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toomanystoriessolittletime · 13 days ago

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Sweet Dreams

Summary: For you it was just a very intense wet dream, clearly never thinking a candle you bought at an occult store would give you the best orgasm you had ever experienced. For Dave York, cursed to fuck whoever lit said candle, you were a willing virgin waiting for him to take you.

Pairing: Ghost!Dave York x fem. reader

Wordcount: 2.5k

Rating: E

Warnings: non con/ dub con (I don't know how to tag this, reader thinks it's a dream, but it's really ghost Dave fucking her), smut (oral sex m+f receiving, unprotected sex), ghost cumplay, dream sex but not really, dirty talk, losing virginity, spooky stuff, candles (do not light candles and then go to bed!)

Shout out @clawdee for the idea with the cursed candle. Otherwise this whole thing would be even weirder lol

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Main Masterlist // Dave York Masterlist

Dave York had been watching you the moment your fingertips touched the candle at the little occult store you had been in.

He still had no idea who the fuck whoever cursed him knew who his next, let’s call them unknowingly willing partner, was, nor did he know how this all started.

One moment he was on top of a tower trying to kill that Fucker Hall, the next moment he found himself in a dark bedroom, his nose filling with the scent of sandalwood and cherry with a fucking hard on from hell with nothing on his mind but sinking into whatever hole was made available to him.

Hell.

Yeah maybe that was who cursed him.

Cursed him that the moment one of that cursed fucking scented candles were about to be lit, his body would become a vessel for all the dirty things those mostly not so innocent minds dreamed up, and he was only able to stop once he fucked his cum so deep inside of them, he became a part of them.

And it was always on fucking Halloween. Maybe it had to do with ghosts being able to walk the earth or some shit like that.

It’s not like he got a training at being a fucking ghost. (You get it? A fucking ghost… anyways)

He remembered the first time he had come back, he remembered the blonde woman he had fucked and he remembered not being able to stop. Like he would died (pun intended) if he did not fuck her in positions he hadn’t even tried out before until he passed out.

It’s like everything he did was controlled by someone or something. He just thought it easier to imagine it was the person who lit the candle who was controlling their little fuck session.

The longer he stayed dead, the better he got at influencing their wet dreams.

He had fucked them all.

Young women, old women, young men, old men, very old men, trans men and women.

Married women with their husbands sleeping next to them while he fucked their wife in ways they would only dream of.

And they were none of the wiser.

When they woke up after he fucked them for hours, after he blew out the candle (which the dad side of him saw as a fucking fire hazard, I mean who lights a candle and then goes to bed?) and went back to wherever he was until someone else lit one of those candles again, they only thought they had a super intense wet dream.

He long gave up on trying to figure out why his dick seemed get hard the moment a fucking candle got lit. Or how it worked. Or who chose who would got one of those candles. By now he was just enjoying the ride. (Or to get ridden, preferably reverse ;-)

I mean, who in their right mind would think a cursed ghost would appear after they bought and lit a sex dream candle at an occult store and fucked them all night?

But you…. He could tell you were special.

You were wearing a long black dress, a pointy black hat, a witch costume he realised, laughing about something the two girls who were with you were saying, reading out the instructions written on the glass of the candle out loudly.

„For hundreds of years the ingredients of this candle have been the same, sandalwood, cherry and some magical extra ingredients that will turn your deepest fantasies into a night full of pleasure,“ she read out loud.

You looked shy, arguing about spending money on a shitty candle just because there’s some silly line written on it.

„Do it for the orgasms,“ your one friend grinned and Dave could see how you were fighting with yourself.

„Imagine you experience such a good wet dream, you think you lost your virginity,“ your other friend whispered, making you slap her arm with a scandalised gasp before all of you giggled.

A virgin.

It had been some time since Dave got to fuck one of those.

Since he didn’t know how long he actually had been doing whatever the fuck he was doing, he only had a vague memory, but he thought it was at least some years ago.

His encounters all blurred together after a while.

He still watched you as you reread the writings on the candle before you brought it to your nose to inhale the scent.

„Fine. I am buying the sex dream candle,“ you sighed with a chuckle and he watched you go up to the counter any pay, his cock twitching.

He stayed back as you left the store, still none of the wiser about what was gonna happen once you chose to light the candle and go to sleep. He only stayed long enough to watch you walk down the street before he disappeared again, waiting for your call.

Which came eventually.

Dave was standing at the feet of your bed, watching you sleep, the candle lit on a dresser not too far away.

He was pleased to find you alone in bed, having thought of all the ways he wanted to have you ever since he had seen you in the store.

While partners sleeping next to his intended partner weren’t a problem, the candle seemingly taking care of doing whatever it was that it was doing also knocking them out, he preferred to be alone in the bed while he fucked his partner.

Letting his fingertips brush over your soft bedsheets, he closed his eyes, his clothes gone when his eyes opened again, his cock hard and already leaking.

He wanted nothing more than to pull your bedsheets away and sink into your virgin pussy, but decided that he wanted to take his time with you.

Ever so slowly he got onto your bed, crawling until he was hovering over your face, his head tilting to the side as he watched you.

He wondered if you would scream if you’d wake up right now. If you would slap him, scratch him, trying to get him off of you.

And deep down Dave knew that you would.

If you would wake up as normal you right now, he would be fucked.

But he knew the only part of your brain that would wake up during the next hours was the part that was absolutely feral and horny and ready to get fucked.

He smirked, leaning down, his nose brushing over your cheek as he inhaled your scent deeply, chuckling to himself when he felt you shiver.

He sat himself up, kneeling above you, your legs between his, pulling at your sheets until the only fabric separating his skin and yours was the buttoned shirt you had on to sleep.

Some buttons had come open, revealing some of your tits to his eyes and he licked his lips before he opened the last few buttons, slipping the fabric open.

„Fucking perfect virgin tits,“ he grinned to himself, his fingers brushing over your already hard nipples. He let his eyes wander, positively delighted to find out you weren’t wearing any panties.

„Dirty girl,“ he hummed before he leaned down to put one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking on it.

He let one of his hands slip between your legs, finding you already wet and dripping. His eyes caught what looked like your vibrator laying abandoned on the bed not to far away from you and he grinned to himself.

You were fucking touching yourself before he got here.

Playing with your pussy while he sucked on your tits he noticed your body reacting to him, one of your hands slipping through his hair with a soft sigh. When he looked up at you, your eyes were still closed but you were smiling.

„Gonna have a taste of this pretty pussy now,“ he said to no one in particular as he slipped down your body. He parted your legs for him, wrapping his arms around your thighs. His cock was fucking throbbing as he licked into you. Moaning at the faint taste of you, this afterlife not letting him have your full taste but just enough to drive him insane.

He played with you, feeling you trying to roll your hips against his mouth, a little sigh escaping your lips. He grinned as he played with your clit, one finger slipping inside of you.

„Wonder why nobody fucked this pussy yet. Is it you or is it them?“ He asked out loud, slipping another finger inside of you as he just looked up at you, your lips parted, your brows furrowed. You were clenching around his fingers and he was about to cum just thinking about fucking you. To be the first cock inside of you.

And you wouldn’t even know it happened.

He angled his fingers inside of you until you jerked against him and he grinned when he felt that spongy spot inside of you.

„You gonna cum for me,“ he hummed before he sucked your clit between his lips, swirling is tongue around it, and he felt the moment you fell apart, your back arching from the mattress, your lips parting in a low moan, your pussy squeezing his fingers like a vice.

„Fucking beautiful,“ he grunted.

He continued to move his fingers inside of you, prolonging your orgasm until he slipped them out, licking them clean. He sat himself up on his knees, his hand wrapping around his cock, pumping it slowly as he watched you.

He got some sick sense of satisfaction out of watching you just lay there, unconscious but willing to be fucked like a dirty whore. And he knew you were willing because he was only doing what you wanted.

Because you were dreaming it.

You were dreaming of getting fucked. He was just a vessel for your little dirty mind.

He hummed, bending down to kiss up your body, his lips closing around one of your nipples, playing with it. He lined himself up, slipping the head of his cock through your wet folds.

Letting go of your nipple with a plop he rested his weight on one arm next to your head, his face hovering over yours, watching you as he slowly pushed his cock into you.

He watched every expression of your face as he filled you, deeper and deeper, your pussy so wet he felt no resistance at all. When you gasped as he pushed through your barrier he grinned, his cock now fully inside of you.

The first cock you ever had.

The one you wouldn’t even remember.

„Not a virgin anymore you little slut,“ he grunted before he began to move. Fucking his cock into you wet pussy over and over again. He was surprised when you tilted your face up to kiss him, your eyes still closed. He hummed against your lips, his tongue parting your lips, kissing you deeply all while pumping into you faster and you moaned against his mouth.

Grinning he parted from your lips, pulling his cock out of you.

With little effort he turned you on your stomach, pulling your ass up so you were on your knees, before he was inside you again. His fingers digging into your hips as he fucked himself into you in hard quick thrusts.

You were so fucking wet you were dripping down his balls.

It wasn’t long before you began to meet his thrusts, now moaning shamelessly into your pillow while still deeply asleep.

He slapped your ass, before he leaned down to wrap his arm around you, pulling you up against his chest. With his hand gripping one of your tits as he kept you flush against his chest he pumped his cock inside of you.

The sound of skin slapping against skin the only noise in the room, apart from your moans.

„You gonna cum for me again,“ he whispered against your ear, feeling your shiver. Smirking his other hand wrapped around your neck, using only a tiny bit of pressure to choke you, your pussy clamping down on him immediately a loud moan escaping your lips as you came, Dave grunting behind of you as he fucked you through your orgasm before he groaned, biting into your shoulder as he came, fucking you full of his cum.

You were both out of breath, panting as he held you up. As soon as he released his grip around you you fell back into your bed and Dave chuckled to himself.

He was still hard.

And he wasn’t finished yet.

He moved to lay down on his side, putting your body against him, his cock entering you from behind.

„I wonder how many positions you wanna be fucked in before we’re finished,“ he hummed against your ear, his hand playing with your clit as he fucked into you.

It was almost time for the sun to come up when he didn’t feel the need to fuck you anymore.

You finally must be running out of ideas. Or you weren’t horny anymore.

No, not that. He could see your pussy still dripping from your shared releases. Of course you wouldn’t know it was his… ghost cum leaking out of you.

In the beginning he questioned if he would be able to impregnate someone like this, but by now he just didn’t care anymore.

He must say, this might have been his favourite encounter yet. He almost lost it when he was fucking your face, finding himself wishing you would open your eyes so he could see your eyes watering as he fucked your throat over and over again.

Who could have known how deeply kinky and horny you little virgin whore were?

He took one last look at you, sweaty and positively wrecked, the mark he sucked into your neck on full display, a soft smile on your kiss swollen lips, before he walked over towards your dresser where the candle was still flickering.

He blew it out, watching the smoke rise into the air, feeling his body get lighter.

When he turned around, already feeling his body slip into nothingness he was surprised to find your eyes opened and looking at him.

You were awake.

That had never happened before. He usually was gone before they woke up.

But before he could process what was happening or hear you scream he was gone.

Waiting for next Halloween when someone would light a seemingly innocent scented sex dream candle they bought at a witchy store, that would summon him to fuck them senseless.

#my fic #Dave York #Dave York x fem. reader #Pedro Pascal #ghosts #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction

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hoshinasblade · 5 months ago

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For real, the animator had ri have been a Hoshina loyalists. Cause no way he looks that bad. For a Narumi prompt it could be funny that he gets with someone that doesn't know him. Someone who doesn't believe he is the 1st division captain because they only see him as the "wet cat" version of himself. And we have Narumi losing his mind over the fact you don't believe him

(not sure where tumblr took my post again because i cant find it lol) the budget went to hoshina and his tight shirt and there was nothing left to animate narumi properly. anyway, this is such a cute and interesting prompt because because yes, he is losing his mind over you not believing he is the cool first division captain 😆

pairing: gen narumi x f!reader trigger warnings: narumi gen is a trigger warning himself, just super short because im not used to writing anything narumi-related yet. hopefully you don't get mad at me anon for not going exactly per the ask lol my brain is a mush right now, i'll try harder on my next fics

the rich man is here, shouted the kids from the hallway. you can hear their hurrying footsteps - excited little taps that in turn triggered your heartbeat to race as well. you shut your eyes, calming yourself down.

narumi gen is not exactly a rich man; the children in the orphanage just calls him that fondly. apparently he has been dropping by for years, way back when you weren't working as a teacher yet. the older orphans refer to him as nii-san.

narumi would bring toys snd snacks for the kids, and would spend time with them until the early evening before he has to say goodbye. last time, he played video games with everyone; he brought crayons and sketch boobs for his visit today, and within an hour, it was eerily quiet - the little girls and boys holding their pencils, drawing all sorts of things.

the youngest in your herd, a six-year old boy with a missing front tooth ran to you when he saw you by the door, showing you his drawing - a stick-man figure with a knife in its hand, and an animal beside it which you were not sure whether it's an oversized dog or a giraffe.

"it's a kaiju, and narumi nii-san is fighting it", the boy explained, and you patted him in the head. "he's a captain of his team, i'm gonna be like him when i grow up!"

you looked at narumi who is sitting on the floor, but he was already looking at you. you shifted your gaze. "this is so pretty, we should display it in the art wall", you suggested to the boy who grinned at you, clapping.

"you know that it's not a good thing to do, lying to kids, right?" the children had bid narumi goodbye just past 7pm, and although some of them cried, narumi was quick to promise he would be back next weekend. you were surprised, he used to only be here once a month.

