#and most of the party is So Fucking Stupid

[enviedear]

stay, little valentine, stay ｡𖦹° jason todd

🎧ྀི your roommate makes the fateful mistake of passing you, his roommate, off as his girlfriend to his boundary ignorant family. now the both of you are tasked with maintaining a faux romance for the entirety of a dinner at wayne manor—simple enough, right?

wc 4.2k | roommate!jason, lowercase intended, fem!reader, brief mention of booze, cursing, mutual pining, two idiots fake dating…truly what more can i say (a lot, so). please, enjoy my 'funny little valentines' day special ᯓᡣ𐭩

“there’s not enough room in the freezer for the ice trays. either move your booze or enjoy an ice free apartment,” your voice is tinged with annoyance as you stare down your long-term roommate.

he’s laid back on the shared couch, right cushion side, staring back at you with a impish grin on his face, “or, you could finally throw out that cake you bought for your ‘promotion’ party. since, the fuckin’ promotion never happened and it takes up half of my freezer.”

“our freezer.” you add. “and fuck you, i could still get that promotion any day now. i can always unfreeze it—good as new.”

jason seems to be beginning to tune you out as your eyes drift to a new letter on the fridge, stuck on with an ‘i hate gotham’ magnet. the print is fancy, cursive, bold black ink—YOU’RE INVITED—it reads.

“what are we invited to?” you ask, ice tray debacle not at all at the forefront of your mind now. not when you can tell your roommate’s got an invite from his estranged past guardian, none other than bruce wayne.

he hums a reply at first, still zeroed in to the rerun of some prison show. when he finally picks up on your question he sours, visibly, “some idiotic anniversary dinner for dick and kori. we’re not going, you weren’t even invited.”

you pout, “i want to go! why can’t we go?”

jason’s got a stern look on his face now, and you’ve always found it so unnerving how quickly he musters it up—usually so relaxed in your shared domain.

“we’re not going because i told a lie, and if we show up…everyone will know.” he groans, “just drop it, i need a little more time to ride this out.”

suddenly more intrigued, you prance over to him on the couch, flopping down beside him, “a lie?”

“don’t. just drop it.” he huffs at the obvious annoyance on your face, “it’s just stupid.”

“c’mon, we know all of each others ‘stupid’ shit. what was the lie, todd?” you’re being genuine, riddling your appeasement with a sweetly sardonic tone.

finally, after a good minute of staring at a very completive jason, he cracks, “i might have alluded to being in a relationship with you.”

your smile cracks before he even finishes his admission, oscillating between confusion and sheer giddiness—trying to halt the part of your brain that wants to imagine a life where a relationship isn’t such a laughable idea.

you curl your lips to stifle your last giggles before looking back up at him, “why?”

jason shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the question. his eyes dart away from yours, finding sudden interest in the television screen, "bruce kept...asking about my life here. if i was settling in, if i was happy." he runs a hand through his dark hair, "and then, all the others got involved, asking to set me up with people. i needed them to stop asking. and you-" he pauses, scratching the back of his neck, "you were the most believable option.”

you stare at him, unblinking, trying to process his words. "most believable option…” you repeat slowly, testing how the phrase feels on your tongue. a warmth spreads across your chest-whether from flattery or something else entirely, you're not quite sure. "so, what? think i can’t pretend to be your girlfriend for a dinner?" the idea sends an unwelcome flutter through your chest. you curse yourself.

jason's expression shifts, a mix of surprise and something else you can't quite read. "you'd do that?" he asks, his voice carrying an unusual note of vulnerability.

"of course," you reply, trying to keep your tone light and casual. "what are roommates for? plus, free fancy dinner at wayne manor? count me in." you're aiming for nonchalance, but your heart is racing at the prospect.

jason's jaw clenches, a tell-tale sign of him thinking too hard, "it's not that simple. they'll know it's fake. bruce especially—dick and tim too—they’re too observant for their own good.”

"oh please," you wave off his concern, settling deeper into the couch cushions, "we've lived together for what, two years now? we already act like an old married couple anyway. i know your coffee order, you know my work schedule. we share groceries, we fight about ice trays—“ you gesture broadly to the kitchen, "it's practically method acting at this point."

he looks at you then, really looks at you, with an expression you can't quite read. "you'd really do that? pretend to be with me in front of my entire family?"

"of course i would," you say softly, nudging his shoulder with yours. "what are friends for if not to fake date each other to avoid awkward family dinners?" you try to keep your tone light, ignoring the way your stomach flips when he smiles at you that rare, genuine smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.

"fine." he finally concedes, shrugging his shoulders, "but we need to get our story straight. no holes, no gaps—i figured we'd keep it close to the truth. roommates who gradually realized there was something more." he pauses, then adds, "the best lies are built on truth or some shit, right?”

you nod, and start crafting the imagined romance with jason. over the next hour, you both piece together your relationship timeline—how you first bonded over late night takeout after his patrols, the way you'd patch him up after particularly rough nights, and how somewhere between shared grocery runs and movie marathons, faux you fell for him. or him for you—the both of you can't agree on that just yet.

you try not to focus on how easy it is to imagine, how some of these made-up memories feel more like documentation rather than fabrication.

"okay, and when did we actually get together?" you ask, pulling your knees up to your chest, trying to ignore how invested you're becoming in this alternate reality.

"three months ago." jason answers quickly, too quickly, like he's already thought about this. "after that night I came home really beaten up, remember? you were so pissed at me for being reckless."

you remember that night vividly—how he ever thinks you could forget, you’re unsure.

him stumbling through the window at three in the morning, blood seeping through his stupid jacket. how your hands shook as you stitched him up, how quiet he was, how close his blanched face was to yours. you’d attributed the racing of your heart to fear, but now…not so much.

"yeah," you say softly. "that works."

the rest of the week flies by in a blur of preparation and anxiety, until suddenly it's the night of the dinner, and you're standing in front of your mirror, wondering if you've made a terrible mistake.

you're wearing a deep red-toned dress that hits just above your knee—something you'd bought on a whim (a fifty percent off sale) months ago and never found the right occasion for. jason had given it an approving nod when you'd shown him, which somehow makes you feel more nervous than reassured as you stare yourself down.

