live.

-

'Til death do we part'. For how long should such a vow be honoured? Through thick and thin, sickness and in health... but what about when her husband turns into the most sinister Dark Lord wizarding Britain has ever seen? What about when death is no longer an option for her?

What if she has to choose between the boy she raised and the man she swore to always love?

(Cross posted on A03)

It didn't take Sabrina long to decide immortality was a twisted, haunting thing. Perhaps the idea of it was appealing; living forever in the prime of your life, an untouched form of art immune to time itself... to be the very thing men waged wars over. But it should have remained an idea, a hypothetical, an untouchable wish. Would she curse such a reality on her worst enemy?

There were perks to it, of course, it wasn't so sought after for nothing. Sabrina remained perfect, pristine, barely a wrinkle in sight, her hair as shining as it always had been rather than painted white by the cruel truth of time. Those around her spent galleons upon galleons on spells, charms or potions to undo what time had done to them, to reclaim their youth, to appear even a fraction as young as she did.

A fickle and vain thing, perhaps, but she had wondered many times if she would shatter on the inside if her beauty was stolen from her. It wasn't something she had always had, certainly not gifted to her from birth... People who have been beautiful their whole lives do not know what it's like to be unwanted, so they have no fear of being ugly. But when good looks are gained through age, one grips onto them to the point of claw marks.

But no mortal set the world on fire for youth, no, they wanted to evade death himself.

That was the point, wasn't it? The only reason Sabrina was immortal was because someone decided they couldn't bear to see her die; a selfless act, one would believe, but Sabrina knew she was only alive out of pure selfishness, the refusal to grieve her.

Death wasn't evil, he was a gift. Mortals have a lifespan for a reason, after all. There is only so much loss and grief a heart can take before it breaks, perhaps it still pumped blood into her veins and kept her body functioning, but the pitiful organ had died many years before... one too many corpses, few too many smiles. Sabrina had certainly thought she was immune to death, that the news of a friend going cold could no longer pull on her severed heart strings.

But they were so young.

Lily and James Potter had been some of her favourite students - Lily with her brilliance, James with his mischief. Sabrina really did not believe herself to have a maternal bone in her body, but even she couldn't deny the tender spot the two had carved for themselves in her heart. Green eyes, wild black hair... She loved the two like her children.

And they were gone, their souls cast away from their bodies with only a simple green spell, all because of a crazed man and a stupid prophecy. Something she could have prevented perhaps, had she tried hard enough.

So, no, Sabrina did not consider immortality to be a blessing or something worth destroying worlds for, not when she had witnessed every person she had ever loved die or fall to ruin. It was a terrible, inevitable thing - better to not love at all than have your heart beaten and abused.

“Sirius Black has been found guilty of conspiring with the Dark Lord.”

That was just salt in the wound, the blood leaving Sabrina’s face quickly enough to rival a ghost. She’d thought she was going mad when Albus first told her or that he was playing some twisted joke on her, but there was not a trace of humour on the old man’s face.

“You don’t actually believe that, do you?” Sabrina questioned him, tone drowning in disbelief, grip almost tight enough to break the delicate tea cup.

Albus was silent, no longer even sparing her glance - the old man had always been impossible to read but she figured it was either grief or guilt, granted the two often went hand and hand for the puppeteer that was Albus Dumbledore.

Sabrina fought tooth and nail to prove Sirius’ innocence, revealing every card she had available, pulling every trick she ever knew, anything to save him from such a fate. But without Albus vouching for him, it was basically useless.

There was still that horrible feeling in her stomach, that sickening sludge of guilt and mourning - a sensation she didn’t know was possible until Sirius looked at her with those grey eyes, usually so dauntless, laced with tears and fear. He’d wrapped himself around her like a child running to their mother after hearing a scary story, as if he believed she could protect him. She had failed him and lost a third child.

Sabrina didn’t want to see Albus, not after what he’d done (or failed to do), but there was still a question lingering on her tongue. Truth be told, she didn’t want to ask it; knowing would only lead her to complications and remorse, until the guilt inside of her became too much and overflowed to impulsive actions of sympathy.