"huh?" he responded to you with confusion. you walked him out the orphanage to the parking lot outside. "i don't know what you're talking about."

"look, i know you are trying to be nice. and i thank you for that. what you've done for these kids is more than anyone else have done for them. but telling them you're some guy who kills kaiju is wrong. and telling them they can be like you?" you scoffed.

narumi's mouth was wide open before he realized you have finished your speech. "but i am a guy who kills kaiju", he replied, his hand on his chest as if he is swearing on his life. "really, i'm not lying. i'm the captain of my team -"

"right, and you fight kaiju on the daily," you finished his sentence for him.

"yes, i am a real badass, i promise!" he exclaimed when he sensed you do not believe him in the slightest. it looks comical how he looks close to panicking over the fact that you are not buying whatever he's selling. he frowned at you, and you stared at him, the eye contact lasting for a few seconds.

maybe this guy is a con-artist and he makes his living manipulating people, you said to yourself. this would make a lot of sense considering you think he has the good looks to lure people in. narumi had flirted at you once or twice before - or you wish he was flirting and you were not just reading too much on his actions.

"you know if you meet my friends, they would tell you the truth," he suggested, his voice cheerful.

"why would i meet your friends?" you asked, equally confused.

"so they can tell you that i am the coolest captain of the anti-kaiju defense force. they would also tell you i am a good man and a dependable friend," narumi said, reciting maybe the contents of his curriculum vitae to you. is he in a job interview? you wanted to ask but didn't.

you sighed in defeat. "are your friends as exasperating as you are?" you asked in jest.

"come on, let me impress you", he told you with sincerity that is almost startling. you were not expecting him to sound so genuine, so adamant at proving himself to you.

the kids will have their dinner in a few minutes and you will be needed to help out. you gave narumi one last glance before strolling back to the orphanage. "i'm off on fridays", you said.

narumi's smile could have lighted the entire street.

#gen narumi #narumi gen #narumi gen x reader #gen narumi x reader #kaiju no.8 x reader #kaiju no. 8 #just warming up lol #i should definitely write more for him #im a real hoshina sympathizer but narumi has a special place in the void of my heart

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cakesunflower · 7 months ago

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lovelorn (and nobody knows) [rafe cameron au fic] chapter 1

Summary: Isla Carrera had planned for the summer before college to be focused on three things: helping out at her family's restaurant (the helpful daughter), preparing for college (the good student), and having fun with the Pogues (the loyal friend). But one fateful night, where her car breaks down and her rescuer is none other than Rafe Cameron, seems to send her summer down a path she didn't see coming--one teeming with a secret, illicit romance with the last person she expected. And if her friends and sister found out, Isla isn't sure they'll be so understanding, no matter what her feelings are.

Author's Note: I forgot how much I absolutely loathe writing summaries LOL but anyways! First chapter is here, let me know if y'all vibe with it. I had fun writing it and if you wanna see more, let me know! (And now I have to figure out if I remember linking everything on my blog since I haven't posted my writing on Tumblr in forever. . .)

Chapter 1

“Oh, no. No, no, no. Don’t do this to me, please.”

Isla Carrera’s pleading is in vain as the engine of her car sputters out of life, and there’s just enough juice left for her to pull over onto the side of the dirt road so she’s not stranded in the middle. Her grip on the steering wheel remains tight as she sits in silence, staring out onto the dark road only lit up by the two beams of her headlights. The small silver lining, if there is one, is that she knows exactly where she is, just a little ways away from a row of houses on Figure Eight. But right now, she’s surrounded by trees on a road that has no street lamps, the sky a blanket of black above her.

Her groan cuts through the silence, eyes squeezing shut as she rests her forehead against the steering wheel. She should have just slept over at John B’s house like her sister, Kie, decided to. But Isla’s covering another waitress at the restaurant early tomorrow, and she didn’t want to run late again or else her parents would rip her a new one. Kie’s shift wasn’t until later in the afternoon, so her sister was in no rush to get home. Now here Isla is, with a car that won’t turn over, still a fifteen minute drive away from her house.

“Fucking great,” she mutters, making sure her hazards are on and her phone is in her pocket before getting out of the car.

Though she knows nothing about cars, Isla pops open the hood and uses the flashlight on her phone. If she’s being honest, it all looks like a bunch of mechanical junk she has no idea how to work her way around. She’s not sure why she even bothers, so instead of wasting time, she unlocks her phone to find the number for a towing service.

A rumble of a car engine catches her attention, the kind that makes an annoying popping sound, and by the time she looks up and around the open top of her hood, she sees two guys hopping out of an old Ford truck. She vaguely recognizes them. Just by the look of them, they seem to be a couple of years older than her—and clearly from The Cut. Not that it matters, since her best friends are from the other side of the island, but not all of the people from The Cut are fond of those from Figure Eight, and vice versa. Isla and her sister, though they belong on the more privileged side of the island, prefer the freedom of The Cut.

None of that exactly matters right now, though.

Music cranks out of the car, but Isla can’t pay it any mind as unease creeps into her stomach when both sets of eyes land on her.

She’s a girl alone in the middle of a road at night, so Isla is immediately on high alert as the guys make their way towards her, slow but confident in a way that makes her feel like a prey. I don’t like this.

Alarm bells are ringing in her head as one of the guys in cargo shorts and a tank top shoots her a slimy grin. “Car trouble, sweetheart?”

Isla’s muscles tense. Yeah, nope. Not good. “Uh, no, all good,” she says, forcing some of that confidence into her voice that Kie is an expert at wielding.

The other one with darker hair hidden under a baseball cap asks, “You sure we can’t help?” His grin is anything but charming. “We’d be more than happy to help.”

They don’t stop their approach, and Isla’s mind begins running through different scenarios, her pulse beginning to quicken in panic she’s trying to keep at bay. There’s no one around to help, and she can’t depend on another car passing by and stopping to help—if they even would. She doesn’t want to lock herself in her car while she calls her dad or friends for help; the idea of sitting trapped makes her heart squeeze with dread.

“You can stop right there.” She doesn’t want to give into the fear that’s slithering through her veins, but she can’t stop the words from escaping her mouth, the crunch of the dirt beneath their shoes too daunting to ignore.

Her hand inches towards her back pocket where she had stashed her keys, fingers closing around the small can of pepper spray she’s got hooked in there. Isla has never had the unfortunate opportunity to use it before, but the vibes she’s getting right now—first time for everything.

“What’s the matter?” the first guy asks with a taunting tilt of his head, neither of them stopping their pace. “We’re only here to help.”

Yeah, fucking right. “Stop.” Her heart is pounding in her ears, taking a few steps back.

Creepy guy number two exchanges a look with number one. “See that, Dyl? Little Miss Kook looks a little scared.”

Oh, screw this. Isla refuses to stick around and find out what’s going to happen, and she doesn’t at all feel guilty when she juts her hand forward and presses down on the top of the small can. Her aim is a little off, so she only manages to spray the first guy—Dyl. The sound of his shriek of pain cuts through the air, and he stumbles back and spits out curses as he presses the heels of his palms into his eyes.

The second guy freezes in surprise, looking between Isla and his friend, but she doesn’t stick around to see what he’s going to do next. Instead, Isla turns and makes a run for it, making sure to press the button on her FOB to lock her car as she bolts down the dirt road. She can hear the guys yelling over the sound of the breeze rushing past her ears, fear fueling more power to her legs as she nears a neighborhood street at the end of the dirt road. Isla isn’t sure if they’re following her, or if they’re even going to, but she doesn’t pause to find out.

She runs and runs, her lungs beginning to burn, as she rounds a stone wall with greenery growing through the cracks that closes in a property—only for her vision to go black for a split second when she collides against something.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Scratch that—make that someone, because instead of falling back on her ass, a strong pair of arms wrap around her waist to keep her from tumbling down. The grip is tight and secure, and a delicious aroma of what seems to be earthy wood tickles her nose. “What the hell are you—Isla?”

The sound of her name being spoken in that all too familiar voice clears Isla’s head, and she pulls back enough to look up into the startling blue eyes of Rafe Cameron. Her pounding heart seems to slow down a fraction, and she’s not sure what to make of the mild relief that calms down her frazzled nerves because this is Rafe Cameron. Sure, he might not be as bad as those two freaks, and he’s one of her close friends’ brothers, but he’s still the same guy that has gotten into more than a few fights with her best friends. That being said, she shouldn’t find as much comfort as she does being in front of him.

Her breathing is heavy, pulse throbbing uncontrollably. She only barely registers her hands gripping his forearms, like it’s grounding her as she takes in Rafe’s expression. His eyebrows are furrowed together as he looks down at her, his height towering over her five-foot five frame, and there’s more confusion than worry in his features, unsurprisingly. Her heavy breathy makes her privy to the scent of nicotine, glancing down to see a half used cigarette now laying forgotten on the ground.

“What the hell are you doing?” Rafe repeats. Isla hears the familiar thread of annoyance in his voice, but she can’t bring herself to give a damn.

She lets go of him like he’s electrocuted her, taking a step back and forcing him to let go of her, too. It takes everything in her not to acknowledge the way her skin burns where his had touched hers. “Going for a run, what does it look like?” she snaps back, though her voice trembles on her breath.

Rafe’s expression deadpans, though he arches an eyebrow under the dirty blonde bangs that frame his forehead. “Looks like you’re scared,” he states.

“I—” Isla gets cut off by the familiar sound of a car engine rumbling, the popping kind, and the breath locks in her throat as she glances over her shoulder. “Fuck,” she breathlessly mutters, catching sight of the headlights creeping up from around the corner on the road. She’s not sure if those guys are looking for her—though, she wouldn’t be surprised given that she pepper sprayed one of them, and her pulse quickens again in panic with the need to hide away.

“Wait—are you running from someone?” Rafe questions, and Isla looks back at him to see his gaze pointed over her head, right where the noise of the car is coming from. A car that sounds to be approaching too close.

“You’re asking too many questions,” Isla returns hastily, stepping to go around him. “I need to go—”

Rafe lets out an exasperated huff, and if she had all her wits about her, she’d snap at him. But instead, surprise slams through her when Rafe’s hand wraps around her bicep, his grip firm but not tight as he mutters, “Come here.”

Before Isla knows it, she’s being dragged through the gate of the Cameron estate, disappearing onto the property right when the car turns the corner. Her heart launches to her throat when Rafe suddenly turns her, and she’s being pressed against the stone wall, soft leaves pressing to her back in contrast to the hard surface.

Isla’s eyes widen when Rafe’s body presses against her, the air rushing out of her lungs as her gaze snaps up to meet his. “What are you doing?” she asks, her words a mere breath.

He seems surprised by his own actions, lips pursed and that muscle in his clean shaven jaw pulsing almost as quickly as her own heart. Can he hear the thundering, feel it? “Just—stay quiet,” Rafe grits.

Part of Isla wants to push him off—the part that sounds a lot like her friends. But fear wins out, keeping her in place, as she hears the car creep along in front of the gate of the Cameron property.

Rafe’s eyes silently tell her to remain quiet and something tightens her stomach—something other than fear—and it startles her enough to flick her gaze to the left, towards the vine wrapped gate. She can see the headlights slowly passing by, and she prays that these guys aren’t stupid enough to trespass private property.

Then again, they were ready to do God-knows-what to her, so who the hell knows?

The thought alone sends her heartbeat accelerating all over again, panic settling in her bones hard enough to rattle them. Isla’s hands fist at her sides, eyes squeezing shut as she leans her head back against the wall. How the hell had her night taken such a freaky turn? And how is it that Rafe Cameron, of all people, is the one to help her out?

Suddenly, the mid-May night doesn’t feel as warm as Rafe’s body; he isn’t close enough where his body is completely pressing into hers, but she can feel the soft material of his shirt fluttering against the bare skin of her stomach, thanks to her crop top. Isla can feel the heat of his skin seeping into hers, which makes her heart thunder with something other than panic, and she’s not entirely sure what the hell to do with that.

“Relax—they’re gone.”

His voice is low and gruff, a tone that makes goosebumps pebble her skin even in this warm weather. Isla opens her eyes with a sharp exhale and her brown eyes immediately find Rafe’s blue, her throat tightening under his scrutinizing gaze. True, she can’t hear the engine anymore, the headlights are also gone, and Isla tries to even out her breathing while nodding slowly.

Rafe’s eyes rake over her and shouldn’t she feel unsettled about that? About how close he’s standing to her? But it seems like all of her unease has been used up from evading those weirdos, so Rafe Cameron being her rescuer doesn’t annoy her as much as it normally would.

“So what was that about?” he questions, raising an eyebrow.

Isla’s throat works, dragging her gaze back up at him. The lamps spaced out along the wall light his face, casting shadows along his sharp cheekbones. He’s so handsome—the thought crosses through her mind quickly, and though she would never admit it to her friends, she can’t help but find the truth in it—as insane as it might be.

“Nothing to concern yourself with,” Isla finds herself saying, lifting her chin in a small act of defiance.

The corner of Rafe’s mouth twitches into a ghost of a smirk, and through the light reflecting in his eyes, she can see them dancing in amusement. “Given that I just saved your ass, an explanation would be nice.”

Isla scowls, all thoughts of his stupidly good looks vanishing. “I didn’t ask you to do that. I had it under control.”

It’s a lie spoken through her teeth, and Rafe can see that. “Yeah, looked real under control when you were running for your life,” he replies dryly, eyebrows rising. But then his expression flattens out, eyebrows furrowing together once again as he says, “Seriously, Isla. What gives? What the hell was that about?”

