#also something something i like when stories end

[ds-angel1]

TEACHERS LITTLE PET

cw: SMUT(18+), teacher x student relationship, hitting it from the back(in the classroom), big age gap(ages aren´t specified), reader is a senior, i´m not american and have no idea how the school system works so please just smile and nod

wc: ~ 5.1k

a/n: tell me what you think of this dynamic and if you want more cause i have some ideas!! also this is the longest fic i´ve ever written, not my best work but atleast i managed to write something?? keep in mind i had a fever when i wrote this

Rafe had no idea how he ended up here.

Well, if he was being honest, he did. He just hated admitting it.

He hated kids. Teenagers weren’t much better. If they weren’t whining about something trivial, they were loud, obnoxious, and bursting with opinions they thought were groundbreaking. And high schoolers? They were the worst of the lot, caught in that unbearable limbo between childhood and adulthood, convinced they knew everything and that the world had been tailor-made to inconvenience them.

He hated his job, too. But after his father had all but shoved him into college, and he had somehow managed to scrape together an art history degree through a chaotic jumble of barely thought-out course selections, he needed a paycheck. He needed something, anything, to make use of the four years he had spent drowning in essays about the Renaissance and lectures on the symbolism of Baroque architecture.

And there it was, a high school history teacher.

He was fairly certain the school had been desperate. Desperate enough to hire the first applicant who could string a coherent sentence together about the American Revolution. And lucky him, that applicant had been Rafe.

The school itself was unremarkable. Small, under 400 students, just two squat brick buildings separated by a weather-beaten schoolyard that reeked of stale cigarette smoke and teenage apathy. Five hours from the Outer Banks, he could visit home whenever he wanted. Not that he did. There was nothing left for him there, nothing worth the drive, and frankly, there was nothing for him here either.

His days were a loop, a monotonous, uninspired cycle of standing in front of rows of disinterested, hormonal teenagers, rattling off lessons about long-dead historical figures far more interesting than any of his students would ever bother to realize. He graded half-assed essays, endured halfhearted excuses about missing assignments, and spent more time than he cared to admit staring at the clock, willing the hours to pass. Then, when the final bell rang, he trudged back to his apartment, a bare, impersonal space that he never bothered to decorate. No photos, no art, and no signs that anyone lived there. Just a bed, a couch, and a kitchen table that mostly went unused.

And then there were the truly miserable days, the ones where he was roped into subbing for freshman P.E., a biweekly exercise in self-inflicted torture. Half the girls refused to break a sweat, acting as if running a single lap would somehow lead to their untimely demise. The other half of the class consisted of cocky, over-competitive boys who treated dodgeball like a blood sport. He spent most of those periods standing on the sidelines, arms crossed, blowing the whistle when things got too heated, and watching the clock even more desperately than usual.

It was a dull, uninspired existence; monotonous, predictable, and entirely void of passion. He lived his life the way his students listened to the outdated documentaries he played in class: half-awake, uninterested, just going through the motions because it had to be done.

Until you walked into his class.

The first day of school after summer break always carried a certain energy; electric, restless, filled with voices overlapping in an unfiltered rush of stories from the last few weeks. As Rafe pushed open the door to his classroom, that familiar wave of chatter hit him like a sudden gust of wind. Laughter, exclamations, the scrape of chairs against the floor—it was all as chaotic as he had expected.

With a quiet sigh, he made his way to his desk, setting his thermos down on the bleached oak surface before picking it up again almost instinctively, taking a slow sip before returning it to its place. His fingers moved on autopilot, retrieving his school-issued laptop from his bag, pressing the power button, and waiting for the screen to glow to life. His gaze lifted, sweeping across the students, his students. The same faces he’d taught last year, now a little older, a little different, officially juniors.

But one face wasn’t familiar.

You.

Rafe spotted you almost immediately, sitting in the third row, right by the window where the morning sky stretched in endless hues of soft blue. You were listening—well, nodding, at least—to Amanda, whose mouth moved a mile a minute. He didn’t have to hear her know she was spewing an endless stream of conversation; Amanda was known for filling any silence, anytime, anywhere. But his attention wasn’t on her. It was on you.

A dark navy skirt draped over your thighs, the fabric shifting in gentle waves with every slight movement. Your top, a delicate white spaghetti strap with tiny baby blue flowers, hugged your frame, lace tracing the neckline, a small bow nestled right at its center. A beige cardigan hung loosely over your shoulders, two buttons left undone as if they had never been intended for use in the first place. Your hair was pulled back into a ponytail, not rigid, not loose, just… effortless. A few strands framed your face, soft wisps that moved when you turned your head, catching the light in a way that made them seem almost ethereal.

And sure, you looked beautiful, undeniably so. But it wasn’t just that.

It was the way your eyes flickered around the room, quietly observing, absorbing. The way your lips parted slightly every so often, murmuring the occasional “Uh-huh” or “Yeah” in response to Amanda’s nonstop chatter, even as your mind seemed elsewhere. There was something in your expression, an almost hesitant curiosity, a quiet awareness, that made Rafe’s fingers pause over the laptop’s keyboard.

He had seen many faces in this classroom. Some familiar, some forgettable.

But yours?

Yours was impossible to ignore.

"Uh— okay, let’s get started. Settle down," Rafe called out to the students, his voice steady despite the chaos. The room buzzed with post-summer chatter, desks scraping against the floor as students found their seats. He rolled his shoulders, forcing himself to exhale. The first day back was always like this, full of energy, distractions, and the struggle to rein everyone in. But today, there was another battle brewing beneath the surface, one he wasn’t prepared for.

He hoped that once the lesson began, he could shift his focus, and force himself to look anywhere but at you. He clung to that hope like a lifeline, but the moment he commanded their attention, he had yours.

And when your eyes locked onto him, he was trapped. Hypnotized. His breath hitched, pulse stuttering in a way it had no right to. For what felt like an eternity, he couldn’t tear his gaze away, couldn’t shake the invisible thread tightening between you. His fingers curled into his palm, nails pressing against his skin.

Shit.

Swallowing hard, he forced himself to snap out of it, dragging his attention back to the board. He took a measured breath, gripping the chalk like it might anchor him. "Alright, I know you’re all still in vacation mode, but we need to get talking about history."

The usual grumbling came, but it was muted, fading as students settled into their seats. Good. The routine was safe. The routine was predictable. The routine wouldn’t let his mind wander to places it shouldn’t.

"Before we dive in, we have a new student joining us this year from the senior class," he announced, keeping his tone even, impersonal. His gaze flickered back to you, just for a second, just long enough to acknowledge you without giving himself away. "Would you introduce yourself?"

A brief silence. You hesitated, shifting under the weight of so many eyes before murmuring your name.

"Great," Rafe said, far too quickly. He cleared his throat, turning back to the board. "So, what do we know about American history from the Industrial Revolution to the modern age?"

The next forty-five minutes passed in a blur of discussion, textbook readings, and writing exercises. Normally, this was when he’d catch up on grading or chip away at whatever administrative work he had. But today? No. Today, his focus splintered, frayed at the edges every time he felt your presence in the room.

His eyes kept drifting.

To you.

It was reckless. Stupid. He knew it was wrong, knew exactly how it would look if anyone noticed. He wasn’t blind, he’d found students attractive before, but it had always been a fleeting thing, a passing thought dismissed before it could take root. A moment, nothing more.

But this?

This was different.

This wasn’t just acknowledging that you were pretty, though you were. Incredibly so. This wasn’t just an absent-minded recognition of beauty. No, this was something deeper. Something that twisted in his gut and settled in his bones, something that made his breath catch when he wasn’t prepared for it.

Something dangerous.

His fingers raked through his hair as he stared down at his keyboard, typing nothing. He could tell himself it was just a dry spell, that he’d been avoiding distractions for too long, that it was simply physical. But that would be a lie.

Because it wasn’t just about desire.

It was about you.

And that was a problem.

The shrill chime of the bell split the air, and the classroom erupted into motion. Notebooks snapped shut, chairs scraped against the tile, and a low hum of voices swelled as students shoved books into backpacks, eager to escape into the chaotic freedom of lunch. You swung your bag over your shoulder, weaving through the shifting maze of desks, your focus locked on the door. The cafeteria was called, an oasis of noise and anonymity where you could blend in, and where no one was analyzing your every move.

But just as you stepped forward, a voice cut through the chatter behind you.

"Hey."

It wasn’t loud, but it had weight, like an anchor dropping into the sea of departing students. Something in the tone made your stomach twist. You turned, pulse hitching slightly, to find Mr. Cameron watching you from behind his desk. His expression was unreadable, calm but not necessarily kind.

"Yes, Mr. Cameron?" you asked, hesitating.

"Can I speak to you for a moment?"

It was phrased like a question, but you both knew it wasn’t. He gave a small nod toward the door as the last few stragglers trickled out, a silent instruction.

With a quiet sigh, you nudged the door shut behind them, the click of the latch sealing you in. The classroom, so full of life just seconds ago, now felt cavernous, the quiet pressing in around you. You hesitated before making your way back to his desk, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Mr. Cameron leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the surface of his desk, fingers steepled together. "So… I wanted to talk to you about last year." His voice was measured, and neutral, but something about it put you on edge. "You were in Ms. Wallace’s class, right?" His eyes flicked to a sheet of paper in front of him, though you were certain he already knew the answer.

You shifted uncomfortably. "Mhm." A simple answer for something far more complicated. Your history with Ms. Wallace wasn’t just a class; it was a long, exhausting battle, a relentless tug-of-war between frustration, unmet expectations, and a sinking feeling of inevitability.

Mr. Cameron studied you for a moment before speaking again. "Can you tell me what didn’t work? Was it her? The material? Her teaching style? Or was it something on your end?" His head tilted slightly, voice smooth, probing.

You hesitated, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your fingers clenched the strap of your bag. "I guess I was just… kind of unfocused last year," you admitted, your voice barely above a murmur.

"Mm." He hummed, eyebrows lifting just slightly. "Just last year?"

Your stomach tightened.

"Because judging by today’s lesson, it seems like you're still a little… distracted. More interested in doodles than in history, huh?"

Heat crept up your neck, shame pooling in your chest. Your gaze dropped to the floor as if looking anywhere else might soften the weight of his words.

"You’d think," he continued, his tone carrying the faintest edge, "that after the school let you pass the year and only required you to retake this class, you'd put in a little more effort."

His words landed like a slap, sharp, deliberate. He knew exactly how unfair that was. Knew how it would make you feel. And yet, for whatever reason, he didn’t stop himself.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

“You want to pass, yes?”

His voice was low, almost teasing, each word curling around you like smoke. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his desk, dark eyes locked onto yours with something unreadable, something that made your stomach twist.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry, and gave a quick, eager nod.

Rafe watched you for a lingering second, dragging it out just long enough to make you shift where you stood. Then, with an exhale that was almost too casual, he pushed himself up from his chair. He didn’t simply stand, he moved. Slow. Deliberate. A quiet display of control as he braced one hand against the edge of his desk, his weight settling into a lean. The aged wood creaked under him, but he didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he just didn’t care.

His focus remained entirely on you.

“And what do you think I could do to help you achieve that?”

Smooth. Measured. But there was something else beneath his tone, something just sharp enough to catch. Playfulness, maybe. Amusement. Or something more dangerous.

His gaze flickered, sweeping over you in a way that felt too quick at first, like a reflex he hadn’t meant to act on. But then, you saw it. The hesitation. The way his throat bobbed, how his fingers flexed at his sides before he rubbed the back of his neck as if trying to shake off whatever had just slipped through the cracks. But it was too late.

You had seen.

And by the way, his jaw clenched a second later, the way his lips pressed together, you knew he realized it too.

Your heart hammered. You didn’t answer him. Couldn’t. Instead, your fingers fidgeted with each other, twisting and untwisting, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. The silence between you stretched, thick and electric, heavy with something unspoken, something neither of you dared name but both of you felt.

Rafe inhaled deeply, the sound filling the quiet space between you. The air itself seemed different now, charged, like something unseen was pressing in, urging one of you to break.

He let the breath out slowly, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that somehow felt… controlled. Intentional. And then, his eyes moved again.

This time, there was no rush. No flicker of hesitation.

Now, he studied you.

It was slow, almost methodical, th

6e kind of look that made heat crawl up the back of your neck, the kind that lingered just long enough in places that made you second-guess every inch of yourself. When his gaze reached your thighs, a nervous jolt ran through you. Almost instinctively, you gripped the hem of your skirt, twisting the fabric in your fists, your knuckles turning white.

A nervous habit.

One he noticed.

One that made his eyes darken, not dramatically, not in some exaggerated, obvious way, but just enough. Just enough for you to catch the shift, to see the amusement flicker across his face like the hint of a smirk he didn’t fully let through.

“Hm?” The questioning hum he let out brought you back to reality, back to his question, and back to the answer that you had yet to give.

“Um… I- I don’t know…” you stammered out.

His eyes flick down again, taking in your upper body, eyes practically circling in on your chest. As if your body has a mind of its own, you straighten your back, puffing out your chest.

Rafe’s eyes flickered up to yours, and for a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

The air between you had thickened, dense with something unspoken, something dangerous. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, slow, almost pensive as if he were considering something he shouldn’t be. He exhaled sharply through his nose, a breath that almost sounded like a laugh but carried no humor, just tension.

“Yeah?” His voice was softer now, quieter like he was testing the waters, like he was trying to figure out how far this would go before one of you came to your senses.

Your lips parted, but no words came. Your throat felt tight, your skin burning where his gaze traced. You felt like you were standing on the edge of something vast, something that couldn’t be undone.

His fingers tapped once, twice against the desk, a steady rhythm that contradicted the barely concealed restraint in his posture. His body language told two different stories, one of hesitation, and another of inevitability. He was too close, and yet he wasn’t moving away.

Your breath hitched as he shifted, his body angling just slightly towards yours. It was a minuscule movement, one that could’ve been mistaken for a simple change in weight, but you knew better. It was deliberate. Calculated.

“You want to pass this class?”

The question was a mere whisper, his voice dipped in something that made your stomach twist. Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, nodding, too fast, too eager.

His lips twitched, almost smirking like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. He leaned in just enough that you caught the faint scent of his cologne, something dark and musky, something entirely him.

“Then you’re gonna have to focus.”

The way he said it—low, deliberate—sent a shiver down your spine. His words weren’t inappropriate, but the way he looked at you, the way his voice wrapped around each syllable, made them feel like something else entirely.

Your knees felt weak, your heart pounding against your ribcage as your grip tightened around the strap of your bag. The classroom, once suffocating in its quiet, now felt electric, charged with a current that neither of you dared acknowledge aloud.

Rafe exhaled again, this time slower, measured. His hand moved, not towards you, not touching, but close enough that you felt the shift in air between you.

