#and i kinda need to talk about this with someone

[serioussideblog]

Some other good examples of which words to use in which situations:

- When talking about a specific body part, talk about that body part. If it helps, you can think of it in a similar way to how we think of other body parts that frequently need to be changed or removed, or that are frequently something someone naturally doesn’t have for one reason or another. Adenoids, for example, are frequently removed, and usually shrink away over time, but I still have one of mine at this time. My one adenoid will probably shrink away, and if it doesn’t, I could get it removed if it causes me problems, but for now, it’s just chilling in my throat, so I have to take care of it. You can use the same logic with breasts, uteruses, prostates, vulvas, vaginas, penises, testes, etc.

- When talking about hormone production, estrogen, testosterone, and progesterone are the things you’re probably talking about (as it relates to this discussion). Everyone actually has both estrogen and testosterone in them, just at different levels.

- When talking about sex assigned at birth, use the AGAB language. But remember, this isn’t the end-all-be-all! The human experience is a very vast thing, and honestly, it’s kinda fascinating just how many variations exist for every category.

- And of course, for gender identity, use the word that person does.

- Sometimes you may need to talk about more than one of these things at once. Just put the concepts together correctly! For example, if you were AFAB, and produced more estrogen than testosterone, but you have a prostate, and you identify as agender, you would be an agender person, an intersex person, estrogen-dominant, AFAB, and you would have to get prostate screening and stuff to make sure it’s okay in there.

really not sure when it happened or why but personally I'm pissed that the queer community at large seems to have given up ground on the "people with penises/vulvas/testes/ovaries" language to sex & gender essentialists in exchange for the much less precise, much more demeaning "AGAB" language.

is it because you're scared of the word vulva? of acknowledging out loud that some people have penises? of recognising that many many people, including but certainly not limited to trans people, have mixed sex characteristics that cannot be accurately summarised by "afab/amab" as shorthand for "female/male"?

"in [GENITAL RELATED] situation AFABs will need to do X and AMABs will need to do Y" there are "afabs" with penises and "amabs" with vulvas. Saying this shit makes you look so unserious & honestly transphobic (given the ongoing erasure of post-op trans people within broader community). Intersex people and GRS have both existed for long enough (fucking forever and, decades, respectively) that we should well past making this basic fucking mistake.

quit referring to people by a vague & often violent event that happened at their birth as though it defines ANYTHING about how they & their body currently operate, and start using precise language so you at least look like you know what you're fucking talking about.

[stylesispunk]

Blind faith | part iii

Priest!Joel Miller x night club dancer! Reader

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

summary: the aftermath of Joel finding you are a stripper and you reveal your truth to some extent. A day trip to the beach and how Joel realizes something.

wc: 9,5k

warnings: age gap (Joel's in his late 40s and reader late 20s), forbidden love, angst, mentions of death, mentions of injuries, sexism, so much tension between joel and reader, they falling harder, fluff.

a/n: Hello loves! Here's chapter 3. I was kinda excited for this one but I'm kinda more excited for the following one. I hope you like this and how the story is developing. I'm really loving writing it. Please share your thoughts, and please take note that reader still have secrets to share. Please, share your thoughts with me I LOVE READING THEM. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

You were in despair the moment you left the stage. Joel’s stare still stung on your skin, burning everywhere as if you were ashamed to have been trapped after the lies you had made up. You warn, pushing Carmen with no intention behind.

“Hey, hey, Estrellita, where are you going like this” She asked, placing her hands on your shoulders that seemed to ease its fire.

“I need to-I need—to I need to…Joel, uhm, the priest, she was here and he saw me.”

“Who? What the hell was he doing here?” she asked, surprised at the information.

“Someone must have told him about me.” You replied, the thought of him changing his mind towards you hurt more than any wound you could have.

“Okay, breathe.” She nodded her head, trying to erase your anxiety, “You weren’t doing anything wrong.”

“I’m—”

“Why do you care so much about what he thinks?” she questioned.

“Because he has been good to me. I don’t want him thinking I was playing with him” you replied, without being able to ease your heart stammering against your ribs.”

Carmen’s gaze softened, but there was something knowing behind her eyes. “And what if he does?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

You swallowed hard, the thought twisting something deep inside you. “Then I—” you hesitated, feeling the burn of unshed tears behind your eyes. “Then I don’t know.”

Carmen sighed, her hands squeezing your shoulders. “Estrellita… men like him, they don’t come here. But you have to ask yourself something—was he here because he wanted to judge you, or because he wanted to understand?”

You shook your head, exhaling sharply. “I don’t know. But I saw his face, Carmen. He looked—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head.

“Hurt?” she guessed.

You flinched, looking away.

Carmen let out a soft laugh, not unkind. “That man is already gone for you,” she murmured.

You didn’t want to hear that. You couldn’t.

“I need to go,” you said instead, stepping away from her grasp.

“Go where?”

“I—”

“Rest.” She said, “Let him to process this and then you can go and talk to him tomorrow, okay?”

You hesitated, but ended up nodding.

“Okay.”

Three days had passed and there was no sight of him. At least no in the way you wanted it. You tried looking out for him at the church even, to his house, but everything seemed to be in vain.

Three days. Three days of trying to catch his eye, only for him to look away. Three days of waiting outside the church, only for him to slip out the back. Three days of silence where there used to be warmth.

And it was driving you mad.

Joel had never been like this with you. He had never shut you out like this before. Not when you first met, not when people whispered about you, not even when he wrapped his arms around your waist during the night you feel asleep together on his couch. But now? Now, he was slipping through your fingers water in your hands.

You found yourself outside the church again, fingers curling into fists at your sides, fidgeting your jeans as you took a steadying breath. The doors were open, the flickering glow of candlelight casting long shadows inside.

He was there. In front of the altar, on his knees, praying.

You knew it before you even stepped inside, and when you saw him, your breath caught.

He must’ve heard your footsteps because he tensed. But he didn’t turn around.

“Are you going to pretend I’m not here?” you asked, voice steady despite the storm inside you.

He exhaled, but still, he wouldn’t look at you.

“I’m not pretending,” he said, voice rough.

You scoffed. “Really? Then what do you call this?”

Silence.

You stepped closer. “Joel.”

He finally turned, and the look in his eyes nearly knocked the air from your lungs.

Regret. Want. Something deeper, something you didn’t want to name.

“Call me father, not Joel” he said, shaking his head. “Not anymore.”

The words cut through you like a blade. Not Joel.

Not anymore.

You blinked, your throat tightening as you searched his face, waiting, hoping for some sign that he didn’t mean it. That this was just another wall he was building between you, one you could tear down if you only pushed hard enough.

But his expression was set in stone.

“You don’t mean that,” you said, voice quieter now.

He exhaled sharply, looking away like it hurt him to see you standing there. “I do.”

Your stomach twisted. “Why?”

“Because this has to stop.” His voice wasn’t unkind, but it was firm. “This… whatever you did to me.”

You shook your head. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You’re a liar. You seduce your way to people. I’m sure of it. You dance in that way for men and for women, you are what? A stripper? It was fun, wasn’t it? To walk inside this place but not being more than a sin?”

He could have slapped you in your cheek and it would hurt less. Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you could only stare at him, stunned.

Joel had never spoken to you like this before. Not even when he had been cautious of you, when he had been wary and careful with his words.

This was cruelty.

A slow, sharp ache curled in your chest, pressing against your ribs like a wound you hadn’t braced for. Your hands trembled, and you clenched your hands “Is that what you think of me?”

Joel didn’t answer. He just looked at you, his jaw locked tight, his fists at his sides like he was trying to convince himself of his own words.

You swallowed hard, blinking back the sting of tears. “You think I was playing with you?” Your voice was quieter now, but there was an edge to it, something raw and unsteady. “That I… what? Tricked you? Made you feel something you didn’t want to feel?”

His silence told you everything. You let out a bitter, hollow laugh, shaking your head. “You’re a coward.”

That got a reaction. Joel’s gaze snapped to yours, something dark flickering in his eyes. “Watch yourself.”

“Why? You think you can hurt me more than you already have?” You took a step forward, your voice trembling now. “I didn’t do anything to you, Joel. You were the one who kept looking for me. You were the one who made me feel—”

You stopped yourself, pressing your lips together, shaking your head. He didn’t deserve to hear it.

“I should have known,” you murmured, voice quieter now, laced with something almost mournful. “I should have known you’d find a way to make me the villain as everyone else.

Joel swallowed, his throat bobbing. But he didn’t say anything.

You took a shaky breath, willing your voice to stay steady. “I never wanted to hide this, Joel.”

Then you turned away, walking toward the door.

But before you left, you hesitated, your fingers tightening on one of the pews. You didn’t turn around when you spoke again.

“I hope you can sleep at night,” you whispered. “There is no pray you can use to feel better about yourself.”

The church fell into an eerie silence. He stood frozen at the altar, his grip tight around the pulpit as the heavy wooden doors groaned shut behind you. Your words still rang in his ears, they feel like bleeding.

"There is no prayer you can use to feel better about yourself."

A muscle in his jaw twitched. But what was he really mad about? Was it the fact that you had hidden this part of yourself from him? Or was it something he didn’t want to name?

His fingers flexed against themselves.  He told himself it was about you, about the way you had let him believe you were someone else, perhaps pure. Someone untouched by the kind of life he had walked into that night at the club. Someone untainted.

But deep down, in the part of himself he didn’t let see the light. He knew that was a lie.

It wasn’t the lie. It wasn’t about the way you danced, about the way you let people look at you, about the way they whispered your name in the dark.

It was pure jealousy. A slow-burning, sickening jealousy that clawed at his ribs, that twisted inside him until he couldn’t breathe. Because he had wanted to be the first. The first to see you like that, to watch you, to take in the way you moved, the way you let your body speak without uttering a single word.

The first to know the weight of your touch, the warmth of your skin, the sound of your voice when you said his name and not just Father.

But he wasn’t. He would never be. Joel squeezed his eyes shut. The pulpit felt wrong beneath his hands; the church suddenly too quiet, too empty.

He had spent years preaching about self-control. About discipline. About resisting temptation.

But no one had ever told him what to do when he was the one being tempted.

When the sin didn’t come from you—but from him.

And that was the worst part of all.

The music pulsed through the walls, the usual hum of the club coming to life as the night stretched on. But tonight, it felt distant. Muted. You ears ringed.

You sat in front of the mirror, fingers resting in your lap, staring at your reflection without really seeing it. Your costume was half on, shimmering fabric draped around you, waiting to be fastened. But you couldn’t bring yourself to finish.

Because no matter how much you tried to shake Joel’s words from your head, they clung to you like ghosts.

"You seduce your way to people."

"I’m sure of it."

"It was fun, wasn’t it? To walk inside this place but not being more than a sin.”

Your throat tightened.

You had never felt this ashamed of yourself before. Not for dancing. Not for the way you made people feel about you. The stage had been your home long before any church and its priest. It was the one place where you had control over your body, over the way people saw you. This time it was different but still was the closer you had.

And now? Now, it felt like your skin was too tight. Like if you stepped onto that stage, it wouldn’t be you anymore. It would be whatever Joel thought you were.

A hand landed gently on your shoulder, and you jolted, blinking out of your thoughts.

Billy stood beside you; his brows furrowed in concern. “What’s going on in that head of yours, Estrellita?”

You tried to smile. Failed. “Nothing.”

Billy scoffed. “Don’t lie to me, cariño. I know that look.” He knelt beside you, adjusting the hem of your costume with practiced ease. “Who do I have to fight?”

A soft, breathy laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “You? Fight?”

He grinned. “Don’t underestimate me. I might be small, but I’m scrappy.”

Something in your chest loosened, just a little.

Billy had been one of the first people to welcome you into the club, one of the first to make you feel safe. You had learned his story in pieces—how he had been thrown out of his home when his parents found out he was gay, how he had wandered the streets for days before stumbling into this place.

He had found his family here. His home.

Just like you had. And for the first time that night, you felt something like steadiness return.

Maybe Joel didn’t understand. Maybe he never would.

But Billy did. Carmen did. Everyone who worked here saw you and they still loved you.

Billy squeezed your hand, his voice softer now. “You don’t have to dance tonight if you don’t want to.”

You looked at him, at the warmth in his eyes, the quiet understanding there. Maybe you didn’t feel like dancing tonight.

But you weren’t going to let Joel take this from you.

You took a deep breath, straightened your shoulders. “I want to.”

Billy searched your face for a moment before nodding, helping you fasten the last of your costume.

As you stepped onto the stage, the lights warmed your skin, the music vibrated through your bones.

And just like that, you let the weight of the night fall away.

The music pulsed through your veins, wrapping around you like a familiar embrace. The stage lights bathed you in warmth, illuminating the shimmering fabric of your red suit as you stepped forward. The crowd murmured in expectation, eyes fixed on you, waiting for you to come.

So, you danced. You let the rhythm take you, let your body move as it always had, fluid, effortless, free. The music carried you, and for the first time that night, you felt like yourself again.

Until you saw him here again. Your breath hitched mid-spin.

Joel.

Hidden in the corner of the club, dressed in dark clothes, a cap pulled low over his face. His hands wrapped around a glass of whiskey, but his gaze, his gaze was all on you.

The weight of it burned, heavy and unreadable as if he was tracing marks with fire over your skin.

Your stomach twisted, your limbs faltering as a shockwave of something sharp and unbearable ran through you. He wasn’t just watching, he was consuming you with his stare, with an intensity that made your skin prickle.

And just like that, your legs gave in, ankle wobbling.

Your balance tipped.

A sharp gasp cut through the music as you stumbled, your heel catching awkwardly against the stage and you fell. The floor met you hard, the impact sending a jolt up your spine, stealing the air from your lungs.

Silence. The club held its breath.

The murmurs started then, a mix of concern and amusement rippling through the room. Billy was already moving toward you, but before he could reach you, someone else was there.

Joel.

His hand was on your arm before you could blink, strong and steady, lifting you to your feet like you weighed nothing at all.

Your heart pounded as you stared up at him.

His jaw was clenched, his brows drawn together, his breath uneven.

You should have been embarrassed. Should have been angry. But all you could think about was why.

Why was he here? Why he has come back here after all he said?

Why was he looking at you like that? And why, after everything, did he still come running the second you fell?

Joel’s grip on your arm was firm but fleeting. The moment he was sure you were steady, he let go like your skin had burned him. His face was unreadable, stormy eyes, tense jaw, lips pressed into a hard line.

You barely had time to take a breath before he turned away.

No words. No explanation. Just gone.

The moment he disappeared into the shadows, Billy was at your side, helping you the rest of the way up. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly, searching your face.

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah.”

But your hands were still trembling.

Carmen appeared next, her gaze flicking toward the direction Joel had vanished before settling on you with knowing eyes.

Neither of them said a word about him. They didn’t have to.

The music had already started up again, the club moving on as if nothing had happened. As if you hadn’t just fallen, as if the man you’d spent days trying to reach hadn’t just been here, watching.

You exhaled sharply, forcing your shoulders back. If Joel wanted to act like this meant nothing, like you meant nothing.

You weren’t going to chase him. So, with the eyes of the room still on you, you turned toward the crowd, lifted your chin, and danced.

Back in the dressing room, the adrenaline had started to wear off, leaving behind a hollow ache in your chest. You wiped at the sweat on your brow, breathing in deeply, trying to ground yourself.

But before you could even sit down, Billy and Carmen were already on you.

Carmen leaned against the vanity, arms crossed, one perfectly arched brow raised. "So... what was the priest doing here?"

Billy, standing beside her, nodded, arms folded tightly. "Yeah, and why was he dressed like some guy sneaking into a bar for the first time?"

You ran a hand over your face, sighing. "I don’t know."