Still, it had to be asked.

“What of the boy?”

Harry James Potter, only a year old and somehow the catalyst for so much tragedy. But oftentimes a catalyst is never willing to be part of destructive schemes.

Surprisingly, Albus told her the truth about Harry (perhaps that should have been her first sign that something was amiss because the man was hardly ever truthful), but she almost wished she hadn’t known. His honesty had done nothing to ease the growing rage inside of her, only adding fuel to flame.

He didn’t put up a fight when she said she wouldn’t allow Harry to grow up in such an environment, not before she ensured it was safe with her own eyes.

It wasn’t.

On the surface, the Dursley’s seemed like a lovely family. White picket fence, loving marriage, healthy son they spoiled rotten - muggles often examined things at a surface level, leaving well enough alone lest they pry into something ugly. But Vernon and Petunia Dursley held a sinister secret, and it was the screaming baby they left in the upstairs bedroom.

Sabrina wasn’t certain how such a noise didn’t alert the entire neighborhood, but she supposed the eighties weren’t so different from the forties; people swept things under the rug, ignored them unless they were right in their face. Maybe the Dursley’s neighbors willingly ignored the neglected baby boy, or perhaps they did not care enough to hear in the first place.

She lost her breath when she saw him; forest green eyes, hair as black as night… An unforgettable scar that was sure to cause him a lot of harm as he grew older.

Sabrina had promised herself she would finally harden her heart to the world, but how could she when the boy in front of her was innocent to the world, when his only crime was being born? Would she be any better than Albus Dumbledore if she simply allowed him to suffer his entire life?

Having already made up her mind, Sabrina gently cradled the boy, silently promising to never let any harm befall him.

She didn’t know how difficult it would be to keep such a promise.

[themonotonysyndrome]

hello my lady i hope you’re doing well!

i love the idea of a lovesick castin pining after the baroness when the two of them were still icy after the lingerie incident

i find the idea of rhett trying to trick both of them to be around each other to be so funny

like he hosts a dinner and suddenly castin and the baroness are across from each other

rhett takes baroness for a walk just where castin is training

etc etc like forced proximity

and i adore the idea of rhett being able to notice how much castin is falling for her

like he sees how his eyes follow her, how he hangs on to every word she says even if it’s angry, how he looks longingly at her from across the room.

any headcanons for this??

I do you one better, Anon. Here's a short oneshot dsnjfksdkjf

-

"Ya know, at times like this, I can't tell which one of us is the Water Ascendant."

And just like that, Rhett is startled out of his musing. He whips his head to the side to find his beloved standing tall and proud, wearing a simple attire consisting of a pair of black riding pants and a white blouse instead of the royal regalia. However, the dark amethyst hairpin on her luscious red curls immediately gives away her status as the reigning Queen of Intacia.

And Rhett's one true love.

For a moment, his breath is stolen from his lungs when Isolde smirks like a cat who stumbled upon a cornered mouse. "You have dark clouds hanging around your head, Rhett. If I didn't know any better, I'd be hauling my fine ass back inside before you roll in the storm."

Despite the nonchalant lilt of his wife's tone, Rhett captures the underlying concern -

'Are you OK?'

"Forgive me. I didn't mean to worry you," Rhett assures her. When he reaches out his hand, the King smiles softly when Isolde rests her on his palm. Rhett then leans forward to kiss her knuckle. "Do we have any plans together today?"

"Nah, we don't so you can chill. But..." Here, Isolde's eyes travel to where, or rather, who has captured her husband's every thought so thoroughly. Her smirk grows impossibly wider. "I guess I can join you on your Castin watching."

Rhett immediately stammers. Words spill out of his mouth as he clumsily does his best to string them together to form something that doesn't sound like an excuse for why he's sneakily watching his best friend from afar, crouching here on one of the Palace's balconies.

The morning sun is shy behind thick clouds - white instead of dark grey. A perfect day to go on a horseback ride. Far across the field, near the stable, Baroness Anesidora had the same idea.