“You’re nervous.”

It wasn’t a question.

Your breath shuddered. “I—”

His head tilted slightly, watching, waiting. His pupils were blown wide, his expression unreadable but entirely focused on you.

His jaw ticked, his fingers twitching at his side like he was fighting something. A beat of silence stretched between you.

And then, Rafe moved.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t forceful. It was a slow descent, a moment stretched into eternity. His lips hovered just above yours, close enough that you felt the ghost of his breath against your skin, close enough that your lips parted in anticipation before your mind could catch up.

He paused—just for a fraction of a second, just enough to give you the chance to pull away. Just enough to make it clear that if this happened, it was your choice, too.

But you didn’t move away.

Neither did he.

And before you could let a single other breath out, his lips met yours.

Soft at first. Testing. A barely-there brush that sent a sharp current through your veins, igniting something dangerous and uncontainable in your chest.

He exhaled against your mouth, and in that moment it seemed like something in him snapped.

His hand found your waist, fingers splaying against the fabric of your cardigan as he pulled you just slightly closer. His other hand lifted, skimming along your jaw before his fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head just so.

The kiss deepened, slow but demanding, every movement deliberate, every touch igniting another spark beneath your skin. He wasn’t rushing—no, he was savoring, taking his time like he wanted to memorize the exact way you fit against him. He knew this was a mistake but couldn’t bring himself to care.

Your hands found his chest, pressing lightly against the fabric of his dress shirt, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your palms. His fingers tightened slightly in your hair at the contact, his grip on your waist firm but careful, as if he was anchoring himself as much as he was anchoring you.

The sharp sound of footsteps in the hallway shattered the fragile haze that had settled between you two, yanking you both back into reality.

Rafe was the first to react, pulling away, but only just. His forehead remained pressed against yours, his breath still ragged, chest rising and falling in sync with yours. His fingers, warm and possessive, lingered at your waist a second too long before he finally, finally, let go, stepping back just enough to put a sliver of space between you. But not enough to erase what had just happened.

His eyes searched yours, dark blue depths swirling with something unreadable, something dangerous. His exhale was sharp, tension coiling through his jaw as he dragged a hand through his hair, his fingers gripping at the strands like he was trying to ground himself.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, voice rough and uneven. Then, with more force, “Fuck. Fuck.”

His eyes shut tight, his head shaking in frustration as if the motion itself could erase the last few minutes. When they opened again, they were filled with something even more intense. In two strides, he was in front of you again, his hands gripping your upper arms, fingertips pressing just a little too hard, just enough to make you feel trapped between the heat of his body and the reality of the situation.

“This didn’t happen, okay?” His voice was firm, but there was a slight tremor to it like he wasn’t sure if he believed the words himself. His grip tightened before loosening again, as if he was at war with himself as if he didn’t trust his restraint.

You didn’t answer. You just stared at him, your pulse thrumming wildly, your breath uneven. His eyes flickered down to your parted lips, then back to your eyes, and something in him cracked. His hands slid down your arms in a slow, deliberate motion, his touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. When his fingertips finally settled at your hipbones, pressing in lightly, his resolve wavered even more.

“This…” he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

His voice was different now, lower, more raw. His fingers traced absent patterns along the fabric of your skirt as his mind spiraled, thoughts tumbling into a chaotic storm. Why was he doing this? This wasn’t like him. He had met you, his student, his goddamn student, less than an hour ago, and he had already crossed every possible line. And yet, even knowing that he wasn’t pulling away. He was moving closer.

His hands ghosted up your sides, the touch sending shivers across your skin. His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, “Don’t tell anyone. Can you do that for me?”

If someone had asked you that morning how you thought your first day of senior year would go, never in a million years would you have said this? Sure, you’d heard the whispers in the halls, and seen the way every girl’s eyes lingered when he walked past. Mr. Cameron was the forbidden fantasy, the subject of countless rumors and stolen glances. But he was also your teacher. And he had just kissed you.

You knew it was wrong. You should run, tell someone, do the right thing. And yet, as your mind battled between logic and desire, only one thought rose above the rest: he had kissed you.

Mr. Cameron, the man every girl in school lusted after, had kissed you. Had he done this before? Had he chosen others before you? Or was this different?

Even as doubt twisted itself into a tight knot in your stomach, you found yourself nodding, unable to speak, afraid your voice would betray you with the high-pitched, breathy sound of a girl who had just been touched by fire and didn’t want to step away.

“Good.”

His voice was barely a whisper, almost more breath than sound. The tension in the room grew, thick and suffocating, but you didn’t want to breathe anything else in. His fingers glided upward again, teasing over your waist, grazing over your ribs, leaving a trail of heat that made your entire body burn with anticipation.

Then, gently, with a tenderness that contradicted the fevered hunger in his eyes, he cupped your face. For one impossible moment, you thought he was going to kiss you again, that he was going to throw every bit of logic and control out the window and claim your lips as he had minutes ago. But instead, he tilted your head slightly, his breath warm against your throat.

Then his lips were on your neck, barely touching, soft and slow.

A sound, something between a gasp and a whimper, escaped you, and his hands tightened ever so slightly, grounding you, making you feel small under his grasp. His mouth moved lower, pressing another kiss, and then another, each one more deliberate, more intoxicating than the last.

You barely registered the moment he turned you around, your back now facing him. Your hands trembled as they found purchase against the smooth surface of his desk, the dark wood cool beneath your fingertips.

Then, with the kind of confidence that sent a shiver racing down your spine, he placed his hands on your thighs, massaging them slowly, possessively.

His voice, low and dripping with something dark and dangerous, ghosted over your ear.

“Stay quiet for me.”

You sucked in a deep, long breath, letting your head fall and your eyes close.

The feel of the Rafe´s fingers slid under the skirt and the pads of his fingers started tracing along your panties, each tiny motion making your body stutter and tremble.

“You´re… you´re real special, you know that?” He spoke from behind you but you couldn’t respond, still holding your breath as if letting out the air would make the situation you found yourself in truly real.

When he had had enough of feeling the warm, twisted feeling in his stomach as he let his fingers glide over your clothed cunt, he pushed your underwear aside with his thumb, letting the tip of his index finger dip into your already quivering hole. The action intensified the feeling and buried it even deeper in his gut.

As if a shock of lightning had hit you, you bolted away from his hand a few inches, clenching your thighs tightly as you finally relieved your lungs of the air they were keeping trapped.

“M- Mr. Cameron…” You started to sputter out but stopped when you felt long, gruff fingers curl around the sides of your panties before pulling the black lace material down tantalizingly slow.

A cold rush of air hit your most intimate body part, making you gasp and pant. When you heard rustling and what you could only assume was the clink of your teacher´s belt, you shut your mouth and froze as you waited for the man´s next move.

“Listen,” he whispered your name like it was a sin he committed and you were a pastor, “You understand that this stays between us, yes?” His large hands massaged your ass and thighs, cursing under his breath when he saw how soaked you were.

“Mhm,” you hummed in agreement. You weren´t sure why. He was your teacher and by the looks of it and the feel of his hands on you, apparently a pedophile. But god did you want this; you wanted it, him, so bad.

Before you could so much as even let another thought pass through your head, he thrust forward, burying his cock inside you as deep as he could with multiple rapid movements of his hips. You moaned and practically screamed, the sounds of pleasure from you making Rafe reach around and cover practically half of your entire face.

“Fuck, you´re so tight,” he muttered sharply next to your ear as he started moving inside of you again, dragging his hips back only to snap them back forward less than a moment later.

“You like that, huh? Like being fucked by your teacher. Little teachers pet.”

He knew this was wrong, you were his student, and you probably didn´t even actually want this but for some fucked up reason that made it even better for Rafe, and as the thought crossed his mind it only made him thrust into you faster. At that point, you were damn near choking and sobbing into his hand, his palm making it hard for you to get a deep breath of fresh air in.

With a sense of panic taking over you, you tried to move your hands off of the desk to claw him off of your face but your attempts proved futile when Rafe pushed you flat onto the desk, forcing you to take his cock even deeper.

His free hand which wasn´t taking away your ability to breathe, found its way between your legs, his index, and middle fingers drawing squiggly circles on your clit. At the shock of pleasure that ran through you as he teased your extremely sensitive bundle of nerves, you clenched around his pipe and arched your back. You felt that familiar coil spring up in the depths of your stomach, your body rocking slightly backward against Rafe´s to help you relive the press soon.

Rafe pushed into you harder than he had any of the other time before then, hitting your sweet spot with a force that would have made you cry out, had you had your mouth free. His fingers applied pressure to the shapes they were making on your clit. The mix of heightened attention and force made your pussy squeeze around him and pushed you over the edge, coming with tears in your eyes.

After a few more brutal thrusts into your soppy cunt, he came as well, unloading into you, his thoughts barely registering anything at that point except for you and your body bent over his desk, his cum dripping out of your used up hole and onto your thighs.

Slowly he took away his hand from your face, a trail of spit following. As soon as you got a few much-needed breaths, you collapsed onto the desk, your body falling limp. Rafe pulled out of you, not wasting any time before he pulled his pants back on and redid his leather belt around his hips. He leaned over you, his body covering all of your sweaty skin as he dressed you in your underwear again.

“You did so good, darling. So, so good."

[gf2bellamy]

I know that this is a common trope in the Spencer Reid fandom but a cliche is popular for a reason and I'd love to see your take on it please:

The BAU finding out Spencer has a girlfriend because he left something/his lunch at home whilst he was getting ready so she comes to his office to deliver it back to him ♡

file — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: nothing i think a/n: hi hi thank you for your request !! also omg i rewrote this like 3 times

You set your coffee cup down with a quiet clink, the ceramic making a sound against the kitchen counter.Your breath hitched as your gaze locked onto the object in front of you.

There it was.

Spencer’s case file.

He never shared too much about his cases—partly because of protocol, but mostly because he wanted to shield you from the horrors he faced daily.

But this one? He had mentioned this one. Briefly. Just enough for you to know it was important.

And now, he had left it here.

You exhaled through your nose, rubbing your temple as you stared at the file like it might somehow transport itself back into his hands.

Well, this was a problem.

Your mind raced through the inevitable sequence of events: Spencer, halfway through his workday, reaching for the file. The sharp inhale as realization struck. The way his fingers would twitch slightly before running through his hair in frustration. He’d mutter something about cognitive failure rates, probably cite a study about memory lapses under stress, and then—inevitably—blame himself. He was hard on himself like that.

But, in all fairness… this was totally your fault.

Oops.

He had barely made it out the door this morning because of you.

Not that you regretted it.

You smiled to yourself, warmth flooding your chest as you remembered.

Spencer hated leaving you in bed alone. You hated being in bed alone. It was a whole thing. A silent agreement, an unspoken rule between the two of you—when morning came, you stretched those precious minutes as long as you could. And today, you had stretched them a little too long.

He had sighed against your hair, murmured something about needing to get up, but his arms hadn’t moved from around you. His body was warm and you had curled closer, pressing a lazy kiss against his collarbone.

“Five more minutes,” you had whispered, voice still thick with sleep. Spencer hummed in response, fingers tracing mindless patterns along your arm. Five minutes had turned into ten, then fifteen…

And, well. Here you were.

Thirty minutes passed. Still no text back from Spencer.

Not that it was unusual.

You had once asked him about his habit of completely ignoring his phone for hours on end, and in true Spencer fashion, he had launched into a full-blown explanation—something about the overuse of mobile devices leading to dependency, the correlation between constant notifications and increased anxiety, and the statistical probability of missing something actually important when bombarded with mundane messages throughout the day.

Point was—Spencer wasn’t glued to his phone. Which meant he likely hadn't even seen your text yet.

You chewed your lip for a moment, the decision hanging in the air.

Well, if Spencer wouldn’t come to you, then you’d go to him.

It seemed like a trip to the BAU was in order.

And if, in the process, you just happened to pick out your favorite outfit before heading out? Well, that was purely coincidental.

It wasn’t like you were nervous or anything.

Okay. Maybe just a little.

Because, despite how long you and Spencer had been together, you’d somehow never officially met his team. You had heard plenty about them—stories from Spencer scattered between sips of coffee, casual mentions of their names, the occasional anecdote about Garcia’s pranks or Morgan’s teasing. But meeting them in person? That had never happened.

And if you were about to walk into the BAU for the first time, to meet all of them in one go, all while hand-delivering a file Spencer had forgotten because you’d been too busy keeping him in bed this morning…

Well. You wanted to look nice, at the very least.

So, you’d taken a little extra time to pick out an outfit. Something that felt casual but still put-together.

After a final glance in the mirror, adjusting the hem of your shirt, you grabbed the case file and headed out the door.

By the time you reached the FBI building, you were… okay. Not totally at ease, but you weren’t quite spiraling, either. A small victory, considering the nerves that had been building inside you since you’d left the house.

You checked in at the front desk, received your visitor’s pass, and found yourself standing in front of the elevator. You couldn’t help but tap your foot nervously against the tiled floor, your mind racing with the possibility of meeting everyone.

As you waited, a tall man stepped up beside you. He had dark hair, a sharp jawline, and an air of professionalism.

The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open. The man stepped forward, and you followed.

“What floor?” he asked, his voice calm, his eyes already on the button panel.

“The sixth,” you said. “The BAU.”

He nodded, pressing the button. Notably, he didn’t press any other buttons, which meant he was heading to the same place.

The elevator hummed upward, the soft sound of its ascent filling the silence between you. You tried to stay still, but the nerves in your stomach had made their way to your foot, which began tapping again—slightly faster this time, almost involuntarily.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him glance down at your foot’s restless rhythm before looking ahead again, his expression still unreadable.

When the elevator doors finally slid open, you both stepped out. As you moved into the hallway, you hesitated, glancing around the space, trying to figure out where Spencer’s desk could be.

Before you could overthink it too much, you turned back toward the man, suddenly realizing you had no idea how to address him.

“Uh—excuse me, sir?” You winced inwardly at your own awkwardness. Sir? Really?

To your relief, he didn’t seem offended. He stopped and turned just slightly, offering you a neutral look, like he was patiently waiting for you to continue.

“Do you, um… know where Spencer Reid works?” you asked quickly, holding up the case file in your hand as if it were some sort of explanation. “He forgot this at home, and I just—”

You cut yourself off, realizing you were rambling. Oh my god, you were turning into your boyfriend.

The man studied you for a moment, and you felt a wave of heat creep up your neck, suddenly worried that you’d just embarrassed yourself in front of someone important. But then, with a small nod, he answered.

“He’s in the conference room. I’ll take you.”

“Oh. Thank you!” you said, managing to sound more confident than you felt.

Without another word, he turned and began walking. You quickly fell into step behind him, eager to keep up.