"ready?" jason's voice comes from behind you, and you turn to find him adjusting his tie in the hallway mirror. he looks…different. good different. the suit fits him perfectly, and you wonder briefly if alfred had something to do with that. the older man has a penchant for doting over your overgrown battling ram of a roommate.

"as i'll ever be." you manage, trying to keep your voice steady. "but, um, how convincing do you think we need to be?"

jason's eyes meet yours in the mirror, "enough to fool the world's greatest detective," he sighs, "and his army of protégés." he turns to face you properly, and something in his expression softens, but he looks away too quickly for you to discern, "you look really pretty."

"thanks." you mumble, fiddling with your clutch. "so do you. very…boyfriend."

he laughs, but it sounds slightly strained. "that's the idea, isn't it?" he offers his arm to you, "shall we?"

the drive to wayne manor is muted. jason's knuckles are white on the shifter, and you find yourself reaching over to place your hand over his without thinking. he startles slightly, but he doesn't pull away—even keeps contact as he switches gears.

"hey." you start softly, "we've got this. we know each other better than anyone, we live together. besides, what's the worst that could happen?"

jason sighs, his hand tightening slightly under yours. "you clearly don’t know how bruce and tim get at these things. anniversary or not, they'll smell blood in the water if we slip up."

"relax," you assure him, glancing out at the looming trees lining the driveway. "i doubt they’ll care about your relationship timeline when they’re busy fawning over how happy dick and kori are."

jason shoots you a look that clearly says 'don't tempt fate', but his grip on the wheel loosens slightly. "just…follow my lead. and if it gets too weird, we can always fake a medical emergency."

"that...is always an option." you grin, trying to ignore the way your stomach flips when he smiles back.

the manor looms up ahead, and as jason pulls up to the gate, you feel his hand squeeze yours briefly, almost indecipherable.

"last chance to back out." he murmurs.

you intertwine your fingers with his, ignoring the voice in your head that whispers how right it feels. "not a chance, todd. you're stuck with me."

the gates open, and as you drive up the winding driveway, you're unable to shake the feeling that you're about to cross a line you can't come back from. but with jason's hand so warm and relaxed in yours, you're not sure you want to.

jason parks the car in front of the house at the partition, "in case we need a quick exit." he shrugs.

"i think you're too worried, jason. i doubt they'll even question it. you said they wanted you dating anyway, i bet they'll just be happy." your voice is quiet, hand hovering in front of the doorbell.

he sighs, "you don't know these people, they question everything."

before you can reply or try to alleviate his doubts, the double doors fly open. you grab jason's hand in your own and pull him closer, just as alfred sets eyes on the pair of you.

alfred's eyes visibly brighten at the sight of both of you, his normally reserved expression softening into something fonder, "master jason," he greets, a ghost of a smile on his lips, "and miss, how lovely for you to be joining tonight. everyone is very excited to meet you, i fear my few stories were not enough to quell them."

you smile, a real genuine one too, "it's nice to see you again alfred! i hope we're not too late—jason decided to change his tie last minute."

alfred hums and beckons you both inside, "fashionable tardiness, miss. i assure you."

jason, hand now sweaty in yours, chuckles, "he's being nice since you're with me. he's usually irate by my lateness."

you shoot jason a pointed look as alfred continues. "master richard and miss kori have been eagerly awaiting your arrival. their anniversary dinner is a rare occasion they’ve pulled out all the stops for, you see."

jason grumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, overachievers.

the sound of multiple voices echos through from a room, and you feel jason's grip tighten slightly. you've heard stories about his family for years now—mostly complaints, occasionally fond remembrances, and everything in between during late night conversations over takeout.

"master bruce insisted on formal dining tonight." alfred mentions, though his tone suggests mild disapproval. you've learned over your visits that alfred much prefers when the family dines in the kitchen.

jason scoffs quietly, "because god forbid we eat somewhere comfortable." you squeeze his hand again, a silent reminder of your emergency exit strategy. two years of living together has given you an extensive library of non-verbal communications.

the dining room, when you enter, is exactly as alfred has described it countless times—grandiose in a way that speaks to old money and older traditions. the table stretches long and elegant, set with what you recognize as the ‘good china’ alfred often mentions.

your muscles tense slightly as you finally notice all of the eyes on you—staring and studying—you have to think before you step.

bruce wayne rises first, and despite all of jason's stories, despite seeing him on tv and in newspapers, you're struck by his presence. "jason." he greets, then turns his attention to you. "we've all heard quite a bit about you from alfred, though significantly less from my son."

you feel jason's posture stiffen, but you're prepared for this. "oh, you know how jason is with sharing things." you say easily, the words flowing naturally after years of defending his privacy to nosy neighbors and concerned coworkers. "though, alfred's probably told you all my embarrassing stories by now."

dick grayson—exactly as handsome as the magazines suggest—breaks into a wide grin. "actually, alfred's been surprisingly tight lipped. just kept saying we should ask jason ourselves." his eyes sparkle with mischief. "which, of course, got us nowhere."

"some things don't need to be broadcast to the whole family." jason grumbles, but his thumb is mindlessly drawing small circles on your hand, a gesture you've learned means he's more comfortable than he's letting on. 

"oh, but this is so wonderful!" a melodic, cheerful voice chimes in, and you glance up to see koriand’r—kori to most—seated beside dick, her vibrant curly red hair catching the light as she smiles radiantly. "you must forgive us for prying, but jason does not often share such…delightful surprises."

"by 'us,' she means her." dick cuts in with a smirk, earning a playful nudge from kori.

"yes, and what of it?" she replies lightly, turning her attention fully to you. "you see, jason is like a tamaranian grisnek—so fierce and protective on the outside, but underneath, he is all kindness and loyalty. how could we not be curious about the person who has captured his heart?"

"great. glad we're all analyzing my personal life at the dinner table." jason mutters, though his hand stays on yours, his grip steady.