...And sitting on an inconspicuous tree branch is Commander Hammer. His back isn't facing the royal couple so Isolde and Rhett could see the longing painted on his handsome face.

Isolde pursed her lips. Annoyance is evident. "I don't understand your bestie at all, Rhett. What gives him the right to look like some lovesick puppy after what he did to Celly?"

Rhett sighs. Mentally, he's blaming himself for not assuring Castin that he and Lilia love him and help him through his insecurities that dogged his heels ever since their childhood. While he's proud of the man that his best friend has become, Rhett is also saddened that Castin is still afraid to accept his true self.

"Castin... Castin is a complicated man underneath that cocksure swagger of his," Rhett begins. "I cannot speak on his behalf, but I will still apologise that his actions hurt the Baroness. I know how much she means to you."

"I'm the wrong woman you should apologise to, Rhett. It's not just Castin in that line; you put Celica in a difficult situation during her debut. Conqueror, if I wasn't needed at the harbour to calm the waves that night for the visiting ships, I would've been there with you." The Queen Ascendant tsked. She then shakes her head in resignation. "But hey, Time Ascendants aren't a thing, and shit's already happened. So. How are you planning to fix that?"

Rhett turns to where his wife is pointing, and he immediately wants to lowkey die.

The Baroness is currently having a heated argument with Castin. Ah, shit. She must've caught Castin spying on him. And his reactions? An embarrassing mixture of fluster and vehement deflections.

" - does the Commander of an entire army have so much time on his hands? Or are you already out of the job this quickly?"

"I wasn't stalking you! News flash, Your Grace, you don't own the stable. A-And besides, I was here first - minding my own business until your fine ass decided to be a busybody."

"Excuse me?"

"Flat ass! I said you have a flat ass!"

"Excuse me!?"

"Your bro is an utter embarrassment," Isolde comments, baffled, while Rhett groans and hides his face in his hands. He's not watching as the Baroness verbally tear Castin a new asshole. Rather than upset, Castin is just starstruck. "I'm now convinced that you were totally lying when you said that Castin used to drown in mad pussies 'cause the fuck is this?"

"We need to fix this." Rhett suddenly declares, resolute. Not unlike that day when he decided to overthrow the previous ruling monarchs of Intacia.

"I'm sorry, who is this 'we'? Is that your new friend? 'Cause you could use one, to be honest."

"My love, please, look at him!" Rhett ignores Isolde's teasing to point at the scene below. The Baroness is saddled up on a mare, and Castin is chasing after her on his own horse - yelling at her to slow down before she falls off and causes a political incident. In retaliation, the Baroness is also yelling at him to leave her alone. "Castin is in desperate need of all the help he can get. Think about it - if we can have him and the Baroness in one private room, I'm certain he would apologise and perhaps they can even get to know each other properly."

As usual, Rhett is slowly getting ahead of himself. Sweep away by his plans, he could have the two play a game where they can trade titbits about each other. Yes, yes - an ice-breaker game is perfect! He can even supervise the two at a distance to ensure everything goes smoothly.

"I know that look on your face, baby. You're scheming again. You're so lucky you're cute you know." Isolde pretended to huff because, deep down, she couldn't deny the genuine yearning and lingering glances she caught Castin throwing at the Baroness when he thought no one was looking. This isn't anything like those lustful gazes or selfish, calculating stares from the Nobles back in the Empire. Whether Castin realises it or not, he's truly fallen in love with her best friend.

And Baroness Celica Anesidora deserves to have her happily ever after. Deserves to have someone who can keep up with her. And if that person so happens to be Castin Hammer...

"Does that mean?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm in. I'll ease Celica into hanging out with Castin. Somehow. Tell your boy not to screw up this time."

"You are my Goddess, Isolde." Rhett excitedly kisses his Queen's forehead and lips. Deep and so, so grateful that he has her melted in his arms. "Don't worry, I'll be sure to tell him to behave himself this time. You can count it."