As you followed him down the hallway, his words replayed in your mind. Conference room.

Wait.Didn’t that mean—

Oh. Oh no.

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks just as the man ahead of you pushed open a door. He stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter, and you barely had time to collect yourself before walking into the room.

And suddenly, all eyes were on you.

Your stomach dropped.

Around the large conference table sat several people, each of them pausing whatever they were doing to look at you. Some were curious, others confused, but most were simply… staring. And then there was one person who seemed to be completely frozen in shock.

That one, of course, was your wonderful boyfriend.

Spencer Reid sat there, motionless, eyes wide, as though you’d just appeared out of nowhere. His pen was hovering mid-air, as though he’d been caught in the middle of a thought and his mouth hung slightly open.

You felt your face heat up.

“Uh—hi?” you offered weakly, holding up the file like it was some sort of lifeline.

The man who had led you here—who, at this point, you were very sure was someone important—cleared his throat. His voice was as flat as ever.

“Reid,” he said, his tone unreadable. “Your file.”

Spencer blinked rapidly, snapping out of his trance.

“Right! Right, yes—um, thank you,” he stammered, his voice flustered. He stood so quickly that his chair scraped against the floor,nearly knocking over his coffee ,causing you to wince in sympathy.

You stepped forward to hand him the file. The second your fingers brushed against his, you swore you saw the tips of his ears turn the faintest shade of red.

From across the room, a dark-haired woman—who you guessed had to be Emily Prentiss, judging by the barely suppressed smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth—glanced between you and Spencer, her head tilting slightly as she observed the scene.

“So,” she said casually, her voice light but full of mischief, “you’re the reason he was almost late this morning?”

Your face went hot, and Spencer made a noise somewhere between a cough and a strangled gasp.

Emily’s smirk deepened, and you could practically feel the attention of every single person in the room zeroing in on you and Spencer. The room was so still, you could hear a pin drop.

Even Penelope—who had been in the middle of explaining a case, hands gesturing wildly—had completely abandoned her train of thought. Her mouth dropped open in delighted shock, her eyes widening as she took in the scene.

“Oh my god, is this real?” she squealed, her voice way louder than it probably needed to be. “Reid, my little geeky bean has a girlfriend?!” Penelope was practically vibrating with excitement. “A very cute girlfriend, I might add!” She made a big show of squinting at you through her oversized glasses, like she was some sort of detective herself. “How did we not know about this?!”

JJ raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, but Derek—well, Derek looked like it was Christmas morning.

He leaned forward with an expression of pure glee. “Hold up,” he said, grinning ear-to-ear, “Reid, you got yourself a lady and didn’t tell us?”

“I-” Spencer stuttered under his breath, looking like he was actively trying to will himself invisible.

Penelope was practically bouncing on her heels now. “Not just a lady,” she chimed in again, adjusting her glasses dramatically as she looked you over with wide, sparkling eyes. “A very cute lady. Like, ‘I need to know everything about you’ cute! How did you two keep this a secret? You’ve been holding out on us, Spence!”

Rossi, who had been sitting back and watching the chaos unfold , leaned back in his chair with a half-smile. “Seems like , Dr. Reid has been keeping secrets,” he said dryly, giving Spencer a knowing look.

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh at the scene around you. It was hard to stay composed when everyone was so… extra. You shifted awkwardly on your feet, feeling your face burning, but it didn’t stop you from noticing how Spencer scrubbed a hand over his face, clearly wishing he could vanish into thin air.

Spencer, still very much red-faced, finally turned toward you, his expression caught between mortification and fondness. His voice was soft.

“Thank you,” he said, with a small awkward smile. “For, um… bringing me the file.”

You smiled, tilting your head, trying to suppress a grin at how adorable he looked when flustered. “Of course,” you said, your voice warm, matching his tone. “Anytime.”

Before Spencer could muster a response, you leaned in and pressed a quick, soft kiss to his cheek. The moment your lips brushed his skin, Spencer froze, his eyes going wide for a split second like he couldn’t quite comprehend what just happened.

The entire room went silent, save for the sound of a chair scraping against the floor as Penelope’s excited squeal filled the air.

Spencer remained absolutely still for a moment, blinking as if he were trying to reboot his brain. You couldn’t help but feel a tiny rush of satisfaction at how flustered he looked.

“I’ll see you at home,” you murmured, your smile widening as you pulled back. “Love you.”

You watched as Spencer’s mouth opened and closed a few times, like he was about to say something, but his words failed him completely. It wasn’t surprising—he’d never been the best at handling public displays of affection, especially when they caught him off guard like this.

"Bye everyone." Without giving him—or the rest of the team—a chance to respond, you turned on your heel and made your way toward the door.

“Did you see that?” you heard Penelope say as you left the room, her voice barely containing her excitement. “Reid, my little shy genius has a girlfriend and she just kissed him in front of us!”

JJ chuckled from across the room, her voice full of amusement. “I think Spencer might need a minute,” she said dryly, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

The sound of their teasing faded as the door closed behind you, and you allowed yourself a little breath of relief, knowing that Spencer’s team was kind but very curious.

As the elevator doors closed, you found yourself grinning, already imagining how the rest of the day would unfold.

[gb-patch]

Structure Poll Results

Hello again everyone, GB here!

The release structure poll for Our Life: Now & Forever has closed. Nearly 10,000 people voted, and we got hundreds and hundreds of thoughts people left about the idea. I want to say thank you so much for the supportive and understanding messages. It made me pretty emotional to see how much people loved the game and cared about the team 😭 💖

To restate how this worked, players could vote for or against the idea of OL: N&F releasing Step by Step. We would change our original plan to launch the first three Steps together if people wanted us to. But we wouldn’t do such a major shift if people weren’t interested or there was more of a split in the community. With that said, this is the poll-

Yeah, it’s almost exactly 50/50 between people who want the episodic release and those who don’t actively want it! That could have made this complicated, but after thinking about it and reading the reasons for and against the options, I do think the decision we’re going with will be for the best.

Our Life: Now & Forever will not release episodically. However, there’s going to be truly massive updates to the demo this year.

And this is why: a true early access release with DLC content becoming available would impact things in ways that might not be worth it. Us as a company would have to promote an episodic release the same way we would the entire game launching, and then we’d have do that again when the next Step came out. We’d have to be concerned with sales numbers and such before the base game was even done. Also, the game would be releasing for the entire world, not just for our current players. That isn’t the type of work we want to jump into ASAP unless it was what a majority of players really wanted. The point of this was always meant to be something good for the people most excited about the project.

If we keep OL:NF as a demo and focus on putting out a ton of the free-to-play parts of the story, we can make this all about our fanbase and that’s it. We could drop a 100,000 word demo update and move on with our day like it’s nothing ‘cause it’s not a proper launch. A lot of the best content has been left out of the demo, but it doesn’t have to stay that way. We could make the demo a more fulfilling experience without impacting anything behind the scenes or putting anything up for sale.

Not only that, but those who don’t want to see too much of the game before it’s fully launched will then be able to avoid the extra content more easily since it’s hidden away as a demo instead of getting the full marketing treatment. Sure, it might confuse newcomers who try the demo and find out it’s absurdly long for a demo, however that’s not the end of the world.

Since there is this clear divide, I think a compromise that tries to avoid the main things people were worried about while keeping as many of the benefits as we can is better than simply choosing one side or the other.

I hope that sounds like a positive development. Look forward to future announcements about the mega-sized demo expansions that will be on the way in coming months! And thank you again for following along with the development of Our Life: Now & Forever 🥰️

[cinnamanz]

✦ ─── 𝓣rouble , 𝓓aniela 𝓐vanzini i know you felt something too.

─── 𝓣he annual sunnyvale vs. shadyside football game is always a disaster—violence, chaos, and spilled blood. but this year, when you laid eyes on daniela avanzini across the field, you don’t expect to fall for the woman—sunnyvale’s golden girl and the new cheer captain. she’s taken, off-limits, and from the wrong side of town. luckily, you’ve never been one to follow the rules. and hey, who were you to deny a challenge?

❝𝓯orbidden from the beginnin', i saw her there, up there. 𝓫een like that since i met her, they said i couldn't have her.❞

౨ৎ 𝓹airing. cheerleader!daniela avanzini x bandkid!f!reader ౨ৎ 𝓰enre. fluff wc. 5738 (IM SORRY I YAPPED AND ACCIDENTALLY DRAGGED IT😭😭😭) a/n. this was lowk all over the place and yes ik this isnt what frank's trouble means but lets pretend for one minute okay cause this song fits the plot sb🙏 based this off the little rivalry from fear street cs it made it easier for me to actually have sumn to base it on. ALSO MY BAD FOR YAPPING IN THIS FIC. layout inspired asf by @ninguitar bro ur layouts r bomb asf never die blud💯 WE MISS YOU FRANK COME BACK HOME PLEASE😭😭😭 also i mightve kinda lowk gotten sidetracked from the og plot like i usually do so js ignore that pls THANK YOU🙏🙏 NOT PROOFREAD BTW😿

❝𝔀ay out of my league, i never believed it. 𝓰otta get her heart, i gotta make her mine.❞

"UGH, I’M GONNA SHOOT THOSE SUNNYVALE IDIOTS." chaewon grumbled beside you, voice thick with frustration. she adjusted her cheerleader uniform, fingers tugging at the pom-pom attached to her hand with a huff, her face twisted in an annoyed frown as she glared toward the sunnyvale side.

she shifted quickly, bumping into yunjin who mirrored her expression with a roll of her eyes and a sigh. both of them, in perfect sync, looked ready to explode.

"seriously," chaewon muttered, "i can’t believe they pulled that stunt again. they don’t get it—we’re here to win." she tugged the clasp tighter, her anger palpable.

yunjin crossed her arms, jaw tight. "they think they can always get away with this. not this time." she shot a glare at the sunnyvale fans, still jeering.

you scoffed, shaking your head. their optimism stung, but it didn’t change anything. you glanced at kazuha, absently fiddling with her hat. she sighed, furrowed brow, already worn out before the game even began.

"let’s be serious," you muttered, voice sharp. "we’ll lose, like always. they cheat, we lose, and no one bats an eye." the words felt bitter, but true. it was the same story every year.

the air thickened with frustration. no matter how hard the team fought, sunnyvale would pull some underhanded move, and the town would be left with nothing but the sting of defeat. 

kazuha’s gaze flickered to the field briefly, fingers tightening on her hat. you weren’t the only one who knew how this would end. it wasn’t about whether you’d lose—it was how much damage they’d do before the game even began.

“hey, am i tripping or is that asshole alison gone?” chaewon asked, her voice laced with confusion as she scanned the crowd, squinting to spot the familiar face that usually irked her.

yunjin side-eyed chaewon, eyes narrowing as she took in the empty space where alison would usually be. “holy shit, i think you might be right,” she said, her voice almost disbelieving. “did she finally quit? or is she hiding somewhere?”

before chaewon could respond, sakura appeared beside yunjin, walking up with eunchae. she gave them both a knowing nod, her tone casual but with an edge of satisfaction. “i heard she quit a week before the game and got replaced. no one even bothered to tell us until today.”

yunjin and chaewon exchanged a relieved look, the tension in their shoulders easing. “good riddance,” yunjin mumbled under her breath, her lips curling into a small, victorious smile. chaewon chuckled, shaking her head.

"who’s her replacement though?" you asked, furrowing your brows as your eyes scanned the field, searching for any signs of the new addition. 

“oh, y’know daniela avanzini? the mayor’s daughter?” sakura replied casually, her gaze drifting across the field. “she’s replaced alison, from what i gathered from yena.”

“i still can’t believe she left us,” chaewon grumbled, her voice thick with irritation. you could tell she hadn’t quite let go of the betrayal. your eyes continued to flick across the other side of the field, trying to pick out any unfamiliar faces among the crowd.

“wait, what does she look like?” you asked, still scanning for someone who might match sakura’s description.

“the latina one with her hair dyed blonde,” sakura said, pausing as if she were searching the field herself. “you’ll spot her standing with her asshole of a boyfriend.” she added with a knowing look. “they’re the ones practically glued to each other.”

you shifted your focus, eyes narrowing as you spotted the girl standing in the middle of the group, her hair almost glowing under the stadium lights. it didn’t take long to identify her—daniela, the mayor’s daughter, standing right next to a tall guy with a smug look on his face.

from across the field, she stands there like a dream—daniela. her blonde-dyed hair shimmers in the light, catching every flicker of the lights and casting a halo around her. it’s like she doesn’t even realize how effortlessly she pulls everyone’s attention, how her presence shifts the energy of the entire place.

you can hear her laugh, light and musical, cutting through the noise of sunnyvale’s own marching band. it’s soft, almost like a secret, yet somehow it fills the space around her. she stands so casually beside him, yet there’s something so magnetic about her, like the world just seems to bend around her, to gravitate toward her without effort.

and then, your eyes meet. just for a second, but it feels like an eternity. time slows, the stadium noise fades, and all you can see is her—those eyes, full of curiosity and something else, something playful, pulling you in.

yunjin glanced at you, noticing the sudden silence that blanketed the six of you, eyes roving all over your face before her face fell, and her palm met her face. “y/n, you can’t be serious.” she knew you too well.

gaze still trained on the latina who looked away from the other side of the field, you’d only snapped back to earth when yunjin shoved you hard enough to bump into the person in front of you, a hurried, hushed apology slipping past your lips. “fuck you, she’s pretty.”

chaewon eyed the interaction before a dramatic gasp fell from her lips, clutching her pom-poms to her chest. “no, absolutely not. she’s a sunnyvale brat!”

“please,” an exasperated sigh left your lips, a smirk already curling at the corners. “it’s not her fault she was born in sunnyvale. besides, i’m pretty sure she’d swing my way if she saw how hot i am.”

an amused laugh left sakura’s lips while the other three’s expressions were the complete opposite, eunchae nodding at the back in agreement with your words. “why the dude in the sky ever gave you this much confidence, i’ll never know.” 

you gave yunjin’s shoulder a nudge, winking at her playfully. “watch carefully, jennifer. i’m gonna steal her from her boyfriend. give me a few weeks.”

and as your eyes darted back out into the field to zone in on your town’s football players trickling into the grass, you could’ve sworn the latina shot you one last look before pulling away from her boyfriend.

“camp nightwing, my fucking ass. camp nightmare, more like.”

“give it a chance, chae.” you’d mumbled, hauling your bags into your cabin, the girls following suit with their own bags in hand, dropping them on the floor promptly as chaewon practically collapsed onto the lower bunk, sprawled out on the sheets like a starfish.

"you only say that because yena told you daniela’d be here too. otherwise, you'd be just as miserable as i am.” she retorted with a huff, cheeks puffing up while yunjin nodded in agreement, walking past you to claim the top bunk and chucking her duffel bag onto the mattress.