"do not be fooled," kori says in a whisper that is anything but subtle, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. "jason pretends to be irritated, but inside, i know he is glowing with happiness."

your lips twitch into a smile despite yourself, and jason sighs heavily, his shoulders sagging with mock defeat. "i think i'm gonna need another drink."

kori leans back, laughing softly, the sound warm and lilting, as she looks between you and jason once more. "you are lovely." she adds sincerely, her tone softening. "and jason could not have chosen better."

tim drake, who you've only seen in passing when he's stopped by your apartment to drop off miscellaneous ‘private’ documents, raises an eyebrow. "yes, it's all very sweet." he hums it almost, tone carefully neutral but eyes sharp, studying you.

"sweet indeed." you agree, letting some of your genuine fondness for jason color your voice. it's not hard to fake being in love with someone when you've spent two years memorizing their coffee order, patching up their wounds, and falling asleep on their shoulder during movie marathons. the hard part, you're starting to realize, might be pretending it's all pretend.

bruce barely looks up from his plate as he speaks again, cutting through your blissful thoughts of jason, “a shame i wasn’t aware you two were involved.”

jason tenses beside you, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “yeah, well. guess you don’t know everything, old man.”

bruce sets his fork down with deliberate slowness. his gaze flicks between the two of you, assessing, “i never said i did.” his voice is even, unreadable. “but you don’t bring people around often. that’s worth noting.”

jason scoffs, like he couldn’t care less, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—annoyance, unease, probably both.

jason’s hand finds yours under the table. it’s definitely not a calculated move, not a necessary nor obvious display for the act you’re putting on. it’s just—there. warm and solid, his fingers curling around yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

you don’t let go.

dinner progresses with a strange mix of tension and ease. You find yourself falling into natural conversation with dick about your work, while jason maintains a careful distance from bruce's attempts at engagement. still, his hand hasn't left yours, and you're starting to wonder if he's forgotten it's all for show.

"so—how did you two finally get together?" dick asks, leaning forward with genuine interest.

you exchange a quick glance with jason, settling into the story you've rehearsed. "it wasn't really some big dramatic moment," you say, the lie feeling uncomfortably close to the truth. "we just...realized we work."

jason picks up the thread smoothly, his thumb still tracing patterns on your hand. "she was patching me up after a rough night, mad at me for being so bruised," he says, and you can hear the genuine emotion in his voice. "and i just...i dont know—knew, i guess."

tim's watching you both with analytical eyes, and you wonder if he can see through the charade. "that tracks." he says finally. "you two have always been...close."

"speaking of close," dick interjects with a grin, "i think it's hilarious jason used to insist you were 'just roommates', and yet never went on any of the dates i set him up on. i should have known, really." there's a pout on his face, humourous.

you laugh, perhaps a bit too nervously, "well, we were. for a while." the irony of the statement isn't lost on you. you can see jason watching you from your peripheral, face stoic—but his eyes are soft. the way they watch over you, simply affectionate.

bruce, who's been quietly observing, finally speaks. "i'm glad jason has someone looking out for him," he says, and there's something in his tone that makes your heart ache. "he's always been...independent."

jason's grip on your hand tightens almost imperceptibly. "yeah, well, some things change." he mutters, but there's less bite in his words than usual.

the conversation shifts to safer topics—work, current events, alfred's latest culinary experiments. you find yourself relaxing despite the pretense, falling into familiar patterns of banter with jason, finishing his sentences, and sharing knowing looks.

it's during dessert that damian, who's been suspiciously quiet, finally speaks up. "you're good for him," he declares with all the authority of a youngest sibling. "he's less annoying when you're around."

jason chokes on his tiramisu, and you pat his back automatically, the gesture so natural you don't even think about it. "thanks, damian!" you say, fighting back a smile. "i think."

as the evening winds down and dinner ends, you find yourself in the manor's vast library, having wandered away from the group for a moment of quiet. besides, you feel somewhat redundant against their coded phrases and stories. jason finds you, as he always does.

"hey." he speaks softly, coming to stand beside you. "you doing okay?"

you turn to face him, suddenly very aware of how close he is. "yeah, i'm good. your family's...intense, but nice. just like you said."

he laughs quietly, but there's something different in his eyes. "you're amazing, you know that? playing along with all this. you didn't have to."

"i wanted to." you admit, and it feels dangerous how true those words are. "besides, what are fake girlfriends for?"

jason's looking at you with an expression you can't quite read, and for a moment, you think he might say something more. but then dick's voice calls from somewhere far off in the house and the moment gaps.

"we should head back." jason says, but he doesn't move. "before they send a search party."

you nod, trying to ignore the way your heart is racing. "yeah, we should."

but neither of you moves, caught in this strange liminal space where pretend and reality blur, and you're no longer sure which is which. even less sure if you hunger for dreams or waking existence—which is which? for a split second, you want to reach out. you desperately want to feel him—to possibly transfer the devotion you’re still too afraid to admit you harbor.

jason’s breath is staggered, coming out forced and shallow. his eyes, darker in the dim light, are flitting between you and the door—until he focuses in on you, fully. you’re too confused as to why he’s getting closer to you to react accordingly when his lips brush yours.

your first instinct is to furrow your brows, still confused. then, you kiss back. hungrily. confusion still fogs your mind, but nowhere near the way jason does. his lips are chapped, plump, and still tasting faintly of expensive dark liquor. his body cages you close him, hands respectfully at your shoulders. of course the only thing you can recognize is jason.

you err on the side respectfulness—opting to tug him closer by the tie. there’s a flash of the memory of him putting it on, and you can’t fight a small smirk from slipping onto your lips. jason must notice, because he finally breaks away to peer down at you.

“what?” he whispers, panting and staring down at your lips.