“Just—some fucking weirdos, I don’t know,” she huffs, frustration from this entire ordeal bubbling to the surface as she rubs her hands up her face and runs her fingers through her hair. “I—Can you back up?” she asks hastily, forcing a glare. Rafe, surprisingly, simply presses his lips together and raises his hands in defense while taking a couple of steps away from her. Isla is no longer embraced by his warmth, by his scent, and there’s an unexpected tug in her chest that she ignores. “My car broke down on that dirt path behind the road. I was trying to figure it out when these guys pulled up and, I don’t know, shit got weird so I made a break for it.”

Rafe frowns as he listens to her, and Isla shakes her head, rubbing the back of her neck. “I need to get back to my car,” she says.

“Seriously?” Rafe asks, scoffing. “You’re gonna go back when some freaks are looking for you?”

Isla glares at him, not at all appreciating him talking to her like she’s stupid. “My wallet’s still in my car. I need to grab it if they haven’t fucking broken into my car already.”

She moves past him to head to the gate, surprised to hear his footsteps as he easily catches up to her. “What, you’re gonna walk back?” When Isla glances at Rafe, he’s looking at her like she’s insane. No sign of the contempt he normally saves for her and her friends, which is slightly unnerving. “After you were just running from some freaks? You do realize how much of a bad idea that is, right?”

She shrugs even as the unease from before returns at the idea of running into those guys again. “I need to get my wallet,” is her meek response.

Rafe lets out a breath, running his fingers through his hair and Isla briefly frowns at herself at the way her gaze seems to run to the flex of his bicep. And the way her stomach fucking flutters because this is Rafe Cameron. The only fluttering her stomach should be doing where he’s concerned is one tinged with nausea.

Rafe then fixes her with a stern look. “Come on,” he says firmly before walking down the driveway of his house.

Isla blinks out of whatever stupor she was in and glares at his back—and at the demand he left her with. She scoffs, hands splaying in annoyance until she realizes he’s headed straight for his motorcycle. Her shoulders drop, rooted on the spot as she says flatly, “You’re joking.”

Rafe is already pulling out a helmet—scratch that, two helmets—and looking at her, once again, like she’s an idiot while she glares at him. At least there’s that bit of normalcy. “This—” He holds up both helmets in each hand. “Is better than you walking back to your car by yourself. Let’s go.”

Isla’s disbelief only intensifies. She doesn’t walk over to him, doesn’t take the proffered helmet. Instead, she exhales sharply and crosses her arms over her chest, asking, “Why are you helping me?”

Rafe has the gall to look annoyed by her question, arms resting at his sides. His gaze locks with Isla’s, but she doesn’t shy away from it as he eventually drops his head back with a groan before looking back at her once more. “Listen, contrary to your and your friends’ popular belief, I’m not a complete dick.” Isla can’t help but scoff and roll her eyes, cutting her gaze away from him in doubt. He cannot be serious. “I wouldn’t want either of my sisters to be fucking chased by some losers, so just think of this as my good deed of the month, alright? Now will you please take the damn helmet and get on the bike?”

Frankly, Isla feels like she’s just stepped into an alternate reality because, seriously, when was the last time Rafe Cameron ever did anything nice for her—if ever?

But as much as Isla’s pride is begging for her to tell him thanks but no thanks and turn and walk back to her car, fear still resides in the pit of her belly, waiting to strike. She hates to admit it, but Rafe is right. It’d be dumb of her to walk back alone at night after what just happened. Maybe she could call her sister or one of her friends, but that would just add unnecessary time to all this, and Isla just really wants to get home. So, fine; maybe she can accept Rafe’s offer to drive her to her car, and then from there maybe she can call an Uber home and call a tow truck from the safety of her bedroom.

Rafe holds out one of the black helmets in impatience, and Isla purses her lips as she pushes herself to walk over. She does her best not to admire the sight of him next to his bike, something she never would have done before tonight. Maybe this whole freaky situation has loosened some screws in her brain.

Isla all but snatches the helmet out of his hand, though a part of her feels as though it’s just for appearances’ sake to keep up her usual attitude around Rafe, and tucks her dark hair behind her ears before pulling the helmet on, the visor still up. She tries her best not to think of the weight of his gaze on her as she fiddles with the straps on her chin to secure the helmet, but she’s unable to get it right, fingers trembling despite herself.

“I got it,” Rafe says, and Isla freezes when he gently bats her hands away and steps up to her, using his finger to push at the bottom of the helmet so she can tilt her head back enough for him to see the straps. The heat of his body greets her once more and she’s silent as she feels him secure the straps, breath hitching quietly when the backs of his fingers brush against her skin.

He’s done within seconds, but it sure as shit feels longer as she remains standing there, watching him pull on his own helmet. Isla watches silently as Rafe gets on the bike, wondering how she got here, and he says, “Hop on.”

Isla has ridden on the back of JJ’s bike plenty of times, so she gets on with no trouble, though she does have to grip Rafe’s shoulders in order to do so. They’re broad and firm under her hands, and she mentally chastises herself for even thinking about his stupid shoulders. When she’s settled behind him, her legs framing his, Isla’s heartbeat picks up at the sudden proximity, her front against his back.

She’s sure she’s barely breathing when her skin warms because there’s barely any space that exists between them, and when Rafe tells her, “Hold on or risk flying off,” she can’t decide if she wants to smack him upside the head or beg for the ground to swallow her whole.

Sliding the visor down, Isla inhales deeply and quietly before winding her arms around Rafe’s waist, teeth gritting together because if her friends saw her now, they definitely would believe she’s lost her mind. The fact of the matter is, right now all she can seem to focus on is the solidness of his stomach against her arms and how fucking good he smells, which is confusing and overwhelming and everything in between.

The motorcycle’s engine roars to life, and seconds later Rafe is kicking off the kick-stand and they’re riding down the driveway and onto the road. She had told him her car stopped on the dirt path behind the actual road, separated by trees, and that’s all Rafe seemingly needs to know as he takes them in the right direction. The breeze as they go feels good against her, cooling her heated skin down and she would never admit it, but riding on the back of Rafe Cameron’s bike has a somewhat calming effect on her.

The tension that had tightened her muscles since her encounter with those other guys melts away, and the rapid thumping of her heart has nothing to do with anxiety and everything to do with the thrill of this moment. Maybe it’s ill advised, but it seems to be exactly what she needs as the night air mixes with Rafe’s cologne—or maybe he just smells like that in general?

God, she’s getting too weird about this.

Soon enough, her car comes into view and Isla is relieved when there seems to be no sign of those guys. Rafe stops the bike right next to her car, and another sigh of relief escapes her when she sees that her car doesn’t look damaged. Swinging her leg over, she uses Rafe’s shoulders as leverage to get off the bike, trying not to think too much about the loss of his body heat as she reaches for the helmet straps.

They’re easier to undo than they were to strap, and she lifts the helmet off, one hand already flattening her dark hair as Rafe holds his hand out for the helmet. As she unlocks the car, Rafe asks, “How’d you manage to outrun them?”

Isla leans into the driver’s seat, reaching for her tote bag in the passenger seat. She digs through it for a moment, taking stock of her wallet, lip gloss, lip balm, and the few other things still safely inside. “I pepper-sprayed one of them,” she answers as she pulls out and straightens.

When she turns to look at Rafe, whose helmet’s visor is up, she sees the smirk that curls at his mouth. How does a sight that made her want to knee him in the stomach before make her feel kind of weak kneed right now? Did those guys really freak her out so much that now down is up and left is right? “Nice,” he murmurs, nodding in approval. Jutting his chin towards her car, he asks, “You gonna call a truck?”

Isla shakes her head. “When I get home,” she says, pulling out her phone.

Rafe nods as he holds the helmet out once more. “Alright, let’s go.”

Isla pauses, gaze flicking up from her phone screen where the Uber app is open to look at him. Arching an eyebrow, she asks, “Uh, go where?”

He mirrors the arched eyebrow look. “I’ll take you home,” he says as if it’s obvious when it very much isn’t.

“No thanks. I can Uber,” she answers, already putting her home address in.

Rafe scoffs, shaking his head as he remains sitting on his bike. “You’re just full of bad ideas tonight, aren’t you?” he says. Isla’s eyes narrow, irritation sparking through her as he splays his arms out to gesture to the road they’re on. “You’re really gonna wait out here on a dirt road, with no street lamps, in the dark for an Uber when I’m offering you a ride home right now?” Before she can respond, he carries on, “On the same stretch of road, mind you, that you just got harassed on?”

The irritation intensifies, and Isla’s expression twists into a glare as she snaps, “What’s it to you, huh? You already did your good deed of the month. We’re not friends, Rafe. I don’t need your help.”

Even with the helmet on, she can tell he’s clenching his jaw, eyes hard as he sets them on her. The look makes her chest burn in a way that’s not all unwelcome, and that alone should be a sign that she’s losing it. “We may not be friends, but you’re my sister’s friend, alright? Sarah would kill me if she found out I left you out here by yourself. So stop being so fucking stubborn and get on the damn bike, Isla. I’m taking you home.”

She presses her tongue to her cheek, shoulders bunched in frustration while Rafe glares at her, his own impatience radiating off of him in waves. Sarah has told Isla how stubborn her brother can be, and while Isla doesn’t know Rafe well, she knows him and has dealt with him enough to know he isn’t budging on this. So, with a huff, she snatches the helmet once more, ignoring the protests in her head that sound suspiciously a lot like her friends as she pulls the helmet on.

She manages to get the straps this time and gets back on the bike, her bag securely hanging off her shoulder as Rafe starts the bike again and Isla swallows silently as she wraps her arms around his waist once more. Every part of her is warm where it touches him, and as he drives, she tilts her head back, practically begging for anyone listening to get her to calm the hell down.

Seriously—how the hell did Rafe Cameron become her would-be hero of tonight?

Luckily, her house is a ten minute drive from the Cameron house and Isla allows him to pull up to the front of the house, since Kie isn’t home and has no chance of peeking out her bedroom window and seeing Isla getting off Rafe’s bike. He parks the bike and Isla lets go of him almost immediately, hopping off the bike and undoing the straps of the helmet under her chin.

Rafe is already looking at her by the time she gets the helmet off, his blue eyes visible since the visor is lifted. With a close mouthed, saccharine smile, Isla all but shoves the helmet into his hands. “Thanks for the ride. Let’s never do this again.”

He scoffs as he shakes his head, but the smirk on his face is apparent. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

Isla rolls her eyes and, without another word, turns towards her house. She’s on the front porch and fishing keys out when she glances to the right and sees Rafe still parked there, seemingly watching her. Her stomach does a stupid, weird flip as she unlocks the door and shoos him. “Go away,” she hisses, even though Kiara isn’t home and her parents wouldn’t care that Rafe dropped her off—hell, her mom would be thrilled, honestly.

Even from this distance, she can just picture Rafe’s arrogant smirk as he lifts a hand in a two fingered salute before revving the engine of his bike, and Isla clenches her jaw as he speeds off, the roar echoing down the block. Exhaling sharply, Isla shakes her head and walks into her house, shutting the door behind her just as she hears footsteps approaching her.

“Where have you been?” her mom asks, not demanding but more concerned.

Isla smiles sheepishly as she faces her mother. “Yeah, about that. . .”

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egg-but-with-style · 4 months ago

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HEADCANONS WITH THE BOYSSSS!!!!

My last post did pretty well, and if people like it, I figured I might as well try my hand at some more!!!!

Gaz

This guy literally has the best skin in the world, it's like looking at something carved from marble, everytime you ask about his skincare routine, he just says genetics.

He detests anything made with cinnamon, his older sister once made him try a pie she made, and by the time he was done eating it, he was literally coughing up cinnamon. Didn't say anything though, couldn't be mean to his sister like that.

HE CANNOT SIT STILL!! Gaz and soap are literally the most energetic people on base. Except Price finds Gaz charming and soap less so...

Also I for some reason think he smells like oranges and mangos???

(edited after I saw a tiktok about climate change) GAZ IS SUPER VOCAL ABOUT CLIMATE CHANGE, all of the boys care to some degree (get it?) but Gaz brings hard facts and evidence everytime he talks about it, Price is now worried for Gaz's mental health

Price

Where to start? Maybe with the fact he has duplicates of his hats he keeps in his office drawer. Ghost went in there one time to give Price a report and saw Price open his Hat Drawer. Ghost had never seen so many hats

If some of y'all didn't know, if you have a low tolerance to cigars and breathe in too much of the smoke, you'll get sick. So, Price keeps a puking trash can just for the people that come into his office. Is he gonna stop smoking to prevent people from losing their lunch? Never.

When he's not on duty he wears the stupid Hawaiian shirts that middle aged dads wear on vacation. Also cargo shorts. Cause they're tactical

Soap

Again, he cannot sit still. He'll wake up in the middle of the night and you'll find him in the armory tinkering with an explosive, and even then he gets up every couple minutes just to pace around

He is very meticulous about his hair. Every morning he wakes up just a little bit earlier then everyone else and hair gels that baby into place. It does not move. It could probably be as effective as a military grade helmet at that point.

THIS MAN DRAWS PORN AND POSTS IT ON TWITTER!!! He uses an alias of course, and a very well hidden drawing tablet when he's on duty. Just ignore the fact that alot of the men he draws look just a tad bit like ghost. Just a little.

Also, while all of the COD men love a woman (or man) with meat on their bones, soap is feral. Chubby chaser all the way. There's also something really hot about a person being around his height and not taking his shit.