“oh, give it a break. i need somethin’ to distract me while i’m in this dump-”

chaewon shrieks, the sound piercing and high-pitched as she sat up on the bed and ran towards the door, jumping towards yena who poked her head in through the doorway, stumbling back as she struggled to support chaewon’s weight. “dude, what the fuck.”

you groaned at the sight of the two already giggling like children, shaking your head as you started to unpack, drowning out the chatter until yunjin perked up beside you, her eyes widening. just as you were about to ask what happened, a sweet, unfamiliar voice travelled through the cabin.

“yena? sophia’s looking for you. she’s calling a meeting for all camp counselors and—oh, you must be chaewon? yena’s talked a lot about you.” you whipped your neck around. it was a surprise you didn’t get whiplash, eyes zeroing in on the latina that stood awkwardly outside the doorway, catching a small glimpse of chaewon tensing up and unwrapping herself from yena, taking a step back.

yena nodded in response, glancing at the two before gesturing. “chaewon, meet daniela. daniela, meet chaewon.”

daniela stuck a hand out, a rather awkward, crooked smile curling on her lips. “hi, nice to finally meet you.”

surprisingly, chaewon took the handshake, nodding with her lips pressed into a thin line. “nice to meet you too.” she’d mumbled, before quickly letting go after a few moments, acting like daniela’s touch had burnt her.

yena exchanged glances with you, shaking your head as she nodded in understanding, choosing to stop the interaction before a whole war breaks out in your cabin. “well, i’ll see you guys later. we can catch up then.”

chaewon had shut the door after the two had left, turning around with a gobsmacked expression. “out of all the people yena had daniela shake hands with, she chose chaewon.” sakura’s comment earned a laugh.

it was the fifth day of camp when your mere stares and glances at daniela from the sidelines suddenly turned into her standing in front of you with a pleading expression, though playful— something you’d never have expected from a sunnyvale resident to give to a shadysider. her eyes, usually sharp and calculating bore into yours wide-eyed and glossy, and fuck, why does she remind you of a puppy now?

she blinks up at you expectantly, and wait a second, what did she want again?

to say you were sidetracked by this absolute beauty asking you to do god-knows-what would be an understatement, with the way your grip loosened around the plates you were cleaning after dinner, slipping from your hands if it weren’t for her voice pulling you back down to earth. “y/n?”

she knew your name? you cleared your throat, forcing yourself to tear your gaze away from her and back to the dishes you were tasked to clean, two more plates till you were finished. “uh, sorry. what were you asking again?”

daniela doesn’t pay much attention to your demeanour, beaming beside you. “i was asking you if you could possibly light up the campfire?”

your brows furrowed. the campfire? wouldn’t there be another camp counselor in charge of that? you glanced back at her as you finished the last plate, and with the way that she’d practically shapeshifted her eyes into that of a begging puppy’s, you were more than a hundred percent sure that she could ask you to do anything and you’d oblige more than happily.

“uh, sure. got a match?” she grimaces at the words that slipped from your lips, shaking her head.

“yeah, that’s the thing. you gotta light it from scratch. that’s why i asked you, actually. yena told me you were a girl scout and that you knew how to make fire.” her words pulled out a dreaded groan from your throat, leaning your hip onto the end of the counter as your eyes shut briefly at the mention.

“ugh, please don’t remind me of that.” your pained expression had her smile growing, amused.

“i think it’s cute—”

“let’s start that campfire.” you’d cut her off before she could say anything else, the tips of your ears already bright red as you walked past her, the latina trailing behind you. seriously, this is the first interaction that you’re having, and she already pulls that shit on you? you were not god’s strongest soldier. at all.

you grabbed a twig next to the campfire as you kneeled beside it and placed the twig on top of the dry leaves, rubbing the pointed end of the stick onto the leaves until black smoke started to erupt, giving it a little oxygen and watching it spread quickly around the campfire, wood crackling and spitting out red embers.

daniela stood a few steps away, leaning casually against a nearby tree, but her gaze never left you. there was something so effortless in the way you worked, your movements confident and smooth, as if starting fires were just second nature to you. the way you knelt, the slight flex of your muscles as you arranged the wood just so—it all made you look so... capable. so in control.

her breath caught for a second, a warmth rising in her chest that had nothing to do with the fire. she didn’t even realize she was smiling until she caught herself. your quiet determination, your ability to turn a few sticks into something powerful, was somehow the most magnetic thing about you. there was a raw, understated strength in you, and daniela couldn’t bring herself to look away.

“you’re good at that,” daniela finally said, voice soft, as if she were careful not to interrupt the rhythm you’d fallen into.

you glanced up briefly, a flicker of surprise in your eyes before a small, meek smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "thanks," you replied, focus unbreaking, but the slight quirk in your expression told daniela she knew exactly what was going through your mind.

"no, seriously," daniela continued, stepping a little closer, her voice a little lower, "it's... kind of impressive." there was something in her tone now, something deeper, that made you look up at her with a raised eyebrow.

daniela didn't shy away, meeting your gaze with a warmth that mirrored the flames now crackling between them. it wasn’t just the fire that had her attention. it was you—everything about you, from the way you worked with purpose, to the way you seemed to make everything look effortless. and, maybe, just maybe, that was a little too attractive.

“thank you—”

“can you two stop undressing each other with your eyes for a quick second and help me out here? i need more hands.” yena appeared out of thin air, a disgusted look on her face as she crossed her arms, chaewon following behind her as she’d mirrored the exact expression the woman beside her had the moment her gaze fell on the two of you.

“are you incapable of being normal, choi yena?”

it wasn’t until the next week that you noticed daniela hovering around you like a watchdog—always lingering nearby, arms crossed, brows furrowed like she was a detective tailing a suspect. she wasn’t even subtle about it. every time you so much as breathed, her sharp eyes flicked to you, narrowed in suspicion, as if you were plotting some grand crime right under her nose.

it was almost funny. almost.

yena, however, found it downright hilarious.

“so like, you went from admiring y/n to hating her?” yena suddenly popped up behind daniela, munching on a bag of chips she’d somehow smuggled in. she extended the bag toward the latina, who shook her head without even looking, too busy burning holes into the back of your head with her stare.

“who said i hated her?”

yena scoffed, mouth full. “dude, you’ve literally been staring at her like she personally slaughtered your entire bloodline. ask anyone.”

before daniela could retort, yena’s eyes lit up as she spotted manon walking past, her delicate fingers curling around the ghanaian’s wrist to pull her close.

“yo, manz,” yena called, jerking her chin toward daniela with a smirk. “hasn’t she been glaring daggers at y/n?”

manon hummed thoughtfully, lips pursed in faux contemplation before her mouth stretched into a slow, knowing grin. “y/n… oh, the cute one from shadyside?” she teased, her amusement only growing when daniela shot her a glare. “yeah, poor girl. hasn’t done a thing wrong and already gained herself a hater.”

daniela’s frown deepened, arms crossing tighter over her chest as she let out an exasperated breath. “okay, no—i was not glaring at her,” she huffed. “i was just… making sure she doesn’t do anything stupid. y’know, since she’s from shadyside. and—”

“yeah, yeah, whatever. like you ever cared about that bullshit.” yena tutted, cutting her off with a dramatic wave of her hand. “let me stop you right there. because while you’re busy playing hall monitor with y/n, your actual problem is throwing hands outside.”

she pointed her chin toward the commotion outside camp, where daniela’s boyfriend was in the middle of a full-blown meltdown, shoving people like a rabid raccoon and flailing his arms around as if he was possessed.

manon groaned at the sight. “please, for the love of god, go handle that before mt. sophia erupts and we’re all dead.”

daniela clenched her jaw, eyes flickering from the scene outside to you, who were now happily minding your business like you weren’t the supposed criminal she’d been tailing all week.

she sighed. christ.

it was the third week when daniela approached you again, tugging on the sleeve of your shirt and dragging you away from the chaotic mix of shadysiders and sunnyvalers gathered in a circle, shouting over each other in some ridiculous game she hadn’t even bothered to figure out.

her perfectly-sculpted brows furrowed in a deep pinch as she pulled you along with a little more force than necessary. you barely had time to react before yena stepped right in front of the two of you, arms crossed like a bouncer at the entrance of a club. “now, now. where do you two think you’re going?”

daniela let out the most dramatic eye roll known to mankind, while you perked up behind her, a small, playful smirk dancing on your lips as you shot her a look that practically screamed, ‘leave it.’

yena, naturally, ignored it. because why would she ever leave something this juicy alone?

“it’s gonna be dark soon,” yena added, raising an accusatory brow at daniela.

daniela scoffed. “please, we’re just going to fetch firewood for the bonfire tonight.”

you blinked, tilting your head. “we are?”

daniela’s head snapped toward you, briefly faltering for half a second before composing herself. “yes,” she said, more forcefully this time, as if sheer conviction alone would make it true.

yena squinted between the two of you, clearly skeptical, before finally stepping aside. “whatever, just don’t get murdered,” she muttered.

daniela took that as her cue to bolt, practically yanking you behind her like a dog on a leash as she sped-walked toward the woods.

“wait—where are we actually going?” you asked, half-laughing as you stumbled along.

“i told you, we’re picking up firewood for tonight’s bonfire,” she repeated, like that somehow clarified everything.

you mused for a second, feigning deep confusion, then suspicion, before letting a teasing smile creep across your lips. “wait, you’re not bringing me out here to kill me, right?”

daniela huffed, barely sparing you a glance. “oh, please.” a small smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as she added, “if i wanted to kill you, you’d be six feet under by now.”

“hot.”

she faltered mid-step. you grinned.

for the next twenty minutes, the two of you wandered through the clearing, picking up dry branches and twigs—well, you were picking up branches and twigs. daniela, on the other hand, was sneaking glances at you like it was her full-time job.

her gaze would linger a little too long when you bent down to grab a log, eyes flickering over the way your shirt clung to your back. she’d watch, mesmerized, as you absentmindedly chewed on the inside of your cheek, the curve of your lips doing things to her. and every time you caught her staring, you’d shoot her a knowing smirk that sent her into a spiral.

“y’know, if you keep staring at me like that, i might start thinking you like what you see,” you mused, tossing a stick onto the small pile you had gathered.

daniela scoffed, crossing her arms as if that would mask the warmth creeping up her neck. “i don’t.”

you hummed, not even trying to hide the amusement in your tone. “whatever you say, watchdog.”

she scowled. “you really don’t shut up, do you?”

“nope,” you grinned. “but don’t worry, i’m starting to think you like that about me.” you murmured, gaining confidence by every second that passed.

daniela groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose as if she were suffering, but the ghost of a smile threatened to betray her.

before you could tease her further, a sudden, ear-splitting scream rang through the clearing.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TWO DOING?!”

you nearly dropped the entire pile of wood as sophia, the head camp counselor, emerged from the trees like an angry cryptid, her hands on her hips and her expression one of pure exasperation.

daniela, ever the composed one—though she was internally screaming at getting caught—, simply crossed her arms. “fetching firewood,” she said flatly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

sophia looked seconds away from combusting. “THERE’S ALREADY TOO MUCH FIREWOOD. LIKE. WAY TOO MUCH. WE HAVE A WHOLE DAMN PILE BEHIND THE CABINS.”

you pursed your lips, glancing at daniela. she blinked. “…oh.”

sophia exhaled like she had just aged five years. “drop the sticks. go back to camp. now.”

daniela, ever the picture of grace, immediately turned on her heel and started walking back, as if she hadn’t just dragged you all the way out here for absolutely nothing.

you, however, lagged behind for a second, shaking your head with a chuckle before calling out, “well, at least we got some quality bonding time out of it, right, watchdog?”

daniela flipped you off over her shoulder.

but, even in the dim light of the sun setting, you could see the way her lips curled upward, just slightly.

the night air was cool against your skin as you stepped out of the cabin, the soft crunch of leaves beneath your feet the only sound in the stillness. you hadn’t been able to sleep—mind buzzing with thoughts, the stuffy warmth of the cabin making it impossible to get comfortable—so you figured a walk might help. maybe some fresh air. maybe—

your eyes caught on a figure near the dimly burning campfire, hunched slightly, shoulders rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. daniela.

she was sitting on one of the logs surrounding the fire pit, absentmindedly poking at the embers with a stick, watching as little sparks floated up into the night like tiny fireflies. her expression was unreadable, lit only by the soft, flickering glow.

something about it made you pause.

you weren’t sure what compelled you forward, but before you knew it, you were sinking onto the log beside her, close enough to feel the residual warmth of the fire, but not quite touching.

daniela barely reacted, only glancing at you briefly before returning her gaze to the flames.

“couldn’t sleep?” you murmured.

she huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “not really.”

silence settled between you, comfortable but heavy, like there was something waiting to be said. you watched the way she prodded at the embers, her usual sharp demeanor dulled at the edges, almost hesitant.

then, finally—

“i broke up with him,” she said, voice even, but lacking its usual bite.

you blinked, caught off guard for a moment. “your boyfriend?”

daniela let out another humorless laugh, nodding. “yeah.”

holy shit.

you schooled your expression, keeping your face neutral, but internally? you were fucking cheering.

“wow,” you said instead, keeping your tone light but careful. “that’s… a pretty big deal.”

she shrugged, eyes still fixed on the fire. “should’ve done it sooner. he was a jerk.”

there was a weight to her words, a quiet frustration, but more than that—relief.

you leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees, watching her carefully. “why now?”

daniela let out a slow breath, tapping the stick against the charred logs. “i don’t know,” she admitted. “maybe i got tired of pretending. maybe i realized that… i wasn’t really happy. or—” she hesitated, her fingers tightening around the stick. “—maybe i was just waiting for the right moment.”

you tilted your head slightly. “and this was the right moment?”

her lips pressed together, like she was debating whether or not to say something, before she finally turned her head to look at you. really look at you.

there was something different in her gaze—something softer, less guarded.

“yeah,” she said quietly. “i think it was.”

your chest tightened, warmth blooming in a way that had nothing to do with the fire.

you didn’t push for more. didn’t tease, didn’t pry. instead, you simply nudged your knee against hers, offering the smallest of smiles. “for what it’s worth, i think you made the right choice. i saw him always fighting with those camp counselors just to see you.”

daniela stared at you for a moment, then exhaled a laugh, shaking her head. “of course you would say that.”