-

Aaannddd if y'all know what went down in Castin's Prologue audio... yeah 😂

[color-cacophony]

I was going to make a Big Official Review Post about Rayman in the Phantom Show but I don't really have enough complete thoughts to make something comprehensive and organized, but I still want to share some points from my experience with it so uhhh without further ado, here's a bunch of thoughts on what dazzled me and what I thought could have been done better.

Here I go...

I'll start with the stuff that bugged me first because I don't like to end on a bad note:

I think the biggest issue is that giving the player the option to complete each set in any order diminishes the opportunity to have a linear story. Without a series of events building up to the finale, the actual climax doesn't feel as grand or substantial as it should be (it definitely feels like a few lines were cut from the moments before Phantom's first verse with how abruptly it starts). It would have felt more immersive to see actual scenes of the heroes trying to play their roles and have more varied quests based on puzzles or even characters and dialogue (like the search for Sweetlopek's stolen axe), all whilst gradually putting the pieces together that they were led into a trap.

Speaking of putting the pieces together, it would've paid off to have Beep-0 learn from his own arrogance in the past instead of repeating his assertion that he knew what Phantom was up to all along. That part made me kind of sad because I really like Beep-0 and it seemed like they were setting him up to eventually become less uptight and more open to admitting his mistakes, which would be more satisfying and obvious!

As we all know, Beep-0 isn't the only one who repeated himself. I remember an exchange I had with @randomrabbidramblings about our predictions for what would happen in the climax; they were hoping the final showdown with Phantom would not be redundant with his first encounter, having the same battle gimmick as before. Unfortunately that is, in fact, what they ended up doing. While framing it as Phantom being unoriginal or making a callback helps it a little bit, ultimately it made me feel let down (although I love Beep-0's delivery when he reiterates his line from Kingdom Battle. he means business).

As for the aftermath of the battle, I want to know where Phantom went. There doesn't seem to be any sign of him anywhere in the studio. It's really odd, given how this was supposed to be his grand comeback (alongside Rayman, of course), but we don't get even a simple explanation of what happened to him after he was defeated for the second time, unless I missed something. I presume this is his last major appearance in a game (unless they decide to do something completely different with him in the distant future??? wishful thinking but not ruling it out!), so it's a strangely underwhelming and mysterious send-off to our beloved ghostly diva. I would have been bummed that we didn't get lore paintings for him, but the memory entry summarizing his surprisingly short-lived career actually made me laugh and honestly, the thought of him only releasing one album and becoming so well-known just because he's notoriously a huge jerk and a producer of incredibly terrible films is so in-character for him.

Another choice I found unusual was the lack of any explanation as to how he got his voice back, since it's been established that he screwed it up by overdoing it. Although, they must have dismissed it knowing that not everyone is going to find the mural containing the only source of that detail. His voice could have healed over time anyway, but it just doesn't entirely make sense that they don't acknowledge it at all (I did see @bramble-scramble 's post mentioning a detail @randomrabbidramblings pointed out where a gramophone can be seen in a box in the studio's control room and it is supposedly the one Phantom replaced with a new one when he messed it up, but even if that's true, it's still a bit easy to miss).

I understand that a lot of these issues were due to restraints since it's only a DLC and they could only fit so much in, but that goes to show that this concept is a little too big for a DLC, but not quite big enough for a full game.

Now, for the things I loved...

I must give massive props to the artists and animators for taking reference from multiple Rayman games and essentially making the pinnacle of his goofiness. Rayman was HIGHLY entertaining to see (and listen to, thanks to David Gasman) and very lovable in this! And the way his dynamic with Rabbid Peach and Rabbid Mario changes up until the end where he becomes friends with them and realizes that he can work with the Rabbids now instead of against them it's just 🥺 awgh... It feels cheesy to talk about it but it really does make me happy now that Rayman has a chance to be an equal to the Rabbids and have something resembling a mutual understanding.

I appreciate them bringing back characters from the main game and giving them their own sets. Fittingly enough, it's like a curtain call for the final installment of SoH.