Carmen scoffed. "Bullshit. He was watching you, clear as day."

Billy narrowed his eyes. "And then he just left when you fell? Didn’t even say anything?"

Your stomach twisted. "No."

Carmen let out a low whistle. "Damn. That man is tortured."

Billy leaned closer; his voice softer. "And you?"

You hesitated. What were you supposed to say? That seeing Joel there had rattled you to your core? That his stare had nearly burned through you, stripping you bare in ways you weren’t prepared for? That part of you had been desperate for him to stay?

That would be admitting too much.

So instead, you shook your head. "It doesn’t matter."

Billy and Carmen exchanged a look, but neither pushed further.

“Yo conozco a un hombre enamorado cuando lo veo” (I know when a man is in love when I see him” he said. Leaving, to help another of the dancers with her dress.

A man in love?

Later at night. You were back at the house you shared with Carmen. After the show and all the emotions storming in your head, you were getting ready to go to sleep, removing, the makeup, brushing your hair and slip into an oversized t-shirt you wore to sleep.

You were at the kitchen, sipping a cup of warm tea, while the clock shown two a.m. in the morning. You were about to go to the bedroom when a knock at the door stopped you.

You stood frozen in place, your fingers still curled around the mug. The knock at the door echoed through the quiet of the house, cutting through the remnants of the night like a blade.

Your heart pounded. No one came to see you at this hour.

Taking a slow breath, you stepped toward the door, pausing just before your hand reached the knob. Another knock. Firmer this time. You swallowed hard and opened it.

Joel stood there, bathed in the dim glow of the streetlamp. His dark eyes flickered over you, over your loose dress, the curve of your collarbone, the tired set of your features. He was still wearing the clothes from earlier, his shirt wrinkled, his hair slightly mussed like he had run his hands through it too many times.

Neither of you spoke, but you stepped back, just enough to leave the door open. An invitation.

Joel hesitated. His hands curled into fists at his sides like he was fighting himself, but then, he stepped inside.

The house was dimly lit, the soft glow of a single oil lamp casting shadows along the walls. Carmen’s door was closed; she was still out, unaware of the storm brewing in the doorway of your shared home.

You crossed your arms, your t-shirt brushing against your skin. “You shouldn’t be here,” you murmured, echoing his own words.

Joel’s jaw tightened. “I know.” But he didn’t leave.

You watched him, the way his shoulders rose and fell with slow, measured breaths. His eyes never left yours, dark and unreadable.

He looked tired. Like he hadn’t slept in days.

You swallowed. “What do you want?” then you pause, “Why were you at the club tonight?”

Joel let out a slow breath, running a hand over his face. “I—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

You tilted your head. “You don’t know?”

His gaze flickered down your frame before he tore it away, shaking his head. “I just—” He exhaled sharply. “I see you everywhere. When I close my eyes. When I—” He cut himself off again, rubbing the back of his neck. “It won’t stop.”

Your throat tightened.

"I'm sorry" he began, "what I said about you...I was wrong. You're not—You're not at all of that. You're not a sin. That was so wrong of me to say."

He took the scene in front of him, red eyes, glisten and red from all the crying. He had seen the way he had broken your heart in a cruel manner, throwing daggers at you without even thinking, without hearing what you had to share.

There were no words left for him to make this better.

"I-I thought I could trust you." you replied, barely hearing your own words,"you were so kind to me all this time but you weren't capable of hearing my truth. Instead you heard people calling me names and cursing my name with venom, and that father, that makes you as shitty as all people in this fucking town."

"I-"

"Leave, father. Don't waste your words in a whore like me, you could get burned." An as a final statement, you closed the door leaving him standing there, speechless and with a heart so heavy he could barely stay stand in place.

Joel didn’t move for a long moment. He stood there, staring at the closed door, your words ringing in his ears.

You could get burned. Perhaps he already had.

The weight in his chest was suffocating. He had come here thinking he could make it right, that his apology, his regret, would be enough to fix the damage he’d caused. But there was no fixing this, was there?

Because you were right.

He had judged you without listening. He had let his own fears, his own jealousy, fester into something ugly, and he had taken it out on you.

His hands curled into fists at his sides. He wanted to knock again, to beg you to open the door, to please let him try—But he had lost that right.

With a sharp inhale, Joel forced himself to step back. To turn away.

The night air was cold when he stepped outside, but it wasn’t enough to dull the ache in his chest. He walked through the empty streets of town, past the glowing streetlamps and shuttered windows. He should have gone home, should have locked himself away and prayed for forgiveness.

But instead, he found himself back at the church.

The place that had once given him solace now felt suffocating. He stood in the center of the room, looking up at the altar, at the cross above it.

What had he done? He sank onto one of the pews, dropping his head into his hands.

Maybe this was his punishment. To pray until his heart stop bleeding.

Next day, Joel’s voice carried through the church, steady and memorized words that felt empty.

He had given hundreds of sermons before, about faith, about redemption, about the weight of sin and the promise of forgiveness. But today, the words felt hollow in his mouth. He spoke about grace. About salvation.

But his mind was elsewhere.

On you.

He kept glancing at the doors between sentences, expecting—hoping—to see you walk in.

But you never did. The pews were full, the congregation nodding along, but the one person he had been searching for wasn’t there.

He had told himself it was for the best. That his anger, his frustration, his jealousy—God help him, his jealousy—had been justified. That staying away from you was the only way to rid himself of this ache, this temptation.

But every day that passed without seeing you felt like a slow unraveling, like a thread pulled too tight, ready to snap.

And now, standing at the pulpit, words leaving his lips with no real meaning behind them, Joel realized. He didn’t know what the hell he was even talking about anymore.

Continuing with the day, the town square had come alive with laughter and soft music, the scent of roasted nuts and fresh bread hanging in the air. Stalls lined the streets, filled with handmade crafts, sweet pastries, and bottles of drinks, lemonade and children running between the booths, their carefree joy a stark contrast to the weight pressing down on your chest.

You walked slowly, keeping your head high, but you felt it, the judgment, the whispers.

Women clutched their baskets tighter as they passed you, their gazes cold and cutting. A few of them turned their backs as if your mere presence tainted the space. You weren’t surprised. You had expected it after that night. After Joel. After he had spoke about sin.

What you hadn’t expected was the men. The ones who had watched you under the dim lights of the club, whiskey glasses clutched in their hands, their eyes heavy with hunger. They weren’t turning away.

They were staring. Lingering.

The way their eyes traced over you made your skin crawl, the same gazes that once felt like power now left you feeling exposed.

You swallowed hard and pulled your shawl tighter around your shoulders, your heart pounding.

The sun hung high in the sky, warming the cobbled streets as you wandered through the people, stalls lined the path, displaying fresh produce, homemade bread, and steaming pots of food. The scent of roasted corn and spices lingered in the air, mixing with the distant sound of a guitar being played by a street performer.

You stopped at a stand where an older woman stirred a large jar of lemonade, the condensation on the glass glistening in the light.

"Una limonada, por favor," (A lemonade, please?) you said, reaching for your coin purse.

The woman’s stirring slowed, her eyes flicking up to meet yours. Her mouth pressed into a thin line, and she didn’t move to pour the drink.

Behind her, another woman, one of the same ladies who had spoken to Joel that morning at the church,leaned in, whispering something into her ear. The vendor’s expression hardened.

"Sorry, I don’t speak Spanish” she said flatly, setting down the ladle. "But there is no more left."

You blinked, glancing at the nearly full jar. "I can see it full."

The woman wiped her hands on her apron and turned away as if you weren’t standing there at all.

Heat crept up your neck, not from the sun, but from the weight of the stares you suddenly felt around you. A few of the other vendors had gone quiet, their conversations dying as they turned to watch. You recognized some of them, women who had smiled at you in passing before. Now, their faces were unreadable, their expressions edged with something closer to disdain.

You exhaled slowly, setting your coins back into your pocket. "A la mierda con esto” (Fuck this) you murmured, stepping back.

You turned, walking away with your head high, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing how much it stung.

The whispers started as soon as your back was turned.

“She is shameless”

"And then she was fine, as if nothing had happened."

"After what happened in the church..."

Your fingers curled into your palms as you picked up your pace, pushing through the small crowd until you were free of them.

It wasn’t the first time you'd felt like an outsider in this town. But today, it felt different. Today, it felt personal, like daggers thrown in your direction.

You didn’t go far. Just enough to be away from the whispers, away from the stares that burned into your skin like embers.

A quiet little street opened up ahead, lined with a low wooden fence overlooking a field. The wind swayed through the tall grass, the golden tips catching the sunlight. You sat down, letting your hands rest on the rough wood, the warmth of the day still clinging to it.

And then, finally, the tears fell.

You bit your lip, staring at the horizon as your chest tightened. You had told yourself you wouldn’t let them get to you. That you wouldn’t let their judgment, their disdain, push you down. But here you were, shoulders trembling, wiping at your face with the sleeve of your blouse like a child.

It was everything. The weight of the past meeting the present, the uncertainty of the future. The ache of missing your old life.

The sound of footsteps on gravel made you stiffen.

You wiped your face quickly, trying to gather yourself before turning your head.

Joel stood a few feet away.

His brows furrowed, eyes scanning your face, taking in the redness around your eyes, the slight shake of your hands. His jaw tensed.

He had that look again, the one he always got when he was trying not to feel too much.

"You following me now, Father?" you asked, your voice rough from crying, trying to mask the way your throat still ached.

Joel didn’t answer right away. Instead, he sighed, stepping closer.

"I saw what happened," he said, voice lower, like he didn’t want to say it too loud. Like he didn’t want to remind you of it.

You scoffed, looking away. "Guess the whole town did."

Joel was quiet for a moment. Then, he sat down beside you, elbows resting on his knees, staring out at the field like you were.

"You don’t have to prove anything to them," he said finally.

You swallowed, blinking rapidly. "I know."

"Do you?"

You turned your head sharply, meeting his gaze. He didn’t look smug, didn’t look like he was trying to challenge you. If anything, he looked… concerned.

And for some reason, that made your chest hurt even more.

You exhaled shakily, dropping your gaze to your lap. "I just—" Your voice wavered, and you bit the inside of your cheek before shaking your head. "It doesn’t matter."

Joel didn’t push. Didn’t demand you say more. But when his hand came to rest lightly on your back, a steady warmth between your shoulder blades, you nearly broke all over again.

You didn’t move because Joel’s hand was warm, grounding over your back. He didn’t rub circles into your back, didn’t try to pull you closer, didn’t say anything at all. Just let his touch be there, solid, steady, unshaken by the weight of your silence.

You sniffed, staring out at the field, blinking quickly to stop more tears from falling.

"You should go," you murmured.

But Joel didn’t move.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. "They already don’t like me. And if they see you sitting here—"

"I don’t care," Joel interrupted, his voice firm.

You turned to look at him, brows furrowing. "Yes, you do."

His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking. "Maybe I do," he admitted. "But not enough to leave you sitting here like this."

The words hit something deep inside you, something you weren’t ready to face. You pressed your lips together, looking down at your hands.

Joel sighed beside you, shifting slightly.

"They’ll get over it," he said. "Eventually."

You let out a dry, humorless laugh. "You sure about that?"

A pause.

"No," he said simply. "But people forget. They always do."

You swallowed, staring at the dirt path beneath your feet.

"I don’t know how much more I can take," you admitted, voice small.

Joel was quiet for a long moment. Then—"You wanna get outta here?"

You looked at him, confused. "What?"

He nodded toward the dirt road, toward the open fields beyond the town. "Come on. Let’s take a drive."

You hesitated. "Joel—"

"Come on, let he said. "Just… somewhere else."

You searched his face, trying to understand him.

"Do you want to get out of town for the day?" He asked, struggling to take words out your lips.

"What?" You asked, dumfounded.

"Get out. You and me. We can go to the beach for the day, wherever you want.”

"Are you for real?"

He stood, offering his hand out for you. Joel's hand hovered between you, fingers slightly curled, waiting. His jaw was tight, his shoulders stiff like he was bracing himself for rejection.

"I know I don't deserve it," he said, voice rough, "but just—just for the day. No town, no church, no whispers. Just us."

You stared at him, searching for a lie, a trap, but there was nothing but raw sincerity in his face.

For a moment, you thought about telling him to go to hell. About slamming a door in his face again, making him sit with the mess he had made.

But then, you thought about the weight pressing on your chest, the suffocating stares when you walked through town, the way you felt like you couldn't breathe anymore.

And you thought about him. About the Joel you had known all this time.

The one who had been kind. The one who had made you laugh. The one who had looked at you like you were something worth knowing, something worth.

You exhaled sharply. "The whole day?"

His throat bobbed as he nodded.

You hesitated for only a second before reaching out and slipping your fingers into his. His palm was warm, calloused, solid.

"Okay," you said quietly. "The whole day.”

The drive through California's highway felt warm, the sun spilling golden light over the dry hills and endless stretches of road. The hum of the engine was the only sound, the occasional breeze ruffling your hair as you drove, the windows rolled down. There was something about the air, the space, that felt different—like you could breathe for the first time in days.

Joel kept his eyes on the road, but you could see his hands grip the wheel tighter than usual, his knuckles white, like he was trying to hold onto something. You weren't sure what, but his silence was louder than anything else, and you couldn't help but steal glances at him now and then. His jaw was set, his face a little more drawn than you remembered, but there was something else—something softer about the way he looked at the road, like he was giving himself permission to leave everything behind, even if just for a moment.

When you arrived at the beach, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore filled the air, soothing and constant. Joel pulled into a parking spot, then reached into his pocket for some change, heading to a nearby stand to grab ice cream. You lingered by the car, watching the ocean stretch out before you, the sand warm under your feet as you took in the vastness of it all.

Joel returned a few moments later, holding two cones. "Here," he said, handing you one, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Do you like chocolate?"

You nodded, accepting the cone. "Yeah, thanks."

He sat down next to you on the sand, his shoulders relaxed for the first time all day. The warmth of the sun on your skin felt comforting, like it was inviting you to leave everything behind and just exist for a while.

You took a bite of the ice cream, the cold sweetness a perfect contrast to the heat of the day, and sighed. For the first time in so long, you weren’t worried. You felt free.

You took another bite of your ice cream, the sweetness swirling in your mouth, but the question still lingered in your mind. You glanced at Joel, watching him for a moment as he stared out at the ocean, seemingly lost in thought. The steady rhythm of the waves only seemed to deepen the silence between you two.

After a few moments, you couldn’t hold it in any longer. “When was the last time you saw a woman in those clothes?” you asked, your voice quiet but clearly talking about the night he saw you at the club for the first time.

Joel turned his head slightly, his brow furrowing as if the question caught him off guard. He blinked once, then twice, as though trying to piece together the question in his mind. Finally, he sighed, his eyes dropping to his ice cream cone, his voice low.

“Never,” he said simply.

The word hung in the air like a truth neither of you were quite ready to face. You didn’t know what to say to that, but you felt something stir in your chest. Something raw. Something familiar, but unfamiliar at the same time.

You turned your gaze back to the ocean, letting the waves crash against the shore as you processed his response. Never. You wondered what that meant, what it meant about him, about you, about everything that had happened between you both. But the questions were too heavy, too complicated for this moment.

But then, “Do you want to know the real reason why I became a priest?” He asked, looking at you.

You looked at Joel, surprised by the vulnerability in his voice. His gaze was fixed ahead, but there was something in the way he spoke, something raw that made you realize you were hearing a part of him he hadn’t shared with anyone.

You blinked, taken aback. “What?”

He hesitated, his hand gripping the edge of his ice cream cone a little tighter. He didn’t meet your eyes, but you could feel the weight of his words coming, like a burden he’d been carrying for a long time. “I became a priest because a woman broke my heart.”