“what? i’m being sincere!” you placed a hand over your heart in mock offense. “i can be nice, y’know.”

she hummed, unconvinced, but her lips curled upward ever so slightly.

the two of you sat there for a while, the fire crackling softly between you, the night stretching quiet and still around the campsite. neither of you rushed to leave. neither of you wanted to.

and later, when you finally dragged yourselves back to the cabins, a quiet understanding settled between you—something unspoken but felt.

something that, after that night, made the space between you feel smaller than ever before.

it started off slow. so slow daniela barely noticed it at first.

the way her eyes lingered on you longer than they should’ve. the way she found herself gravitating toward you more and more, standing closer, brushing shoulders, stealing glances when she thought you wouldn’t notice. the way her stomach twisted whenever you smiled—at her.

it wasn’t like she hadn’t always looked at you. from the moment you stepped foot in sunnyvale wearing that ridiculous dark blue band uniform and met her eyes across the field, daniela had been watching.

but it was different now. before, her stares had been filled with scrutiny, laced with the tiniest bit of frustration at how easily you got under her skin. and now they were filled with something else entirely. something she wasn’t ready to name.

but then—

it was the last week of camp when everything clicked.

the bonfire crackled in the middle of the campsite, a golden glow illuminating the circle of campers gathered around, their faces alight with warmth and laughter. the air was thick with the scent of burning wood, mingled with the distant scent of pine and the lingering traces of marshmallows and chocolate.

and you.

you sat on a log, guitar resting against your lap, fingers plucking at the strings with practiced ease. the opening notes of a song filled the air, soft and familiar, and as soon as your voice joined the melody, daniela felt something shift in her chest.

"well, i guess you'd say…"

her breath caught.

"what can make me feel this way?"

her fingers curled into the fabric of her jeans, stomach twisting as your voice washed over her—gentle, soothing, captivating.

she couldn’t look away.

she wasn’t the only one enraptured—everyone else sat silently, listening intently, swaying slightly to the rhythm—but it felt like the moment belonged only to the two of you. like nothing else existed outside of the glow of the fire, outside of the space between you.

and then you looked at her.

your eyes met across the fire, something soft and knowing dancing in your gaze, and daniela’s heart stopped.

"my girl, my girl, my girl.”

she swallowed hard.

“talkin' 'bout my girl, my girl.”

because that was the moment.

the moment she realized she was completely, hopelessly, utterly in love with you.

not in the way she’d tried to convince herself she wasn’t. not in the way that was casual, fleeting, something she could shake off or push aside.

no—this was real. heavy and warm and terrifying in the best way possible.

her lips parted slightly, breath uneven, her entire body frozen in place as the song continued, the words wrapping around her like a confession she hadn’t even said out loud yet.

"that's all i can talk about is my girl."

you smiled. a tiny, knowing thing.

daniela looked away, suddenly overwhelmed, her hands clenching into fists to steady herself. but it was too late. she couldn’t unfeel it, couldn’t ignore the way her heart ached at the sight of you, couldn’t pretend this wasn’t real.

she was in love with you.

and for the first time, she wasn’t afraid to admit it—to herself, at least.

the kitchen was quiet except for the faint clatter of dishes and the distant murmur of campers outside. daniela wiped her hands on a dishtowel, tossing it onto the counter with a little too much force. yena, leaning against the sink, watched her with an insufferable smirk.

"so," yena drawled, crossing her arms, "you gonna say it, or do i have to spell it out for you?"

daniela shot her a glare. "say what?"

yena scoffed, shaking her head. "oh, come on. that you're in love with y/n."

daniela froze.

yena grinned, clearly savoring the moment. "you act like she’s just some shadysider you have to tolerate, but you’ve been following her around like a lost puppy. you literally sat through her entire song at the bonfire last night, staring at her like she hung the damn moon. and don’t even get me started on the way you look at her when she talks—like you're trying not to combust."

daniela scowled. "i do not look at her like that."

"oh, please," yena snorted. "you're like a victorian man seeing ankles for the first time."

daniela groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "fine. okay. maybe i like her."

yena gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. "maybe? babe, you're in love. in love love.”

daniela rolled her eyes. "oh, shut up."

"nah, this is huge," yena continued, grinning like she just won the lottery. "i mean, the infamous 'i don't need anyone that’s why i broke up with my boyfriend like i did with the others' daniela? falling for a shadysider? this is better than a romcom."

daniela huffed, turning back to the sink, hoping to ignore yena and the smug energy radiating off of her. but then—

"oh."

daniela froze.

yena’s eyes flickered past her shoulder, widening slightly before her smirk returned full force. “well. my cue to leave.” she grabbed her towel and promptly bolted out of the kitchen, leaving daniela alone to face the one person she really didn’t want hearing that conversation.

you.

you stood in the doorway, looking completely stunned, like you weren’t sure if you’d walked in on a confession or a crime scene, before leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, head tilted slightly in amusement. there was a flicker of surprise in your eyes, sure, but it was the kind that faded fast—like you were already settling into the idea, getting comfortable with it.

daniela’s heart was racing. she gripped the counter, trying to ground herself. “how much of that did you hear?”

you hummed, pretending to think. “enough to know that you think i hung the damn moon.”

daniela groaned, running a hand down her face. “kill me now.”

“mm, no can do. i kinda like knowing you have a crush on me.”

daniela gaped at you, and you took slow, measured steps forward, that teasing glint in your eyes growing.

"you know, i was so sure you hated me at first," you mused, tapping a finger against your chin. "but now—"

daniela glared, cheeks burning. "don’t."

"—now, i'm thinking you just didn’t know how to handle your feelings," you finished, grinning. "poor thing."

daniela exhaled sharply, pressing her lips into a thin line. great. just great. she wasn’t even supposed to tell you, let alone have you overhear it in the most humiliating way possible.

silence stretched between you, thick and unsteady.

you took a small step forward. “so… you like me?”

daniela swallowed. she could lie. brush it off. say it was nothing. but looking at you now—playful smile and teasing eyes full of mirth, the way you didn’t look completely horrified—she couldn’t.

so she inhaled deeply and nodded. “yeah. i do.” daniela let out a slow breath, feeling something warm settle in her chest the more you looked at her. your eyes contorting into one of adoration now. “so… what now?”

you smiled, still playful but genuine. “well, usually this is the part where we kiss.”

daniela’s breath caught. her eyes flickered to your lips before she could stop herself. “oh.”

you tilted your head slightly, a soft invitation, no pressure, just you. and for once, daniela didn’t overthink it. she just leaned in.

the kiss was slow, tentative—like testing uncharted waters—but when you sighed softly against her lips, daniela melted. she pulled you closer, her fingers curling at the hem of your shirt, your hands finding her waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

the kitchen smelled like dish soap and pinewood, the campfire outside still crackling in the distance, but all daniela could focus on was the way your lips moved against hers, the way your hands felt warm against her skin, the way everything—everything—felt right.

when you finally pulled away, you were grinning, eyes crinkling at the edges.

“guess that settles it,” you murmured, eyes flickering between her lips and her gaze. “so worth the wait and dealing with that ex of yours who kept popping in and begging for you to take him back.”

daniela huffed out a small laugh, her forehead resting against yours and pushing you lightly, but you just laughed, grabbing her hand before she could pull away completely.

"and they said shadysiders couldn't have sunnyvalers. guess i'm just built different. i'm the ultimate sig—"

"shut that mouth if you want to keep me."

"ooh, demanding. i like that."

bonus!

yunjin gasped dramatically, a hand clasped up to her chest while chaewon stood frozen beside her with a horrified expression. “you are not dating her. you’re fucking with me. a sunnyvaler? you could do better.”

you scoffed. “she is better.”

“i mean, you’re a shadysider and she’s a sunnyvaler. not to mention, she’s the mayor’s daughter! how the hell are you going to make it work?!” chaewon exclaimed.

you waved the concern away as yena munched on chips at your bed. “oh please, you guys talk about that like it was supposed to stop me. besides, have you guys even checked the news? apparently, they’re gonna join sunnyvale and shadyside. so… what’s the problem now? i’ve got a rich gorgeous, goddess of a girlfriend and we’re no longer gonna be poor like we are. quality month.”

chaewon collapsed face first on the cabin floor.

“i told y’all, she’s gonna be my baby mama.” “i’m throwing you into the lake.” “wait, i can’t swim!”

— please do not repost, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way without permission. thank you! xx

masterlist.

[ohnoitstbskyen]

Okay, here’s an interesting one.

Before seeing your content, I’d basically only ever heard the term “power fantasy” used as a derogatory term to describe over-the-top protagonists who are strong and cool, but also boringly devoid of personality so the audience can project onto them. But then some of your League videos talked about skins letting characters like Gragas “inhabit more interesting power fantasies.”

So… when are power fantasies a good thing? The best I’ve got is that it only works in interactive media like video games so that the audience can more directly engage with the fantasy (essentially: Dante from DMC works, Kirito from SAO does not)

I mean, power fantasies are just endemic to storytelling as a whole. There isn't really a hard "this is when they're good, this is when they're bad," they are core to several genres of media and can't be extracted from them. Most video games are power fantasies, just by nature of their mechanics.

Power fantasy isn't a genre (usually), it is just a tool, same as any other trope or convention. It is a means to engage the audience with a story.

An RPG where you level up and become stronger to defeat more difficult enemies? That's a power fantasy. Undertale where you get the best ending by finding some way to spare absolutely every monster and end every fight mercifully? Power fantasy. The Tomb Raider reboot games that take an almost sadistic glee in putting Lara Croft through absolute hell both physically and emotionally? Those are power fantasies about overcoming and surviving those impossible challenges.

They're not just power fantasies, they have lots of other stuff going on, but power fantasy is an inherent part of them. Romance stories also often include power fantasies, specifically about the power of love. "He's broody, dark and broken, but my love can fix him" is a power fantasy, for example, as is "an unjust society keeps us apart, but we will defy everything to be together!"

Even being The Final Girl who beats the horror monster and walks away at the end of the movie can be a power fantasy, if a rather grim one.

If there is a general case where power fantasies become "bad," I think it is when the power fantasy is all there is, and it subsumes all other parts of the story. Shonen manga often runs into this as they get longer, and the power system and escalating battles against ever more powerful foes become the overriding driving force of the story, to the exclusion of everything else. Shaman King comes to mind for me as a particularly egregious example, or Bleach.

Isekai is also riven with this. You can't walk two steps these days without tripping on a "TRANSPORTED TO ANOTHER WORLD WITH MY SUPER OP CHEAT SKILL" premise, where the entire purpose of the story is simply to act out unchallenged wish fulfilment with no friction or tension or character development. Those stories get boring very very fast... unless of course the power fantasy being played out is your specific power fantasy. Yes, OP protagonists winning everything with no challenge is boring, but this OP protagonist is building a sapphic cottagecore witch polycule with an ever-expanding harem of emotionally damaged lesbians, so... y'know. Maybe I'll give it a pass.

It's generally less interesting and useful to observe THAT something is a power fantasy, than it is to observe WHAT KIND of power is being fantasized about. Zombie apocalypse stories are often power fantasies, for example, but there's a pretty noticeable difference between stories where the power fantasy is banding together and building a life with a found family in horrible circumstances, stealing joy from the end of the world in spite of everything... and stories where the zombie apocalypse is an excuse to enact paranoid right-wing prepper fantasies where the hero protects their property (home, land and women) against the verminous hordes of the monstrous Other, and is reified and uplifted by the employment of brutal violence.

[rosefinnigen]

OUGH guys not to be a nerd but.

-Myth is and always has been a dynamic study; there is no “original” to myths and there is no “correct” version, there are older and newer versions, but neither is inherently more right or valuable than the other

-Ovid is NOT Greek! Ovid is Roman, and post-Republican to boot — he’s somewhere around 8 or 9 *centuries* after Homer and Hesiod. I disagree with the categories of “original” and “retelling” but if we choose that framework we should not be counting Ovid as original.

-ALL of Greek and Roman myths as we know them today are retellings, and more importantly they are all translations — there are no native speakers of Latin or of Attic Greek alive today. And translation by nature can’t be completely accurate to its source material. Again, we can compare sources, we can talk about older and newer, more and less attested, but at the end of the day it’s all translation for us.

- Unless you are in a very specific and rigorous academic setting, these are just stories. There isn’t a right or wrong way to enjoy them, and there are shockingly few consistent facts when you really look closely. We can engage with ancient sources and stories without being elitist about what “should” be read or propping up certain retellings as more original or important to study.

- i don’t want to pick apart every point here, but there is one I will say something on: People have been re-writing and re-telling the myth of Persephone since long before Tumblr existed, and if we’re already playing fast and loose with sources, the books of Greek myths I was reading at 8 years old or so were plenty fine with treating that story more like Beauty and the Beast than like Hansel and Gretel. You feel me? To call that a “tumblr invention” is doing a disservice to the generations bodice-ripper enthusiasts who hold that particular myth in a special place in their weird, fucked-up hearts (affectionate)

Anyway. That’s all from me really. I realize this is all pretty disorganized but like. The point stands, it’s cool to want to dispel what feel like common misconceptions; it’s also important not to fall into the trap of “actually THIS is what the myth REALLY says” or fail to examine *why* we might trust one source more than another, and whether it actually matters in each specific context we’re working in.

a quick psa to anyone recently getting into greek mythology and is a victim of tumblr and/or tiktok misconceptions:

-there is no shame in being introduced to mytholgy from something like percy jackson, epic the musical or anything like that, but keep in mind that actual myths are going to be VERY different from modern retellings

-the myth of medusa you probably know (her being a victim of poseidon and being cursed by athena) isn't 100% accurate to GREEK mythology (look up ovid)

-there is no version of persephone's abduction in which persephone willingly stays with hades, that's a tumblr invention (look up homeric hymn to demeter)

-as much as i would like it, no, cerberus' name does not mean "spot" (probably a misunderstanding from this wikipedia article)

-zeus isn't the only god who does terrible things to women, your fav male god probably has done the same

-on that note, your fav greek hero has probably done some heinous shit as well

-gods are more complicated than simply being "god of [insert thing]", many titles overlap between gods and some may even change depending on where they were worshipped

-also, apollo and artemis being the gods of the sun and the moon isn't 100% accurate, their main aspects as deities originally were music and the hunt

-titans and gods aren't two wholly different concepts, titan is just the word used to decribe the generation of gods before the olympians

-hector isn't the villain some people make him out to be

-hephaestus WAS married to aphrodite. they divorced. yes, divorce was a thing in ancient greece. hephaestus' wife is aglaia

-ancient greek society didn't have the same concepts of sexuality that we have now, it's incorrect to describe virgin goddesses like artemis and athena as lesbians, BUT it's also not wholly accurate to describe them as aromantic/asexual, it's more complex than that

-you can never fully understand certain myths if you don't understand the societal context in which they were told

-myths have lots and lots of retellings, there isn't one singular "canon", but we can try to distinguish between older and newer versions and bewteen greek and roman versions

-most of what you know about sparta is probably incorrect

-reading/waching retellings is not a substitute to reading the original myths, read the iliad! read the odyssey! i know they may seem intimidating, but they're much more entertaining than you may think

greek mythology is so complex and interesting, don't go into it with preconcieved notions! try to be open to learn!