The return of Beep-0's swearing. SERIOUSLY IT'S SUCH A SMALL THING BUT IT DELIGHTED ME

The studio's lobby is gorgeous. Absolutely STUNNING I love all the details and the music notation motifs on everything.

Honestly the rest of this is just going to be me gushing about Phantom hehehe...

First of all, I was completely awestruck at the decision to give him a swing/jazz sequence because I love the aesthetic of the whole sassy big band musical number kind of thing so when I saw that Phantom was going to do that I went INSANE. The animation in the song sequences is absolutely top tier. Phantom is ALL OVER THE PLACE, very charming, very energetic. The swing bit made me realize just how unbelievably coordinated he is. Like when he's zipping and spinning around the stage and it doesn't affect his singing at all? Holy crap. Then, I went even MORE insane when rock/metal Phantom showed up. I would have wanted a verse in that style too, but I get that it was cut because it would mess up the pacing of the battle.

I love Phantom's inability to contain his excitement at the start of the battle, his annoyed lines when you destroy the lights, his smug remarks even when he's taking damage. He's just so- I'm just gonna say it- so freaking cute in this! His line deliveries in general made me fall so hard for him, especially "were you EVER a thing, Rayman?". The way he drops his voice sounds so cool...

Regarding his abilities, I thought they were going to explain why he could turn people to stone in Kingdom Battle, but they simply took that detail away. I don't have a big problem with this, as the Stone Deaf ability could have been part of the Megabug's influence (and it makes him at least a bit less OP lol). I'm also satisfied to finally know that he can indeed phase through things like any other ghost and isn't limited to just teleporting.

His death acting has definitely improved since last time, in that it's silly and makes me smile instead of just making me feel embarrassed lol.

So uummmm yeah that's all the noteworthy stuff I can think of! Overall I thought the DLC was delightful during my playthrough, but after I finished it I felt kind of sad because it just didn't feel "thorough". However, given that Sparks of Hope generally improved on so many aspects from the last game, I'm confident that they'll keep adding and experimenting with more characterizations and scenarios and make something even better if they decide to continue with Mario + Rabbids. And even if they don't, we'll always have the amazing fans to continue the story and put even more wonder into this wild crossed-over universe!

Anyway, thank you for reading through this highly disorganized rant/gush! And while I'm at it, thank you to everybody in the Mario + Rabbids community for making such amazing art and just being here to share our love for the series. That means thank you to @randomrabbidramblings @bramble-scramble @salamifuposey @hostess-of-horror @phandrow @pastelprince18 @critterzone13 @hostdoozy @majorpepperidge and more! You guys are super cool and I appreciate you even though I've never directly interacted with all of you, hehe. I suppose all I have left to say is goodnight, so goodnight/day everyone! Until next time I decide to dump more nonsense onto your dashboard :D

[darrens-toyhouse]

Oh, Mr. Policeman!

Estevan Aguliar, Morgan Grantz and the town/city, East Armeira belong to @mrboogerlip