Ghost

He has horrible acne under that mask. It's actually awful how much he goes through just to keep it on. He's done skincare, moisturizing, pimple patches, everything, and nothing work. The worst part is, he thinks the mask is so cool it's worth it

This man is an actual dork. (Idea by @ghouljams) this guy definitely makes those little miniatures. The little details he puts into every bit of his work, whether it's wood grain, the look of water, he just does it all with such skill. The plus side is that it keeps his brain at bay, not thinking and more focused on what's in front of him. He also likes DND. Go figure.

I also do like the idea of trans ghost. He understands what it was like before he transitioned and feeling ashamed of his size when he used to be forced into the stereotype of what a woman should look like. So when people fuck with you about your size, he's right behind you like he's gonna kill them.

Authors note: the only thing I'm afraid of as I start writing is 1. The fan fic author curse, and 2. People actually paying attention to me, my anxiety is gonna kill me, lol. Anyway, hope y'all are having a great day!!! Bye!!!

#plus size reader #chubby reader #tall reader #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #john price #cod x reader #cod headcanons #also kyle tries to help ghost with his chronic acne but ghost stops listening after he stares into kyles beautiful eyes

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lanawinterscigarettes · 5 months ago

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Jason Dean dating someone who's transmasc

Warnings: brief mentions of transphobia, canon typical stuff such as bullying, swearing, violence, murder, etc, slight suggestive things but nothing that's full on smut (I might make another post with that later), smoking (because we all know our boy JD smokes like a chimney), mentions of dysphoria, mentions of menstrual cycles/periods, some forcemascing by JD (sorry I couldn't resist)

A/N: I did a Veronica version of this like two years ago and since I'm currently obsessed with JD (and it's pride month) I felt the urge to write one for him too (also because I've come to the conclusion that I might just be transmasc and not genderfluid so this is mostly just written for me)

I wanna start off by saying that yes JD is an asshole, but he'd never be (intentionally) transphobic. However, if he thought you were trans then he would push your buttons a little bit to see how long it would take you to admit it, especially if you met before you came out

Let's say you two started dating when you still saw yourself as a girl or something (I know that JD's supposed to be "straight" or whatever but he's bisexual to me okay fight me on it). If he saw you acting a little uncomfortable being referred to as his girlfriend or having to use the women's restroom at school he would 100% call you out on it

Not in a degrading way or anything like that, just to see how you would react to it. The second you start to get defensive or give him the silent treatment he shuts up, not only because he accomplished what he set out to do but also because he feels a little bad

Eventually you just decide to rip off the bandaid and come to terms with the fact that you're actually a trans guy, him being one of the first people you tell. His only real response to this "startling revelation" is to look at you and go "Yeah I kind of figured that one out for myself already, I was just waiting for you to"

Your worries that he'd want to break up with you after telling him disappeared almost immediately as you crossed your arms and rolled your eyes at him. "Ha ha, very funny smartass"

If you decide you want to cut your hair shorter then he will absolutely offer to help you with it, insisting that there's no reason for you to go to a professional with him there (it's totally not just because he's very possessive and would never let anyone else touch your hair other than him, that's crazy)

You may have wore his clothes some before, but he practically begs you to do it after you come out. Why would you ever need to go shopping when you can just raid his closet, y'know? Plus seeing you in them really turns him on

He gets ten times more protective afterwards too, constantly following you around to make sure you're okay. You could have classes that take place at the same time on opposite sides of the school and he'll always skip his to join you. Eventually the teachers just move his class schedule around to match with yours since he never attends his anyway

Always has an arm wrapped around you no matter what, especially if he sees someone like Kurt and Ram passing by. It's best to distract him with kisses or something so he won't hear the things they call you and get mad (he hears them anyway but can't resist making out with you so he lets it slide for the time being)

Speaking of making out, he does it with you everywhere and all the time, whether it's a modern au or the 80s. He's not worried about what people say or do, usually letting his gun do all the talking. He shoots them is what I'm trying to get at here lol

Most people are much too scared to even breath too loud near you because of your attack dog boyfriend but if it ever does happen that you get bullied (whether that be verbally or physically) he will go out of his way to make sure the local morgues, cemeteries, and funeral homes have plenty of business

Feeling anxious or stressed about having to spend time with/be around someone who misgenders/deadnames you? Just let him tag along. He might not say much but what he will do is very passive-aggressively correct said person on their "mistakes". It pretty much always works as no one wants to argue with a guy who frequently carries a gun

It's not the best habit around but he probably gets you hooked on smoking at least occasionally, especially if he hears you complain about your voice being too high. Oh, you're worried that you sound too feminine and "girly"? He has the perfect way to get you that low and gravelly voice that you want! You think he's talking about voice training or something until he hands you a pack of cigarettes and with the most serious expression ever says "these will do wonders"

Even if you don't smoke religiously like he does it's kind of hard to resist it completely given how often he lights up a cigarette (and yes, he will blow smoke into your face, because while he loves you he's also an asshole and thinks it's funny when you wrinkle up your nose in disgust at him)

He's not the best at comforting you when it comes to days where you feel dysphoric. Like, he won't flat out say that he thinks you're acting ridiculous because he knows it would only make things worse, but he's also not great when dealing with emotions, so the most he might do is let you cling to him while he gives you a few awkward pats on the back

If this goes on for days borderlining on weeks, however, that's when he'll start to act less sensitive and give you a bit of tough love. "What are you talking about saying that you 'don't look like a guy'? Are you crazy? You really think life would be better if you were still living as a girl? Do you honestly think that would make you happy?"

It surprisingly works, believe it or not. Even if you know he's purposely trying to rile you up it ends up making you feel better and more confident in yourself. Anytime he notices you starting to slip back into feelings of self doubt or insecurity, he just wraps you up in his arms and whispers soft encouragements in your ear. "You were never a girl, you just need to work a little bit harder than others to grow into the man that you are. If anything, that's a testament to your strength for being able to do that"

This certainly happens whenever you're on your period and feel grouchier or less confident than usual. "You're so strong for being able to endure this every month, did you know that? You're much braver than I am, I doubt I'd be able to get through it as well as you"

Sometimes you almost start crying because of how emotional his words make you feel, and sometimes you roll your eyes with annoyance while muttering "you're a condescending asshole" under your breath. Either way it ends up making you feel better, especially when he offers to rub your lower abdomen when your cramps get too bad

If you decide to start HRT then he wants to be there to help you take the shots, even if you insist you can do it yourself (he likes being part of the process of helping you "turn into" a man). Same thing if you use T gel or whatnot, he gets really pouty if you ever apply it without him

He's not really the best person to do "guy bonding" activities with unless you like making pipe bombs or planning the murders of people you hate (hypothetically speaking, of course) but if there's anything like that you want to try out then he'll definitely be there to support you. Like I don't know, hunting/fishing? Or watching sports games while drinking beer? Or breaking out the toolbox and fixing things around the house? Sorry I don't really know things that guys do despite being one myself 😭

The only exception to that is probably car maintenance. I see him as being very protective over his motorcycle and learning how to take care of it himself so he doesn't have to worry about taking it to the shop and having them screw it up. He'd be happy to teach you about how to change your own oil and might even teach you how to ride it as long as you don't accidentally scratch up his paint job. He might not kill you for it, but he will be very upset and end up ignoring you for a few hours afterwards

Purposely introduces/refers to you as his boyfriend in front of others just to see your face light up with confidence. It's not like JD has a lot of friends or anything but anyone that he does know feels as if they've met you already because of how he much he talks about you (he's totally that one annoying person you know who never shuts up about their partner ever)

All in all, I'd say he's a relatively good boyfriend in general, but especially if you're transmasc. Solid 8/10 (one point was deducted for his slight insensitivity and another was due to his crazy streak. Sorry JD I promise I still love you </3)

Main masterlist | Heathers masterlist | wanna be added to my taglist?

End notes: this ended up being much longer than I anticipated but I have absolutely no regrets whatsoever at all

Likes < reblogs | comments are greatly appreciated | requests are currently open

🏷 taglist: @missmewts @ghot-girl @gilmore-angel @your-next-daydream @the-night-owl-blr @noisy-dumb-piece-of-shit @pregnantmen @theonetruepotato87

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qqueenofhades · 9 months ago

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Hi just wanted to say thank you for taking the time to thoughtfully respond to these anon messages. I work in dc w a fairly wonky set and i cant overstate how haunted the DC Professional Thought Havers are by the spectre of the "low propensity voter." I think these ppl (myself included LOL) thought we had everything figured out ahead of the 2016 elections and then never recovered from the way it ended up going......i feel like in all the years that followed.....the liberal bubbles.....the coastal elites.......the hillbilly elegies......the real america....the ohio diners....the pennsylvania diners.......the polls......the 2020 horserace....while part of an earnest attempt to understand What Happened, were primarily self-indulgent, self-flagellation for being "out of touch" bc of a self-diagnosed "elite" status that then turned into ANOTHER myopic view of the world, just opposite, where the "libs" are hapless and everyone else remotely to the left are primarily victims to the unstoppable supernatural forces of the Right. Then in 2020 the narrative flipped AGAIN and once again, instead of taking the opportunity to expand a worldview and having the bravery to confront their own shortcomings, the opinion havers and wonks and beltway pressers have decided to groupthink their way into writing off democracy altogether. Its BEYOND frustrating to see! Like damn volunteer at a soup kitchen or smthn instead of being obsessed w the fact that i vote lol

Yes, and there are several reasons for that. First, despite all the factors that contributed to Trump's shock win in 2016 (anti-Clintonism, white backlash to Obama, general low voter enthusiasm, Russian disinformation, etc) we should never forget that until James Comey decided to announce 10 days before the election that he was reopening the EEEEEEEMAILS case, even though we all knew there was nothing there, she was leading fairly comfortably in the polls. And while we will never know how the 2016 election would have gone without that, which imho was one of the most unforgivable acts of blatant sabotage by a public official in American history, it's also true that we saw her poll averages start sliding almost in real time, as people who hadn't really been keen on voting for her anyway decided firmly not to and Trump was able to scrape out 16,000 votes across PA, MI, and WI to take the Electoral College. Which... we all remember how we felt that night, right? (Or in my case, early morning, since I was overseas?) We don't, we really, really don't want to feel that way again. Just saying.

As such, the media (which had already beat up Clinton nonstop during the BUT HER EEEEEMAILS saga) drastically overcorrected and as you say, began writing endless angsty handwringing pieces about Trump Voters in Rural Ohio Diners and giving endless sympathetic airtime to how "economically left behind" they felt, regardless of the fact that open racism, especially Obama backlash, was and remains the principal animating feature of Republican politics (since their only economic platform is that which makes very rich people even richer and Democratic economic policies are the only ones actually targeted at helping ordinary people). The hangover was so strong that even when Democrats had a massive 2018 midterm result and flipped the House blue for the first time since the post-ACA backlash lost it in 2010, the Conventional Wisdom was now beyond any doubt that Democrats were doomed for a generation or something, and not that Trump had squeaked out a fluky win (while losing the popular vote) due to endless Russian/Comey/third party-etc interference and wasn't actually that powerful. Even in 2020 when Biden was leading fairly steadily and things were going to hell with Covid, etc. etc. TRUMP IS UNSTOPPABLE, TRUMP IS GOING TO WIN.

(And now. Like. I know Trump thinks Trump won in 2020, as do a large majority of his cultists, but that doesn't mean he did.)

Even after that, when Roe went down in 2022, that made no difference to the RED WAVE COMING!!! narrative, and the amount of smug white male pundits insisting that abortion just wasn't very important and people weren't going to base their entire vote on it reached truly disgusting levels. We're now seeing the same thing with the constant "people won't vote for democracy and/or abortion rights" blast, when as you say, this narrative has just been completely made the fuck up by a lot of groupthinking DC media who are determined that this time, Trump really is going to win and then they get to be principled chroniclers in opposition or something. Not to mention, the basic principle of "democracy and abortion rights are good" do in fact win by thumping margins every time they're on the ballot, including in deep red states. But there is literally not a single piece of empirical evidence despite the massive amounts of it supporting the truth (i.e. that Democrats are doing historically well in competitive elections since 2018 and there's not really a major reason to think this will change in 2024) that will get the media to change the "Democrats in disarray and Biden Iz Doomed" horserace BS they so love. They don't like Biden because he's boring and competent and just does the job without being insane, because it's totally a great idea to treat American government like a reality show! (Recall the infamous comment by the CBS CEO who literally said that Trump was bad for America but great for CBS, because he pulled in high ratings and therefore lots of money and visibility for CBS. We live in the worst timeline.)

As such, the mainstream media has a vendetta against Biden, is determined that this time Trump is super definitely going to win and everyone will see how genius they are, and not-so-secretly wants Trump back because a) he's good for money and ratings, and b) because the media conglomerations are owned by oligarchs who have a vested interest in making sure that Democrats and their policies never get too popular. Notice how the once self-proclaimed centrist independent Elon Musk has turned into a rabidly alt-right fanboy ever since the Democrats really got serious about taxing billionaires as a key part of their platform. Likewise, insisting that Biden Iz Doomed makes Democrats nervous (and thus more likely to tune in) and Republicans gleeful (and thus more likely to tune in), so there's literally no incentive for the media to even try to report things accurately. You could create a very different narrative of the 2024 election if you just remotely bothered to write about things that have actually happened as they have actually taken place, rather than bending over backward to insist that Biden being four years older than Trump is a worse crime than 91 felony indictments, 2 impeachments, 1 insurrection, 450 million dollars and counting in punitive jury verdicts, more major criminal trials coming down the pipe, and just demonstrably being the worst human being alive in so many ways. I mean. Wow.