[for-a-longlongtime]

To all the fans in the Pedro fandom who feel like they don't belong

I see you. We see you. You have a place here among all of us, and we want you to be here - we really do.

No, this isn't a Kumbaya post, I'm fuckin' for real.

To all the writers...

... who receive racist messages, death threats, are being told their reader insert isn't good enough, that this and this character wouldn't be with someone who looks and sounds like you, that you're not using the right words or that you misspelled something --

I am so fucking sorry people had the fuckin' gall to direct that hate at you, because you don't deserve it. You share your stories and characters with us, and they are adored and read and celebrated exactly for who they are - not despite of who they are.

To everybody who lurks, reads, but doesn't feel like they can participate...

... who see how their skin tone, language, identity, gender, body type, sexual orientation, culture, type of relationships, and so much more is underrepresented or actively treated with hostility --

I'm so fucking sorry, and I - as many of us - understand completely why you feel that way, because it's absolutely valid. But I promise it's not how the majority of people feel about you. I know that doesn't make up for shit, but I do want you to know that most of us care a lot.

Nobody should stay in an environment where they feel like they're not wanted, or where remarks are made carelessly without regard for how hurtful stereotypes are. But if this has ever happened to you, be it out of ignorance (or at times malice), please know - your presence matters.

To everybody who has ever felt insecure about their kinks or liking smut... ...please don't. Seriously. Your kinks are what they are and they are completely fine. Liking smut is fine. Liking Pedro characters in smutty fic is fine too. Kink exploration in fic should be a safe space and respected.

Don't shame others here, especially not as an anon. Yes, certain topics that writers address in fic may be challenging for you for a number of reasons, but guess what? You don't have to read it! You don't have to dissect *why* someone wrote that! Don't like smutty fic? Cool, so don't wade into fics marked as explicit. Don't like certain kinks? That's cool, just read the warnings and skip fic when it doesn't appeal to you. Sure you're entitled to your own opinions, but you do not need to air them out in public or trash an author because you didn't like how they wrote something.

To everybody in this fandom...

... especially those of us who are white, able-bodied, straight, cisgender, had formal education, are a native English speaker, and/or many of the other privileges that a lot of us carry in our backpack every day:

We need to do better. Please. For so many reasons.

We need to be aware of our blind spots, biases, the fact that at times everybody fucks up - because we live in a racist, homophobic capitalist patriarchy -, and that occasionally means admitting we were wrong. That we unintentionally said something that was hurtful and that we're sorry for hurting people with our words. That ignorance can slip so easily into words that we type, and that the only way. But own up to it and please don't pull the 'I'm sorry you feel hurt' card - no. Take actual responsibility. Particularly when underrepresented voices explained to you why something is wrong.

And please, call out your friends on things like this - especially if you're white/straight/cis. It's your responsibility to speak up because you're closer to them. White people should be the first to call out racism; it's not up to the people that already are on the receiving end of prejudice (or worse, hatred) to fight that battle.

Exclusion doesn't only happen if you're actively spreading hate - it also happens by not taking accountability for when you fuck up, or when you are erasing and ignoring identities. If the word 'representation' doesn't mean much to you, that's probably because you constantly see yourself reflected in the stories and people in society (that, in itself, is privilege too) - and hey, good for you! But there are many of us who that doesn't apply to in the same measure.

I've had many conversations lately about this with fellow queers as well as brown/black/Latinx folks, so I really wanted to post this. Not as virtue signaling or whatever the hell, but because I know a lot of people are seeing and reading things that are understandably make them reluctant to engage.

So hey, let's do better and look after folks in our community whether we directly engage with them or not. The amount of comments that are always gushing about 'I love how Pedro cares about others/is an ally!' is very disproportionate to seeing similar support expressed for creators and fellow fans. Let's also not forget he's a Chilean man, the son of socialist refugees, who has always actively been on the barricades for LGBTQIA+, rallies against white supremacy and the toxicity of patriarchy -- so if you appreciate his dedication to 'causes', lets apply that to the very real people in this fandom too. And fyi, this isn't just about a single instance or a single person - it's so much bigger than that, and we all know it.

(oh, and if you feel like I'm being a moralist about this - feel free to unfollow or block my ass. You do you! I don't care. I care about the people here who don't want the community harmed by anons who get their kicks from being a bully.)

[no-144444]

nothing to say- l.norris

summary: based off of harry and karen's story in love actually

pairing: cheating! lando norris x fem! girlfriend! reader

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

Lando had been quiet all evening. Actually, he’d been quiet since the end of the season. You’d put up with it for months, being the ever-loving girlfriend and doting on him, leaving him alone when he asked you to, and everything else. But he was still quiet. He’d be his regular loud and happy self when you were around friends, but the moment it was just you two, or even you two were near each other remotely, he shut down. You felt like you were the problem, like you’d done something wrong, and he wasn’t happy. You didn’t talk anymore, barely kissed, hadn’t had sex in months. He was more like a roommate than a boyfriend, and the whole PR relationship he had going on with Rebecca (some model who worked for Quadrant) wasn’t helping. They had to be seen together, they had to spend Valentine’s together, they had to spend your birthday together. 

“Lan?” your voice was laced with nerves and questioning, wondering if you should even do this. 

He grunted in response, eating his lunch quickly. 

“Are you happy?” you asked and his head snapped up, his eyes wide. 

“What do you mean?” he asked, shocked at your words. 

“I mean are you happy in our relationship?” you questioned. 

“Where is this coming from?” He asked the question, but there was a glimmer in his eye that gave it away. He knew what you were talking about. 

“We’re not really… dating anymore, are we?” you chuckled sadly. “We’re more like roommates.”

He shook his head, trying to find something to say, but… he had nothing to say. 

“Did you buy that gold necklace for her?” you asked, straight up. 

He was quiet, and then he nodded. He knew what you were talking about, your dream necklace, the one you’d been saving for your entire adult life. He’d bought it, but he’d given it to her.  “Yes.” 

“How long has this been going on?” you asked, pushing past the lump in your throat that was building. You were crushed. The man you loved was having an affair. Great. 

He sighed. “A few months.” 

You scoffed, looking down at your lap. “Wow. Great,” you took a deep breath. “What would you do in my shoes?”

He couldn’t meet your eyes. 

“Would you wait around to find out if it was just a necklace? Or if it’s a necklace and sex? Or if it’s a necklace, and you’re actually fucking in love with someone else, someone who isn’t me, and then I have to deal with the fact that I was lovable enough to be loved by you, but not enough to have you keep loving me,” you gritted out as you willed yourself not to cry. “Would you stay, even though you knew your life would always be just that bit worse?” 

You stared at him, your eyes brimming with tears, and an angry look on your face. 

He stared back. “I’m so in love with her,” he admitted. “And it’s so stupid, I feel like an idiot,” he shook his head, placing his head in his hands. 

“Yes, but,” your voice broke. “You’ve also made me an idiot,” you whispered as one single tear fell down your cheek. “You’ve made my life idiotic too.” 

You both sat there, in that silence. 

“I gave up everything for you,” you whispered. “I followed you around the world like the good little girlfriend I was, all for you to drop me for someone else. Someone who doesn’t even love you back,” you spat. “I hope you find something good in that relationship Lando, and I hope I hear nothing about it,” you said before getting up from that table, and leaving him forever.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

navigation for my blog :)

mclaren masterlist

[aangelinakii]

BATBOYS AS ROMANTIC MOVIE LEADS.

note : so basically the batboys and what romance movie / love interest character they would are !!!!

BRUCE WAYNE as...

CAPTAIN VON TRAPP ( the sound of music )

no i'm being so fr when i first watched this a few months ago i was so contemplating writing a fic or series of this exact scenario,, like reader is a nanny or something for bruce wayne's kids and they fall in love

take away nazi germany and it's LITERALLY a bruce wayne love story

him and his many kids

he would be slow to warm up at first, because at that time i imagine him to be very robert pattinson, very emo very lonely, very lego batman as in falsely independent

but then he realises he's in love with the person right in front of him, whom his kids adore, and he would do anything for them

DICK GRAYSON as...

JOHNNY MARTIN ( penelope )

if you haven't seen penelope this is your sign to go watch it because james mcavoy plays THEEE most dreamy man i have ever seen

he falls in love with who you are, not what you could be or what other people say you are,, he makes his own judgements and sticks to them, even everything you hate about yourself he sees the beauty in it all

literally ready to give up everything for That person

he may make a silly mistake like johnny did in the filmb, but you gotta realise dick grayson is not the man you want to let get away GO CHASE YOUR MAN GET HIM BACK

anf also the ending scene where johnny and penelope kiss HELLO he is literally putting his whole james mcavussy into that kiss and we all know dick grayson wouldn't half ass anything for the one he's most in love with ;(

JASON TODD as...

PATRICK VERONA ( 10 things i hate about you )

you can't tell me the whole bad boy and miscommunication thing wouldn't happen because it just WOULD

like say after everything's happened, jason too is a little bit emo and is this brooding "bad" kid who smokes in the corner of the library or something and hangs out at bars after school

he wants to make a little extra cash just to be extra rebel (he just doesn't want to ask bruce for money because he's going through a phase) and he doesn't reallllyyy care about the person he's being paid to take out

but then it hits and every time he looks at them angels start singing and they glow like they've been kissed by the gods

TIM DRAKE as...

JESSE WALLACE ( before sunrise )

okay forgive me if i get anything wrong here it's been a very long time since i last watched this movie but

tim has that cheekiness when he's in love that jesse has, maybe not exactly as cheesy (i can't watch the kissing scenes becquse they're so sloppy lol), but he falls and he falls hard

when he likes / loves someone they literally take up every fibre of his being and morph him into a lighter, happier person

he notices the little things, like the scene of wanting to tuck celine's hair behind her ear but being too shy because she already did it ???? that's SO tim because it's like he wants to be this suave macho guy, but he's just a little bit shy at the same time at initiating things

but he's in a european country getting all cultured and he's met this amazing person and he can't just let them get away

DAMIAN WAYNE as...

MR DARCEY ( pride & prejudice )

LOLLL yes i did it i could so totally see damian as like this awkward little thing but he shows he cares with the little things, like noting you prefer to walk so he asks to accompany you as opposed to taking public transport or driving ????

and also the hand thing

is so freaking damian

like he'd be a bit withdrawn, definitely awkward and he doesn't know how to act but he wants you BADDD sooo what daddy wants daddy gets

technically he is royalty right ?? i don't think mr darcey was royal but he definitely held a lot of prestige, so he'll be respected, have the manners he was taught to have growing up and struggle to talk to you any other way than to refer to you as if you were a blessing to walk this earth (but you're his blessing so it's okay)

[littlelamy]

Rafe x Girl next door type/Sweet!Pouge Reader: He sees her at a party and he sets his eyes on her, wanting to hook up with her for the night and ditch her the next day. He gets surprised thought when he actually talks to her, how kind, sweet and genuine she is # and to also find out that she is the relationship girlfriend type that would never have sex with someone random # but does not end it right there with him then trying to find someone else for the night but actually find himself drawn to her and wanting to take care of her/protect her and offers to drive her home (and whatever else you can think of, just a suggestion)

lamy's notes: i hope you like it, angel!

the party is in full swing, neon lights flickering against the walls, bodies packed tight with the heady scent of sweat and liquor thick in the air. rafe cameron leans against the kitchen counter, a red solo cup dangling from his fingers, half-full of something he’d stopped tasting an hour ago. his sharp blue eyes scan the crowd, predatory, practiced, already picking out his next conquest.

then he sees you.

it isn’t like the other girls he usually finds himself entangled with. no plunging neckline, no practiced sultry gaze or desperate attempt to get his attention. you’re different—sweet-looking, soft around the edges, the kind of girl who smiles at people like she means it. the kind of girl who doesn’t belong here.

and fuck, does that make him want you more.

you’re laughing, head tilted back just slightly, talking to a couple of your friends who don’t seem nearly as enthralled by you as they should be. you aren’t drinking, he notices. just standing there with some soda in your hand, cheeks flushed but not from alcohol. from joy. genuine, untainted joy.

rafe smirks. this will be easy. the sweet ones always melt in his hands, naive enough to believe whatever story he spins, desperate for that kind of attention from someone like him. he pushes off the counter and makes his way toward you, predatory confidence in every step.

“didn’t peg you as the party type,” he murmurs, sliding in beside you. your head turns, and when those warm, wide eyes meet his, something in his stomach twists.

you smile. actually smile at him. no coyness, no pretense. just a simple, friendly, fucking devastating smile. “yeah, i guess i’m not,” you admit, a little sheepish. “but my friends wanted to come, so here i am.”

rafe arches a brow. “and you’re not drinking?”

you shake your head. “not really my thing.”

his usual lines, the easy teases and flirtations, catch in his throat. there’s nothing to latch onto here, no feigned innocence waiting to be shattered. just…you. real. unaffected. completely unlike anyone else in this house.

“not your thing, huh?” he echoes, tilting his head. “so what is?”

you give a small shrug, your fingers curling around your soda cup, you begin to ramble about random things. “i don’t know. movie nights, bonfires on the beach, making pancakes at midnight just because. you know, wholesome stuff.”

wholesome.

jesus christ.

rafe hasn’t felt this off-kilter in years. he came here tonight looking for a quick fuck, someone to drag upstairs and forget about the next morning. and yet, here he is, utterly hooked on you talking about making pancakes at midnight.

“you’re not from around here, are you?”

you laugh, light and warm. “born and raised.”

“huh.” he studies you, trying to pinpoint exactly what makes you so different. maybe it’s the way you look at him, not like he’s some trophy to be won or some cautionary tale to be avoided, but just…like a person.

he doesn’t know what to do with that.

“so,” he tries again, leaning in slightly. “if you’re not into parties, what’s keeping you here?”

you tilt your head, studying him right back. “good company, i guess.”

rafe isn’t used to being caught off guard. isn’t used to having the script flipped on him like this. but instead of pissing him off, it just makes him more intrigued.

for a split second, he thinks about cutting his losses, about finding someone else who’d be easier, who wouldn’t make his chest feel tight in a way that has nothing to do with lust. but the thought of walking away from you right now?

doesn’t sit right.

“let me drive you home,” the words are out before he even realizes he’s said them.

your brows lift slightly, surprised but not suspicious. “you sure? i wouldn’t want to take you away from the party.”

he smirks. “believe me, sweetheart, nothing here’s worth sticking around for.”

you hesitate for a moment, then nod. “alright. that’d be nice.”

rafe has never been interested in nice before. nice doesn’t get you anywhere. nice is weak. but as you walk beside him out of the house, trusting him in a way he knows he hasn’t earned, he thinks—

maybe nice isn’t so bad.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @rafesbabygirlx @drewsephrry

[bratbarzal]

for ur valentines blurb pretty please these prompts with quinn hughes ☺️😘

¹⁾ “you really planned this?! remind me how you’re single, again?”