This is just a little fanfic/gift fic on how Estevan and Milo met! Nothing more!

~~~

"Now that that's done, I can head back home!"

Wiping his tears away, the young man got off the ground, dusted off the dirt and gravel of his skirt before turning around and heading back to his shithole apartment. It's been weeks since he last been outside in the summer heat so he was feeling a bit sweaty and dizzy, maybe he should've picked a better time to see his friends, or maybe he shouldn't have gone outside at all?

No. No! He needed to get out this time! Get some air and feel the sweet summer light on his skin, even if the light did hurt his eyes a bit after being cooped up inside for so long.

As the young man adjusted his glasses and walked downtown and back into the quiet city, he sighed as he walked passed a couple of teens smoking cigarettes and drinking what seemed to alcohol straight from several unlabeled bottles. They were all wearing baggy pants and lose shirts with the exception of one, a young girl, who wore a tank top and low-rise jeans, she even wore hoop earrings that matched her white shirt.

He shifted his eyes towards the group to get a better look at them and chuckled to himself.

It made him feel nostalgic...

Sometimes he wished he could just go back to being a teenager, a little gangsta hooligan with no future ahead of him in sight, sitting outside a disheveled, rundown, abandoned, house covered in graffiti and trash, drinking that good ole' blue freeze with his buddies while the most irritating rap blasted in the background.

Glance after glance as he walked, the teens continued to laugh, joke, cuss up a storm and cough up their lungs before washing all that tar with straight warm booze. No one could stop them now, they probably thought.

No one expect the police...

As soon as he heard those sirens blare and the red and blue lights blind his eyes, the man steady hid behind the small claustrophobic alleyway between two neighboring apartment homes, hiding his hands behind his back as if he were a kid again, hiding a stolen can of spray paint after spraying someone's car or worse a baggy of drugs.

Peeking out from behind the corner, the man adjusted his glasses and gasped silently as he watched the teens laughter fade ruther and ruther and be replaced with sighs of worry, annoyance and anger as the police car drover closer and closer before finally, parking right next to them!

One teen hurriedly got up, fist clenched and ready but was immediately pulled back by another as the officer stepped out.

He was wearing the typical bright blue uniform barley hidden behind a dark blue vest which matched his hat and pants, there was also a belt tied straight to his waist in which he carried a gun and taser, and a gold badge strapped to the right side of his chest.

The man pondered about the outfit as it was very VERY unusual for AcersVille police who often wore a dark black shirt and black vest, driving around in their white and black cars, a gun mostly already in out of their belts and a little walkie talkie in their upper vest pockets to be wearing something so...off? Maybe the times have changed?

It wasn't until he looked a little bit more closer at the cop car itself. It was blue, a deep dark blue that on the right side of the car read in big bold letters, EAST ARMEIRA PD.

The man gulped, "East Armeira?"

East Armeira, the large yet bustling city where everyone truly lived happily, and even if some had their own dark past or secrets to hid, it still didn't stop them from enjoying life in their own city unlike the people of AcersVille.

Yet it was still a shocking surprise that someone from a city so bright and full of hope would even come down here. Not to mention, the fact AcersVille often closed itself off constantly from outside cities, such as blocking the only entrance in the springtime.

Some of the teens gave the officer a stern look of pure rage while some showed faces of guilt, others showed shame. They knew that each and everyone of them all had a history with the law at such young ages and couldn't afford to go back to jail, after all those bottles of alcohol were not cheap.

The police officer shifted his eyes down at the multiple cigarette buds on the ground and then towards the bottles of alcohol, and shook his head in disbelief.

He had been told way back at his time at East Armeira Police Academy about on how troubled AcersVille teens were and how the police there were struggling to keep things under control but to see it for himself now, it truly was ridiculous! He didn't understand why the East Armeira police department was so ready to head into AcersVille and help parole it, even if it was for a very small amount of time, but now he knew why they were also so hesitant to deal with it's citizens in the first place.

It was almost like they knew the happy-cheerful smiley face façade was just that...a façade!

"What are you little rascals doing out here in the blistering heat, huh? I see you guys got some cigarettes on you."

He turned his attention back to the booze, "A couple of drinks too? Wow! You kiddos have homework right? Why not instead do that instead of being on the streets? It's more safe!"