“what do you mean, what? we kissed.” you still feel giddy from his kiss, but reality begins to settle into you like a winter chill.

jason watches you closely, his expression a mix of smugness and unease, “hmmm—playing it dangerous.” he finally murmurs, shaking his head.

you arch a brow, feigning derision. “you say that to all the girls, todd?”

he exhales a laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “yeah,” he huffs. “that grand number of...you.”

before you can say anything, footsteps echo just outside the library's door. jason instinctively steps back, widening the space between you just as dick pokes his head in. “there you two are! we were about to send out a search party.”

you smile, pushing down the lingering tension. “sorry. just taking a little tour.”

dick’s gaze flickers between you and jason, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “right. well, come on. we're playing charades—and bruce is actually smiling. you don’t want to miss that.”

jason groans, but he follows you and dick back back toward the others. his hand brushes against yours in the hallway, and for a second, you think he’s going to take it again. but he doesn’t. 

charades is winding down by the time you return, alfred putting away various dry erase boards and markers with the kind of efficiency only a butler can possesses.

kori beams when she sees you, reaching out to squeeze your hand. “lovebrids! you have returned!" she gestures to herself and grayson, "thank you for coming—we would like to extend our support to your relationship.”

jason lets out a little breath, like he wasn’t expecting that—like he isn’t sure what to do with the sincerity. “thanks, kori.”

bruce, too, seems slightly less intimidating now. “thank you for coming—you’re welcome here anytime, both of you.” he tells you, and it sounds like a rare offering.

something about it all settles in your chest, warm and unexpected. you’ve spent so much time being jason’s person in private—patching him up, watching his back, making sure he gets home in one piece—that it’s almost startling to have it acknowledged in front of everyone else.

goodnights and goodbyes come soon after, and tim catches jason by the elbow before the pair of you can walk out the door, pulling him aside for a hushed conversation. you linger near the doorway, talking with kori and dick, but you can’t help the way your attention keeps flickering back to jason.

when he finally returns to your side, his expression is unreadable. “ready to go?”

you nod, murmuring your goodbyes as you both step back into the night air. jason doesn’t say anything as he leads you back to the car, but his hands flex at his sides.

the drive back is quieter than before, the easy banter from earlier replaced with something heavier, something neither of you seems willing to touch just yet. jason’s grip is tight on the wheel, his jaw set, eyes fixed on the road.

it isn’t until you’re pulling into the familiar streets near your apartment that he finally speaks. “they bought it.”

you huff a quiet laugh. “yeah? i told you so.”

jason’s eyes flick to you for a fraction of a second before he exhales. “thank you, seriously. you were great.”

you glance at him, something warm curling in your chest. “we just make a good team.”

something glints in his expression, something hesitant, something aching. “yeah,” he agrees, voice quieter. “we do.”

the silence stretches between you as he parks the car. you unbuckle your seatbelt, but neither of you make a move to get out. stuck stagnant.

“so, this is was fake...” you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

jason’s fingers drum against the steering wheel, knuckles red. “yeah.”

you should leave it at that. you should forget the kiss. you should revert back to just his roommate. you should laugh it off, make some joke about how convincing you both were—but you don't—instead you say, “does it still feel fake to you? us...tonight?”

jason’s breath catches. for a long moment, he doesn’t answer. you almost let doubt seep in.

then, he turns, his eyes dark and searching. “god, no.”

your heart stutters in your chest, and you swallow hard, pulse roaring in your ears. “good. me neither.”

for a second, he just looks at you, like he’s waiting for you to take it back, to laugh it off. but you don’t, you won't. and when he leans in—slow, hesitant, like he’s giving you every chance to pull away—you don’t.

you decide to meet him halfway, instead.

writer’s note .☘︎ ݁˖ all of my thanks to the helpful, @sunnie-angel for being my beta reader for this fic! thank you again for your services—and your sweet comments on this little story, very very happy to have a moot like you !!!

🖇️ masterlist | askbox | recent works

[ilyrafe]

𝒇𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒓𝒂𝒇𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒆 𝒔𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒑𝒊𝒐

a/n: i don’t know if rafe’s birthday has ever been addressed, but i do think he’s a scorpio (just like me hehe)

flirty

rafe just loves when he makes your cheeks burn. you get all shy and can’t even look at him — that makes him so proud and so happy. he’s the reason for your beautiful smile.

“i’ve got to be the luckiest guy in the world, the most beautiful girl is all mine.”

“oh, stop it.” you giggle, slightly pushing him back.

“c’mon, pretty girl. don’t go all shy on me now.”

you’re a giggly mess and he loves it.

jealous

“i’m sorry, baby.”

he says, after picking a fight with a guy again, because he dared to speak to you.

“you always say that, and you keep doing it.” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “you picking up a fight every time a guy comes up to me makes me feel like you don’t trust me.”

“i trust you! i just hate when these fucking dudes keep approaching you like you’re single, i know what they’re thinking, y/n.”

you can’t resist his pretty blue eyes. he gets on your nerves, but you love him.

“let them think. they only get to think, only you get to do it.”

rafe grins, because you know exactly what to say.

passionate

rafe is most passionate during sex, but it took a while. at first, sex was just sex, but as you got to know each other more, rafe was more loving, more attentive to your needs and wants, and soon sex became love making.

the hand holding, the kissing, the aftercare. it is heaven. you don’t have to lift a single finger, he’s more than happy to do the work.

loyal

the first time you couldn’t go to a party with him, you were a ball of anxiety, fearing he would cheat on you with some girl — you’re not stupid. you know most girls want to fuck rafe. would he really do that to you?

you had your answer months later, when you overheard him and hollis having a business conversation. the door was slightly opened and you couldn’t help yourself but watch them interacting.

the way she touched his arm, the way she spoke. she couldn’t have been more obvious. he grinned at her, so charmingly, and your heart was about to stop.

“my girlfriend convinced me to have this conversation with you. don’t make me tell her she was wrong about you.”

physical

his hand never leaves your person when you’re together. he’s always holding your hand, or he has one hand on your waist, or your thigh. he needs to feel you at all times, mostly because he hates to be alone and your presence brings him so much comfort.

when you’re sleeping together, he wants to feel your body against his, almost as if you’re his teddy bear.

“rafe, you’re taking all the space again!” you whine, sleepy as ever.

“hm, sorry, baby.” he mumbles, eyes still closed, as he gives you more space, but pulling you closer.

[chronic-conjuring]

So this only really relates to @tellurfriends-im-the-threat comment but I think it kinda demonstrates how people who “work” with Lilith who aren’t Jewish think about her role in religious practices, her abilities and just how stupid it can be pretty well.