Your throat tightened, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything, so you just nodded, silently urging him to continue.

“My… what happened?” you finally managed to ask.

Joel’s lips pressed into a thin line as he took a deep breath, then slowly began to speak, each word coming out heavy, like it was wrapped in years of pain.

“We were together since we were sixteen. I married her at 21.” His voice cracked just slightly as he said it. “We were going to have a kid together. One night, we got mad at each other. She took our daughter and drove away… said she needed space.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to imagine what that must have felt like. But Joel kept going, his voice steady but distant.

“Then there was this accident…” His voice trailed off, and for a second, you thought he might stop talking. He swallowed hard before continuing. “My daughter died. And I—”

You could hear the pain in his voice, even if he tried to keep it under control.

“She was one.” He said, “Adeline survived but my Babygirl didn’t.” his voice almost breaking.

“I stopped seeing grey hair and holding hands in my seventies on a porch,” he said, his words quiet but heavy. “I just never thought I would be able to love someone else that way.”

For a long moment, you couldn’t say anything. His words hung in the air like they were too big to process all at once. You could feel the weight of everything he was carrying, the layers of grief and loss, and the way he was trying to put his life together again, piece by piece.

But then you felt it, how much of this story wasn’t just about his wife or daughter, but about everything that had happened between you two. How much he had been struggling with the things he’d said, the things he’d believed about you. How much pain he was still holding on to.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” you whispered.

He gave you a soft, almost imperceptible nod, but he didn’t say anything more. Instead, he just let the silence stretch between you both, and for the first time, it didn’t feel like there were walls between you. It just felt like two broken people, sitting side by side, with a shared understanding that didn’t need to be spoken out loud.

You sat there for a moment, the cool breeze from the ocean ruffling your hair, the sound of the waves crashing rhythmically against the shore. The weight of Joel’s story lingered in the air between you, but the silence felt different now, less heavy and more... shared. As if, for just a moment, both of you could exist in this small, quiet space without the world pressing down on you.

You didn’t know what to say. What could you say to something so raw, so painful? But your heart ached for him in a way you hadn’t expected, and before you could second-guess yourself, you reached out, your fingers brushing lightly against his hand.

His hand was tense at first, like he wasn’t sure if it was okay to let someone in. But when he felt the warmth of your touch, his body seemed to relax, and slowly, his fingers unfurled. You let your hand settle in his, fingers entwining as the quiet of the beach surrounded you.

“How old were you back when it happened?” you asked, fearing he would get offended by it.

“Twenty-two” he replied, simply.

“Why did you think you would never love someone again?”

“Because love hurt people.” He said, “It makes you dumb and afraid of yourself and I didn’t want that happening to me ever again.”

“But maybe there was someone out there. “

“I’m forty-eight, darling. There is no one for me out there.” He said without glancing at you but at the sea because deep down, he knew that someone was sitting next to him, and he was afraid to admit he had sacred vows at such young age when his perspective was tainted by hurt.

“I don’t have the answers for you, Joel,” you said softly, your voice steady, despite the storm of emotions swirling inside. “But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He didn’t respond right away. He just looked at you, his thumb brushing over your hand slowly, thoughtfully. You could see the battle inside him, the conflict of wanting to open up but being so afraid of what that might mean.

Joel’s eyes met yours, his gaze intense yet searching, as if trying to read the words you hadn’t spoken yet. You felt a strange pull inside, the urge to break through the silence and share something that had been buried deep within you for a long time.

He nodded slightly, his voice a whisper, “Yeah, if you want to share.”

You took a slow breath, your fingers still tangled with his, the connection between you grounding you in this moment. The ocean breeze was soft against your skin.

“I’m a ballerina” you said.

Joel’s eyes widened slightly, his thumb still brushing over your hand in a soothing, almost unconscious rhythm. He hadn’t expected that. The quiet intensity in his gaze softened just a bit, as if he were seeing a side of you that he hadn’t imagined before.

“You’re a ballerina?” His voice sounded surprised, as though the revelation was both unexpected and fascinating to him.

You nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "Yeah, I was. I went to university and studied dance. It wasn’t just a passion; it was everything to me. I put in hours, years… But things happened. Life happened."

You looked out at the horizon, the ocean stretching endlessly in front of you, as though it might somehow offer the words you were struggling to find.

“I taught little girls how to become dancers too,” you continued, your voice a little quieter now. “I used to love watching them, seeing the joy in their faces when they learned something new. They were like little versions of me, full of dreams and possibilities. But…”

Joel’s expression softened further, and he leaned back slightly, taking in your words with a mix of empathy and understanding. “What happened?” he asked, his voice gentle, as though he were offering you the space to say whatever you needed.

You hesitated, unsure if you were ready to share the full story, but the words came anyway. “Achilles’ heel” you said.

Joel raised an eyebrow, leaning in just a little, intrigued by the sudden shift in your words. “Achilles’ heel?” he repeated softly, almost as if testing the phrase on his tongue.

You nodded, your eyes tracing the rhythm of the waves as you tried to gather your thoughts. “Yeah,” you began, your voice quiet but steady. “I got that injury and everything stopped.” you stopped, biting your lip as if the words themselves were too sharp to say.

You were lying a bit, but not entirely.

Joel’s gaze softened, his face etched with understanding as he listened to you, his body now angled toward you, as if every part of him was leaning in to hear your truth.

Joel’s eyes never left yours, his expression full of empathy, as if he could sense the weight behind your words, even if you weren’t saying everything. His hand tightened slightly around yours, a silent reassurance. “I get it,” he said softly, his voice steady. “The thing that defines you, that you think is everything... and then it’s gone. Like the ground beneath you suddenly disappears.”

You nodded slowly, the tightness in your chest spreading as you realized how much that injury had really taken from you, even if it wasn’t just physical. It had been more than a torn muscle or a strained tendon—it had been the loss of something you’d built your identity on. The thing that had once made you feel like you had a purpose, a place in the world.

“Everything stopped, yeah," you said again, more to yourself than to him. “I didn’t know how to live without it. I still don’t really know who I am outside of it. I’ve spent so much time trying to get back to that... and sometimes, I wonder if it’s even possible.”

Joel’s gaze softened further, and for a moment, the world around you felt distant, like it was just the two of you, suspended in the quiet of the beach. His voice, when it came, was calm, but it held a depth of understanding that surprised you.

“You’re more than that. More than just what you’ve done or what you’ve lost,” he said, his words carrying a weight of truth. “I can see it. You’re still you, even without all of it. You don’t have to keep chasing something that doesn’t define you.”

His words hit harder than you expected. You hadn’t realized how much you had been holding onto the idea of your past, of who you used to be, instead of seeing who you were now. It was easier to cling to something that felt familiar, even if it hurt.

“Dancing at the club is the closer I got to live from what I love” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper, the vulnerability in it raw and real.

Joel’s thumb brushed across your hand again, the softest of motions, but it felt like the most grounding thing.

Joel’s gaze never left yours, his expression gentle but unwavering. The weight of your words seemed to settle between you, hanging in the air like an unspoken truth. He squeezed your hand softly, as though offering comfort, or perhaps just a reminder that you weren’t alone in this.

“That’s... that’s something, you know?” he said quietly, his voice filled with understanding. “I can see how much it means to you, even if it’s not the same as what you imagined. You’re still living it. It’s just... in a different way.”

You nodded slowly, the warmth of his words sinking in. "It’s not the same, though. It’s not what I dreamed of when I was younger, when I thought I’d be teaching classes, running my own studio, surrounded by little girls learning to dance. But at least when I’m on that stage, it feels like I’m close to who I was before... like a part of me hasn’t completely disappeared."

Joel’s thumb continued to move over the back of your hand, the quiet gesture a grounding presence in the midst of everything swirling inside you. He didn't speak immediately, letting the silence hang there, as though giving you space to breathe and reflect.

“Sorry for what I called you before” he said, looking at your eyes.

You met his gaze, a small, uncertain smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Sorry for what you had been through. I think you’re stronger than you realize. Stronger than you’ve given yourself credit for.”

Joel’s eyes softened, the weight of your words settling between you both, filling the space with a quiet understanding. He inhaled deeply, as though your response had lifted a burden he hadn’t even realized he was still carrying. For a moment, neither of you said anything, simply sitting in the comfort of each other’s presence. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore was the only thing that filled the silence, their rhythm slow and steady, like the pulse of life itself.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever really be okay,” Joel finally said, his voice low, carrying the weight of years of unspoken pain. “But I’m trying. I’m trying for me, and for... everyone around me, even if it’s hard.”

You squeezed his hand gently, your heart swelling with empathy. “That’s all anyone can do. Try. It’s enough.”

He turned his head toward you, his gaze searching, but this time it was softer, more open. “I hurt you. I called you things... things that weren’t true. And for that, I’m sorry. I just didn’t know how to handle all the... feelings. And the confusion.”

You felt a knot form in your throat, but you swallowed it down, nodding in acknowledgment. “I know. I get it. And I’m sorry for... for pushing you away when I shouldn’t have. It’s just... I didn’t know who to trust anymore.”

He didn’t reply right away, his thumb moving in slow circles against the back of your hand, grounding you both once more. The world around you seemed to fade into the background, as though nothing else existed but the two of you on that beach, sharing this fragile moment.

After a few moments, he whispered, “I never wanted to hurt you. Never.”

“I know,” you whispered back, your voice filled with the same quiet sincerity. “I know you didn’t.”

Joel took a deep breath, looking back at the ocean for a moment before turning his gaze to you once again. “Maybe... maybe we can start over. No labels. No expectations. Just... us.”

You smiled softly, a real smile, one that reached your eyes. “I’d like that.”

With that, he leaned in, his forehead gently resting against yours, as the sound of the waves filled the air around you. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes, conveying all the unspoken emotions that had built up between you.

The night sky had settled over the town by the time you and Joel returned, the world around you bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. The air was cooler now, the warmth of the day fading into the peaceful stillness of the evening. The drive back had been quiet, but the silence between you didn’t feel heavy—it felt comfortable, like the kind of silence that only comes from being in the presence of someone who understands without needing to say a word.

As you reached the edge of town, Joel parked in front of his house, getting out the vehicle, you turned to Joel, your heart still full from the day you had shared. You broke the silence, your voice soft but sincere.

"Thank you for taking me out of the city, Joel" you said, your lips curving into a smile that reached your eyes, accentuating the little wrinkles at the corners that made his heart skip a beat.

He glanced at you, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Did you feel good?”

"I did. Thank you again."

Joel’s gaze lingered on you, his expression softening as he looked into your eyes. "It was nothing," he replied, his voice low, yet filled with sincerity. "Seeing you smile like this is enough for me."

"I'm really sorry for what I said to you the other day, you aren't that. You're not a sin but an angel."

You felt your heart flutter at his words. They were simple, yet they meant everything. You took a small step closer to him, the space between you shrinking until you could almost feel his warmth, the subtle scent of him mingling with the cool night air. His cheeks flushed softly as he noticed how close you were.

Your smile widened, and you took a step closer to him, his cheeks tinted in soft pink as he realized how close you were, in front of him, tiptoeing in your feet to place a soft, lingering kiss on his cheek.

How could he be so close to you and not falling into temptation? How could he be so close and not dive into the waters and be sunbathed by your light?

He didn't want it to admit it, but his heart spoke for him. Sending clear signals, each beating, slow and fast, it was all because of you.

Because of the way you were.

Because of your smile.

Because of the little wrinkles on your nose when you smiled.

And because of how your face was sun kissed by the day you had shared today looked like under the light of his own eyes.

Without thinking, Joel cupped your face gently with both hands, his touch tender as he gazed down at you. You gasped softly, your breath catching in your throat, as he leaned in and placed a lingering kiss on your forehead, his eyes closing in the moment.

You didn’t want to admit it either, but your heart was bursting in that instant. He was everything you had dreamed of, a man who could love you with such sweetness, with such kindness, that he could build a fire just to keep you warm.

"Joel?" You spoke at the silence settled, his eyes seemed lost on your face, still inhaling the scent of vanilla of your perfume as if he wanted to memorize it forever.

You hesitated, your eyes flicking around as if you expected the world to turn against you, the hateful glares of the town’s people coming for you, their judgmental eyes sharp and heavy.

"I don’t think I should," you replied, the words tentative, the unease of the world outside pressing against you.

Joel’s voice was steady as he met your gaze. "There’s tea inside."

You chuckled softly, the corners of your lips lifting in amusement as you met his eyes. "Oh, you should have started by saying that."

Having you close was healing something he thought it was forever broken.

And he smiled, opening the door of his house that seemed to welcome you all over again, a fort where you could truly be you and him, with no eyes watching.

"You can stay over." he said out if nowhere.

"Why?"

"Because it's late and I don't want you walking alone at this time." He replied, trying to convince himself that was the only reason he wanted you here, closer to where he was.

"that's nice, but seriously why?" You asked him again, softly, looking for the real reason behind those soft brown eyes that made you this weak.

"This place seems brighter with you in it." Joel’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red as he met your gaze, his voice barely a whisper now. "This place seems brighter with you in it."

The words hung in the air between you, as if they were a secret the two of you had just shared. You smiled, a tender, knowing smile that spoke volumes without needing to say anything more.

"Okay." you smiled.

"Okay." he said after, mirroring the same lopsided smile he prayed to see each day.

And both of you laughed at the same time. Every possible line to be crossed was already crossed. This day you had both shared has ripened into love, it had consumed you, completed you as if the soul has spoken the words "oh, I already found you."

Perhaps, Joel was the destination where your strings landed on.

And perhaps, you were the soul Joel had given up to a long time ago, he had found you, and he stayed, worshipping the poems he had written about you all these years.

tags: if you want to be removed, you're free to tell me.

@jasminedragoon @mandaloriankait @jellybeanxc @spencercmlover @lilac-boo @disco-fairy75 @correapunk @existentialdreadofhumanity @secretcheesecakenacho @laliceee @exzidss @missladym1981

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[vinnyvamppp]

I NEED A FIC OF THE NO GOGGLES MARK VARIANT!!!

specifically make him THAT KINDA FREAK we already know he loves to toy with others (from his battle with the Guards of the Globe) and is crazy asf with a sense of dark humor. My fic idea is where he’s with his gf and this is their first time having sex tg and she doesn’t know about his kinks or anything since she would just take his comments of him telling her to ‘try to choke him’ or basically to inflict pain on each other as a joke.

Slap Me Silly

Note: This is yummy, we like this, we NEED this. I've seen maybe two fics have elements of this, so lemme just—slide myself in. (the pic is a hint SOMEONE TIE HIM UP)

Warnings: Nipple play (most male receiving), Switch Lenless!Mark (YOU CAN'T TELL ME HE DOESN'T OCCASSIONALLY BOTTOM), Dom!Reader, Riding, Tit Squeezing, Biting, Dark Humor, Choking, Degrading, "Good Boy", Slapping, Dirty Talk, Porn w a Plot, Smut, and ofc the over usage of 'Dude'.

No Goggles/Lensless!Mark x Dom!Fem Reader

Word Count: 2,303

The apartment is quiet, save for the occasional hum of traffic outside and the soft rustle of fabric as you shift on the couch. Mark is stretched out beside you, legs spread like he owns the place—because, in his mind, he does. His grin is lazy, all teeth, and his dark eyes flick toward you with that ever-present glint of mischief.

“You keep staring at me like that, babe,” he murmurs, tilting his head against the couch cushion, “and I’m gonna start thinking you actually like me.” You roll your eyes, biting back a smile. “God forbid.” He chuckles, low and amused, and suddenly he’s closer—leaning in like he’s got a secret to tell. “Nah, I think you do,” he teases, his breath warm against your jaw. “Like, a lot.” You scoff, pushing at his chest. “You wish.” Mark lets himself fall back dramatically, spreading his arms out like he’s been struck. “Right in the heart. Dude! That was brutal.” Rolling your eyes, you reply. “You’ll live,” you deadpan.