The good news, as I said in my other post, is that when people actually vote, these utter bullshit narratives get routinely blown out of the water, and that's a good thing. Because it turns out that unlike Super Smart Beltway Pundits' Super Smart Predictions, the average American does actually like democracy and freedom for women to make their own personal healthcare decisions, and they vote accordingly. So while yes, it's being made harrowingly much harder than it needs to be because of how much the media simply refuses to report that basic fact, and there is no amount of evidence that will convince them otherwise, at least we're trending in the right direction and, if we all pull our weight, can do it one more time. I realized the other day that I hadn't heard a fucking peep about Ron DeSantis in the last two months, and oh, how glorious it was. I yearn beyond words for the day (God willing, soon) when the same is true of Trump as well.

#anonymous #ask #politics for ts

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foodtruckery · 9 days ago

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Hi there! Im a bit new to ur blog but i just wanted to pop in to tell you how much i adore Combat Baby! Im actually super insane about it!! Idk why but the whole coat bits were just phenomenal and live in my brain forever now? Im already a sucker for older ford and mullet stan but oh boy now i cant stop picturing every version of stan stealing his brother's coat...for regular reasons and maybe also spicy reasons 👀 like a consensus i see is ford being a clothing sniffer but stan could also have a coat to sniff...as a treat...anyway sorry for rambling a bit here!! but please keep up the excellent work!

hello there, anon!! hey, if it makes you feel any better, i am also new to this blog so no worries there at all lol. ahh but thank you so much, it's so kind of you to come over here to say that!!

and okay hahaha let me ramble a little bit about the damn coat! cause i hadn't actually planned for like. ANY OF THAT to happen, so i am just thrilled to hear you enjoyed that random ass bit that ended up running away from me! cause like here's the thing. my main goal was just to get a few of ford's fucking layers off for the sake of the scene (fun fact: this whole scene originally started in a different room entirely and i said fuck that and moved them to the kitchen).

but then i figured the coat gave stan something to kinda consider while ford is faffing about, gave me a point to work on to keep driving at that "similar but different" narrative i was trying to lean into. but like....then the coat is there y'know?? i hadn't even included him asking for the thing in my first pass of that scene. but then it kinda felt like chekov's coat at that point and i couldn't not bring it back in.

but yes, i'm absolutely with you. i really do love the idea of stan like. taking comfort in being surrounded by something that smells like ford. especially if we're talking mullet stan and older ford here. and uhhhh. i had other like stuff i was gonna say, i think, but i kinda got carried away so.

hey! welcome to the blog! have a vaguely, hand wavey post-combat baby tidbit of stan jerking off in ford's coat:

This was stupid. Painfully, humiliatingly stupid. And if he got caught, Stan was pretty sure he'd just voluntarily disappear for another ten years rather than reckon with that particular flavor of mortification.

Fuck, what did it say about him that the thought of Ford walking in and catching him beating off in nothing but his brother's stupid coat just made his dick twitch harder in his palm?

Stan bit down on his lower lip and cast a furtive glance towards the door, but he didn't slow his fist any. He couldn't hear any movement outside the room, which suggested that Ford was still down in the basement or fucking around in the woods — he couldn't actually remember which one at the moment. He just knew that Ford had gone and occupied himself somewhere else and left his coat laying around, easy pickings. He hadn't even thought it through before he grabbed the thing and made himself scarce with it.

Vaguely, Stan reasoned that if Ford hadn't taken his coat, he probably wasn't wandering around outside in the fucking snow. But that meant he was probably somewhere inside still, and that really shouldn't make him as hot as it did.

“Fucking hell,” he panted, fumbling with his free hand to tug the collar of the coat up to his nose. He breathed in the familiar-but-not smell of Ford and the memory of making embarrassing noises into the same material while he was railed on the kitchen table.

Shuddering, Stan rolled his palm over the head of his dick and smeared precome down the shaft, muffling a moan in the jacket collar. It was heavy, a noticeable enough weight shifting against his bare skin that if he closed his eyes and tried hard enough, he could almost imagine Ford kneeling behind him, pressed against his back and draping his arms over his shoulders. It would put his mouth right against that spot behind Stan's ear that had never fully shaken the phantom feeling of Ford's lips moving there.

But what the fuck would he even say? Would he be pissed at Stan for taking his coat? Probably. Sneer that he shouldn't be surprised that a whore who can't keep his own clothes on would feel entitled to stealing his. He'd loom against his back and watch Stan fuck his own fist right up until he was twitching, nearly there, and then Ford would grab his wrist and tell him to stop because he didn't deserve to come.

Stan tucked his chin to press closer to the material he was holding to his face and rocked his hips, as much to follow the steady pumping of his fist as to feel the coat shift against his thighs and around where his knees were pressed to the floor. Because he hadn't even managed to make it to the fucking bed once he'd gotten into the room. He'd just stripped in a hurry, leaving his own clothes thrown haphazardly to the side, and yanked on Ford's stupid space coat.

If he were going for realistic, if Ford wandered upstairs and threw open the bedroom door and found Stan jerking off in the middle of the room, he probably wouldn't do anything at all. He'd get that brief, surprised little look on his face, eyebrows raising over the rim of his glasses and maybe, maybe part his lips just a little bit.

And then, while Stan was stammering and trying to come up with an excuse or an apology or literally anything worth saying to make this look less like what it was, Ford would reset his expression and cross his arms and say something short like, “Well? Get on with it, then.” He would stand in the doorway, maybe lean there a bit, comfortable as you please, and watch Stan frantically try to finish the job like he was simply overseeing one of his less interesting experiments.

Stan huffed against the coat and swallowed down a moan as he rubbed against the sensitive spot under the head of his dick. He was so close. And he needed to hurry the fuck up if he didn't actually want Ford to walk in on him. Cause that was all well and good while he was hot and shivering and chasing down an orgasm, but he would probably actually die if he got caught. Or maybe Ford would do him a favor and just kill him on the spot for it?

Nosing the fold of the coat collar, Stan heard a quiet click in the room before the heater kicked on, thrumming away to keep the stupid cabin at a reasonable temperature for the middle of winter. Because the heat had been turned off, like Ford had suspected, and they'd managed for a few days with Stan chopping wood and putting the shack's little fireplace to use. But that was a miserable chore, and eventually Stan figured, fuck it, and gave the gas company a call.

Turned out, telling the right sob story with an appropriately pathetic voice could get you an extension and get the heat back on until your genius brother figured out his nerd ass replacement for powering the shack. Stan didn't know what he meant by that, and he hadn't asked, because as long as they had some way of heating the place up, he was happy.

But he did distinctly remember telling Ford he had gotten the gas turned back on for another couple weeks. The way he made that brief, surprised face and then, for a moment, nothing else at all. Long enough that Stan had rolled his eyes and turned to head back out of the room, because really, what the hell had he expected here? But then Ford had finally cleared his throat and said, awkward, like he'd only just realized he should, “Thank you, Stanley. Good work.”

Stan shoved a mouthful of Ford's coat between his teeth and bucked jerkily when he came all over his fist, skin tingling and Ford's voice rolling around between his ears.

“J-Jesus Christ, Stanley,” he panted to himself once he'd stopped whining and could spit out the edge of the coat — didn't taste nearly as good as it smelled. And, he realized with a groan, he'd managed to get jizz all over the sleeve. Fantastic.

Once he caught his breath, he would get dressed, wipe the coat off as best he could, and put it back. Then he would pray to god that Ford didn't notice anything, wouldn’t see the splotchy attempts at cleaning it or smell Stan on it. And he would never touch the damn thing again. Really.

#yeah again i got nothing #i didn't mean to write this #BUT HERE WE ARE #stancest #nsft #pretend my ask tag is cute #foodtruck’s snack packs

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crystaldoodler · 9 months ago

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A very long post of doodles relating to @theminecraftbee ‘s smallishsona AU (sorry for the tag again). I think of this AU while wandering Tartarus, so, I’ve had a lot of time to think. This post is really long and has a lot of rambling so, I’m putting it all under the cut. I’m sorry world I have too many words and rambles in me

First up, character designs!

I used primarily their mc skins for design, with only a few rl things thrown in. But, I didn’t bring them up so the colors are off a bit.

Starting off with Joel:

He’s following the persona protagonist tradition of mostly wearing the school uniform correctly, but with some minor embellishments. I’m still debating whether or not to add more, but w/e. His signature color is green.

Then Skizz and Impulse:

The greatest dichotomy of time to design, Impulse I knocked out on the second go, but I’ve done many iterations of Skizz and I still am not satisfied with this design. The ripped sleeves looked too out there (to me, at least) but nothing else seems to work so I settled for the shirt under uniform shirt look. Something I struggled with that these two emphasize is making them look like teenagers, and what they look like, and also keep to the anime style, and also my own incompetence with drawing facial features so It’s something all of these lack in. Impulse is yellow, and Skizz is blue.

Scar and Grian are next up, Scar’s facial Scar is from summoning his persona, because he stabbed himself in the face lol. Not much to say about these guys, I settled on orange for Scar and red for grian, which I am still struggling with beacause mumbo:

is ALSO red. So I guess they are just, both? red? If you look at the party select screens in persona though, the characters have pretty strong color coding, so I guess I’ll figure something out. If anyone is still reading: help. Anyway, mumbo wins the award for wearing the uniform the most normal (except for the tie)

Last but not least, Gem!

She’s wearing a longer skirt than the usual uniforms and also some big-ass boots. Also, she’s a sea monster thing? So, I was thinking, staring at SEES cool new uniform things and thinking about the Phantom Thieves and how cool their outfits are and realized the persona games have at least some design change to separate their daily looks from shadow hunting. Even if it is only glasses in p4 lol. So, I thought maybe weapon holsters? but, that seemed a little too generic. So! I decided to combine how I normally draw the hermits (and a lot of the fandom does) as having non-human traits as the big things setting their combat looks apart. It is both a) fun to draw, b) creates an eye catching and distinctive design for combat and c) is really funny. I thought it was funny so I drew a comic about it:

and here’s a sketch of what everyone looks like and also the transformation gives them very distinct eyes, for no reason other than I think it looks cool:

mumbo is a normal human btw (or at least, he appears to be)

Welp,that’s all I got. If I look at these drawings any longer I will hate them so here they are, yippee. Also, Bee/OP, sorry for exploding; I am into persona and hermitcraft right now so this AU is like a perfect storm to give me brain rot.

#hermitcraft #persona #my art #smallishbeans #smallishsona #i have other comic ideas but i dont want to be annoying ahhh *explodes*

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blood-mocha-latte · 3 months ago

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a belated birthday present for the lovely and incredible @gorgeousundertow <33 || i Struggled infinitely with this and have no idea what’s going on, lol. because of this, this au is actually about seven thousand words longer, but i figured i’d post this as a drabble before i do anything drastic. enjoy!

Brad hates this.

To be fair, Brad hates a large number of things, but this is pretty fucking high on the list.

It’s always weird, doing it alone, mainly because he’s gotten so used to doing everything with a partner in at least some semblance to the word that having his ass hanging completely uncovered in the wind sets him on edge.

The fact that his greatest contender is his own subconscious only makes it worse.

Brad’s never been to Stonehenge, but the wind is crisp and clean against his face as he walks past a craggy rock, keeping his eyes on the horizon, on the rolling hills and trees and far off mountains.

He runs a palm over the closest stone. It’s rough, textured, against his touch, and the feel of it catches against the blisters that pepper his palm. It feels real, warm beneath his skin, and he focuses on the feel of it, on nothing else, before moving on.

The grass is tall, willowy and airy, but clearly there, present and as quiet as a whisper where it brushes against the denim of Brad’s jeans, sometimes catches against the fabric.

He still hates it. Hates the whole thing. Hates that he has to focus this much, hates that he’s lost the ease that comes with being a veteran of the trade. Feels new all over again, and it’s an unwelcome feeling.

He forces the thought from his mind when the ground seems to warp beneath his feet. Stay on target.

The ground steadies out again, and Brad moves past the rock he’d been standing at to reach out to the next one. He’s tired, maybe perpetually annoyed, and it’s a frustrating thing to feel in a dream about nothing.

He runs his palm over this stone, too. Same texture. Same feeling.

They used to talk about coming here.

As soon as he thinks it, he knows he fucked up. For as long as it took him to get here, to the roughness of the stones and the wispiness of the grass, it takes barely a heartbeat for Brad to lose his grip on it.

He slips sideways into distraction, into memories of the real world and memories of the dream one, and in the brief millisecond that he loses his grip, Stonehenge disappears.

When Brad comes to, a headache beginning to throb from the base of his skull, all that’s left is the grass.

The sky begins to fold in on itself, the horizon stacking up on top of each other like a book closing as Brad’s focus is shattered, as he loses his grip on both his dream and his subconscious.

The last thing he notices before he wakes up is that the whispering of grass sounds like a voice he hasn’t heard in over a month.

- - -

When he comes to, Ray is hovering over him, chewing with his mouth open. When he realizes that Brad’s eyes are open, he grins a crooked, gaping smile, and a chunk of mushy Dorito falls on Brad's face.

“Morning sunshine.” He says, muffled, and Brad groans, shoving him away with an open palm to his forehead.

He sits up in the lawn chair he’d been reclined in, getting his feet back under him and scrubbing an open palm over his mouth.

“Fuck.” He mutters into his palm.

He shouldn’t have thought of Nate. He knows he shouldn’t have thought of Nate, but he did anyways, and he reaped the goddamn consequences of it.