I know the person it’s talking about (I’ll refer to them as R) and they’re probably the most abusive ex-partner I’ve ever had. They’re also incredibly fucking stupid, acknowledges that they’re stupid, and then still thinks they’re the smartest person in the room. Which I think demonstrates the same kind of attitude a lot of people who work with Lilith have around many things but especially around Judaism and their appropriation of it.

See, the thing about R is that they use Lilith as an excuse to manipulate and sexually exploit people for funsies and regularly talks about doing this. Somehow I seem to be one of the very few who picked up on that even though they’ve basically admitted to it point blank. Literally stating that they try to use “Lilith’s influence” to toy with people they encounter at kink parties. They also “work” with Lilith in a very modern, non-Jewish way. Basically the exact same as they do with all the Norse gods they work with which are, or at least used to be, the only other deities they work with. Their reasoning for working with her and how they “use her influence” is that they claim she came to them asking to work with them, R also has said that they use her as a way to connect to their “dark feminine” and “take back sexual power” like a lot of other ill-informed people do.

The big thing I’m getting at here are that R is extremely irresponsible and culturally insensitive. R has made many assertions that they are not Jewish by any means, and says they’re mostly Slavic. They’re white as fuck, okay? And that the way they interact with Lilith as even a concept is extremely white-centered and I’d say they even fetishize her existence as just an excuse to mess with people sexually. They like to try and control people through sex, or at least they liked to try and do that with me. It just feels like a very apt way to look at how goyim interact with Judaism as a whole to me. (Admittedly I am not Jewish myself afaik, there’s evidence to suggest I am, but I am mixed Native American and what I’ve seen feels similar to how people appropriate my cultures. I do have Jewish family and that’s literally my Jewish girlfriend up there so I try to be informed and sensitive)

Anyways they literally used Lilith as an excuse to do what I gathered is a fucking love spell as the solar eclipse happened overhead last year, including writing Liliths sigil on a piece of paper, and burning that AND THEIR OWN BLOOD as an offering to her during said ritual. I cannot emphasize how much I am not joking here in the slightest. Which, again, I think demonstrates just how uninformed, self serving, ignorant, and disrespectful the people who’ve decided that Lilith is theirs to misappropriate, despite being told multiple times that it’s not their fucking lane to be in, are.

To be clear, I’m adding this because I think it compliments the fact that Autism2, and soooo many others, decidedly tried to argue that Lilith is just for anyone’s taking and for anyone to have like she doesn’t have a whole history and location of origin that’s notoriously closed. I find this to be kind of interesting as a large narrative these people have is that she’s a being for female sexual empowerment and sexual agency in the face of misogyny or whatever. And yet, ironically, they still take and use her. They use her image and name and strip it of all original meaning until what’s in front of them is almost completely different than what she began as. Which I find odd as many goyim I’ve seen work with her do it because they experienced SA, and/or had their agency taken from them in some way. And yet, they do the religious equivalent to her themselves.

The fact that R “works” with Lilith on the basis of reclaiming sexual agency when our entire relationship they essentially tried to force me to have sex with them (on their terms and their terms only at that) just felt like an extremely useful as a comparison to how I’ve seen a lot of people use Lilith. It’s disgusting and downright shameful imo, and they all need to do better. It’s really not that hard to stay out of other people’s closed practices. There’s plenty of open ones that have their own version of what you’re looking for that’s not a warped shadow of CLOSED source material.

To all those people: Do better.

Lilith being closed is something that was popularized by zionist aligned bloggers, and is a fringe theory, not a monolithic rule. Lilith is open

I had anon messages turned off for months. I literally turned them back on today, and I immediately get antisemitic bullshit in my inbox. Was this just coincidence, or were you like camping out, reloading and waiting for me to open asks back up?

Because it really looks like the former, and that's incredibly pathetic.

Judaism is a closed ethnoreligion. Judaism and Zionism are not the same thing. Lilith is a figure born exclusively from Jewish folklore. I did a whole fucking podcast on that. When you take from a closed culture you are not a part of, it makes you an asshole.

Go fucking look in a mirror and maybe take stock of shit. It's really easy not to be a shithead, so maybe take five minutes and reassess.

[urcatslitterbox]

Spencer Reid was never one to masturbate. Not that he thought it was wrong or had strong religious beliefs, it just wasn’t something he really dealt with. Not to say that he’s never done it, it was just rare. Sure there were times when he would wake up with morning wood, but it’d calm down the moment the cold water of his shower hit him.

But tonight? Tonight not even the freezing water of his shitty apartment shower could save him.

It was all because of that stupid work party. It’s no secret that Spencer thought you were the most beautiful person to ever walk the earth. He had come to terms with the fact that he has a huge slight crush on you a while ago.

Spencer was fine with this. He admired you from a safe distance and was able to keep things professional. Other than the occasional blush that would spread from his cheeks to the tips of his ears when you complimented him or touched him or looked at him- okay maybe it wasn’t as ‘occasional’ of an occurrence as it was an ‘every single day’ occurrence.

Spencer originally wasn’t even going to come to the party, but when he has overheard you talking about how excited you were to Penelope, well he just had to show up, at least for a little while. He stood in the corner observing the crowd and playing with the cuffs of his sleeves. When he looked up next he nearly keeled over at the sight of you coming in.

Here you were in this fitted red dress with a sheer black overlay. It hugged your curves so deliciously he could’ve sworn he started drooling. Spencer had seen you in casual clothes before but this? This was something else entirely.

He didn’t realize you were in front of him until he heard your sweet voice asking if he was alright. Clearing his throat and running a hand through his hair, he tried to play off his strange behaviour and excused himself. Spencer all but ran to the restroom and splashed water on his face to calm himself down. God what was he supposed to do? He can’t just leave now it would look weird as the party only just started. Drying his face, he steadied himself to get through an hour or so of this party and then he would be free to leave without raising suspicions.

That’s how he found himself here, in his bed. Rock. Fucking. Hard.

He tried everything he could to make it go away but no matter what he thought of it always lead back to you and that dress.