“Oh, I always live.” He winks, and for a second, there’s something in his expression, something dark and knowing, a reminder of just how much weight those words actually carry. But then it’s gone, replaced by that ever-present smugness. His fingers drum against his thigh. “Y’know, I’ve been thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

“Ha. Ha.” He smirks. “No, but really—since we’re both so hopelessly in love or whatever—” You snort, but he ignores you. “—don’t you think it’s weird that we haven’t, y’know, done anything yet?” His eyebrows lift, feigning innocence. “Not that I’m complaining. I like a good slow burn. Gets me all antsy and horny.” Your stomach tightens. It’s not like you haven’t thought about it. Mark is—well, Mark. Infuriating, cocky, always pushing just to see how far he can go. But he’s also magnetic in a way that makes it impossible to look away. And when he wants something? He gets it.

Still, you manage to play it cool. “I figured you’d explode if you went more than a week without getting laid.” Mark grins, tilting his head. “I do like explosions.”

You shake your head, but before you can throw another sarcastic remark his way, he moves. Fast. Not using his full speed—he’s learned his lesson about freaking you out like that—but enough to make your breath hitch as he’s suddenly towering over you, hands braced on either side of your hips. “Wanna hear something funny?” he asks, voice dropping just enough to make your pulse quicken.

You swallow. “That depends.” His fingers trail up your arm, barely touching, just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “You remember all those times I told you to try and choke or slap me?” You let out a brief chuckle. “You mean when you were being weird?” Mark hums, lips twitching like he’s holding back a laugh. “See, that’s the thing—you think I was joking.”

Your breath catches. His eyes are half-lidded now, watching you with something between amusement and hunger. “…You weren’t?” Mark smirks. “Dude. You have no idea.” He leans in, brushing his nose against yours. You stare at him for a second, searching his face for any sign that he’s messing with you. Nothing. Just that same cocky, lopsided smirk, like he knows something you don’t. His grin progressively widens as you open your mouth to speak, “You have to be kidding.” Mark tilts his head, feigning offense. “Why would I joke about something so serious? Dude, I’m hurt.” Here he goes again with the dramatics. “Oh, I’ll hurt you, alright.” The words leave your mouth before you can grasp them, but Mark’s eyes light up like you just handed him a winning lottery ticket.

His lips part slightly, tongue flicking out to wet them. “Please do.” You let out a laugh—sharp, disbelieving. This idiot. He’s always like this. Pushing buttons just to see what happens. You stared, more interested than before, your head shaking. “You’re insane.” Mark doesn’t miss a beat. “And you love it.”

You roll your eyes and, without thinking, lift your hand and smack him across the face. A sharp pop echoed as your palm struck his cheek, snapping his head to the side. Not hard, just enough to wipe that smug look off him. Or, well. That was the intention. Because instead of looking shocked or offended, Mark just stares at you. Slow blinks. Chest rising and falling a little too deliberately. “…Holy shit.” He gasps, making you hesitate.

He lets out a breathy laugh, touching his cheek where you slapped him. Then, with a grin that is way too excited for comfort, he looks back at you. “Dude.” His dark eyes go heavy-lidded, lips parting slightly as he exhales slowly, shaky, and wrecked like you just did something unspeakably good to him, and he’s already desperate for more. You blink. “What?”

“Do that again.”

You pull back slightly in hesitation, wondering how you even scored this crazy fuck. Taking notice, Mark clicks his tongue, shaking his head like you just deeply disappointed him. “C’mon, Dude. Don’t be like that.” He leans in again, voice dipping lower. “I liked it.” Your stomach flips. You open your mouth two seconds away from calling him an absolute freak, but Mark beats you to it. “See, this is why I keep you around,” he muses, like he’s talking to himself. “You get me.” He rasps with an estranged fascination, seemingly savoring the sting against his cheek. “I literally do not—”

“—you do, though.” He gestures vaguely. “Even if you pretend you don’t. Which is, like, really cute, by the way.” He pauses dramatically with a slight sing song “And hot.” You exhale through your nose. Okay. Fine. He wants to be weird? You can be weirder. So, with the most exaggerated sigh you can manage, you lift your hand and slap him again. This time, it’s harder. The slap lands sharp and sudden, a crisp crack that echoes in the quiet room. His skin is warm under your palm, the impact sending a fleeting sting through your fingers, while the faintest thrum of satisfaction lingers in the air between you. Mark's head tilts slightly from the force, but the way he laughs is low, throaty, and giddy. The kind that sends something hot and electric through your spine. His gaze snaps back to you, darker now. “Oh, yeah,” he breathes, voice thick with something you don’t quite know how to name yet. “That’s the stuff.” Your gaze flickered lower, his hips fidgeting. He was hard.

Mark leans in, close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath against your lips. He’s still grinning like he’s just won the lottery, panting like an excited mutt before he whispers, “…Your turn.” You took this as an invitation to explore his other kinks, his willingness empowering you like never before. The space between you ceased to exist in an instant, your bodies pulled together with an urgency that set your skin ablaze, his lips claiming yours like a force of nature. Groans filled the space within your mouths, his sloppy kisses trailing lower over your neck. You deserved such romance for your first time, but his body was already seething for more. His hand reaches forward, fingers tingling with excitement as they curl around your throat. He forces you down against the couch, the pressure against your windpipe causing you to gasp. Before he could do more your hand lashes out, striking his cheek with a resounding slap. He paused, welcoming the change from his usual dominance. "Fuck yeah," he growls, his voice thick and eager. "Don't hold back, babe."

Emboldened further, you push him back and climb onto his lap, straddling his hips. You can feel his hard already weeping cock pressing against your clothed sex, the heat of him seeping through the thin fabric of your panties. You grab his throat, squeezing just enough to make him gasp. "You like this, don't you? Being used like a little bitch?" You insulted, testing the waters.

Mark's eyes flutter closed as he lets out a shuddering moan. "Yes," he hisses, his hips bucking up against you. "I fucking love it." His hands grip your thighs tightly, fingers digging into your skin.

You tighten your grip on his throat, feeling his pulse jump under your palm. "Beg for it," you demand, grinding your cunt against his straining erection. "Beg me to choke you while I ride your cock." Mark's eyes snap open, gleaming with satisfaction. "Please," he rasps, his voice strained from your hold. "Please, please, choke me while you use my dick. I want to feel you squeeze the air from my lungs as you cum all over me."

A thrill runs through you at his words, at the complete submission and desperation in his voice. You release his throat, only to fist your hand in his hair, yanking his head back. "Good boy," you purr, before crushing your lips against his in a fervent kiss. You rake your nails down his skin, leaving angry red lines in their wake.

You whimper into his mouth, his hands moving to your ass, squeezing and kneading the flesh. You can feel him throbbing against you, his cock leaking pre-cum into his pants. Breaking the kiss, you lean back and hastily remove your top, exposing your breasts to his hungry gaze. His fingers follow suit, bringing his shirt over his head as he refuses to blink even once. "Fuck yes, Mistress." He groans, voice strained as his eyes glued to your tits. "You're so goddamn sexy." His lips nearly prepared to worship you.

It was odd, you stared down at him enjoying the power you have over him. He could easily turn the tides at any moment, but he was so willing to fuck you with such courtesy. Your fingers gently tapped against his throat, just threatening, begging him to make a move that would cause your grip to tighten. Mark immediately sits back, panting and red-cheeked. You lift your hips, his hands shove down your panties and help you kick them off. Then, with a courage-building sigh, you line up his cock with your dripping entrance. Mark groans, his hands flying to your hips. "Need to feel your tight pussy around my cock." Without warning, he slams you down onto him, taking him to the hilt in one smooth motion. You both groan at the sudden intrusion, Mark's head falling back as his fingers dig into your hips hard enough to bruise. "Oh god," you moan, savoring the feeling of him stretching you open. "You're so fucking big, where were you hiding this thing?!"

"I'm gonna fill this pussy up so good," Mark declares between giggles, his hips starting to move beneath you. "Gonna pump you full of my cum until it's leaking out of you." The dirty words only spur you on. You start to ride him fast, your hips slamming down onto him as you chase your pleasure, barely allowing yourself to breathe. Your hand never leaves his throat, tightening and loosening in time with your movements. Mark's face is flushed, his eyes glassy with lust as he bucks up into you, meeting you thrust for thrust.

"Harder," you demand, squeezing his throat tighter, his eyes rolling back. "F-fuck me harder." Mark lets out a choked groan, but does as he's told, slamming up into you with renewed vigor. The new angle has him hitting depths you didn't know existed, making stars burst behind your eyelids with each thrust. You can feel the pressure building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter as he pounds into your g-spot. Releasing him from your ever-desired grip, he protests, his hips punctuating as you let out a yelp. “Dude..!” He whines, exasperated before a resounding clap echoes against his cheek, his face growing warm as blood swelled. “Again! Again…!” He encouraged, and you followed suit devilering smack after smack. The feeling only rousing him more as his hips pressed further.

Arching your back forward, your tongue finds the blistering streaks left from your nails. Soothing them with the soothing stroke of the muscle, you lick over his nipples, teeth tugging on them gently. The small buds hardened slightly from the cold air, and his grunt echoed from above. “Holy shit... yes!” Coming up for air, he returns the favor, hands leaving your ass and latching onto your tits as he squeezes them like stress balls. It's painful, he knows but he attones as his thumb traces rings around your areolas causing mild pleasure.

Your hands returned to his throat, tightening like a vice. With a strangled chuckle, his cock twitched inside you as he floods your pussy with his hot seed. The feeling of him pulsing inside you, the overwhelming sensations overloading your senses, and the obscene squelching sounds of his cum filling you pushes you over the edge. You throw your head back with a scream as your orgasm crashes over you, your cunt spasming as you gasp. Were orgasms always meant to feel this strong?

Mark groans as he feels you contracting around him. "Milk my cock dry. Take every last drop." You continue to ride him through your climax, grinding your clit against his pelvis until the last waves of pleasure fade away. When you finally collapse against his chest, both of you are panting and covered in sweat.

You could barely catch your breath when he spoke up. "Dude, we're definitely doing that again," you murmur against his chest, exhausted, he chuckles, his chest vibrating beneath you. "Hell yeah we are." He says to himself. Without missing another beat, you're suddenly flipped over, his cock hardened with renewed energy. "Ready for round two?" He asks, tracing patterns against your calves as he spreads your legs over his shoulders. Now it was truly your turn.

Can you guys tell I love submissive or freaky men? Hopefully, this fulfills your request!

[thealtoduck]

The Boy Is Mine

Peter Parker x Male Black Cat!Reader

Warnings: Y/n being more of a little shit than usual, jealousy, smut, you and Peter kinda have a heart to heart, bottom!Reader, top!Peter, cocky!Peter, kitchen sex to couch sex, anal sex, fingering, unprotected sex, rough sex, missionary, facial…

Male Black Cat!Reader: Masterlist

Summary: You suspect that Peter has been hooking up with someone else by the way he’s acting and it pisses you off, so you invite him over to ”study”…

——

You watched Peter suspiously in class… what the fuck was he daydreaming about?

Usually he was either paying attention to whatever the teacher was talking about or more importantly… ogling you. You didn’t know why but he had been like this for a couple of days. Distracted. Quiet. Secretive.

What could be so exciting in his life that you were suddenly nothing?

…

No

Fucking

Way

Peter was seeing someone… NO!… he had hooked up with someone… which was alright of course, this was how the friends with benefits thing worked. It’s not like you had been monogamous, you had hooked up with both your neighbour and Spider-Man just last week.

But it still bothered you.

Even then you weren’t completely sure he even was hooking up with someone yet. You needed to do more research.

Once class ended you followed Peter to his locker. He didn’t even look in your direction. He opened his locker, almost hitting you in the face with it’s door. You leaned against the locker beside his trying to make a slight noise for him to hear.

Nothing.

You cleared your throat…

He didn’t hear you.

Okay, now he was just pissing you off. Once Peter had collected his bag you slammed his locker shut for him, making him jump slightly, he then noticed you and smiled saying casually ”Oh hey Y/n, what’s up?”.

Was he being serious right now?…

”Oh nothing, just really in need of company right now when my dad is out of town” you said adding just the right amount of neediness and sexual urge. Peter picked up what you meant, blushing slightly.

”Sorry Y/n, I really have to study for the test next week” Peter said, he gave you a quick hug before saying goodbye and walking away. You stood there and stared after him.

You needed a plan to remind Peter who he dosen’t belong to but should still be head over heels horny for…

——

The next day

*Texting*

Y/n: Heeey, you still need to study?

Peter: Yeah, this was more confusing than I expected :)

Y/n: Yeah, I thought so too, wanna come over tommorow and study. Maybe we can make more sense of it together

Peter: Just study?…

Y/n: JUST study🙄

Peter: Alright, I’ll be there at two

——

Peter’s pov

——

Peter arrived at Y/n’s house, it was raining heavily outside, he walked up to the door. It was unlocked. Peter opened it and went inside locking the door behind him. He took of his raincoat and hung it up. ”Y/n?!” he called out.

”Upstairs!” Y/n’s voice called through the house. Peter made his way up the stairs to look for you. He went towards your room where the door was open and revealed Y/n laying in his bed, on his stomach fully naked.

Peter’s eyes widened in shock.

”Y/n!”

”Hi”

”You said you wanted to study together” Peter said still in shock.

”I lied” Y/n stated as if it was obvious.

”I want you to do whatever you want with me” Y/n said seductively yet with a innocent pretty smile still on his face.

Peter fought the urge to just jump on to the bed and give Y/n exactly what he wanted right then and there. But…

”I really need to study” Peter said. ”Y/n, I’m sorry but I really need to pass this test”. Y/n only stared at him for a couple of seconds before he said ”Fine, I’ll study with you”. Y/n stood up from the bed making Peter instinctively cover his eyes with his hand.

”Really? Nothing you haven’t seen before you know” Y/n reminded him. So Peter lowered his hand, seeing him get dressed in a oversized hoodie and boxers.

”Come on, I’ll make us some coffee” Y/n said and led the way downstairs.

——

Your pov

——

The two of you sat together at the kitchen table discussing the homework and read through your notes. As you began to get the hang of the subject you both started writing stuff down. It became quiet except for the scribbling of pens and rain tapping on the roof.

However you were still distracted by Peter and his possibly mystery boyfriend or girlfriend. And after a while, while writing down some scientists name, you found yourself asking…

”Are you seeing someone?”

”What?” Peter answered looking up from his notes.

”You’ve just seemed kinda distracted lately” you stated.

”Oh..” Peter started. ”No, I’m not seeing anyone right now but I-” he said cutting himself off before continuing ”Well I kinda hooked up with someone last week”.

”Someone I know?” you asked curiously. Hearing Peter just admit it out loud had made the jealousy dampen down a bit.

”No” Peter said and thought of something. ”The thought of me being with someone else bothered you that much?” he asked. You felt a bit embarrassed but answered honestly ”Kinda”.

You both went silent for a moment.

Then Peter said ”I only hooked up him cause I was bothered by you hooking up with your neighbour”. More silence.

Peter then placed a hand on your thigh, you weren’t sure if it was meant to be comforting or sexual or something completely else. For once you had no idea what his next move would be…

Peter leaned in towards you and placed a kiss on your lips. You kissed him back. Once you broke up the kiss Peter said with a grin ”We might need a break from studying. The two of you stood up from your chairs and started to hungrily kissed each other.