He gave the teens a warm smile, assuring them he wasn't going to arrest nor hurt them. They were just some juveniles, AcersVille juveniles, but juveniles for sure. All they needed was someone to swerve them on the right path!

"Homework? You think WE got homework!?!"

One of the teens spat on the police officer's shoe, it was the girl! She held up her fist and started going off!

Even though, she was smaller then her male friends, she seemed to have a very smart mouth, a nasty attitude and heavy anger issues on top of being drunk out of her mind and as she stumbled, her hoop earrings swayed side to side each time, her friends desperately trying to hold her back.

"Why don't you fuck off! We ain't do shit!"

One of the boys put a hand on the girl's shoulder, trying to comfort her by saying her name and when that didn't work, he spoke up in a clear tone.

"Come on, let's just back head to the park."

Yet the girl still flat-out refused to listen!

She began to cuss even louder at the officer about how she didn't do anything even though they were technically drinking, smoking and causing a ruckus. And when the officer asked them were did the booze and cigarettes even come from and if they stole it, that's when the teens all got defensive, leading to a knife being pulled out.

The man hiding from behind the corner knew where this was going and quickly ran over to the police officer and declared that it him, who purchased their stolen drugs before then looking back at the confused teens and then back at the officer, hands slightly up as he faked a guilty look.

"It was me, officer."

His voice softened slightly. He shifted his eyes to the now cowering teens and reassured to them that everything was going to be okay, if they complied, before swiveling back to officer, his face even more guilty then before.

"I-I was the one who bought them the cigarettes and booze."

The officer raised an eyebrow, a look of confusion painted his face as he turned his view back to the teens who nodded hesitatingly.

"I see. Well guess you little rascals are off the hook."

The officer then pulled out a pair of cold sliver cuffs and cleared his throat. He hand cuffed the other adult and sighed.

"As for you, madame, you're coming with me."

The officer escorted the young man, or who he perceived to be a young women, into the back of his car before he turned back to the group of trouble making teens and gave them a disappointed glare. He knew that at the end of the day they were just teenagers but something else told him, they would never change their ways.

As he closed the back passenger door and made his way over to the driver seat, he looked down at the other adult and frowned.

"You didn't have to lie for them you know, miss. They're just some hooligans."

He looked up at the teens who were now spray painting the building they had been sitting in front of and rolled his eyes. As someone who had grown up to follow all of his mother's rules and work extremely hard to get were he was, it practically disgusted him. Such troublesome behavior that could never be fixed.

"Before you know it, they'll all be dead by tomorrow anyway."

The other adult simply chuckled in response and looked up at the officer with a look of pure emptiness and replied in a soft, yet dead toned voice,

"Then let today be their tomorrow."

×××

Past BlueBird Rode and down MaryLane, the two finally made it to the broken down apartment complex that was completely covered in trash, littering not only one balcony but multiple. There was even an old roach infested, bloodstained mattress sitting outside which let off a strong musty stench in the heat.

The police officer covered his noise as he parked his car in front of the apartment and got out in a hurry.

While he did not want to judge, he just had to blurt out,

"You live here, miss?"

To which the other man nodded, "Better than the rode we just past. I would never go back to living down BlueBird Rode again! To many prostitutes at night down there and to think people still raise their kids to grow up in this city."

The only thing the officer could say to such as response was a simple, nervously confused, "Oh?"

The young man let out a cute, soft giggle at the officer's wariness, "Hey, how about I offer you some tea? You look a little scared, Mr. Policeman!"

"D-do I?"

"Mm-hm! My treat! Now come on!"

Before the officer could say anything else, he was immediately pulled by the arm and lead up a couple of stairs, each hallway they past smelled like smoke, cigarette buds and dust littered the black carpeted floors and the mold in the corners had started to blend with the carpet. Each door they had past was either busted slightly open, scratched up with chalk from the kids who lived here or in the case of one, blown up with bullet holes.

The only door that didn't look tattered up or had mold and cigarette buds everywhere, was the only one with a slightly faded but readable number, apartment 208!

The police officer watched the other unlock the door and swing it open, causing a loud THUMP to be heard, followed by the sound of shattered glass as a picture had suddenly fallen off the wall.

While the apartment looked to be squeaky clean there was still some things that looked off.