From the way he can feel Ray’s gaze burning into the side of his face, Brad knows that he knows it as well.

“Wanna try again?”

“No.” Brad tells him, hoarse and too quickly.

“…you went to Stonehenge, didn’t you?”

“Shut the fuck up, Ray.”

“God, you’re such a goddamn nerd, when’s Walt gonna come back and relieve me of this angsty geek world—”

“Shut the fuck up, Ray—”

Ray raises his hands in surrender as soon as Brad looks up, angry sparking dully through his chest as his head throbs with a parallel beat. He doesn’t say anything else, and Brad is grudgingly grateful for it.

They both know he shouldn’t have chosen Stonehenge. It doesn’t matter that it’s not a memory. The thought of it is as good as one.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” Brad says, hoarse, and pushes up from the lawn chair. Ray doesn’t move from his own, the hideous floral cover over it coated in a hideous assortment of Dorito dust and chocolate.

He tilts his head, watching Brad with his mouth still full. “What, we have somewhere to be?”

They don’t, not really. Brads been so focused on getting his edge back that everything else had fallen wayside, and Ray was between jobs.

Though he hasn’t said anything about it, Brad's near certain the career choice was voluntary. Ray was one of the best damn architects in the country, never mind the coast.

“Gonna contact Poke.” Brad told him, still coarse. “Ask about a job.” When he next looks up, Ray’s eyebrows are raised to his hairline.

“What, you’re gonna be point man?” Brad doesn’t look up again, just shoves up and off of the lawnchair and rubs gingerly at the sore spot where his IV had been. Ray must have removed it before he was fully conscious.

“Don’t see why not.” He mutters, a clear-cut lie. He can’t even keep his grip on a fucking landscape, couldn’t dream with anyone else. Last time he’d tried, his subconscious had torn Ray to shreds.

But he needed to get out: out of his skin, out of this room, maybe even out of California. He was going to go crazy if he stayed here: trying to dream of an easy landscape while Ray stared at him and put his hand in warm water or drew on his face.

Speaking of Ray. He was gathering up his own shit, cramming sunglasses onto his face with negligible grace and swinging his pack over his shoulder. He was saying something, Brad wasn’t listening.

When he picked up his own pack, it was suspiciously heavy. He didn’t bother to check inside of it.

Ray jiggled the door to their shitty, rented hotel room door open and wandered out into the hall, semi-aimless.

Brad followed him out, but hesitated before closing the door.

He ran his palm over the smooth wood once before backing away, followed after Ray, albeit in a straighter path.

The stone, in an odd way, had felt more real.

- - -

As soon as he gets back to his apartment, he showers. Half to get the layer of grime that always seemed to settle over him after taking a train anywhere, and half because he could still feel the phantom touch of stone and grass against his skin.

The cold water did nothing to make him feel purer, or even necessarily cleaner, but the shock it aided to his system was enough to drag Brad through the rest of his routine: eating, working out again, and stripping before collapsing into the springy, worn-out mattress, home to a single sheet and two pillows.

He stared at the second pillow for half of a second before tossing it into the corner of his room.

As soon as he laid back, grimacing at the way the mattress seemed to dig into his back but not bothering to do anything about it, he pulled out his phone, squinting at the white-blue light of it as the rest of the room settled into darkness.

He needed to stop doing this, he knew. He may not be the pinnacle of goddamn mental health, but he knew his ins and outs of letting go to know well enough that he should step back.

Well. Brad wasn’t fucking perfect.

Even though Nate’s old phone number had been deactivated when he’d left, he’d given Brad his new personal one with an awkward smile and an awkwarder invitation to keep in touch.

Still, Brad hadn’t reached out, and neither had Nate, and he knew that neither of them would. It was the way of the world, he guessed. Ray would say something about homo sapiens, probably.

Still. He stared at the phone number, and thought in awkward, stilted lines of what he would say.

It didn’t take him long to fall asleep.

It was, of course, dreamless.

- - -

When the whole fucking mess that had been Brad’s dating and friend life and the subsequent betrayal of it had happened, the dreaming and the job it was a part of was his lifeline.

It was a way of getting out of the real world: of throwing himself fully into another task and being able to settle into someone else’s head, not his own. It had been a way of coping, as fucked up as it had been.

Nate had been a big part of that, Brad thinks.

Nate, who’d always seemed so tired, so sick of it all, but had seemed to glow against the darkness of a manipulated consciousness anyways.

That should have been Brad’s first hint. His first of many.

Settling into the swing of it, working jobs together (not all of them, just some. Just enough for Brad to know that it was better than working with anyone else), spending waking hours together, as well, it had gotten him out of his head.

It had felt like a distraction, until Brad had realized that his feelings of being better — more at peace than he’d been since everything that had happened — were real. Were content.

Nate leaving — leaving the job, leaving dreaming, leaving the world constructed out of glass and thought that Brad had tenuously set up around his career — had shot right through that and right back into the cold hunk of ice that Brad was beginning to think would always be a part of him.

It was for the best. It wasn’t goodbye. It wasn’t a betrayal, and Brad would do a whole lot fucking better to remember that. There was college, for Nate. There was a life without stupid fucking superiors, without the threat of a dream or a job gone wrong.

It didn’t feel like that, though.

The difference, though, was the fact that being cheated on and betrayed was soothed by his job. By the dreams. Nate leaving had wrecked Brad’s ability to do either.

Ray almost certainly had a theory that he wasn’t telling Brad about why. Brad didn’t bother to ask, though, because he knew why: knew that Nate looking at him, eyes bright and warm, smile slightly curved up like a painting in a way that it hadn’t in forever, had thrown a wrench in everything.

I don’t want to spend my whole life asleep, I guess.

And with that, he’d had the haunting, ice cold thought that had spread across his skin and refused to leave.

Maybe Brad doesn’t, either.

He wakes up.

- - -

Poke gets them a job and doesn’t ask questions.

He talks a lot of shit, and flips it, too, but keeps away from touchier topics when it becomes clear that Brad’s not in the mood.

Ray’s with them as architect, and the two keep each other entertained like two crows that had found a shiny rock. Brad, off to the side and trying to prepare in any way he can, keeps his elbows on his knees, chin digging into his hand as he stares at the floor.

He jumped the gun with this, he knows. Ray and Poke know it too, probably, but Brad’s point man. If something happens, it’s on him.

Bryan, working as chemist, sits off to the side in a similar, lonely fashion, clearly uninterested in participation of any kind as he keeps his head bent over his work, hiding it from prying eyes.

With Poke as forger, all they’re missing is an extractor. Brad doesn’t necessarily care about who it is; not anymore.

The best one’s out of the business now, anyways.

Brad closes his eyes, inhales and exhales in two heaving gusts of breaths.

When he opens them again, it’s just in time to catch Poke’s backhand, grimacing as his knuckles rap against his forehead.

“Stop meditating, communist hippie motherfucker.” Ray tells him, behind Poke. He’s wearing a neon orange neck pillow. “You ready to go, or do you want the time to go find a keto-friendly snack first?”

Contrary to his words, Ray’s eyes are dark. Brad can tell he’s worried, and he doesn’t have to look at Poke to know that he looks exactly the same.

“Where’s the final guy?” Brad asks Poke, instead of addressing Ray, and the blank, cagey look that Espera shoots at him isn’t promising.

“On his way.” He says vaguely, kicking at one of Brad’s boots as he walks around him. “Gonna get into it, then he’ll join up later. Practice run, all that.”

Bryan glances up from his case, and Brad can’t tell what he’s thinking. He’s worked a handful of jobs with Bryan, who’s always competent but more than unhappy with the larger logistics of any plan, and it sets him somewhat at ease. There are worse goddamn chemists to work with, that’s for damn sure.

Overall, it’s a solid enough team. eam. Of course, Brad can’t accurately decide that until he learns who the extractor is.

And he’s not stupid. He knows that there’s something going on: that Poke or Ray or Poke and Ray together (and maybe Bryan, for good measure) have something up their combined goddamn sleeves and it’ll make Brad suffer in some way, shape, or form.

And yet, he realizes with a blaring, painful glare of cold truth that he couldn’t care less. He thinks about recklessness for half of a second before deciding it’s too much of a goddamn racket.

“Ready to go?” Ray asks cheerfully, kicking off his shoes and adjusting his neck pillow as he lays back. As soon as he does so, he pulls an eye mask out of his back pocket. It has hyper realistic Joker eyes on it, and Espera grimaces as he drops into his own lawn chair.

Brad is fucking sick of lawnchairs.

“Jesus Christ, homes, what the fuck is that?”

“I’m worried about my eyes drying out.” Ray tells him primly, settling back again with the eyemask. It conflicts hideously with the neon orange of his neck pillow. “And they didn’t have one on Amazon that had 3D dicks sticking out of it like those glasses. The ones with the springs and the eyeballs and shit.”

Brad turned back to the ceiling. He’d been there when Ray had been on the warpath for an eye mask like that, had told Nate about it in a dream and had watched as the other’s eyes had shined, mouth turning in a Mona Lisa smile.

I don’t want to spend my whole life asleep, I guess.

He has to focus.

It’s dangerous to hold onto the past. Onto memory.

“Ready to go?” Bryan asks, as cold cut as always, and Ray just sighs.

“Tim, if you see a cock and balls eye mask, you’ll tell me, right?”

Brad didn’t see Bryan’s face, kept his eyes on the ceiling, but could hear how the other sighed, something between disappointment and a laugh. “Arm out, Ray.” He said, sounding rather tired. Fitting, Brad supposed.

As everything leveled out, both an artificial silence and one constructed out of Brad’s dedicated focus drifted over him, and he closed his eyes, tried to focus.

The last thing he felt before the prick of somnacin was the door to the warehouse they’d met at beginning to rattle open.

He was out before he could do anything about it.

- - -

Brad realizes as soon as he settles into the dream, real and vivid, why Poke and Ray were being so weird.

Nate Fick blinks at him steadily, once, twice, eyes bright and warm, and Brad realizes that he can’t tell if he’s real or not.

Before he can decide, Ray pops up at his elbow. He has his dick eye mask propped on his forehead, now. The pros of a dream, Brad guesses. “He’s real.” He tells Brad, and keeps talking before Brad can say anything. “Figured it would be better to trick your ass into getting in here. You know, like a big dumb dog.”

Brad doesn’t look at him, but he kind of wants to elbow Ray in the face.

Nate’s mouth is curved up, just slightly, but he looks tired; his undereyes a purple-black, hair slightly messy. It was rather a feat, Brad guessed. To look exhausted in a dream.

“Can we talk?” He asks, quiet, and Brad stares at him for another half of a second before turning half a pace, looking for Poke.

“Please tell me there’s a job.” He says, and can almost feel his heartbeat. Poke just shrugs.

“There’s a job.” He says. “And Fick’s working extractor. So. You know.” He gestured vaguely at nothing. Nate is still watching him. When he turns, Ray is, too, but between the eye mask and his gleeful, hick expression, Brad dismisses him immediately.

“Brad.” Nate tells him, voice careful, quiet.

Brad hesitates, for half of a second, but in the end walks towards him.

- - -

“It’s not all about me.” Nate tells him, walking alongside Brad easily, neither of them really sure where they’re going.

It’s kind of embarrassing that Brad’s able to find his foothold, now. It’s a combination, he thinks: not being in charge of the architecture of the dream and Nate.

Nate walks slightly in front of him. Brad knows, somehow, deep under his skin, that it’s so they don’t have to look at each other.

“How do you know that?” Brad asks, rather repugnant. Nate just huffs, glancing back at him. He looks forward again just as quickly.

“You don’t do anything in halves.” He says. “Something else happened.”

Brad snorts, but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t feel like there’s a lot that he can say. There’s no point in denying that Nate leaving the job impacted him. There’s no point in pushing on why he came back.

“How’ve you been?” He asks, dry, instead. They come up to a house. The door opens, and Brad knows that Ray put it there for him. The weirdo.

Nate just hums, walks inside. “It’s been difficult.” He says, even kilter, voice not dipping into any sort of emotion. Brad’s used to it, in a way. Almost nostalgic to it. “But. It’s good, I think. I’m going back to school.”

Brad hums. It feels rather tasteless. He follows Nate into the house, there’s a drawing of the Lorax on the wall for some reason. “That must be good.” He says, can feel the way that the hoarseness in his voice scrapes up his throat. “You’ve got. Uh. A leg up, for sure.”

He feels awkward. Nate turns, enough to catch Brad’s gaze again, and his eyes are bright. Seems to catch him, the same way they always do. Always did.

Nate doesn’t say anything.

Brad wonders if that’s why they work: that they don’t need to say anything. That there’s something there regardless.

“I’ve been doing this for almost ten years.” Brad says, and it feels like an admission. Nate just watches him, eyes piercing and warm, cold, bright.

I don’t want to spend my whole life asleep, I guess.

Brad watches him back, for half of a second. Catches himself wondering if this is real. “I felt it, too.” Nate tells him, face somewhere between torn ragged and utterly blank. A fight between expressing and being guarded, in a dream. “This… this feeling. Like when you sleep until noon when you’re a kid.”

Brad looks away from him and clears his throat. He stares at the Lorax instead. It has a bra on, he hadn’t realized that before. He makes a mental note to make fun of Ray for that later.

Two fingertips press carefully into his forearm, a gentle touch. It reminds Brad of, absurdly, pressing his palm to the stone in his dream. When he looks back at Nate, the other is watching him, obviously thinking of something. He runs the tip of his tongue across his top lip before speaking again.