You removed Peter’s hoodie throwing it on the floor. Then your t-shirt went off. Soon your back hit the kitchen island, Peter noticed and lifted you on to it. Then Peter remembered something and said ”Lube?”. ”In my room” you told him and Peter sprinted out of the kitchen.

You could hear him dashing up and down the stairs, suprised at his speed, he was like a horny superhero. He then ran into the kitchen slamming a bottle of lube down right next to you, not even tired from running. ”Wow… you should join the track team” you noted.

Peter then pulled his own shirt off revealing the glory that was his chest. Peter then pulled off your underwear letting them join the rest of the clothes on the floor. You leaned back and put your legs over Peter’s shoulders to give him better access to your ass.

Peter wasted no time and immediately opened the bottle of lube, smearing his fingers in it. He then forced a first finger inside you. You could tell Peter was impatient to get to fuck you and wanted to get prepping out of the way as soon as possible.

Peter added another finger into you. ”Fuck! Peter!” you exclaimed as he streched you open. His third finger was then added, Peter pushing his fingers roughly into your hole. Soft moans escaping your lips as a result.

”Peter- Peter, I’m ready” you blurted out. Peter smiled at you and undid his belt, unbuttoned his jeans and pushed his jeans and underwear down his legs. He rubbed lube on to his perfect length and lined himself up to your hole.

Peter looked you in the eyes and asked ”Still allowed to do whatever I want to you?” Peter asked a with a new type of hunger in his tone. ”Yes” you uttered sensuously. Peter then put the tip of his cock at you enterance and pushed hard into you.

You let out a harsh groan, your legs were shaking as Peter forced his full manhold into your tight hole in one swift go. Peter stopped quickly thinking he’d been to rough with you and said ”Sorry was that to much” in response you just smiled encouragingly at him.

Peter took the hint and immediately started rolling his hips as he fucked you as you were layed back on the kitchen island. Peter held your thighs as he thrusted in to you. The sight of you a moaning mess made Peter blurt out ”Fuck you’ll take it anywhere won’t you- the balcony- the school showers- your own kitchen-” he managed to get out through his own moans.

”Only for you” you said breathy. Peter wanted to get you both to a more comfortable place to fuck. ”Sit up and grab on to me” Peter commanded. You did as told and wrapped your arms around Peter’s and your legs around his hips.

Peter carried you easily in to the living room, laying you both down on the couch. He then proceeded to keep plowing you. Peter’s cock reaching new depths inside you as he didn’t hold back.

”Taking it so good” Peter said thrusting hard enough to make your couch shake beneath you. Your hole squeezed around his cock in the most satisfactory way. It was like made to milk his cock. Like you were made specifically just to please him.

Peter assumed this was how you felt whenever you topped him. A sense of power over the person beneath you as they become a moaning mess. ”Tell me how much you like taking my cock” Peter commanded you.

”Only you can fuck this good” you called out in ecstasy. You liked seeing Peter this in control as he pounded you like a you were a worthless whore to him, who he could break and then replace once you’d been fucked full of his seed.

Soon you let out a whine and belted out ”I’m gonna- gonna-” but you couldn’t even finish as your hard cock shot ropes of cum on your an Peter’s chests. Peter watched how your body relaxed just a bit.

He knew how he wanted to cum so he just said ”Get on the floor” and pulled put of you and started beating his meat. Peter stood up as he jerked himself off, you crawled on to the carpeted floor and got on your knees in front of Peter’s hung cock. You opened your mouth but Peter put a hand under your chin closing it and said ”I want to cum ON your face”.

So you smiled and closed your eyes as Peter waiting for Peter to finish. Meanwhile Peter felt his orgasm come closer and the brunette boy looked down on your face, with that sneaky innocent smile he had gotten so used to seeing. Then it happened Peter unloaded his cum on to your face, he showered you in it, even getting some in your hair.

As Peter came on you, you realised he much he came for a regular person. It almost like he was somekind of mutant. As you opened your eyes you looked up at Peter completely drenched in his load, giving him cute smile as if asking if you did a good job.

Usually Peter would get you a towel or paper but this Peter just said ”Go clean yourself up” before walking back to the kitchen to finish his studying. The nonchalance in his voice almost made you cum again on the spot.

Hopefully this Peter would wanna use you for a round two once the studying was done. So you eagerly went to clean yourself up.

[dollsahoy]

I hesitated to add to this, because this is already so long, but what I'm talking about would be more along the lines of people who don't preheat the oven.

If someone uses garlic in a cookie, the taste is going to say, "Oh, hey, there's garlic where there shouldn't be garlic."

If someone doesn't preheat the oven, the underdone cookies aren't going to say, "Yes, you think you baked us the correct amount of time, with the oven set at the correct temperature, but you didn't do the part where you let the oven reach the full temperature first, so what actually happened was that you did not bake us at the correct temperature the whole time, and that's why we are too soft and kinda raw tasting and not the least bit browned."

If someone doesn't understand why the oven needs to be preheated, or they don't want to take the time to let it preheat, or they think it's ridiculous to heat the oven with nothing in it because you have to pay for that!!!!! or if they think that preheating is somehow old fashioned and doesn't need to be done with modern ovens, or if they just completely skip the part about preheating because they're only concentrating on getting the food ingredients together and not even beginning to think about getting the cooking equipment properly prepared, then, well, yes, actually, they may not figure out what went wrong, and in the future might take improper steps (like increasing the temperature, or leaving the cookies in longer) that won't actually correct the problem, and will possibly make other problems.

The main difference is that there are a lot more posts on social media talking about why you should preheat your oven than there are posts about why you should follow all of the pattern directions--even the directions that you don't think apply--so someone who doesn't preheat their oven is more likely to stumble across the reason they should than someone who doesn't follow all of the pattern directions might stumble across that information.

(could also compare it to people who don't grease and flour their pans, then just assume that everyone is prying things out of pans with knives, because, again, they concentrate on the ingredients so much that they don't even stop to think that 'how the equipment is prepared' is going to make any difference and, frankly, seems like extra work that only old fuddy duddies would ever do anyway)

I cannot stress enough that all those things in sewing pattern instructions that seem pointless are actually very important

Yes, how you fold your fabric before putting down the pattern pieces and cutting matters, because it influences how the fabric drapes, and ignoring that can cause fit issues in ways you wouldn't expect

Yes, cutting an entire separate piece to sew to the edge to finish it is going to be better than turning the edge and stitching it on its own, because there are geometry issues in play that make it actually harder to just fold a curve to the inside.

Yes, cutting clips or notches into the seam allowance around curves should always be done, because those geometry issues will work on the seam allowances and keep the curve from laying flat (remember, clip when the curve goes in, notch when the curve goes out)

Yes, interfacing may seem completely superfluous and frustrating and an extra step to work with, but it adds rigidity and stability to areas that need it (especially under buttons)

Yes, using a fun quilting cotton print for lining looks nice, but the point of lining isn't to make the inside pretty as much as it is to make the inside slip smoothly over the layer under it, and quilting cotton is going to instead be prone to grabbing everything under it, so you really should use those annoyingly slippery lining fabrics

Yes, in general, you should use the kind of fabric the pattern tells you to use, because there have been centuries, if not millennia, of people throughout the entire world figuring out what fabric best suits what kind of garment, for reasons beyond aesthetics

I know that a lot of people new to sewing see these things and feel like they're things that just aren't necessary, because they skip them when they sew and the item ends up just fine. And if you don't mind the idea of your clothes looking homemade, then it is fine. But...if you're consistently skipping these things and end up unhappy with how homemade your items look, please consider that that result is at least partly because you're not following the entire directions

"Sewing" involves so much more than just the stitches

[firewasabeast]

Here's a follow up to this little fix-it fic I wrote yesterday. You guys seemed to enjoy the part about the Coast Guard, so this is the story from their perspective.

“Jenkins, you about ready?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“How far out are they?”

“Twelve, thirteen minutes tops.”

“Make sure you move over to channel three, Fredricks. That’s the only clear line we’ve got left right now.”

“On it, Admiral.”

Jenkins looked up at the admiral from his seat. “Sir?”

“Mhm?”

“Why do we have the LAFD flying out to a possible terrorist attack?”

Admiral Karim crossed his arms, his face pensive. “We’ve got over thirty-five active alerts in the city right now. We need every chopper we can get. We’re hoping this one is a fake, but they’re gonna be meeting the bomb squad out that way in case anyone needs help.”

“Yes, Sir. From what I can see, they’re right on course. I’d say about eleven minutes now.”

Karim nodded. “Good work. Fredricks, you got them on comms?”

Fredricks eyebrows were furrowed, one hand clasped over the headphones on his ears.

“Fredricks?!” Karim exclaimed.

Fredricks jumped. “Yes, Sir?”

“How’s communications?”

“Oh, uh, I- I got them, Sir.”

“Why do you look like that?” Karim asked. “You look like you’re listening to eighth grade gossip.”

Fredricks thought for a second. “Hm,” he hummed. “That’s kinda what it sounds like. Here, listen.” He unhooked the headphones from the computer, putting the line on a speaker so everyone could hear.

“-party poo-”

“So,” a woman’s voice cut through, “Tommy. How’s life been lately?”

“Fine.”

There was a smacking sound over the line, causing a few of the men to grimace. “We heard about your little tryst with our lover boy Buckley.”

“What the hell is this?” Karim asked. “Are you on channel 3?”

“Yes, Sir. This is the LAFD helicopter we’re working with.”

“What the hell are they talking about?”

“I have no idea.”

“-noring that. What’s going on there?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay.” The smacking man cleared his throat. “I’ll ask again, and we’ll try the truth this time. What’s going on there?”

A crowd began to gather around Fredricks computer to listen in. Jenkins grabbed his laptop and set it on his lap so he could continue to watch them as he shuffled over to Fredricks’ desk.

“Who do we have in this bird?” Karim asked. “It should be listed in the system.”

A few clicks on his keyboard, and Fredricks was pulling up the list. “Looks like a Henrietta Wilson, Thomas Kinard, and Howard Han. Wilson and Han are with the 118, and Kinard- the pilot- is from Harbor.”

“-you’re good with that?” the woman- Wilson- asked.

“I have to be. Evan… Buck made it clear that he didn’t have feelings for me. It was just a one night thing.”

“Who the hell is Evan Buck?” Karim questioned.

Fredricks shook his head, “I have no-”

“-told you he didn’t have feelings for you? Firefighter Evan Buckley of the 118?”

Fredricks looked back at Karim. “Evan Buckley of the 118, Sir.”

“Yeah, I got that, Fredricks. Thanks. Why are they discussing this over the radio?”

“I’m going to assume they forgot they’re on an open channel,” Jenkins replied.

In the back somewhere, someone yelled, “Shh! Listen!”

“We’ve suffered through months of this man moping over you being gone, and you’re going to tell me that he said he didn’t have feelings for you?”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“You don’t-” A sigh, and another chomp of the gum. “Have you tried buying flour lately? Sugar? Sticks of butter?”

Karim scratched at the back of his head. “Why in God’s name are they discussing baking ingredients right now?”

“Well, Sir, if I’m hearing this right,” Fredricks began to explain, “The pilot, Kinard, and this Evan Buckley guy were dating, but then something happened and they broke up, but they clearly still have feelings for each other, even though Kinard doesn’t think that this Buckley guy does. And one is baking for the other as a coping mechanism.”

Karim stared at Fredricks blankly, until Fredricks cleared his throat. “Just guessing.”

“Should we say something?” Jenkins asked.

“Probably,” Karim replied. Then, he thought. “But we’re not the only ones listening. If someone wants to fill them in, they can do it. Wait, the gum chomper- what’s his name?”

“Han.”

“Han is saying something. Listen.”

“What we’re talking about is the fact that Buck is, for some reason, lying like an insane person.”

Fredricks smiled. “Knew it.”

“Shhh!”

“-been the topic of most conversations since the breakup. There was a brief window where he was upset about Eddie leaving, but then it was back to you.”

Karim grabbed a nearby chair and sat down, crossing one leg over the other. “Who the hell is Eddie?”

Jenkins shook his head. “No clue.”

Fredricks shrugged. “I don’t think it’s relevant.”

“-point is, Buck is an idiot, and if he’s telling you he has no feelings for you, then he’s lying.”

“Or you misunderstood.”

“Damn, I need popcorn right now," Fredricks mumbled.

Jenkins started tapping away at his laptop, much to the annoyance of those around him.

“What are you doing, Jenkins?” Karim asked. “We’re trying to focus here.”

“Oh, uh, sorry, Sir. I was… There! Evan Buckley of the 118 is working today, which means he’s most likely listening to this right now.”

There were some gasps around the room, and Karim sat up straighter in his seat. “This is getting good. Turn it up more, Fredricks.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Tommy did dump him.”

“Tommy is right here.”

“Do you not have feelings for him?”

“What the hell kind of question is that?” Karim asked. “Of course he does!”

“-never said that.”

“Well?”

“Ugh! O- Of course I have feelings for him. I wouldn’t have gone home with him that night if I didn’t still have feelings for him. I wanted to get back together.”

More gasps in the room. Fredricks put a hand over his heart. “Oh my God.”

“I feel like I’m witnessing history here,” Jenkins muttered.

“-you guys got the whole rundown on us hooking up, but the rest of the stuff gets left out?”

“I don’t get it, Hen. They both care about each other, both want to be together, but they’re both too stubborn and stupid to talk it out.”

“Han’s not wrong,” Karim agreed with a nod. “I like the gum chomper.”

“Sir,” Jenkins interjected, “they’re about three minutes from their location.”

“Then they better talk faster.”

“Listen, Evan is… I’ve never had someone like him in my life. He’s funny, and smart, and hot, and he cares about people, and he’s just a genuinely good person. That- That’s why it wouldn’t work. He’s too good for me. He deserves better.”

Fredricks threw his hands up. “I’m gonna go insane! What does he even mean?”

“Chimney’s right. You’re both stupid.”

Karim glanced over at Jenkins and Fredricks. “Who the hell is Chimney?”

“Guys,” a new voice rang out over the line. “Did you all forget you’re on an open channel right now?”

“So everyone could…?”

“Could hear this riveting conversation? Yes.”

“And everyone includes?”

“Well, the entire LAFD, LAPD, then you’ve got the FBI, NSA, and DHS.”

“Jackasses always forget us,” Karim grumbled, reaching up for the radio. “The U.S. Coast Guard is here as well.”

“Oh yeah, and the Coast Guard.”

“And me.”

The new voice had everyone perking up.

“Oh hell.” A smile grew on Karim’s face.

Fredricks grinned over at Jenkins. “It’s gotta be-”

“E- Evan, I-”

“They’re right, Tommy. Listen, I- I was angry that morning, and I said some things I didn’t mean, but I- I wasn’t talking about you. You left before I could explain and I’m not… I don’t even know if I could have explained it right then, but, it’s not true that I don’t have feelings for you. I feel everything for you. You… Tommy, i- it scares me just how much you mean to me.”

Karim bent halfway over in his seat, ducking his head as he brought his thumb up to his eye and wiped at a tear. Everyone pretended they didn’t notice.

“Say something, Kinard!” Jenkins exclaimed, a tight grip on his laptop.

“E- Evan, I- I really wish we weren’t having this conversation with hundreds of government officials listening in.”

“Oh, there’s at least a thousand,” Fredricks corrected.

“SHHHH!”

“-ommy, it’s not that great.”

“When I’m done here, and our shifts are over, I’d… Evan, I’d really like to talk to you in person.”

“What are you doing Saturday? You free?”

“One minute out, Sir,” Jenkins updated.

“They’ll get there,” Karim replied.

“The chopper?”

“No, Jenkins! These two.”

“I’m free.”

“Then be safe, Tommy, and come back to me.”

“Copy that.”