⁴⁾ “c’mon, like i need an excuse to spend time with you.”

⁵⁾ “i can’t help but think that this is a little more effort than someone would normally put in for their friend.”

✩‧₊˚ bratbarzal's valentines event!˚₊‧✩

idk why I give prompts and then continue to go off script but I honestly think I have a problem with being told what to do lmao. something about scripted sentence cuts a creative wire in my brain. THE SENTIMENT OF WHAT I WROTE IS THE SAME!!!!! I promise. also I like this one lmao!! I hope you like it too thanks for requesting!! and stacking the prompts is very cool gave me a nice little story to follow I love it!!! I wrote this whole thing and realised I didn't mention valentines once, but it's belated, so..... we're going to pretend it's okay I've decided on your behalf thanks love you

this ended up at 3.4k words lol - warnings for fade to black type smut, slightly angsty

Quinn: you coming over tonight?

A text from him has never filled you with anxiety like this.

But then again, for as long as the two of you have been friends, you've never actively avoided Quinn until now.

Monday had been one word answers, Tuesday had been emojis, Wednesday had been reactions, and Thursday had been radio silence, because he hadn't texted you, anyway.

It's not that you're mad at him. You wish you could be mad - wish you had any reason other than your own shame to be turning down all attempts at contact. But instead, all you can think when you see his name is how much you had fucked everything up the last time you saw him.

You: idk

And only because you feel instantly bad about how short that is, you immediately follow up with:

You: work has kicked my ass this week

You see the little dots keep popping up, and you're only torturing yourself to watch them come and go as he figures out what to say - how to salvage what you'd so carelessly made a gigantic mess of only last weekend.

You should really just say yes, you think - be the bigger person. Fridays have been your thing, all season. The day of the week he most frequently has the night off, and an end to your usually-hectic work-week, it has just made sense for the two of you to hang out, to make a routine of doing so.

Bailing on him is harsh, you know that. And with such a weak excuse too - you've had much worse times in your job, and it's never come between the two of you before.

And you know that he knows what you're doing. It's obvious. It's just whether he's in any mood to try and recover whatever scraps of your friendship still remain. Whether he even cares, anymore.

Quinn: please?

The two minutes it took for him to type just one word dragged longer than they ever have in your life, and you blink at your phone screen as you see the dots jump up again.

You chew nervously at your lip and wait, tapping your foot against the side of your desk and watching this time as it stays.

Quinn: I've already bought enough to cook for us both

He's such a guilt tripper.

You sigh, typing back and sending an immediate response, figuring a week of the bare minimum is punishment enough without blanking him or making him wait.

You: okay

A heart pops up below your message almost immediately, the reaction only worsening your anxiety at the thought of how hard keeping your distance is.

You: I'm finishing later than usual, should be there around 8

Quinn: ok I'll have dinner ready for then!

--

You knock on Quinn's door a little after 8pm - still in your work clothes, although that is usually how you come over, in your defence. Quinn loans you something comfy, and you usually change, but changing means staying over, and you're kind of trying to avoid all that again.

So when he welcomes you in, you awkwardly pat at his back as he tries to embrace you, before hovering around the kitchen instead of making your way back to his room.

He frowns a little as he watches you - he's in a hoodie and sweats, settled in now for the night with no intentions of getting back up once the two of you have eventually sunk down into the couch together - and waits a second to see if you're just on a delay, if you're just beat from work, like you said.

"I left a change of clothes for you on my bed," he says once he realises you aren't shifting, glancing quickly at you before he starts to busy himself with dishing up dinner.

"I'm good," you tell him, short, with a tight lipped smile sent his way when his eyes meet yours, narrowed in curiosity.

You're wearing a skirt and heels, for Christ's sake, and a blouse that's a little too restrictive around your shoulders. You've been in them all day, too. Of course you aren't good, and of course he knows that, but he drops it, a resigned nod and an awkward shift of his gaze back to the task at hand, spooning an assortment of green vegetables beside the rice on your plate.

You chance a good look at him while he's distracted - his hair soft, pushed back messily in a way that makes it flop straight back into place, and he looks a little tired, but he's had a long week, too. Back in training, pushing himself, dealing with a best friend who isn't reciprocating his energy. He's probably exhausted.

His jaw is clenched as he finishes the meal off, clattering utensils a little louder the longer you're quiet, and letting out heavy sighs when he's clearly growing more frustrated with how little you're giving back.

"How was work?" he tries, reaching into the draw and retrieving a knife and fork for the two of you.

"Long," you sigh, offering a small smile when he looks over to let him know that this particular instance of a short response isn't personal. You are genuinely exhausted - you'd worked an extra long day, just to get a major project finished, and, if you're honest, you're just ready for bed. "Glad it's the weekend, I'm probably gonna hit my pillow tonight and not see tomorrow."

The initial spark that lit up in his eyes when you started speaking a full sentence to him dulled immediately when he realised that you had all intentions of going home.

"You're not staying over?"

"I can hardly sleep here until Sunday, Quinn, that would be insane." Like you haven't spent consecutive days around his apartment, before. Like you haven't spent weeks with him back at his lake house in Michigan in the summer. Like the two of you didn't isolate together when you both got covid, probably from each other.

He nods, brief and sharp, jaw tensing again as he mutters out a bitter, "Right."

God, this is hard.

"Do you want me to carry anything?" You ask, trying to be helpful, just to make yourself feel better.

He wordlessly hands over the cutlery before turning to grab both plates on his own, nodding for you to make your way out of the kitchen for him to follow.

You do as he asks, holding the door for him so he doesn't struggle, stepping nervously behind him as he guides you through to where he's set the dining table up.

His curtains are drawn, a picturesque view of the nightlife of downtown Vancouver, twinkling city lights and the distant flash of vehicles passing by below stands as the most perfect backdrop to his set-up - the table candle-lit, a vase of fresh flowers in the middle, wine glasses and a salad bowl situated around the nice placemats you'd made him buy the last time the two of you went shopping together.

You hesitate when you get a little closer, eyeing up the setting reluctantly as Quinn places the plates in your retrospective places.

He's usually neat when it comes to his dinner table - usually likes to set things up so that they look nice, placemats, coasters. cutlery and napkins - but it's never like this.

"What's all this?" You ask, meeting his eye as he leans across the table to place down the knives and forks you hand to him.

"You said you had a bad week," he shrugs, "Wanted to do something nice."

He shuffles around you, the light placement of his hand on your hip as he does so jolting you toward the table, head swivelling to watch him disappear back toward the kitchen.

"You planned this?" you call after him, turning to look down at everything - a meal that he cooked, something nutritious and filling, knowing you wouldn't have the energy to make as much yourself, pretty flowers, and a calm, ambient atmosphere flooding the room. Your fingers poke softly at the petals on the flowers, lifting them a little to get a better look, mindful of the roses in the arrangement, careful not to be pricked by their thorns. "And you said you didn't think you'd be a good boyfriend,"

The latter sentence is muttered to yourself more than anything, a remembrance of something he'd said a while ago now - something that had always been in the back of your mind when you considered anything more - but your heart drops when you hear him chuckle from not too far behind, spinning on your heels to look at him, wide-eyed and apologetic. "I didnt-,"

“It’s fine,” he assures you, dipping his head but still keeping his gaze on yours, “Wine?”

He holds the bottle up in one hand, and your mouth goes a little dry at the sight of the label, mind going straight back to this time last week, when you had shared a few glasses with him. When things had gone too far.

Quinn's hands were holding you in place on his lap, soft fingers slipping under the hem of his sweatshirt that you wore, sliding up to press into the warm skin of your back, rocking you on his lap as his tongue swiped languidly against your own.

You couldn't quite tell whose mouth the taste of plummy Malbec sat within, but at that point, you didn't care - you'd both drunk enough of it to find yourselves in such a situation, you were at equal fault.

Not that any of it felt wrong in the moment, his hips bucking up as you straddled his thighs, your fingers clutching where his hair grew thick at the back of his neck. Quinn was humming soft, delicious groans straight between your lips, his own closing around your tongue as he sucked on it - all other bodily movements frantic and stuttered until he was repositioning the two of you, laying you back on the couch and gripping the elastic waist of your sweatpants.

It can't have been wrong - not with how easy it all unfolded, your hips lifting until he slid your bottoms off, his fingertips sneaking their beneath the hem of your panties - too drunk to care how sexy they might have been, never expecting to have to even consider such a thing around Quinn - all the while his mouth pressing firm, bruising kisses to your own.

"I shouldn't, I'm driving," you mumble, a soft shake of your head supposed to let him down easy, and to bring your senses back to the present, but his frown just deepens, the crease between his eyebrows now almost a fold.

"You can stay, you know," he tells you, pouring his own glass. "I don't care if you sleep until Sunday, it's not like you haven't spent the weekend before."

"I don't know," You sit cautiously in your seat, watching as he lowers into his own, face morphing into a hard scowl before he lets out a heavy sigh. "What?"

"It's like you've been making excuses not to hang out."

"Or maybe you've been making excuses to hang out," you retort, cringing yourself at how stupid it sounds, looking down into your lap as you place your napkin there so that he can't see the visible curl of your features.

"That doesn't even make sense," you know that, obviously, but you've been avoiding him for a reason - you don't want to have this conversation. You're not ready. "I don't need an excuse, we're friends, it's what friends do."

And God, you wish he'd just stop saying it. It's getting annoying now, your jaw tensing as you huff a short breath out, still keeping your head down to avoid him reading you like an open book - a book that may as well be pictures, at this point, or written for children with the most basic reading comprehension, one sentence per page and clear as day.

"What friends do," you mutter, in disbelief. He's one to talk about what friends do.

Friends don't do what you did last week.

Quinn's body had pretty much completely flopped onto yours, his chest rising and falling in heavy pants, but still careful enough not to bare all his weight on you so that yours could do the same.

Your skin felt clammy all over, baby hairs sticking to the back of your neck and your forehead, your neck slick from where his lips had been pressing all into it, sucking and nipping and you swear you'd even felt the glorious scratch of teeth at one point, and the heat of him above you was doing little to remedy the feeling.

You brought a hand up, almost absent-mindedly, to scratch softly at the back of his head as he came down, an overwhelming dizziness gripping at your eyelids, pulling you down as you felt him follow.

"You're making me feel like I'm going crazy," you sigh, "You can't seriously set all this up and not realise that it's way more effort than anyone would normally put in for someone that's just a friend,"

"You're not just anything," he counters, "When did I say you were just anything?"

He looks annoyed, that much is obvious - and yeah, you've technically been avoiding him, just like he assumes, but he was the one who made you feel like you had to.

A soft, sleepy groan was the first sound that brought you into consciousness the next morning - raspy and thick, and so close to your ear that the feeling of it buzzed the whole way down to your toes.

Then came unassuming movements, a twist of his torso, a shuffle of his hips, the stretch of his legs, all of which had been pressed right against all the same parts of your body - the sticky warmth of him catching your skin and rousing you fully from your sleep.

His arms tightened their hold around you before you really thought he knew what he was doing - a lethargic sigh huffing from his nostrils as he got comfortable again - and you had maybe a solid minute in his embrace until he fully came to.

The two of you were naked, one of the throws from the back of the couch draped lazily over your modesty, but that didn't really matter when you could feel the heavy press of him all over - your chest, your stomach, your hips, your thighs.

His fingers tightened, pressing a little into your waist before his touch disappeared completely. Before he was retreating, untangling himself from your body and sitting up. You felt the couch move as he shuffled around doing God-knows-what - felt the soft drape of the throw back over your body, and the whoosh of cold that followed and refused to leave.

When you dared to open your eyes, he was sat on the other side, leaning over, head in his hands after shrugging his boxers back on.

"Quinn?" you asked, your own voice thick with sleep, straightening to face him properly and rubbing at your eyes until they focused. "What's going on?"

"How much did we have to drink last night?"

Your heart dropped at the question, but your eyes floated over to the coffee table, two empty bottles standing on the other side. "A lot, I guess."

"Shit," he cursed, pushing himself up and pacing in front of the couch, refusing to look at you. "Fuck."

"Q, you're making me dizzy."

"I just," he stopped in place and scratched at the back of his neck, eyes lowering down your body in a way that made heat creep back up your neck, and your shoulders practically fold in on themselves consciously. "I didn't mean for it to go that far."

Your lips parted, although you didn't really know what to say to that. All you could do was nod, stuttered and slow, your gaze shifting too until it landed on the carpeted rug in front of him, focusing too hard on the pattern. "It's fine."

You could feel the weight of his stormy stare, but you couldn't look up - too afraid of rejection, too afraid of regret.

"We're friends, you know, you're-,"

"I know," you confirmed, not needing to hear how he didn't ever intend to be anything more. "We were drunk, Q, it's fine."

Your attempt at a reassuring smile probably looked a little more like a grimace, but you were saved probably by the fact that the two of you had had a lot to drink, and you were honestly a little queasy.

And maybe it had been the cold hard slap of rejection you woke up to that made you feel that way - after years of wanting more with Quinn - but he didn't need to know that. Not if he was already 10 toes deep into a regret spiral so soon after opening his eyes.

"We're friends."

"You said it last Saturday," you frown, "Saturday morning."

"No, you said we were drunk. I said we were friends, but you cut me off-,"

"Yeah, 'cause I didn't really want the first thing you said to me that morning to be that you made a mistake!"

"And here you are again, cutting me off!" his voice is a little raised now - so unlike the soft-spoken Quinn you're used to - easy going and well natured. "I can't win with you, you're either avoiding me like the plague, or you're not letting me speak, either way, I can't clear all this up!"

"What's there to clear up?" you scoff, "I don't need you to hold my hand and give me the full speech, okay, I get it, you don't want to be anything more than-," your body is jolted quickly by the sudden scrape of your chair across the floor, Quinn's grip firm on the leg as he pulls, "Hey, what are you-,"

And he's at the perfect height, then, to meet your lips once you're close enough, his hand leaving the chair to grip at your face - hold you in place so that you can't protest, can't cut him off in this, too, like you have been doing with every other way he's tried to communicate his feelings for you.

His kiss feels familiar, achingly so, the swipe of his tongue soft at the parting of your lips, his own mouth closing in a soft pressure against yours, over and over at a disorienting intensity - all thoughts melting away at his endeavour.

When he pulls away, he keeps his hands in place, watching intently as your eyes flutter open, and you slowly sink back into consciousness, pupils blown when they meet his, intense in their focus on you.