“I’d go with you,” He said, almost hoarse. “If you left.”

His fingers leave Brad’s arm. Brad can’t look away from him. “You already left.”

Nate just huffed. He smiled, a brief flash of teeth that didn’t seem exactly happy. “And now I’m back. For — for you, if you want. I guess.”

Brad has to think on that, for a moment.

They’d never been anything. Nothing concrete, anyways, and nothing in real life. But if Brad was held back by real life, he supposes, he would have quit a long time ago.

And, besides. It doesn’t hurt to entertain hypotheticals.

“Where would we go?” He asks, following this train of thought, and Nate smiles again, more genuine, less forced.

“I don’t know.” He says, and something in his eyes sparks. “Stonehenge, maybe.”

Brad doesn’t know what he is without this. Without dreaming. But, he thinks, watching Nate’s eyes and the haggard set of his face, the way that knowing he’s asleep settles across Brad’s shoulders in a tight line that didn’t used to be there, he knows that he’d thought that after he’d been left behind. Both when Nate left and before that.

“Yeah.” He agreed, and it wasn’t a deal, but he was thinking about it. “Stonehenge, maybe.”

#rie writes #hope you enjoy nikki <33 #generation kill #bradnate #brad colbert #nate fuck #hbo war

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stelyos · 1 year ago

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Sept 2023 Updates

Hello!

I know I sort of up and vanished from Tumblr with no real explanation. Same with nothing said about rebranding myself.

I'd just like folks to know in writing (belated), that I am sunsetting "0chromat" as my online username. I don't want to use it, or variants of that anymore. I'm using "Stelyos" everywhere for all my online presence now. People may also know me as "Steel". I'm still using that name, as it's meant to be compatible with "Stelyos", so no problem in people continuing to use it. Stelyos = Formal. Steel = Casual. (misc ramblings under cut.)

I'm still the same person, nothing has really changed, just a name change to keep things more unified.

I have to take the time to update -all- of my information, tags, blog materials, too, etc.. do a bit of maintenance, fall cleaning, maybe remove some posts I don't want anymore - so I will try to do so throughout the week while struggling to figure out what else has changed about the platform since I was truly active.

Also - I realize the tags I used to use for some topics, are now broken since I've been kind of absent from Tumblr, so I will fix that for organization purposes. My blog(s) have went through a period of inactivity for a few years and I'd like to say I am back... ish? Sort of? I know I've been posting periodically before I actually said anything, lol. But, I know for a fact that I want to post more again, so I'm trying. The climate of the internet and online platforms, in recent years, has been a bit strange - which also contributed to my lack of posting.

The online environment is something I've always viewed as an escape from stressful offline experiences or events, and because that's sort of turned inside out, offline ended up becoming more rejuvenating, to get away from online stress.

Strange how things work, sometimes. Along with some personal events in my life that kept my hands tied down. I also didn't have as much time or energy to dedicate to my own works for a time, so I just sort of faded out and ended up quietly throwing things onto the blog whenever I could. Anyways, it's nice to be here again, and I will try to be a bit more transparent about some things going on. Thanks for reading!

#personal #0chromat #steel.txt

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teachugger69 · 11 months ago

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a helping hand

summary: when reader is expressing her frustration with her skin, spencer is there to help her feel better (basically)

content/warnings: negative opinions on acne, mentions of food

category: fluff! (I think lol)

word count: 1k!

a/n: i've been wanting to write fic's for awhile, but like actually writing them is HELL compared to just thinking of cute little scenarios in my head for fun 😭 soooo im just gonna post this one because i could care less for it (if i post one that i actually love and people don't like it, I WILL BE CRUSHED AND NEVER WRITE AGAIN.) but anyway! please give me tips/advice if you have any :)

For the first time in years, your skin was breaking out- and heavily, too. Sighing, you sat up on the cold bathroom counter, intensely observing your newly conceived blemishes. (for an extensive amount of time.) Growing up, your skin was never in that oh so desirable clear state that all the other girls had. Not that acne was horrific, but you just felt like the odd one out when everyone else looked like modes for Goop.

In the living room, Spencer pauses his reading to glance across the apartment to the bathroom, a bubbling feeling of concern growing in him. Placing his book down, he walked over to check in on you, leaning against the open doorway. "Is something wrong?" Your sweet boyfriend asked in a caring tone. Turning on the counter so that you were facing him, you shook your head. "No- I- I'm breaking out." You groaned, breaking the number one rule of dermatology as you touched your face. "Y/N... it's okay, that happens-" "No! Spencer, I can't be breaking out like... this. I look so... ugly. I've been sticking to a strict skincare routine for this reason, and-" before you could even take a breath, Spencer quickly placed a chaste kiss to your lips. "You're not ugly, nothing can make you ugly- even this breakout." He said softly as he finally pulled away.

Why did Spencer have to be such a sweetheart? He always found a way to make you feel better, and you hated him for it. The sweet boy kissed all the spots on your face that had been affected (which probably wasn't helping, but who were you to complain?) Blushing, you lightly push him away, making a false face of disgust. "I hate you." You giggled and rolled your eyes, making Spencer let out a sarcastic gasp. "I'll live." He leaned in to whisper into the crook of your neck, leaving featherlight kisses on your pulse point. His slender fingers sliding down to caress the silky purple PJ set he bought you so excitedly. "I think you're beautiful, Y/n, I wish you could see yourself through my eyes." The boy mumbled against your skin as he delicately tried to pull the waistband of your shorts down.

"Wait-" "What's wrong?" He asked softly and pulled away. "I just- sorry- I'm just trying to figure out why I'm breaking out." You sighed and scooted down the counter to look in the mirror again. Spencer watched sadly as he saw you looking at yourself in such a negative light. Your brows furrowed as you leaned in closer, observing all of the new ugly bumps on your face. It was only when you started you squish your skin together, attempting to pop a pimple, when Spencer quickly grabbed your wrists, pulling them away from your face. "Spencer!" You frustratedly groaned, looking up at him in offense.

"Sweetheart, as much as I don't want to support this ideology... if you want to clear your skin, touching the blemishes won't help- let alone popping them." Spencer says in an incredibly quiet voice, almost as if he was scared to say anything to hurt you any more than you already were. "I can't wait for it to clear up. I've been avoiding everything wrong for years- these need to go away." You complained but listened to the genius, knowing he was right.

"How about this- how about we retrace your steps- maybe we can narrow down why you're breaking out...?" Spencer suggested thoughtfully as his hand gently brushed through your hair. You thought it out- and it was such a good idea! You nodded enthusiastically and Spencer couldn't help but smile as he saw your mood instantly heighten. "Okay, well... my skin has only been like this for a few days." Spencer nodded, taking into consideration why your skin might be acting up- and then it clicked.

"Oh! What about that new foundation you bought?! The... Maurice one? I dunno... It was clear- and expensive." Your smile faded as you bit your cheek, wondering if it really was the cause. "Makeup by Mario, baby. But... I don't think it would be because of that- that foundation is really expensive- and it has so many good reviews." You defended- mostly because you didn't want to believe that the new $42 foundation he bought you was behind your skin nightmare.

Your boyfriend thought to himself once more before he spoke again. "I uh- I think I might know why, now." He said, timidly looking down at his hands as he fiddled with them. "Well... What is it?" "Baby, it's- I-" "Just tell me, Spence." "I think it could be your diet- uh- because recently you've been- well- treating yourself. I love that you're letting yourself indulge in those foods- but they're good in moderation, my love." You just looked at him for a few seconds before giggling to yourself. "That's what you were scared to say?!" You snort and look at the boy who seems absolutely relieved that you didn't take it the wrong way. "Well... yeah." He blushed and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I'm glad you told me- you're like... the only one who can get away with bringing up my eating habits." Spencer let out a breath that he didn't know he was holding. "O-Okay, good."

You hopped off the counter, leading the two of you out of the bathroom and into the kitchen. "Guess we're going to have to say goodbye to these..." You sighed as you grabbed a box of doughnuts- stocked with the chocolate frosted ones with sprinkles that your boyfriend loved so much. As the box hovered above the trash, Spencer yelped a childish "No!", before he quickly grabbed the box away from you. You giggled and looked up at your immature boyfriend with a judging face.

"Well... what if I said you look sexier this way That you look better and that you don't have to change?" He stammered- hands finding their way to your waist. "You're gonna seduce me- just so we can keep these doughnuts?"

"Maybe. Or maybe I just always think you look sexy- and the doughnuts are just a coincidence..." Spencer grinned slyly and let out a stupid little chuckle.

"You're really stupid for a genius, you know?"

#spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic

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burning-academia-if · 2 months ago

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Hi again. If you've been around a while you're probably going to be like "Em, again??" But guess who got sick for the 6th time this year and this time it was a full on chest infection!! It has been three weeks, and somehow I am still Not Free!!

Anyway, BA fell to the wayside this month because it was Velox Fabula time and I've yet to miss a Velox jam (also...chest infection). I also needed to get my sudden and newfound Pirates of the Caribbean obsession out of the way so! I made a short pirate visual novel for the jam and I'm normal again. I also released the prologue of my side IF To Taste Sweet Silver (@sweetsilver-if) just to have it out. Feel free to check it out if you want, but it likely won't be updated for a while as I'm shifting gears back to BA for September!

I don't have much to report but:

UI update should be out in the next week or two depending on how I'm feeling. It won't look like much to y'all since it's more for my sake via cleaning up the code LOL but there were things added (friendship indicators, open dyslexic font option, character page updated, stat page updated, glossary page added) I'm not a graphic designer but it's better organized I think. There won't be an Official Post about it because it isn't new content, but I will make a small announcement when it's out. It'll also include the originally deleted Lars/Zoe/Nevio lunch scene in Chapter 2 as well. Sorry this is taking so long, I just really struggle with the coding side of things which has made the process slow.

Writing in August was also slow, and honestly, I think I really needed those few weeks off not thinking about BA. My inbox being very quiet helped as well, so I really did take a real break from BA. When I opened up the writing doc, I felt a whole lot better about working on BA again, and we have hit 100k words finally!

Anyway, I don't want to lament much, but I did have a personal goal of releasing up to Chapter 4 this year which obviously is Not Going to Happen. It honestly sucks I got sick so often this year because it cut into so much time for creative projects, be it BA or anything else.

I'm not really going to be hard on myself for it, though. I think releasing 3 chapters this year considering everything that kept Going Wrong this year is actually pretty good. I just think its annoying when I know I could have done it but the universe said no instead akfjalfa Anyway, I'm not sure when Chapter 3 will release but I do have a good feeling about September and I think I'll be able to at least get a decent chunk done this month!

Finally, September marks the one year anniversary for this blog and October marks the one year anniversary of BA releasing!! I feel like I literally just started writing this, the fact it's September already is wild.

I was going to do art commissions, but due to surprise car issues, I don't really have the money for that now (next year for sure though!!), so I was thinking of maybe doing character Q&As to celebrate? I've also seen some authors do raffles, but I'm not entirely sure what I would raffle off? Maybe personalized short stories with readers MCs if there's interest in that? I'm not sure yet, but I have a month to figure it out lol

But also thank you to everyone who has followed along!! It's been a really fun time both writing BA and on the blog. I know I say this a lot, but I'm really glad this is such a chill place. It's nice for me the author obviously, but it's also nice because I always want the spaces I have to feel like safe places for others as well so! Thanks again!

Lastly, I normally would end on a little snippet or preview but since most of what I wrote was just the two different openings, I feel like I have nothing fun to tease (or maybe I'm too picky about snippets idk). Hopefully Zoe's bday post tomorrow makes up for it, and I'll post some snippets later in the month instead!

Thanks for reading!

#BA: updates #also sorry if this sounds low energy this chest infection has made me So Tired #and if the raffle sounds like something yall would want let me know I'm very bad at ideas aflakjsfajlf #(if you have other ideas lmk too)#the character Q&A I think is a for sure though because it sounds like fun

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wellofdean · 4 months ago

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Okay now I’m wondering what they told Jensen about that ‘secret’ that Dean has because it wasn’t Dean’s need for a ‘normal’ life and relationship, so to speak, because we had the dream sequence with Lisa and the picnic in season 3 (not to mention Cassie), and Kripke was pretty open about how Sam and Dean both put on masks about what they want with women, Sam is the secretly horny one and Dean is a secret romantic. So the secret has to be something else. If it were to be his bisexuality, which given that his character is queercoded from the very beginning of season 1, isn’t implausible.

From what I’ve seen, there’s multiple ways they do this, sometimes they tell the actor the secret (that their character is queer) and the actor plays it that way. Sometimes they just tell them “okay your character has a secret” and don’t tell them what it is (see Jensen’s character, Eric on DOOL) and sometimes they don’t tell an actor at all and just write it that way.

Hypothetically if the secret was Dean’s bisexuality (I mean, Dean Moriarty, James Dean? very bisexual), and they hadn’t told Jensen, I wonder at what point he would’ve figured it out. Because as much as people like to rib him, he’s not stupid and he’s a very intentional actor (maybe that’s why him and kripke get along).

Anyways that ask got away from me lol, fascinating topic, it’s fun to still be learning things about the show 4 years after it ended.

That IS an interesting question... Linking to the posts that likely prompted it. I would bet that he knew it was part of the DNA of Dean that he was not straight. I think Jensen knew who Dean was named after, and probably knew or was told it would always be subtext, and also that Dean was closeted, so...not admitting it to himself. How could he in that family? I think he knew the character backstory and what the writers were working from.