Karim leaned back in his seat, wiping a thin sheen of sweat from his forehead. “Damn.”

“I don’t think I took a breath that whole time, Sir,” Fredricks said.

Jenkins smiled widely. “I’m so glad I was forced to come in today.”

“Alright, everyone.” Karim clapped his hands together as he stood. “Back to work. We’ve got terrorists to take down.”

As everyone headed back to their posts, Karim knelt down beside Fredricks. “I’m going to need you to write down all of the names of the people involved in this conversation today, Fredricks.”

“Yes, Sir. May I ask why, Sir?”

“Hell, I gotta see how this plays out.”

[nyxanarchy]

SOTR SPOILERS

anyway. Back to my obsession.

-Thinking about Tam Amber and Carmine Clerk "not again". All the covey singers are dead (THEIR SONGBIRDS). Maude Ivory, Lucy Gray, Lenore Dove. All of them are dead, and the coveys don't sing anymore. That is why Katniss knows only two of their song. The only survivors are musicians. (I feel like this has to mean something, but maybe I'm just crazy.)

-Thinking about Clerk Carmine, that we know is the fiddler in the Odair's wedding, playing alone. (thinking also about Haymitch seeing him play. Did he talk to him? Did they ever talk about Lenore Dove? Did Carmine Clerk forgive him? Maybe he never blamed him at all.)

-I wonder if at the end of the war Carmine Clerk was able to talk with others coveys, maybe from other districts (because they were travelers, maybe they were separated before the war)

-Barb Azure. We don't know anything about her. She vanished from the narrative. Is she Burdock's mother? That would explain his connection to Lenore Dove and why Burdock knows the covey's song (ofc he could also have learned it from Lenore Dove, even tho I would argue it's weird that Katniss seems to have Maude Ivory's exact skill for remembering music). But what happened to her? She is not dead, because if she was, she would have been probably buried next to the other girls. (MY SHAYLAS) [Also I feel like it's significant that the singers are the first to die.] If she is Burdock's mother I wonder what happened to the girl she was seeing. Was she forced to marry, to keep her secret? Or maybe she was bi and she fell in love with a man? But then why doesn't Burdock have a covey name? (even tho it's not lost on me the fact that Everdeen is really similar to Evergreen) Maybe because she thought it was starting to be dangerous? I also read a theory that Burdock is the niece of her girlfriend. That would make her his aunt, and would explain why he hasn't a covey name. I need more lore, I'm going insane.

-Snow is definitely the culprit of their music getting banned. He really wanted to destroy them, all because of Lucy Gray. She really did a number on him, he is still obsessed after all this time. Pathetic little man.

-Also can we talk about the fact that in 40 years he was able to make Panem homophobic again?

-Beete wife and second son?? They are dead right? I don't remember them, I will reread the series soon, but I feel like I would remember if they were alive. So Snow kept his wife and his second son alive, to keep him doing what he wanted, just to kill them after some time?

-Wyatt makes my heart bleed. I love him so much, every time he talks I feel like I'm gonna cry. Imagine knowing your father will accept bets on you. Also during the reaping some of his family said something along the lines of "you brought him bad luck" (I read it in Italian so I don't know the exact sentence) Does that mean someone already bet he was going to be reaped? That honestly kills me.

-I also kinda like WyattxMaysilee. I feel like I'm alone in this. But also I think she could also be a lipstick lesbian. I'm conflicted. This is not really important, just some thoughts.

-Thinking about all the tries it must have taken the rebels to finally win. How many mockinjays died in their arenas, because it was just not the right time? They tried, but they couldn't. And no one knows what happened. I hope that in the future schools of Panem they will talk about all of them.

-The boy who created sparks waiting for the girl on fire. Inconsolable.

-Please Suzanne give us Annie's game because after this book I believe wholeheartedly that she tried to destroy her arena and went mad because they tortured her.

-Haymitch having to hit Asterid with a stone. UGH. This book makes me sick to my stomach to a concerning degree.

-Also haymitch being closed in a bird cage?????? This will haunt me.

-Merrilee. In the original series she is always in bed. She has the drugs to sleep. I feel like her illness is just depression. I always thought about it but I think this is confirmation.

[arouravis]

❥ 𝟶𝟷 𝙼𝚢 𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝙴𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚂𝚢𝚗𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚢

✿ 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎: 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚖𝚢 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜, 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎... 𝚒𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚕𝚢. 𝚂𝚢𝚗𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚒𝚌 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚊𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗. 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝/𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚜... 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜. 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞!

𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚜-𝟽𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚂𝚢𝚗𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚢:

don’t do it little girl! This is definitely an indication of a one-sided crush. The mars person can be too intense for the 7th house. Therefore, their feelings may not be reciprocated. Personally I hate this placement more than I hate mars in the 8th house (personally can’t get enough of 8th house synastry). Because the feeling that you have for 7th house can be so strong, even if you think you’re being subtle, you’re not!

I also should add, since having mars transiting someone’s 7th house. This could be a potential enemy as well. Could be an indication of falling out with someone, or just not liking them as a person. Or, within the beginning of your relationship— the house person did not like the mars person until getting to know them.

𝙼𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚃𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚅𝚎𝚗𝚞𝚜:

This placement… UGH! It’s so wonderful and cheesy and warm. Having this with someone is so nice. You could stay in each others presence for hours and hours and it’ll only feel like a minute has gone by. It feels as if you’re constantly in the honeymoon phase. It’s like you’re able to let out this softer, more domestic-like nature. Not in a moon-mars way, but softer and more romantic. There doesn’t have to be any other strings attached.

Shared soft glances and closeness, soft caresses and low-tones of speech. These people can be very patient with each other because they don’t want the moment to end. Sometimes you’ll just look into each others eyes with no thoughts, just the feeling of comfort is stronger than speech.

The both of you know how to love each other and how exactly you’d like to be loved. Shared common life goals and artistic expressions.

I will say tho, if having this aspect and moon-mars synastry. It will leave you fucked up if the relationship does not come into fruition or ends. I’ll talk more about it in another future post.

𝙼𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚓𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚝 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚜:

I’ve had this with someone as the moon, it is LUST not love. It’s kinda scary how this placement can come into effect. The burning hot passion, the tiniest of touches will drive you absolutely wild. The thought of their voice can send you into overdrive. You just have the need to let them have you an any way, shape, or form.

Very much prone to having pointless arguments, sometimes things can go too far. Mars persons words will have a strong effect on the moon person. Even if the mars person is “joking.” Mars person doesn’t take moons emotions into consideration most of the time.

I personally haven’t had sex with this aspect yet, but if the singular thought of that person can get me riled up, I’m scared to know what it’s like actually putting this aspect to use.

𝙼𝚘𝚘𝚗-𝟾𝚝𝚑 𝙷𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚂𝚢𝚗𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚢:

This is nothing to play with! If the person you are with is emotionally closed off, or unwilling to accept or take part in self-transformation…don’t do it. As the 8th house person, I was able to tell the moon person's whole life story before he could figure it out. You have access to each other's deepest thoughts and trauma, and your shadow selves are in full view of each other.

Everything that you think people won’t ever know about you will go out of the window. And it’s because the both of you feel so comfortable to tell each other about yourselves. The topic of trauma isn’t taboo, and it is something talked about often. I could see this as a great placement if the couple likes to transform together.

But like I said if it’s the opposite, it will feel as if you’re in each others brains and you cannot space no matter how hard you genuinely try.

When I had this synastry, I could tell how uncomfortable they would get when I would be able to help them articulate what the actual 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕 happened to them. I made them aware that what they went through wasn’t a laughing matter and something that is deeply engraved into their character and they were absolutely blind to it.

It’s not surprising to say that they were indeed uncomfortable. But even then, we’d just go deeper and deeper in, but never too deep. No matter how obsessed I was with figuring out Moon person, there was this barrier that wasn’t going to let down easily.

This connection takes time, trust, and patience. Do not take this connection with a grain of salt.

[red-cicada]

My week was weird so I was only able to watch Reanimator but ima try to get to bride and the rest at some point.

Here are my notes I took while re-watching re-animator these are not in depth at all, they are just whatever came into my head at the moment that's all I'm writing down for now. They are mostly random notes and not really in order at all.

Re-Animator Extra notes 

Dr.Gruber is a parental figure to Herbert 

He dies to something outside of the experiments while with Herbert, and in a panic herb reanimates him 

Hill and Herbert immediate beef 

Megan does not like Hill at all, ima have her have more beef with him 

Is Rufus megs or Dan's cat? Dan seems a bit indifferent to him, but Meg is very attentive to him. Dan does seem to pay attention to Rufus when Meg is there but Meg is very attached to him. 

Meg automatically recognizes Rufus but when Dan's talking to the dean he doesn't say it was his cat 

A part of me feels like this is the dean's fault, he heard Dan's out, and what happened and despite it all he didn't do as much to stop it all, he could have easily stopped Herbert. 

The only people the reanimated corpses pay attention to is Megan and Herbert which is why I feel they are the 2 dominant personalities. Dr.Hill has to lobotomize them for them to listen to him. 

There is so reason for Gruber to be back in the second movie when his head was literally crushed 

Dan and Meg are very sweet, very like a cheesy couple.

MEG SLAPPING DAN SHE ALSO NEEDS TO SLAP HERBERT 

Hill stealing Herbert's notes ( why was Herbert so easily subdued in this scene? I think he already made up his mind about killing Hill when he was first threatened, the mentioning of taking away Dan also probably got to him) ( okay I forgot that in the deleted scenes it kinda insinuates that hill is like hypnotizing / mind controlling Herbert into giving up his notes??? Also he cried at the mention of Gruber also one of the reasons why I think this whole obsession with the work, a part of it comes from unprocessed grief )

Notes on Meg

Meg does NOT like Herbert from the minute they meet 

She is immediately fighting with herbert ( they are like 2 dominate animals to me fighting over territory ) 

Megan has to be a student in the medical school right? Like there is no way she's just walking around the hospital just cause she's the dean's daughter, she has to be studying something.. 

Megan is very clearly a very smart character, emotionally and academically. She locked in so fast on who Herbert was as a person. 

She takes over the head of the household after her mother died. When did she die? I'm assuming either when she was in school or early in her medical studies 

Megan was the one who said they needed to keep Herbert there to get more evidence on him. 

Meg doing her own research on herbert 

They give meg so much more character and context in the deleted scenes, she's so smart, and aggressive, and way kinder and forgiving then she needs to be. 

Notes on Dan

Dan is so submissive he is so easily put into situations by those who are more dominant in personality ( Meg and Herbert ) 

He listened to them so easily, his convictions are so small, he clearly has a distaste for what Herbert is doing, he has a better standing in the hospital and is physically stronger than Herbert, if he didn't want to do any of this he could have easily stopped it all. 

Bro literally did nothing to stop herb from re-animating rufus, bro was like “ no…stop “ in such a soft way, and he did absolutely NOTHING to try and physically stop herbert, in fact his fucking eyes where following herberts hand with the syring the whole time bro is so intrigued. 

Herb however has a dominant personality, and Dan seems to need someone like that to sort of give him some stability. Meg has the same effect on him, I think it's just Dan's own curiosity that makes him lean into herbert. 

Even during the attack of that first reanimated corpse Dan wasn't the one to kill him, it was herbert. 

Dan was the one who first said he wanted to kick herbert out 

Dan had no issue with Herb until Herbert did something bad 

Notes on Herbert

Worked with Dr.Gruber, Parental figure 

First Corpse he Reanimated on his own without Gruber 

Gruber died due to something outside of the experiments Herbers panic led him to Reanimation 

Hebert being very dismissive of Dan and anyone else at first 

Very small expression for the most part a deadpan face, easily and quickly switches from each expression 

The first major expression he makes is when he sees the basement in the house 

Should of put that money in dans pocket 

He also has beef with megan

He doesn't like megan cause she's getting in the way of his experiments ( telling dan not to let him rent a room ) 

But he's indifferent to dan in this moment

Medical posters and books all around herberts room, he's a bit messy ( i would think is this from being indifferent to his space, not necessarily from him being a messy person ) 

I don't think Herbert killed Rufus, I do think he took that opportunity of having a dead cat to experiment. 

Herberts humor is very corny, small pranks ( scaring dan ) and stupid puns 

“ you haven't done this to people?” Personally the reason I think Herbert reacted the way he did was because the only person he DID reanimate was Gruber and that wasn't necessarily a good moment for him. 

He ties his shoes with the rabbit ears method lol 

Doesn't even wait for the doors to close to start working bro is just so excited 

I think he was so desperate to reanimate another corpse because he was trying to recreate the situation with Gruber, and understand what happened and what went wrong ( his version of processing new emotions ) 

There is such desperation in Herbert to keep using the reagent to keep getting more information to process. I do truly believe this is an autistic thing, he got new information that he doesn't know how to process or understand so he's continuously trying to recreate that scenario to learn about it more. 

I don't think Herbert is misogynistic, I just think he doesn't like Meg. He doesn't treat any other woman the way he does meg ( in the first movie, but then it's just francesca too also just 80s writing  ) 

He knows he can convince dan to do his bidding but he also knows megan can easily do the same 

Herbert is such a bad liar but he gets away with shit because he's rich and white. 

He does this thing when he's concentrating where he will either stick out his tongue, or pout. 

Even when saving Meg he insults her. 

I always forgot the lobotomy scar on his head, ill have to give myself a mental note to draw that in from now on.. 

Herbert was so ready to die here, what's important is his work, his notes, as long as that lives on He isn't important.

End of notes

I obviously need to work on my Meg and Dan, I've been putting so much of my energy into Herbert lol.

I hope you guys like my notes, when I get through all the re-watches and these basic set of notes, ill come back with more in depth notes and thoughts of things, theories and ( super ) rough concepts.

this is all very basic, and very small, I am not a writer, nor do I think I have the most interesting or best takes on things, but I'm hoping with time and effort something good can pop out.

they should make a show like Hannibal but for re-animator, and they should let me direct and write and also let me play Herbert West

[angelyuji]

I really love your Yandere!Cecil stuff and its kind of my favorite rn! But was was wondering if you could do something soft-ish Yandere?? I gues??? I don't know what I'm talking about. Like ___ has Superpowers and Cecil and them got together after he was made the Director of the GDA. ___ Has been a hero so long that they're tired, exhausted even, and then they talk to Cecil about it. Cecil would be surprisingly okay with the idea of hiding them away so they could have a break. Cecil knows they can take care of themselves but can't help but panic and obsess over them. Cameras watching the house and town (not everyone's a spy cause she knows a lot of the agents from working with them for so long) as well as a secret tracker implanted in them after a really big kidnapping accident as a hero (came in handy?) But like a soft but dark yandere Cecil.

I'm sorry if this really long and detailed but if you give it the time to think it over, thank you so much! 🙇

hello my silly!! long and detailed is what i like best :) pause...

i honestly see cecil is a pretty soft yandere unless he's panicky and you're getting on his nerves. (or just not listening/understanding him)

i see what you're cooking tho so lemme see if i can expand on that. also fun fact: im supposed to be studying rn... but... i cant get cecil out of my head so...

cw // yandere, kidnapping (not cecil initiated), nonconsenual body modification, nothing too coo-coo in the fic (just... implications of coo-coo if u read into it), kinda voyeurism

crazy yan!cecil headcanons at the end so cw // manipulation, emotional/financial abuse, abuse of power, gaslighting (kinda... from me lmao)

"i need to get out, cecil." you were tired. it was exhausting, this job. everything has fallen onto your shoulders with the guardians gone, omni-man a murderer, and now a viltrum takeover on the horizon. you were drained, physically and mentally. "i know, you need me, but invincible and atom eve and all the others are adults now. so..." you look to him and cecil stares at you, his face unreadable. "please... say something."