There were slight cracks in the wall, dirty dishes piled up in the sink, small bits of crumbs and paper accumulated in some corners of the living room, and the dinning room, which was cramped right next to the living room couch was dusty beyond belief and looked like it hadn't been touched in years.

"Sorry if it's a bit dusty and dirty, I wasn't really expecting a visitor."

The other man snickered and pulled over a chair, "Please by all means take a seat, Mr. Policeman! I'll be right back, okay?"

The officer did as he was told and sat down, taking off his hat and fanning himself with it. Was this really was the hottest summer yet? Or maybe he was just uncomfortable? He never knew the city was this bad after all! Sure, rowdy, rebellious teens was one thing but this? This was a living nightmare!

As soon as he finished his tea, he would leave and head back home immediately and report back to his boss, the chief of police, Morgan Grantz! AcersVille was clearly NOT the city that needed to be protected by outsiders!

The officer gulped and turned his attention back to the cracks in the wall and adjusted his collar.

"So, if you don't mind me asking, miss, how long have you lived here? This places looks a bit-"

"Shabby? Yeah, I know. The last people that lived here left it a hot mess, hence the cracks. I've been trying to find another place to say but there really isn't a safe place to go."

When the man came back, he was holding a small tray that had two cups of tea diligently placed on top of it. He carefully sat the tray down on the table, and sat across from the officer.

He picked up his cup of tea by the handle and frowned, "Everywhere's the same..."

The officer shifted his eyes to the single cup om the tray and picked it up, taking a small sip. He was curious so he finally popped out the question that was truly on his mind, "Can't you just leave?"

The other man in the room got quiet.

"Leave?"

A long, awkward pause.

"No. I can't just leave. I was born here."

The officer shrugged and sat his cup down, "So? I was born in East Armeira, but that doesn't mean I have to stay, even if it is my home."

"Y-you wouldn't get it..."

"Get what? That this city is a extremely disheveled? Unsafe even?"

The man bit his lip and fiddled with the rim of his cup, "It's complicated..."

Another long awkward pause.

The young man adjusted his glasses and looked up at the officer, now curious.

"What's East Armeira like anyway, Mr. Policeman?"

"I don't really know how to explain it that well, miss. It's a very nice place, nicer than here anyway. Everyone gets along, everyone knows everybody, it's perfect!"

The man raised an eyebrow, he had never heard someone describe a city as perfect before.

"Really?"

"Sorta. Crime exist but its mostly petty theft. Nothing really too serious, ya know."

When the police off took another sip, the other man's eyes started to sparkle with curiosity! He began to question the officer about everything he knew about East Armeira. Like what were the people or if they had a mall? Did they also have a nightly carnival like they did over here? The possible amount of questions was endless!

And each time the officer would answer, giving out what he knew from a personal perspective of growing up in such a wonderful town! And each time he did, the man's eyes got even more filled with curiosity and he began to ask even more questions.

"Oh I see! Maybe one day I can come and visit you, Mr. Policeman!"

The officer let out a light chuckle followed by a warm smile as he sat his empty cup down on the tray, got up and put his hat back on.

"Oh please, call me, Estevan! Estevan Aguliar!"

"Estevan? That's a very funny name!"

"Oh? Then what's your name, miss?"

The nam hesitated at first even backing away in the process. He swore he would never give his name out to anyone else ever again, especially not a police officer but since Estevan seemed very very kind and extremely sweet, he broke his vow.

He cleared his throat and let out a hushed sigh.

"...Milo Campbell. Milo J-Josiah Campbell. Though you can just call me Milo..."

The officer blinked then let out a mean snicker, "You look a lot more like a Lily or a Charlotte, miss."

Milo was about to say something but kept his mouth shut once Estevan checked his watch and shook his head. He gave Milo another warm smile and started to head back home.

"Guess I have to go, Ms. Campbell! Thanks for the tea by the way, it was delicious!"

Milo smiled back, "Oh, no problem! Feel free to stop by anytime, Mr. Policeman!"

Estevan let out a light laugh as he headed out the door and back to his car, only to see it completely vandalize with gang graffiti. An annoyed sigh escaped his lips as he rolled his eyes abd walked over to the driver's seat and scooted his way inside.

The last thing he saw was Milo. Standing by the window, waving goodbye.

~~~

Sorry @mrboogerlip if Estevan is written out of character I tried my hardest to say in character but I always end up picturing him as a serious yet stern guy with a sensitive soft side XD

And sorry if I got East Armeira wrong too! I have no idea what the town or city is suppose to be like but I imagine it's a big city/town with lots of people who are very very sweet and are easy to get along with but the town itself also has some very dark stuff like the whole Correa Family!