We know Jensen doesn't read scripts too far ahead so that he isn't too influenced by what is coming and can react to Dean's moment cleanly, so...If I had to guess, he knew it was in there, but bisexuals are able to blend and play straight. But, I think he knew, because otherwise, why that face when Sam clocks him for being butch and over-compensating? Why his full clown approach to tropey women? Why do they so obviously contrast that to how Dean treats women who aren't performing femininity as hard as he is masc-ing? Why say Dean is a 'promiscuous guy' when he demonstrably isn't? Wherefore Jensen's 'who knows how Dean scares up money' headcanon? Wherefore A LOT of things, honestly.

And, let me just add that nothing I have ever heard or heard tell of Jensen saying actually contradicts this if you realize that what he does is basically refuse to comment on anything that has not been explicitly shown on the TV screen. So, someone point blank asks him: do you play Dean as queer? And Jensen says No. Ok. Yeah. Dean is not ready to admit that to himself and Dean's vessel plays him straight.

If he elaborates, hesitates or prevaricates AT ALL, then suddenly Dean is queer, and the secret character note is no more, and it would blow the ability to let that thread of Dean's story develop in response to events in the narrative. So...

I mean, I'm only guessing, but that's my guess.

#dean was always bi #spn #dean winchester

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harrypotterandthefandomaccount · 11 months ago

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everybody plays the fool

pairing: remus lupin x fem!reader

request: not requested, just based on personal experience & struggles rn lol

warnings: fluff, angst, loving someone else who is in a relationship, hurt, unrequited love? kinda?

note: recently experienced this with someone very important to me so super slay! some of these quotes are exactly what he said, which is kinda funny to use them in a fic. anyway, enjoy your early christmas present since i havent posted in 9 months!!!

remus lupin was not a bad person by any means, no, but at the present moment, you wish he was so you had some kind of 'backup' for your hurt.

you and remus had been close for a number of years, your relationship flourishing once you joined the order. he was very protective and observant of you, ready to jump into action if you needed his help - but he was not overwhelming. he respected you, that much was clear, and if you needed him to care for you, he'd be there in a heartbeat.

his standing with romantic relationships was something that you were not always 100% clear on, and you never pushed him to clarify or share that part of his life with you. but members of the order had told you of past partners, and to your knowledge, he was single - and life was good. you felt comfortable being a bit more flirty with him and hanging around him more often than usual. remus never seemed to mind and was glad to have you around, and your heart fluttered like a golden snitch.

well, up until you found out he had a girlfriend.

when word had spread, you backed off immediately. flirting with him, making suggestive comments, and of the sorts was no longer your place, and while it stung, you respected it. ruining a relationship was not on your bucket list. but really, you shouldn't have worried too much about yourself.

remus had been showing you around grimmauld place, as sirius typically had old photos of their younger selves, and when you had discovered a bunch of old polaroids of the marauders, remus was quick to delve into his past at hogwarts. you ran your thumb over the photos, fondly looking at the group of boys.

you glanced up at remus, "i have to say, rem, this photo looks nothing like you," a soft laugh escaping your lips.

remus chuckled, "that was when i was young, y/n, full of hopes and dreams, handsome. you missed my prime."

you laughed along with him, but you sensed part of words held a bit of truth behind them, "i feel robbed of not being around during your prime, with the way you describe it."

remus shrugged, a sigh escaping him, "yes, well, that was when i used to be somewhat attractive and before all of this madness."

the words slipped before you could stop, "in a non-weird, platonic way, you're still attractive so don't let time control your happiness and contentment with your life, remus."

he blushed from your words, smiling lightly, "in a non-weird, platonic way, i kind of like that you said that."

you looked at one another, your lips mindlessly swiping over your lips. remus cleared his throat, "I'm sorry, i shouldn't have said that-"

you shook your head, "no, i overstepped - i'm sorry if i made you uncomfortable..."

it was now remus's turn to shake his head, a soft smile on his face, "we both apologized, so i think we're even, darling. I'll see you at dinner."

after that first encounter, you decided to put some distance between you and lupin; you had figured it was the best option in avoiding any kind of awkward tension. and, for the most part, it worked. there were a few instances where you had to interact, but it was for the order and while things weren't necessarily awkward, it settled your mind.

soon enough, christmas had rolled around and yourself, along with the rest of the order and the kids, had decided to spend the holidays at grimmauld place. the house was bustling with such positive, happy energy and it was exactly what you needed.

remus and yourself were currently outside on the steps, sitting down as you people-watched. it was quite calming, had you not been a bit anxious considering it was your first time being alone with him in a while.

"so," remus started, "how have you been? i feel like we have not seen each other in a while."

you turned to him, smiling lightly, "good! currently doing a lot of raids for the ministry and sometimes that includes sleeping outside and just waiting. not ideal, but it's...life."

remus raised his eyebrows, "that's hell! you deserve better than that - do you have anywhere to sleep, like a tent?"

you shrugged, "sometimes we can conjure one, other times we decide to wait it out."

playing with his fingers, remus blew out a breath, "i'd say i would join you, but considering we spend enough time together here as it is, I'm not sure that it would be as fun."

you shook your head, "you said it yourself, we haven't seen each other in a while - it would be a blast having you there, if it weren't for the ministry." remus smiled at your reply.

soon enough, remus and you fell into a routine whenever you both were at grimmauld place: talking a stroll outside, sharing stories about your childhoods and memories that held importance, before heading back inside for the night.

you were incredibly thankful for grimmauld place. it had become a home, somewhere to rely on if you just needed some bustling of life, socialization, or love. tonight, an important quidditch playoff was on, and soon enough, the adults were becoming tipsy due to muggle alcohol.

you wouldn't have taken any action if remus's girlfriend was around, but she wasn't, so you took this opportunity to help the lycanthrope upstairs and into bed.

"remus lupin, you party animal," you chuckled, helping him discard of his shoes and vest. his face was a bit flushed as he laughed, "y/n, i-i don't want to-to be, but if i must."

with a snort, you shook off remus's vest, "even when drunk, you're still able to form coherent, intelligent sentences. here," you paused, placing some muggle ibuprofen and water on his bedside table, "take care of yourself for tomorrow morning."

remus gave a slightly-drunken smile, "thanks for taking care of me."

you folded up his vest, placing it on a chair in his bedroom, "of course, anything for the best guy around."

he groaned, "you don't have-have to say that, it's not true."

in your head, you sighed, 'oh merlin, please do not a self-pity drunk, remus.'

you sat down next to him on the bed, "rem, I'm not sure where that thought came from, but you are an amazing guy - you're the best. none of this negative self-talk, okay?"

remus laid back, eyes glossing over, "i'm sorry if i don't live up to that all the time, if i changed your perception of me."

you leaned over, grasping his hand, "remus, life isn't about keeping score or living up to expectations. it's about loving the way that you are living and as long as you are happy, that is the most important thing. be kinder to yourself, rem."

remus sighed, holding onto your hand a bit tighter, "ah, I'm just rambling...but y/n, i appreciate you, genuinely. i love you."

pang.

you gave a saddened smile, but hid it well enough that he didn't ask questions, "i love you too, remus."

remus then began giggling to himself, hiding his face between his hands. you laughed as well, unsure as to why, but he had brightened your gloomy feelings immediately. with a squeeze of his hand, you questioned remus, "what's got you so giggly, lupin?"

he laughed softly once more, "just-just thinking about the time i slept at the top of the astronomy tower."

your eyebrows raised high with surprise, "excuse me? when was this, and can we do it at some point?"

remus nodded his head excitedly, "of course, darling. it-it was a few years ago, yes, but quite fun! but, i should warn you - it gets veryyyy chilly up there." his eyes went wide, as though remembering the cold, and shivered. you tightened the blanket around him.

with a smile, you continued, "no worries, we'll bring our fair share of pillows and blankets, don't worry, rem."

remus looked over at you, his drunkenness slowly leaving his body, "can we share, y/n?"

as if you'd say no.

"of course, remus, whatever you'd like."

"hmm, no pillow wall."

you raised an eyebrow, "pillow wall? for what, rem?"

he hummed, "to separate us, but we don't need one...i like it when you call me that, rem."

your face flushed red, but hope he didn't notice as he continued, "i tend to get hot in the middle of the night."

'don't agitate the conversation, don't encourage it.'

"well, rem, unfortunately i'm the exact opposite and i get cold in the middle of the night."

remus softly chuckled, playing with your fingers, "oh, so you may need help to warm up? you know, you could always get warmer...there are certainly some ways."

shit.

you sighed, a sad smile on your face as you brushed remus's hair back, "get some sleep before you say something you might regret. goodnight, rem." and with that, you left the room in a hurry.

you cried that night, upset and angry at yourself for playing into his drunken flirting and suggestive tones. he clearly didn't know what he was saying, but you did, and took advantage of that. ugh, you hated how that made you feel. he had a girlfriend who he loved (you assume), and what you said and suggested...oh god, how were you two going to be friends?

remus awoke the next morning, aware of what he had said. if he was being honest, he knew what he said to you as he wasn't really that drunk. and he knew once you were aware of that fact, you'd be even more upset at him. getting out of bed, remus was met with the smell of tea, which wafted through the house until he saw you outside on the steps, knee bouncing nervously.

the lycanthrope met you outside and without looking behind you, you knew who it was. remus sat down beside you, tonks on his mind as he tried to formulate what he was going to say. nymphadora was his priority, his girlfriend, his love. but why did he do this to her, to you?

"how're you feeling this morning? any hangover symptoms?" you questioned, just trying to move past the awkwardness.

remus shrugged, "i feel fine, believe it or not. how are you?"

you bit your lip, "okay. didn't get much sleep, wasn't able to shut my brain off." or your tears.

remus glanced at you; you looked exhausted and with the fresh-looking bags under your eyes, he knew you cried. and with that knowledge, his heart panged.

you took in a shaky breath before whispering, "are we okay after last night? i-i couldn't sleep because of it."

remus sighed, nodding his head, "i couldn't either, darling."

you cringed, and he noticed.

remus continued, "it's not on you, y/n, it's on me, and i'm sorry. it was a shitty thing of me to do."

you looked down, your fingernails becoming the most interesting thing in the world, "I'm sorry, too. i shouldn't have continued the conversation. it's not all on you, rem."

remus looked towards you but your head remained down, "y/n...i-i think we both went with it but it got real at some point but i did that." he paused before continuing, "let me take responsibility."

you furrowed your eyebrows, meeting his eyes once you looked up, "remus, you were drunk, i fed into your drunken conversation-"

he interrupted you, "if we're being honest, i wasn't that drunk. let me be better, y/n, please."

your heart ached as it shattered into pieces, trying to mend itself back together. he wasn't that drunk when he said those things to you last night? you became increasingly confused, upset, angry, heartbroken. this man had worked his way into your heart, becoming not only a true friend, but someone you loved. and when a flirty conversation began taking a turn, he knew exactly what he was doing, saying.

but you couldn't have him, and the way this conversation is headed, you would never.

"i just want us to be okay," you whispered the half-truth, wishing you could say what you truly wanted from him. that you wanted him.

remus grasped your hand before letting go as he felt you tense, "you are not in the wrong at all, y/n. we are more than okay."

with a nod, you bit your lip once more, "just-just let me know if i overstep, okay?"

the lycanthrope looked over your face before turning towards the street, "i wanted you to overstep last night, y/n, so take that worry and throw it away. i truly wasn't that drunk, and what i said - what i did - was unfair and selfish, and i won't do it again."

you wanted to sob. he wanted you to overstep, to break his resolve concerning you and his current relationship. remus lupin may not have been entirely sober but he was aware of what he wanted, and he doesn't deny it. this was his way of moving on, of validating your feelings and hoping it wouldn't affect anything. he'd get past it, he had to. he loved nymphadora.

but you loved him. remus lupin gave you thousands of butterflies in your stomach to the point where it made you nauseous. you showed up to grimmauld place more often than you liked just for the off-chance of seeing remus. your autonomic body functions shut down and your palms became increasingly sweaty at the thought of him. you were enamored with remus lupin, but he was enamored with someone else who he didn't see as often as you.

you were the fool in the game of love. you were there as a convenience.

you wanted to tell him that you loved him, that thinking of him made you nauseous - but in a romantic way. you want to know what it is like to kiss him, to wake up next to him, to say "i love you" in a romantic sense.

before you realized it, tears began running down your cheeks. remus turned you towards him, wiping your tears. you felt as though you were going to be sick.

"i'm sorry i made you cry," he whispered, remorse and guilt heavy in his tone. he knew what you were feeling.

you shook your head, making remus move his hands as you wipied your tears, "ugh, no, emotions are just dumb."

remus sighed with a nod, "that they are, and they get us into trouble."

your mind was racing.

he continued, "but having and expressing them is the most important thing any of us can do. whether we are overstepping or not." more tears began to flow as remus finished, "that's why everyone loves you so much; emotions are your superpower. i love working alongside you, and knowing you, y/n. truly."

with a tear-ridden face, you turned to remus and gave him a sad smile, "thank you, remus." with a pause, wondering if you should say anything else, you continued, "I'll see you inside."

before he could say anything else, you went inside and up to your bedroom, the covers becoming your comfort and safe place for your tears.

you were utterly in love with remus lupin, but he was utterly in love with nymphadora tonks. and while you guessed that remus knew your feelings towards him, he had an obligation to her, history with her, and you'd never compare. you wanted to overstep, but doing so would be wrong. you knew that time would pass, that you'd get over remus lupin eventually, but at the moment, he owned your heart while he loved someone else.

you assumed, that everybody plays the fool at some point in the game of love.

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