"You're really important to me."

You frown, because your brain will only allow you to process that as the start of rejection - followed by, which is why we can't go further - but that's not the direction Quinn is taking this.

"I wanted to do all of this right. That's why I freaked out last week. I didn't want you to think it was a drunken mistake."

Oh.

You're still a little dazed from the kiss, if you're honest, and so you find yourself blinking slowly back at him, mouth bopping open and closed while you figure out what to say.

"What?" Is all that comes out when you find your voice, watching as he rolls his eyes - part exasperated, part amused.

"Now you have nothing to say?" He scoffs, thumb swiping gently at your cheek as if to show you he's kidding. "I like you. I have for a while, and I want to be more than friends. I want you to stay at my place whenever you come over, and wear my clothes, and eat my food, and drink my wine," he lists, dipping his head closer and closer until you're face to face, a mere inch or two from him kissing you again. "And I want you to sleep here until Sunday. Maybe even after."

"Okay." you respond - the kind of one word answer you've been throwing his way to avoid getting hurt all week. And because you feel guilty, you add, "I want all that, too."

He breathes out a sigh of relief, closing his eyes and smiling slowly - an infectious kind of smile, that has you doing it right back, noses just brushing before you kiss him, again.

Stone cold sober, no longer looking to avoid your feelings, with the intention of being so much more than his friend.

[kellycataclysm]

"Read to me...?"

"Anything for you..."

I was so thrilled to have the chance to work with my wonderful and talented friend @itsmeglycine on another commission of Lyra and Harvey. I'm just a fangirl fangirling, what can I say? This piece is so beautifully tender and cosy and just the most perfect thing for me to gaze on as I work on the final chapter in their long fic. Is this a glimpse into their loving and passionate early days or a look into their blissfully happy future? Could be both but something tells me this fits so well with where we're at in their story now. These two sillies are just so deeply in love, having weathered the storm, and their writer can confirm they've arrived at their happy ever after. Imagine the end of a long day, finally a moment of quiet and Lyra slips onto his lap, listening to his smooth and gentle voice as she falls asleep. I can't imagine anything better.

(Also... she's wearing his shirt... the one he wore here.)

(Also... Of course she wants to drape herself over him... have you seen the man? He is fine! The shirt sleeves...? I'm looking at those forearms like a Victorian man afforded a glimpse of ankle. That tie and those few buttons...? Stop it. And don't even get me started on his hands! I'm sure when she wakes up, refreshed from her nap, she'll have a little fun with her man. He takes such good care of her, she is only too keen to return the favour...)

Thank you so much for working with me again! You are wonderful! <3333

[fromchaostocosmos]

And yet he has never been played by a Jew and in every movie he is in he ends up being the biggest bad, the worst bad by the time the movie is over.

That he is Jewish and a Holocaust survivor is disrespected and kinda glazed over.

And I think that is so very telling too.

Which is a part of why I am so protective of Magneto and so angry when it comes to him.

It is when I see clips of his speech that he gives, you know the one being suddenly spread now I want to scream a never ending scream because that thing he is talking about is the Holocaust.

And all these people are like oh this speech is so fitting for now and I'm like fuckers where have you been while we Jews have been getting fucking terrorized all over the world this past year.

Where the fuck have you been while antisemitism was rising like a tidal wave.

Where the fuck have you been when we got blamed for a whole fucking disease.

Also how about the fact that when you weren't telling us to shut up you were just plain silent when we begged Marvel to not make the children of a Jewish Holocaust survivor and a Romani Holocaust survivor into white non-Jewish and non-Romani character who oh yeah fucking volunteer to be experimented on by Nazis.

Or how you did the same when we freaked the fuck over X-Men First Class Armageddon because of how fucking disrespectful that film was and still is to us as a people, a culture, and religion. By first having someone claim to be our G-d in the trailer and then using a name that is not a name that we use but is some xtian fuckery.

But then for the movie using a name that we do use, but that only when you know praying because we do not speak the Names for our G-d all casual like.

And how again that whole concept was so fucking gross and disrespectful by having this dude just say yes I'm your god or whatever and then the one canon Jewish person who is still not played by anyone Jewish go okay sure because that is definitely how we would react. Because as we all know Jews are know for not arguing with our own G-d. (In case you can't tell I'm being very sarcastic, we are literally named for that. That is what our name fucking means)

Oh and then the Jewish person is made into symbol of something that is like quintessentially christian which is not in any way scarring, traumatizing, or have any real shitty/painful history with that kind of thing.

And under that whole thing he goes and blows a Concentration Camp which because it is not like those are important to have around as testaments to what happened there, to educate, and because the dead are still there.

But yeah as you can see I'm very much over it all.

So yeah I love Magneto, but what I would give to see him done right on film and see people actually learn something from his story.

magneto is the best villain of all time. any media. magneto is the villain you write papers about, the one you dissect over and over. he is the pinnacle of a sympathetic villain because he isn’t a villain. to mutants, to those ostracized, he is the hero, not the villain. he is made of the same violent revolution the haitian revolution, the american revolution, the french revolution all exemplify. he is an allegory for change, villified but sympathetic, and magneto is one of, if not the best, fictional characters ever created

[queenariesofnarnia]

pretty boy🩵 {j.t. x fem reader}

a/n: i wrote this in my notes at 3 in the morning so its lowercase on purpose. its not the greatest but there’s a better fic for this pretty boy in progress also gif not mine

“hey pretty boy” that’s how you always greeted joaquín. along with other nicknames. he realized its how you talk to your friends but you have a special set for him pretty boy, sugar, and baby. yet the two of you aren’t together and it confuses the hell out of everyone but the two of you. sam wasn’t sure how much longer he could take watching the two of you act like this. 

“torres. do me a favor and make her your girlfriend” sam groaned interrupting joaquín’s story about the two of you going to dinner together the other night. 

“i don’t think she wants me like that” he said confused. sam looked at him like he lost his mind. 

“that girl who calls you pretty boy. hell i’ve heard her call you baby! and you’re gonna sit here and tell me she doesn’t want you like that? either i’ve gone crazy or you’re oblivious” sam rants. 

with you and your best friend on your end you’re asking which outfit you should wear for your next hangout with joaquín. 

“at this point i’m sure you could wear a potato sack and he’d love it” your best friend azalea comments laughing. 

“zay he would not” you say with a laugh, a little frustrated with the choices you’ve pulling from your closet. 

“petal, it’s joaquín we’re talking about here. he adores you. and you adore him. remind me why you aren’t dating him?” she questioned. 

“what if he doesn’t want me like that?” you ask self doubt seeping in. azalea sighed. 

“listen petal, i’ve never seen someone so enamored with a person like he is with you. he’s seen you in some of your biggest crisis moments. he’s let you cry your makeup off on him. that man loves you petal, you just have to see it.” she says sincerely, using her nickname for you. 

“i guess” you say nonchalantly, she can’t help but groan in response. 

a few days later 

you and joaquín are sitting at a little outdoor cafe enjoying a small breakfast. you were laughing at something he said when a girl came up to him clearly flirting like you weren’t there. you normally aren’t one for confrontation but what she’s doing is rude. 

“hey” you snap, they both look at you, pointing to the girl “walk away now, or i won’t be nice” she stands there mouth gaped like a fish “girl make like michael jackson and beat it” you almost growled at her. when she scurried off you tools sip of your drink like everything was normal. 

“cariño, are you okay?” he asked reaching across the table to hold your hand.

“i’m great pretty boy” you smile sweetly at him. 

“you just told a girl to beat it for talking to me.” he chuckled.

“well one it was rude for her to interrupt. two you’re my pretty boy, i don’t share. it’s not my style” you shrug 

“‘your pretty boy’ i like the sound of that” he beams and damn him for having the prettiest smile you thought to yourself. 

“i’m glad you like it. cause i’m not letting you go ever” you assure him squeezing his hand softly, the free hand holding his cheek “my pretty boy” you lean forward kissing his cheek. 

 joaquín smirks cupping your cheek “you missed” he closes the space between you capturing your lips in a proper kiss. 

[childrenofcain-if]

Ignore this if you've answered this ask before but if the ROs or MC got pregnant while they are in university, will they keep the baby or not?

if MC is the one who got pregnant (it ultimately depends on the MC btw):

CÉDRIC LACROIX: cédric will be very against the idea at first but once he sees that you don’t want to give the baby up, he’ll support you regardless. you’ll also have the duration of the pregnancy to see how he has a turnaround and actively tries to be a good dad before the kid is even born. i’d say that out of all the ROs, he’s the one who’s going to be overbearing and going all out on his fatherly duties.

VANCE NÆSHOLM: vance would be supportive from the get go about keeping the kid. if things get too hard, he’ll offer to drop out and be a stay-at-home dad and get an online degree instead. he’ll just be happy to be having a baby with you and make sure he’s always there for you both.

WILHELM OSTENDORF: all that breeding kink accounted for something, i guess? either way, billy will be overjoyed. yes, he knows the timing is very bad but he truly believes you can both get through it. good luck getting him to stop talking to the baby in your belly and telling them stories about you two.

DUMITRU DIACONU: oh hell no! dumitru will very much want you to delete the baby, but if you insist on keeping them, he’ll disappear for 2-3 days without a trace. when he returns, his dramatic ass will literally be on his knees and telling you that losing you is so much worse than being a dad (what a charmer) and beg for you to give him one more chance. to his credit, he matures a lot in the duration of your pregnancy and gives up a lot of his vices. you’ll even find him singing a song he wrote for your future baby to your belly when he thinks you’re asleep.

MAXWELL WHITLOCK-SINGH: maxwell will strongly object to you keeping the baby, but he is helpless to do anything if you do not agree with him. the royal family will disown him over the fact that he had a baby out of wedlock with a filthy rich commoner, but he also doesn’t want to lose the love of his life and their child. in the end, he’ll tell his immediate family about the situation and marry you before the baby is born.

if the ROs are the ones who got pregnant:

CÉLINE LACROIX: shocked. confused. scared. céline doesn’t want to terminate the pregnancy but she’s very young and she wants to accomplish a lot before even thinking about having kids. she’ll get an abortion but will be very traumatised by the whole experience.

VANESSA NÆSHOLM: vanessa will keep the baby. and it’s not because of religious reasons, surprisingly. she just feels an instant connection with the baby growing inside her and would want to keep them. she dreams about how they might look and grow up to be and is just happy that they’re a part of you both.

WILHELMINE OSTENDORF: considering billie’s health currently, the baby would likely be miscarried. this is especially devastating because she would like to keep them. she has always wished for a family with you and it’ll be a cruel outcome for everyone.

DUMITRA DIACONU: dumitra is getting an abortion as soon as she’s able to. she is not becoming a mother before she even graduates college! besides, she isn’t exactly fond of the idea of ever having kids at the moment. although she might change her mind in the future if you talk to her.

MAXINE WHITLOCK-SINGH: not only is it gonna be a complete scandal which will make the royal family turn upside down, maxine will 100% get disowned by even her parents if she keeps the baby. she also isn’t a huge fan of experiencing motherhood before she even graduates from law school so it’s a no from her, love.

[utilitycaster]

I've been a pretty harsh critic of Dr. Friedman and Polygon's general Critical Role coverage in the past, and while I think her latest article for them critiquing Campaign 3 is a fairly good one, it does in many ways cast an even harsher light on her kid-gloves handling of D20 and WBN. However, I want to talk about these two excerpts, because I think she hits on something I've increasingly noticed in Actual Play:

"This is where Critical Role’s strength — that Exandria often feels like a real, complex world — collided with the needs of a D&D campaign (a clear adversary, clear plans of action, forward momentum)."

and

"But the confused way D&D handles religion and divinity — polytheism as imagined by midwestern American Protestants — turned the question of how to handle this particular cosmic horror into a glue trap, paralyzing the players for dozens of hours of circular existential debates. Gods once mechanized (or digestible) become just another power bloc, and for players used to a system where in the end you are “basically gods,” the line gets blurrier still. And as D&D’s messy cosmology added friction to much of the campaign, D&D’s mechanics also don’t have the necessary friction for the interpersonal beats that make Critical Role compelling."

I agree with both these statements, as someone who, to be clear, enjoys D&D 5e. D&D supports a range of narratives, but all are ultimately a story of gaining power and fighting off or through a series of adversaries; if your characters are not doing that, it raises the question of why you picked a system that gives you few other options. (This is also, I should note, an increasingly loud question when it comes to Worlds Beyond Number; I fell behind for personal reasons after the Coven arc, but Brennan's initial statements about D&D as scaffolding were perhaps too true; almost every interesting mechanic, in a game with minimal combat that has thus far felt primarily focused on how the three protagonists have fundamentally different adversaries, has been homebrewed, to the point where the cosmology and baggage of D&D has felt like a liability rather than an asset).

D&D also has, in part due to such programs as D20, developed a reputation for being world-agnostic, and that ultimately isn't true. D&D does struggle to make the lines between "real divinity", an archfey or similarly powerful entity, and a L20 character feel sharply defined on a mechanical level; once you give a god a stat block, it can be killed (and on a metanarrative level, revealing the gods' statblocks in Downfall serves to make them both immense, yet also more fragile. The hit points are many, but still finite.) There are a number of questions most D&D worlds simply fail to address - and to be clear, this is not a flaw provided you have buy in. A level 2 warlock in D&D is, in most societies, an one-person lethal force unless the entire town swarms them at once, knowing that many of them will lose their lives in the effort; a level 2 warlock PC, however, is almost never, in-world, treated this way, and indeed is framed as an underdog in a harsh world despite usually having the ability to destroy the entire tavern.

D&D has also developed a (not undeserved) reputation as being The Dominant TTRPG put out by a massive corporation, and has developed a (not deserved) reputation as being itself uniquely problematic as a power fantasy, particularly by people who conveniently forget where Pathfinder came from. I've previously covered that, for all people demand non-D&D actual play, the viewership drops precipitously whenever a big AP show that made its name with D&D dares to branch out, and, related to that, I've seen an uptick in people who are excited for D&D to subvert itself. They wanted Campaign 3 to subvert these norms of divinity and heroic fantasy, cheered for it...and ultimately it was unable to do so. I don't think it's accurate to say that D&D's lack of interpersonal mechanics was the problem here, given that Campaigns 1 and 2 (and again, D20) have no such issue; but rather that since D&D's lack of interpersonal/RP mechanics require more effort from the players to initiate, the debates on the nature of divinity in a world and system that could not sustain them sapped any energy for the late-night watch conversations D&D can support when you're not fighting against it.

I think one of the many lessons we can learn from Critical Role Campaign 3 is that if you go up against D&D with an attempt to destroy it from within, your story will instead find itself conforming to the shape of its container, often to its detriment.