He’s desperate at this point and his cock painfully hard in his pants. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this but he’s no longer in control as his hand cups the obvious bulge. A whimper escapes him at the slight touch. He’s quick to shimmy his pants off and rub himself over his boxers. He pulses and twitches at the contact but it’s not enough, he needs more. Reaching to the side of him he grabs hold of a pillow and positions it over his cock.

He presses the soft, puffy, fabric against him and lets out a gasp. His hips buck up involuntarily and the next thing he knows, he’s thrusting up against the pillow at an unsteady rhythm. “Fuck” he moans out as his mind begins to wander. He can’t help but imagine you. Your perfect body pressed against his, rocking back and forth on his clothed cock. He’d hold your waist so tightly as he ruts up into you, loving the way you feel in his hands. Your perfect tits bouncing as you rub yourself against him, using him for your pleasure.

He speeds up his movements as he feels his cock leak precum. “Can feel how messy you are” you’d say, “you like when I rub my pussy over your hard cock?”

Yes, god yes he loves it.

“Please” he moans into empty room. Changing his position, Spencer straddles the pillow and thrust hard and fast wishing it was you. “So desperate Spence, humping my pussy, can’t even wait to get inside of me can you?”

His eyes roll back as he fucks into the pillow like his life depends on it. The friction feels so good against him but he knows it’s nothing compared to how you’d feel. Tight, warm, wet walls sucking in his cock.

His underwear are soaked in his own precum at this point but he doesn’t care. He just wants to cum. His thrusts grow ragged along with his breathing. He’s so close. So so close. “Gonna cum for me? Gonna cum from humping my pussy Spence?”

“Yes, yes please! I’m gonna cum god I’m so close” Spencer cries before his thrusts stall and fills his boxers with cum.

He rolls onto his side as he twitches with aftershocks. Breathing heavily, he slowly comes back to earth. Feeling the stickiness in his briefs he cringes and peels them off, tossing them to the floor.

Spencer Reid was never one to masturbate, but when he did? It was always to the thought of his beloved, sexy coworker.

A/n: um happy Valentine’s Day I guess?? This is not valentines-esque at all but it came to me in a vision. Hope you enjoyed!

[writingsbychlo]

A THIN LINE | LORENZO BERKSHIRE

SUMMARY: there's a pretty thin line between hate and love and enzo is coming right up against it. WORD COUNT: 2782 NOTES: this might actually be one of my favourite pieces I've written, can't say why? I just realised I was in love with it as I wrote it so I hope you all love it too!

Lorenzo Berkshire hated Valentine’s Day. 

He hated commitment, he hated romance, he hated the idea of a stupid day dedicated to public announcements of love stories that would most likely end in tragedy. He hated the concept of monogamy, but if he dug deeper, he could probably sum that up to some kind of traumatic backstory. 

He didn’t like to disguise himself by his parents, he was his own damn person and he wasn’t like them, but a therapist would probably say otherwise. Somewhere between the emotionally abusive mother who was so dedicated to his adulterous, physically abusive father that their only son’s wellbeing fell to nothingness, well, a therapist would probably have something to say about that. 

Suffice it to say, that Lorenzo Berkshire didn’t do love. 

He did sex. He did it well. He was charming and flirty and he knew exactly how good-looking he was. With his perfect hair and his pretty smile and the gazes that made men and women alike go weak in the knees. He knew how to get what he wanted, and it worked on everyone he set his mind to. 

He didn’t do love. 

At least, this inner turmoil was exactly what he was trying to convince himself of as he lay on his back, still flushed a soft pink along his face and chest. His lungs were still burning a little to catch his breath, and his muscles were sore in the most exquisite way, his body thrumming in the aftershock of pleasure. 

He was always on Theodore’s arse about his smoking habits, but he wished he had one now. Maybe it would be something else to do with his hand rather than keep stroking your hair, maybe it would be something to do with his mouth to stop him leaning in and pressing another kiss to the top of your head as you lounged on his chest. 

You stirred, your leg flexing where it was thrown over his own, soft skin that had been perfumed with florals and sugars that had made his head spin was still soft as it slid against his own. He could still feel the warmth of your skin against his lips, the pulse of your racing heartbeat when he’d kissed across your neck. 

He’d left marks. You hated when he did that, but he couldn't help himself. Some deep, sick, twisted part of himself got a thrill out of the fact you’d spent Valentine’s Day with him. Even if he hated it, everyone else would know. You could scrub away his touch and layer new perfumes over the smell of his cologne on your body, you could change your clothes and sneak back to your dorm with an excuse to the girls waiting up for gossip, but you would never be able to hide the blossoming prints he left with his mouth, or the swell of your lips, or the tremble in your step from the way he’d fucked you. 

No. That would stick with you for days. 

You shifted again, groaning a little as you stretched, and Enzo’s heart dropped in his chest. Only moments later, you lifted your head, and scrunched your nose up in that adorable way as you came back around. 

“Did I fall asleep again?”

His lips twitched up at the edges, and he popped a hand behind his head, peering down at you. Twisting that smile into a smirk, he shrugged. “I guess I just wore you out.”

You laughed lightly, a sound that he wanted tattooed to the inside of his mind, a sound he wanted to set as his ringtone, his alarm clock, to hear every morning and every night. That, and the way you so reverently whispered his name when he’d kissed you hours ago. 

It went this way every time. He’d slip you a note, or you’d give him a coy look across the room. Sometimes, it started with a party. It didn’t really matter how it started, only that it ended with the two of you stumbling into bed, your soft moans in his ear as he buried his face into your neck, the breathy call of his name as he sent you to paradise over and over. For almost a year this arrangement had been going on, and at first, he hadn't been sure why it was you he kept coming back to. Why you made him break his one-night-only rule so many times he’d lost count. 

But then he’d just given up caring. 

Now, he just let himself sink further, he could no longer see the surface. He just waited for the rays of your sunlight to break through the ripples, to warm him as he lay on the bottom of the lake, drowning over and over again. 

Hours ago the sun had risen, when you’d shyly asked him what his plans for the night were, and promised to come by later when he confirmed he had none. Now, he was waiting for the sun to set once again. 

You’d say something like—

“I should get going, it’s getting late and my roommates will start to wonder where I am.”

There it was. 