"(y/n)... if this is what you want, i'll do it for you." cecil sighs.

"really?" your bottom lip quivers as you hold back your relieved tears. cecil smiles slightly, reaching out to cup your face. you lean into his warmth.

"honey, i'd do anything for you."

you wash the dishes, mind wandering to your lover. cecil had come over as if knowing you had missed him. you feel his lips touch your neck as he wraps his arms your waist, "we can finish the dishes tomorrow, how about you come to bed..." his lips trace down your neck to pepper your shoulder.

you giggle at the feeling, "i'd rather get it down now, so we can sleep in tomorrow." he sighs, giving in quickly. cecil rubs your arms, massaging your biceps as you finish up. you turn in place, throwing your arms around his neck, "now, let's go have some fun."

cecil couldn't think straight, you had been missing for 4 days now. every hero was searching for you, but he couldn't do anything. all he could do was wait for the assholes to reach back out with their demands. all he could do was sit around and wait. "what the hell kind of partner am i, donald." he rubs his scar, his reminder.

"sir, we're going to find them." donald's voice is calm, but nothing could settle cecil's heart until he could see you again... alive. hours pass before the first demand comes in.

his heart burns as he sees your face, you were beaten and bloody, almost unrecognizable. "play the video." cecil's voice was thick, holding back his anger and fear. donald tries to say something, but cecil could barely contain his rage, "play the fucking video, donald."

the first second was silent before the screams started, cecil couldn't breathe, the agony and pain in your beautiful voice. you were sobbing as they started to beat you once more. "we're going to keep fucking up your pretty little hero's face until we get what we want. 10 million, a jet, and some nice...." someone whispers, "yeah! some nice machine guns too, add those in. you guys get 2 hours or we kill this bitch." someone whispers again, but the sound of a train passing covers it up. "oh yeah, bring it to-" cecil can't listen, his brain focused on you. his love, his world, you were mouthing something. the video ends with another warning.

"they're giving us the location." cecil's eyes widen. before long, the GDA had sent your location to every hero they had. you were unconscious when you were brought in and cecil couldn't rest. what if this happened again? what would he do if the next time, you couldn't help them figure out where you were? what if the next time, you were brought back in a body bag?

"mr. stedman?" the doctor looked nervous, "i did what you asked, the tracker. are you sure they want-"

"where is it in them?"

"left bicep, they won't feel anything, they won't even know its there. but... are you sure they wanted-"

"are they awake yet?" cecil didn't have time for the doctor and her moral conundrum. she nods, stepping aside for cecil. cecil stops to lean in, "if i hear you breathe a word about this to anyone, especially them, you won't live to see another day. are we clear?" she nods, shaking.

"hey neighbor!" dave smiles at you as he waters the flowers in his front garden. you wave back, grabbing the mail. "your husband left already? i wanted to meet him." dave frowns, playfully.

"oh- he's not-" you pause, "yeah, he has another work trip, unfortunately. i'll invite you and janet for dinner when he comes back!" the two of you chat for a second before you go back inside. cecil smiles, hearing you call him your husband. donald clears his throat behind him.

"what." cecil sighs, moving his attention away from the cameras in your town.

"immortal and dupli-kate want to talk to you about their retirement."

"christ, donald... fine. give me a minute..." cecil sends you a quick text 'i miss you.' "you know (y/n)'s neighbor, dave... butler. is he one of ours?"

donald taps at his tablet, "no, sir, that's one of the civilians." cecil hums, satisfied. 'i miss you too, come home soon <3'

this is unrelated to your ask, but someone asked me what they think would happen if you tried to run after figuring everything out (in the case of civi!reader but ill touch on supe!reader too cuz i love u guys)

cecil has a tracker in you. and i mean that literally. it's pretty easy to make people do things if you're the leader of the GDA lol

if you run, cecil will know. he has cameras, not only in your house, but all over the town you're in. he has all of your financial activity monitored and also this man has/had (depending on what season we're talking here) the strongest superheroes in the world following his orders

there's no where you could go that he wouldn't find you especially if you're a regular person

you could try, if you cut the tracker out of you or smth, but like... why would u... he's not hurting you or hurting your family :( he's only watching your every move and isolating you from the real world so he could be the only one who gets to be with you :((( is that so bad???

i feel like if u did run, u couldn't go to your family for help

cecil would probably reach out to them first talking abt some "mental break" and he needs to get to u first before u do something crazy

and why wouldn't they believe the kind government man that you've only ever spoken kindly about

anywho i love cecil and i want him to impregnate me WOAHHH WHO SAID THAT

[suzukiblu]

Day twenty-two of “Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it” behind the cut. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Definitely the purring,” Bernard confirms. “It is friggin’ adorable, holy hell. Is he still awake or do you think he’s actually doing that in his sleep? Because if he is I am gonna go into a diabetic coma and maybe die. Like, I’ll die happy, don’t get me wrong, just I’ll definitely die.” 

“Just dozing a little, I think,” Tim says, smoothing Kon’s hair back off his forehead. “He’ll probably fall asleep pretty soon if we don’t talk to him or anything.” 

Kon does, like–kinda like not having to talk, he reflects absently. Like–not having to be interesting or be keeping all of somebody’s attention or . . . like, it’s just nice, that somebody else is there to talk. 

Nicer than he actually would've expected it to be, actually. 

“Hmmm, well, maybe I’ll live, then, but there’s maybe still some hypoglycemia-related concerns,” Bernard says musingly, rubbing Tim’s hip lightly just above Kon’s head as he rests his own head on Tim’s shoulder. “Seriously, though, I was very sure I’d be into this but I am somehow still unexpectedly into this? Though like, in my defense, did not expect the particular line of kinks this long weekend has gone down, so yeah.” 

“I, uh, did not either,” Tim says, sounding slightly embarrassed as he twines his fingers through Kon’s curls. “I blame the collar thing. Or, uh . . . the part where someone technically did, you know, uh . . .” 

“Literally keep him as a pet?” Bernard supplies. 

“. . . possibly,” Tim mutters. 

“I don’t actually think I’ve seen you get that jealous since, like, high school, it’s actually very cute on you,” Bernard informs him with a grin and a quick little pat against his hip. “Do we have to see if we can find a nice reputable sexy version of a pet rescue, is that gonna be a thing from now on? Adopt a pet who’s cute and friendly and insatiable? Like, the fostering experience is working out for you, right?” 

“Please shut up, I really did not know this about myself,” Tim says as he lets out a helpless little snort of laughter, then shakes his head before taking another sip of his coffee. 

“Hmmm, well, we learn something new about ourselves every sexual encounter, I guess?” Bernard teases with a snicker of his own. “‘Dear Gay Penthouse, this long weekend I found out that both gay kryptonite and pet play exist, it was a very illuminating experience, also my wonderful boyfriend made me waffles and I was very appreciative’.” 

“I thought the waffles were you being appreciative of me letting you meet one of my friends as thoroughly as possible,” Tim says, sounding amused. His fingers curl and uncurl in Kon’s hair, and Kon kinda just . . . maybe-dozes, yeah, or maybe he’s just close enough to it there’s not really a difference. It’s fine; Bernard’s keeping Tim entertained and Tim’s keeping Bernard entertained and all he really needs to do is just, like . . . be here, really. Just, like–relax, and just be available for whatever they might maybe need him for, but not anything more complicated than that. 

He likes how that feels, honestly. Like . . . low-pressure, and like he doesn’t have to be constantly, like . . . “on”, or whatever, he doesn’t really know. It’s kinda complicated to untangle in his head, but . . . yeah, he doesn’t know, really. He’s here, but he doesn’t have to be here; he just like . . . is, kinda. 

Like–he wants to be, but he doesn’t have to be. 

It’s . . . yeah, Kon doesn’t really know how to explain it right. Untangle it right. But it doesn’t matter anyway, ‘cuz Tim would tell him if he needed to figure it out, and Tim hasn’t told him he needs to figure that out, so Kon doesn’t have to figure it out. 

“Yeah, never mind, diabetic shock at least,” Bernard mutters feelingly, lifting his hand back to Kon’s hair and scritching just underneath Tim’s stroking fingers. “Like the most adorable tractor engine on Poison Ivy’s green earth, holy frickin’ hell.” 

“Ivy wouldn’t let a tractor on her green earth,” Tim says with another quiet little laugh. 

“Then Ivy has terrible taste in tractors, clearly,” Bernard mock-huffs, briefly tangling his fingers with Tim’s in Kon’s hair to give them a little squeeze before going back to the scritching. “. . . but like, how weird would it be to rub his belly, is that too weird to be kinky or is it weirder that I kinda just wanna do it to see if it makes him purr?” 

“You once made me a PowerPoint about why you thought we should spend our three-month anniversary looking for the Jersey Devil,” Tim says. 

“Yeah, because I was matching your freak, Mr. ‘Here’s My Spreadsheet of Every Date We’ve Ever Been On and How Well It Went,” Bernard replies practically, then muffles a snicker against Tim’s shoulder. “Actually, does this count as a date or is this one going on the sexcapades spreadsheet?” 

“. . . I can cross-reference or link as needed,” Tim says, and Bernard laughs delightedly and lifts his head to press a quick kiss to the corner of his jaw. 

“Nerd.” 

“I’m just saying, the program supports it.” 

“Nerd.”

Jesus, they are so cute, Kon thinks, feeling that weird twisty-fluttery feeling in his stomach again. Like–he doesn’t have to be here, but he can be, and Tim just sounds so . . . he sounds really . . . just happy, really. Like . . . not even just content; but outright happy. And he and Bernard talk so easily and talk about, like–everything so easy, it feels like. Easy as they both rattled off their hard no’s and the safewords and like . . . all that stuff. Easy as Tim told him what to do and Bernard helped him with the stuff he didn’t know how to do and . . . 

Yeah. Just–it’s nice, again. 

Tim and Bernard keep talking on and off, and petting him on and off, and kiss each other a couple times, brief but warm and sweet and nice to feel even secondhand. Tim doesn’t actually take his hand out of Kon’s hair even when they do, which makes him feels that twisty-fluttery feeling in his gut again, and he doesn’t feel, like–floaty, really, but he does feel a little bit like he feels when he gets floaty. 

He kinda loses track of time a few times in there, maybe, but he already didn’t really know what time it was anyway. Like–aside from being kinda late in the day, he guesses. But like, the bedroom doesn’t have any natural light either way, and without it his sense of time is kinda shot, and the way the sex went and all that did not help, so . . . yeah, that’s just kinda a thing, he guesses. So like, he’s actually not even a hundred percent sure he knows what day it is, considering how weird he’s gotten and been sleeping and all. Like, it’s definitely not Thursday anymore, but he’s not actually sure if it’s still Friday or . . . like, it’s probably still Friday, or at least still technically Friday night, he thinks, but . . . 

Well, it doesn’t really matter, he guesses. Like–Tim’ll just tell him, once they get to Monday. Like–when it’s time to leave or whatever. It’s a little disorienting, makes him feel a little dreamier and less anchored, but . . . yeah, Tim’ll tell him. So it’s fine either way. He just has to listen to what he gets told, and be good for Tim, and either be here or not be here, and that’s all. 

So yeah, he can do that. He definitely can do that. He can do anything Tim wants him to, and if there’s anything he actually can’t do . . . Bernard’ll just fix it again, if there’s anything like that. 

And as nice as everything’s been feeling just now, the way that knowing that feels might be better than just about any of the rest of it. 

He sleeps really well, after he realizes that. 

[lonigiri]

venus; chapter eight; sorry

masterlist

taglist

"yn, oh my god i'm so glad you're okay!" kiyokos arms wrapped around her hugging her tight. yn sunk to the ground with kiyoko, her arms still incasing her bestfriend. kiyoko had somehow, found her on a whim, in the middle of some godforsaken park. yoko had no clue what'd drawn her there, she just knew she had to check.

god she was so stupid. maybe she was just attention seeking like her boyfriend said. it wasnt even that big of a deal now that she thinks about it. yn didnt even have any tears left to cry, she just felt so burnt out. so done. so over everything. she heard patter of more feet running towards her, she knew her other friends were saying stuff to her but all she heard was muffled words. so entraped. until.

until she saw him.

messy black hair and a masked face crouched down in front of her, eyes full of worry. why was he even worried? honestly he didnt even know. her and sakusa werent even that good of friends, didnt talk much, when they did very few words were exchanged. maybe a hi, hows your day. but thats it. but for some reason. kiyoomi was seeing her in a new light. he knew his best friend kinda sucked. but he honestly didnt see how much until she yelled in his face about 7 hours ago. atsumu not even caring that his girlfriend was upset with him, and for good reasons at that. sakusa looked at the bloodshot eyes and the mascara stains on her cheeks, he just wanted to make her feel better. make all her worries go away. but he knew it wasnt that easy, it never could be that easy.

"im so sorry."

the words hit yn like a bullet train. she didnt know why either. and why was he sorry. he had nothing to be sorry for, he wasnt the one that made atsumu at like a good for nothing stuck up bitch. but those words. she hasnt heard them in so long. not from atsumu. not from her parents. not from her friends. not from anyone. he was the first person that she heard those words from in years and it hurt. her heart hurt. they just stared at eachother as yns friends coddled her, asking her if she was okay and if she needed anything. when all she needed was an apology. and she got it. from someone that hadnt even hurt her in any way. but why did it feel so meaningful.

"is he here."

was all she asked. words passing through her friends and going directly into kiyoomi's ears. he looked down and then shook his head. she just sighed. she didnt have enough energy to cry. not even an ounce to let out a quick sob. and honestly if she did, she didnt even know if she would've cried. she knew he wouldn't've been there. but just hearing it kinda just sealed the deal for her. he doesnt care. he never has. and he never will. his best friend that she barely knows cares more then her boyfriend of five years. she just shook her head, biting the inside of her cheek. "i know its not what-" "i dont care anymore." she cut him off, sakusa kinda taken aback by it, but he understood. atsumu was shitty. not only was he a shitty friend, he was a shitty boyfriend. a shitty person.

note: cute little chapter am i right 😸

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[luka-labrathor]

Dear jayvik ff writers,

I love you but please, I'm begging you, learn the difference between nominative and vocative in the language Viktor is supposed to be native in. Cause if the language is Czech, no matter how many Czechs you've talked to to make his lines right, you'll make mistakes.

So far I haven't read any English fic that used nominative for Viktor's nicknames. And I've read a lot of them. So here's a quick guide:

Nominative is what someone/thing is called. Vocative is what you call someone/thing.

English, Spanish, German, French and many more don't use vocative. Latin, Greek, Polish (wołacz), Czech, Ukrainian etc. do use it.

Nominative is used when you talk about someone/thing (you use it only as the subject in sentences but that's an unimportant detail rn). Vocative is for talking to someone/thing.

In practice: Let's say Viktor calls Jayce "lásko" (love). The correct use looks like this:

"I think you stink, lásko (voc)," said Viktor. His láska (nom) stank.

– "But why even bother? My Viktor doesn't actually speak Czech, he just uses one or two words as pet names! It's not like the people around him know what he's saying! They would probably get confused if they heard him suddenly change the final suffix."

Sure, it makes sense that Viktor would probably not insist on using Czech grammatical cases correctly while communicating in English. But there are 2 possible situations your Viktor could be in:

A) The Canon Adjacent Approach: Viktor is an immigrant or lives in a Czech enclave. He learnt Czech from his core family but actually studied in the majority language of Zaun/Piltover/USA. People like this sometimes lose their accent in the majority language but we know it's not his case because we can hear his Russian accent in the game and his Czech-ish-RAF-pilot-ish accent in the series. He knows Czech but he probably never used it to write an essay.

B) The International Student Approach: Viktor is an exchange student or he moved to Piltover/USA after graduating a Czech highschool. He knows Czech very well. He wrote a lot of essays in Czech.