He fought to keep the grin on his face, not to let it show. Instead, he just nodded, taking a moment longer to convince the arm banded tightly around your waist to let go. Slipping away, he fisted his hand into the sheets instead, watching as you rolled away from his side He felt cold where you left, and tugged up the covers a little more to cover himself, like suddenly he was too exposed to let you see him if you turned. 

He let his gaze sweep over you, open and adoring while your back was turned. Gathering up your clothes, you didn’t look back at him until you were tugging your t-shirt back over your head. Twisting on your heel to look at him, you let a smile crawl up your face. 

“What are you looking at?”

“You.” He said before he could stop himself. With a chastising groan, he rolled back into the bed, turning his back to you and rubbing a hand down his face. You laughed again, that sound would be his undoing, he was sure, and then your smaller hand was crawling over his shoulder. 

“Don’t be embarrassed. I thought it was sweet.”

He wasn’t embarrassed the way you thought he was, but you were giving him an out, and he would damn sure take it. He just nodded, bashfully, an act he’d gotten good at putting on, and swung his legs over the bed. Swiping his boxers from the floor, he tugged them up, and let his elbows rest on his knees as he sat back on the mattress. 

There was a question tugging at his lips as he watched you free your hair from the collar of your shirt. You were so beautiful and so kind. Everything you did felt like the acts of a saint to him, you could be a religion and he’d fall to his knees to worship. You did something to him, something he’d never felt before. It was all-consuming, life-altering, suffocating and terrifying. And the longer he stared, the harder it became to hold back the words clawing up his throat. Until he gave up fighting it. Something he seemed to be getting a little too good at these days. 

“Why were you alone this evening?” The words broke out, the sound of his own ragged voice shattering the peaceful silence in his room. The smile on your face melted away, you weren’t mad or hurt, just neutral, perhaps even curious, as you shrugged. 

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” He pushed, and you only stared, a piercing gaze that cracked him in two with ease. You wanted an answer, and he wanted to give you anything you wanted. “I don’t like Valentine’s Day. I think it’s a contrived attempt to get money out of poor suckers who don’t understand that it’s probably never going to last anyway.”

You only blinked at him, registering his words, before your lips twitched at the side, and you offered him a small smirk. “Wow. Someone certainly hates love.”

Love. 

There was that word, that one that made him feel like there was a rope around his neck, a hand wrapped around his heart, choking the life out of him. “But to answer your question, I wasn’t alone this evening. I was with you.”

“I’m sure I wasn’t your first plan.” He wouldn't get his hopes up, he refused to let something so poisonous into his mind willingly, “I bet you were hoping a nice lad would ask you out, take you for dinner and woo you, before taking you back to his dorm, buy your affections. Instead, they missed out, and here you are, giving to me freely.”

There was a bite to his voice, and your brows furrowed. Perhaps he’d pushed it too far, it wouldn't be the first time, you’d leave and ignore him for a day or two and he would convince himself the world wasn’t ending. Then, he’d pull you into some hidden corner and kiss apologies into your mouth as he soothed away your anger. 

You just shook your head at him and stayed silent, and somehow that was worse. 

“Right. Okay. Well, then, I’m leaving if we’re done here. I’ll get right on looking for that nice guy.”

He watched you walk, and felt his heart rate ratchet up with every step you took closer to the door, to leaving, and this time, it was all just too much. This time, he kicked off the sandy lake floor and swam for the surface. “Don’t.”

He’d shot to his feet, so fast he felt dizzy as you turned to face him, and you only raised a brow in silent question. 

“Don’t… go. Or don’t find a nice guy. I’m sorry, I’ll be nicer. I don’t know what I— just… don’t.” 

Your fingers twitched on the door handle as he cursed himself for his rambling mess. He’d never stumbled his way through a stance like that before, he was normally the smooth one. Now, he felt sick, and anxious, fizzes and pops of cold anxiety he could feel all the way to his fingertips as he waited. 

Your hand tightened around the door handle, before sliding away. 

“What do you want from me, Enzo?” You sounded tired as you sighed the words out, and he didn’t want that exhaustion to be because of him, it sounded bone-deep and emotional. But, he knew it was. “Give me a reason to stay, to stay with you. Because it’s Valentine’s Day, and here I am, spending it with you. My first choice. I chose you over romance and flowers and being made to feel special. I chose you and your bedsheets over a pretty dress and compliments. I chose you, and yet, all you’re doing is pushing me away.”

“I’m sorry.” His hand clutched at his chest, rubbing at the place just left of his sternum where it ached inside, his throat stinging. “I don’t know what I want. I just… I want you to stay. I want to know you’ll stay, and that you won’t be with someone else. I want you all the fucking time, it’s not normal! I want you by my side, I want you to keep laughing at my jokes and nobody else, I want you to kiss me and get me to shut up, because I can’t find the words to say it, all I know is how I feel, and—”

You did as he asked, much to his surprise. Your nails pressed lightly into the sides of his neck as you kissed him, nibbling on his lower lip cheekily. His hands slipped once again around your waist, and the tight pressure that felt like it had been slowly leeching his life away finally subsided. 

He stole kisses, again and again, until you were making that angelic sound he loved and pulling back. 

“Say it again.”

“What, all of it? I can’t remember it all.” He mumbled, in a daze, swaying closer to bump his nose into yours. 

“No, just the part about having feelings for me.”

He raised a hand, so big compared to you, and brushed it over the side of your head, holding you gently. Godric, did you have any idea how precious you were to him? No, because that would require him actually saying it. “Of course I have feelings for you, honey. I just don’t know what they are. They’re fucked up, mean and possessive. I want all your time, I want all your attention. I want to punch other guys when they’re near you, I want to smell your fucking hair like some kind of sap, I want to keep you locked by my side until the end of the fucking world so no one else can get to you because you’re… mine.”

You didn’t recoil, you didn’t scare off. Instead, you chuckled at him, blinking up at him with amusement like he’d told another joke. He wasn’t perfect in this moment, he was exposed and ragged and raw. He was the most vulnerable, open version of himself, and you should be running. 

But you weren’t. 