The A-Viktor might have an excuse for using Czech words incorrectly or not really minding the misuse of vocative (for ex. like here: "This is my lásko," said Viktor). He knows that English speakers don't understand the difference between nom. and voc. so he uses a vocative form of his nicknames as if they were English words (pl. láskos, poss. lásko's). This usage would probably make a B-Viktor's ears bleed.

B-Viktor doesn't have to think about it when he uses a Czech word. He just uses whatever he'd use in Czech (and maybe if he'd need an other case than nominative or vocative he'd just use nominative cause that's the "default" case in dictionaries). I'm still kinda split on whether he wouldn't actually use only nominative when talking to/about people cause again, it's the "default" case and he would avoid people treating a voc. form like a nom. one. But if he actually tried and at one point explained to his close ones that "láska" is actually the word he's using, just in the vocative form (or just sent them this post, some jayvik fics can be very meta-fictional), he could be using voc. and nom. (lásko and láska) more or less as he'd use it in Czech.

Apart from that, if your POV is Viktor's, you need to use Czech correctly in your indirect speech or I'll come to your house with torches and pitchforks. If Viktor is thinking Jayce was my [Czech pet name], my dearest [Czech pet name], you need to use nominative for the pet name no matter what. One exception is if your Viktor actually doesn't know any Czech and only cosplays as a Czech person cause he loves our stinky cheese from Loštice. Then and only then I can accept him using nominative and vocative indistinguishably.

S láskou,

Your čtenář

P. S.: Use whatever words you want, like, your fic will read like 10 Czech people in all it's eternal lifetime on ao3 so don't overthink it. I'm overthinking it cause I don't have a life separate from jayvik.

[beifong-brainrot]

I saw this post about mako. What are your thoughts:

“in books 1&2 he comes off as an entitled prick. It's taken years for me to get over how much I disliked him in the first two books.

The way he only treats Korra with respect when he finds out she's the Avatar, the way he talks about both her and Asami as objects for him to make decisions about, the cheating, the gaslighting Asami when she calls him out for cheating, PUSHING LIN BEIFONG. Man I'm getting mad just thinking about it all lol.

Honestly I guess I understand? Mako comes off as a little mean in the first 2 seasons, especially the Book 1. And yeah I can get why some people would be annoyed by that.

But then I also kinda wanna give Mako the grace that he didn't really get as an 18 year old kid who grew up in an incredibly volatile enviornment, with probably very few positive role models in his life.

I think Mako's initial hostility towards Korra feels so upsetting to us, because we are seeing him from Korra's perspective. So we are immediately like 'dude what's your problem'. But like, let's put ourselves in Mako's shoes here.

He's about to go into a match, to essentially do his job, and his horny brother is bringing unknown women into the dressing room, and we can infer this isn't the first time he's done so. And frankly, he's not actively hostile, just vaguely dismissive, at least from what I remember.

If we wanna take this a step further, we need to also remember that Mako and Bolin do have a past with some dangerous people, so maybe strangers shouldn't be welcomed with open arms. His priority is keeping himself and Bolin safe and afloat, and he doesn't trust others, with, from his perspective, good reason.

I wouldn't say Mako's attitude towards Korra changes drastically when he learns she's the Avatar. I guess he could be a little mollified by the fact that she's probably not someone dangerous. But he's still snarky and aloof when Bolin is teaching her to probend.

Mako : [Aloof.] Not bad. Korra: [At Bolin, gesturing at Mako. Irritably; slightly down.] What's it take to impress this guy? Mako : What? I said "not bad". [Close-up of Korra pouting at him. Cut back to Mako shaking his head; annoyed.] You know what, it's getting late. [Overview shot of Mako sauntering off with his hands in his pockets.] I think I'm gonna turn in. You kids have fun. Nice to meet you, Avatar Korra.

You know, I assume the "treating Asami as an object" thing is referring to this conversation Mako and Bolin have?

Bolin: So, what do you think of Korra, in a "girlfriend" sort of way? Mako : She's great! But I think it makes more sense for me to go for Asami.

And yeah, I guess you can see this as a more utilitarian view of his relationships with Korra and Asami. But, this is the least charitable interpretation possible. I think it's more likely that Mako cares deeply for both Korra and Asami, and has probably never had to deal with this type of conflict before. Add to this that Asami is literally the reason the brothers can take part in the championship and potentially better their position in life, Mako probably feels not only a lot of gratitude, but also probebly would be wary of upsetting her.

And after he commits to Asami, he still has feelings for Korra. But, Mako seems quite averse to conflict, despite being a bit standoffish. He doesn't want to date within the team, as that could cause friction within the team. He doesn't want to rock the boat by switching from one parter to the next.

Now, the cheating? Yeah, he should've absolutely pushed Korra away and probably told Asami. But once again, he has some feelings for Korra, so momentary lapse of judgement. And, once again, he doesn't want to cause drama in the group by informing Asami of the kiss.

Is it objectively a bad thing to do? And awful judgement of a situation? Cowardly? Yeah.

Do I get why he acted the way he did? Yeah.

And, to Mako and Korra's credit, they did not do anything afterwards. Was there emotional cheating? Um, I guess you could say that, but that's shaky.

I also think we tend to act like Mako's very emotional reaction towards Korra getting kidnapped is purely due to his romantic feelings to her.

But like, also, he's an 18 year old who lost his parents tragically at a young age and then became the primary caregiver to his younger brother for 10 years, holding sole responsibility over his loved one's wellbeing. And we don't think that one of his first close friends going missing (when she's already a traget of an extreminst terrorist organisation) wouldn't get the anxiety beans cooking?

And "push" is the overstatement of the century. He nudged Lin and she immediately gave him the space of like 2 meters like the mimosa plant of a woman she is.

Like, even Mako didn't seen to genuinely acknowledge his doting on Korra as romantic, probably because he's used to focusing his attention on someone's wellbeing.

Asami: I've noticed how you treat Korra. How you acted when she was missing. You have feelings for her, don't you? Mako : What? No! She was taken by a crazy bloodbender! How did you expect me to act?

I wouldn't really define this convesation with Asami as gaslighting. Is it well handled on Mako's side? No. He's being very evasive, and doesn't want the confrontation of discussing his and Korra's kiss with Asami.

I genuinely think he cared for both the girls, but he also most likely didn't know how to handle both romance and conflict. Mako is a character who very much built himself around taking care of others, and at the beginning of tlok, he is still very clearly in that mode. Like He's just trying to live off measly sports with his brother and then literally god barges into his changing room and then Henry Ford's daughter hits him with a motorcycle and suddenly he's cornered in a love triangle cut the man some slack.

Like, don't get me wrong, Mako's flawed, but so is the rest of the Krew. They're messy teens, and that's ehat makes me love them. Singling Mako out feels unnecessarily mean, since he has a lot of good reasons to be the way that he is. Like mans is just trying to survive.

[cosmowgyral]

Villain's Festival 2025

This is a fan translation so please don't expect it to be 100% accurate. Creative liberties have been taken. All content belongs to Cybird. Reblogs are appreciated. Hope you enjoy!

⊹▸ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒

In the midst of the ongoing chaos in the training grounds, Darius, having brushed against Nica, foresaw a ‘worst-case future’.

Nica: Haha, a fool huh? I’m kinda curious to see how that’s gonna play out.

Jude: If yer that keen, I’ll knock ya flat and let the whole lot watch ya make a right show of yerself.

Jude swung his sword at Nica.

The powerful strike would be devastating if it landed, but its movement was straightforward and easy to predict.

Nica easily dodged the first strike—but the moment he evaded, the next swing was already in motion.

Jude: I ain’t lettin’ ya slip away that easy.

Jude’s relentless onslaught drove Nica further into a corner.

His only weapon was his gun. Without a blade to block with, he had no opening to counterattack.

Realizing he couldn’t dodge any longer, Nica leapt backward.

Darius: Aah, Nica. You’ve done it now.

Nica: Huh…? What..is this….

Nica looked back and noticed that Elbert had stepped on his shadow.

Elbert: …Sorry. I was trying to avoid stepping on anyone’s shadows.

Elbert: But I couldn’t quite handle someone coming at me so suddenly.

Nica: This…is the worst….

The gun slipped from Nica’s hand, and he sank to the ground as if dragged down by gravity.

Nica: No, I don’t believe that…I won’t accept this, no way..!

Nica: Only I…

Nica: This can’t be….I’m the only one….who ended up like this..!

Ring: Nica!

Ring clasped Nica’s outstretched hand, as if answering his silent plea for help.

Nica: …..!

After taking his hand, the pallor on Nica’s face gradually gave way to a healthier flush.

Roger: Elbert’s ability got overwritten by Ring’s, huh.

Elbert: I’m glad…you didn’t have to suffer for long.

While the others talked, Ring peered anxiously into Nica’s face.

Ring: …Are you okay?

Nica: Shouldn’t you be worrying about yourself, Ring?

Freed from Elbert’s ability, Nica picked up his gun and pointed it at Ring.

A gunshot echoed—but his target wasn’t Ring. It was Ellis, standing behind him.

Ellis: …gh

Ellis, who was about to attack Ring from behind, quickly pulled back to dodge Nica’s bullet.

Ellis: What a shame…I thought I could take Ring down just now.

Nica: Playing dirty, huh? And with that innocent looking face too.

Ellis: When everyone’s this strong, I can’t be too picky about playing fair.

As time passed… the sound of clashing steel and gunfire in the training ground was joined by the heavy panting of exhausted fighters.

William adjusted his grip on his longsword, his shoulders rising and falling slightly as he fixed his gaze on Victor.

Victor: Will, you know…it’s alright to take a break now.

William: I’m okay. No need to worry.

The two were evenly matched, and the deadlock showed no signs of breaking.

Victor: We used to spar together so many times back in the day, didn’t we?

Victor: Back then, I couldn’t believe there was someone out there as strong as you.

Victor: Even now, it’s the same. Your sword has only grown sharper—more refined and powerful.

William: I should be the one saying that.

William: When we first started training, I meant to hold back so I wouldn’t hurt you, but now…

William: …You didn’t leave me a choice, forcing me to draw my sword in earnest for the first time.

Even as they reminisced about the past, neither of them eased their relentless attacks.

While they spoke, both kept a keen eye out, waiting for the slightest opening to strike.

It was precisely because they knew each other so well that William and Victor’s battle dragged on.

Meanwhile, Roger was starting to feel the strain as well.

Harrison: …What’s wrong, Roger? Already tired?

With a defiant grin, Harrison brought his sword down on Roger.

He raised his gun vertically, using the barrel to block the attack.

Roger: Look who’s talking. What’s the big idea, not using your gun?

Harrison, who usually relied on his gun, was wielding a sword today.

Because of that, Roger was finding it harder to predict his moves.

Harrison: I just figured a sword would give me the upper hand here… so I left my gun behind.

Harrison: Honestly, it’s stranger that you’re sticking to that rifle of yours.

Roger: As long as I can keep you on your toes with this rifle, that’s all I need.

Roger: I’m only interested in measuring the physical abilities of the cursed.

In that instant, Harrison’s sword movement shifted—from a sweeping slash to a sudden thrust.

To respond to the sudden change, Roger adjusted his gaze… and met Harrison’s eyes.

Harrison: That bit about just wanting ‘to measure physical abilities’—that was a lie, wasn’t it?

With a sly grin, his sword slashed against Roger’s barrel, only to be pushed back.

Roger: Well, well... I thought I was being careful not to meet your eyes, but I guess I couldn’t fool you after all.

A dark shadow suddenly darted between the two.

Ellis: So, Roger… you want to become the strongest man and make Kate happy too, don’t you?

Ellis mercilessly brought his knife down on Roger, forcing him to instinctively block the strike that came from his blind spot.

Roger only managed to pull it off because he barely caught the rustle of Ellis’ clothes.

Ellis: If you’re not just here for data, then I’ll come at you seriously.

He aimed his knife at Roger’s rifle.

Ellis: Hah…!

His attack sent the rifle flying, landing in the corner of the training hall.

Ellis: ….Now you’re out of the fight.

With that, Ellis closed in on Roger, ready to deliver the finishing blow.

However—

Roger: Too naïve.

Roger’s fist struck Ellis squarely on the underside of his jaw.

Ellis: ….gh!

Ellis leaned back with the punch to lessen the impact, but he still took the full force of Roger’s powerful uppercut.

Roger: Come at me. I’ll take you down with these fists alone.

Harrison: …That’s more like it.

Harrison steadied his breathing and aimed his gun at Roger.

Roger: …What the hell? Didn’t you say you left it behind? So you had a gun all along..

Harrison: You know I’m a liar, don’t you?

The men will keep fighting as long as they remain standing—until only one is left.

[Chapter 3] [Masterlist] [Chapter 5]

➽──────────────❥

Nicaaa! 😭💔

[painted-bees]

sad ace hours over here. Maybe Raf can relate: has he ever felt like garbage for not finding his partner hot or sexy or whatever? Has he ever felt like he was robbing them of an important part of their relationship?

Oh no, anon Q nQ I am reaching through the computer screen with a hot, comforting beverage of your choice and much love.

Raf takes...a while to come to terms with the idea that a may...probably be ace, as he'd need to see a lot more people talking about it before he's even convinced that it's a thing. So, with that context, he--yeah, actually, haha. Less so with Margie because she's extremely communicative. But in his past relationships, his lack of sexual attraction was typically obscured to him by other forms of attraction that, in certain contexts, he would misinterpret as the bog standard sexual attraction that everyone feels. Confusingly, his attraction in romantic relationships rarely served any sexual motivations when he actually needed it to--and this had led him to assume that he was just... really fickle; some days, he was "in love" with his partner and other days, he really wasn't--and that's just the way he was. It always feels bad when a partner is trying to make moves and be sexy, and he has to mask his disinterest. He's a born and raised performer, so he can play a fair gig, but it felt dishonest to him, and he'd have definitely served time in his own mind wondering if he should keep "pretending" that he loves them when he clearly isn't feeling that fabled "spark" abt them.

But then, later, they do or say something smart/clever/funny typical of themselves and he'll think "no, I definately do love them, I'm just being weird abt it idk". Again, attributing it to being "fickle."

In his relationship with Alex, they were basically still kids [college kids are kids don't fite me on this] and Alex wasn't really observant enough to notice when Raf was kinda checked out and playing a script haha.

But Lacey sure fuckin' did. Lacey could tell the difference between a genuine Raf smile and a performed smile. And she haaated being on the receiving end of Raf's cordial performances. If he wasn't going to love her "for real" then she needed him to just not fuckin' bother. And this resulted in fights [a lot of things between them resulted in fights kfkd]. In some ways, it felt a lot worse that she wouldn't let him act out the part when she was able to clock it as a performance. But that's kinda because the performance itself is a guesture of love in its own right. Not an act of conciet [and he doesn't really figure that out himself until his relationship with Margie tbf].

His relationship with Lace was bad for a lot of reasons [they were both just...awful to one another in equal measures], but she really did make him feel like there was something deeply, distressingly, fundamentally wrong about his capacity to love sometimes. Like he'd never be able to fully love someone the way they deserved [and he blamed his upbringing for this, not his sexuality, rip].

His relationship with Margie is the first relationship he's had where he feels like...an emotionally mature adult lmao and the things about himself that he still needs to figure out, they're able to figure it out together. Again, Margie's compulsion towards transparency and her need to communicate all things has benefitted him hugely, even if he is naturally more of a "keep things close to the chest" sort of person himself. It leads them to little moments like this one that allows Raf the chance to be honest with her about what he is and isn't feeling, and for her to affirm that she understand where he's coming from and just wants to meet him where he's at [knowing well that the same is true vice versa].