“Enzo, you really don’t know what that is? It’s exactly what I feel too.” The breath was rushed from him, as you took his hand and rested it over your heart, leaning in to kiss his cheek between breathy laughs. “You stupid, endearing man. There’s nothing wrong with you, Enzo.”

“There’s not?”

“No.” You smiled, pecking his lips again, and his eyes fluttered closed, lips puckering to chase your kiss because just for half a second, it felt so different. “You know the name. Four little letters. Don’t let it freak you out too much.”

Love.

It did freak him out. It made him want to spiral and scream and tear at his hair. It made him want to rage and cry and kick something. But, you were still here. So, perhaps, it also made him want to hold you tight, protect you from the world, spend the rest of his life devoted to you and spring you. It was crippling and horrid, and intoxicating.

“I love you.” He mumbled, and this time, your eyes did widen. Just for a second. But he said it again, let the words sit heavy in his mouth, let himself get used to the feel of them. He’d never said it before. Not to his parents, his friends, or even a pet. But the more he said it, the less power it had over him. It stopped feeling like a gun to his head but felt more like a baby bird in his hands. Precious, fragile, a living gift to be protected, not a death sentence. “I love you.”

He wasn’t sure how many times he’d said it now, but it seemed you believed him, as you threw your arms around his neck. Shiny eyes closing, hot tears leaking down your cheeks and your kiss tasted of salt this time, but he didn’t mind. Not as he wiped those tears away, and kissed you back with everything he had. 

He hoped you could still hear the words running through his mind, even as his mouth was occupied. Could you feel his love in this kiss, did it feel different to you too, now?

Huh. Hope.

Maybe that wasn’t so bad either. 

He got it now, with the smile on your face, the way the simplest of things, a few murmured words, a few sounds and syllables strung together had created that look of sunshine. The kind of ethereal blessing that made him feel like he’d been absolved, a miracle that chased out the dark. He got it. 

Perhaps now he understood why people enjoyed the chance to proclaim their love, to make hopeful promises for the future in a desperate plea to ensure it happened. He would do it too, next year. He’d make sure there was a next year to celebrate, and one after that, and that, and onwards. 

As you kissed him, and your lips brushed his own softly as you mumbled those words back into his mouth, he got it. His hand slipped up, tangling in your hair and his mouth slanted across your own, drowning in the taste of heaven on your tongue as you slipped it along his lower lip, he got it. 

There was a thin line between love and hate. Lorenzo Berkshire loved you, and maybe, now, he could love Valentine’s Day too. 

[memingursa]

Like. I don’t know do you get into how viscerally pathetic these men are. Do you get into how objectively their ideology is not only wrong but self defeating. Do you get into how the democratic party was so genocidal they gladly handed the election to these men? Do you get into how every counter message or policy that would have gained enough popularity (Medicare for all, free college, higher wages) was deemed “too risky.” for no reason other than it would piss off the democratic party’s donors?

This is just….. so fucking stupid.

A party of the most pathetic hateful men alive and a party of calcified corrupt husks demanding compromise with these hateful men to ape off of Reagan rather than anything resembling FDR. It’s stupid. Everything that got us here was inevitable with these systems, and it was absolutely fucking preventable. Every person who could have reformed the country enough to perhaps avert this outcome was spat on. If you point this out how leftist reform could have stopped this you’re spat on. The democratic party sabotaged every popular progressive ideal at every chance they had. They let Joe Manchin put 4 million children in poverty and didn’t demand he resign immediately, Joe biden kept working with him.

This is so fucking stupid.

This shit is so fucking stupid man

[toomuchracket]

fluff blurbs ALWAAAAAYS

sweetheart!george 1st valentines day after getting back together

orrrr

bday party!matty and girly pre baba doing something weird artsy literary pretentious adorable for vday

we can do both!! george first - the two of you are really cutely nervous about the first post-reunion valentine's day, kinda reverting back to the anxious teenagers you were on the first one you spent together. you have work during the day, so it's an evening hangout; george picks you up after you finish (you def get butterflies seeing him lean against the car with a cig while he waits for you, and they only get worse when he kisses you hello) and takes you to his so you can get ready and exchange gifts (he gets you a pair of earrings with your favourite gemstone and a couple of records he discovered while you were away that he knew you'd like, and you get him - well, both of you - a long weekend in naples, so he can a) see where you lived and b) meet some of your extended family). dinner is "as british as you can make it while still being good", because you offhandedly mentioned that you'd missed pub food while you were in italy, with a few drinks - chill, but so lovely, and very romantic - and then you wander to get desserts and stroll home hand in hand. the whole thing is just so SWEET, and that vibe continues back at george's; yeah, you're wearing sexy underwear and you're alone in bed with george daniel, but the sex is slow, steamy, full of long kisses and soft giggles... there's no doubt george is head over heels in love with you, and it's reciprocated.

bday party... the day starts later than expected because the two of you can't keep your fucking hands off each other lmfao; after a morning's worth of orgasms (9, to be precise), exchanging gifts (your insane boyfriend somehow got you a BIRKIN, and you got him an actual genuine vintage aviator jacket that he's predictably obsessed with) and a quick stop to get coffee, you make it onto the tube at like midday and then enter the love letters exhibition at one of the museums around 45 mins later. most of it is really cute, but getting to look at matty's face when he reads some of the anaïs nin/henry miller erotic letters for the first time is priceless - he turns to you aghast like "this is mental. and i've seen you read shit of theirs!", and then once he recovers he gets a stupid smirk on his face and says "m'gonna write YOU letters like this when i'm on tour next" lmfao. the rest of the exhibit is sweet and wholesome, but those sexy letters don't seem to leave your or matty's minds for the rest of the day, to the point you're thankful you opted to do the m&s valentine's dine-in cook at home thing for dinner because it means you and matty can have sex in the kitchen while it's cooking teehee. actually, it takes a herculean amount of effort not to give in and let him stay inside you while you eat dinner, but you compose yourself long enough for the meal and the dishwashing afterwards before you're whining and begging for his cock again; matty being matty, you get exactly what you want and more, so much so that you have a sneaking suspicion you might have to do a pregnancy test just for peace of mind soon. a very successful day!! <3

[flem17ng]

It was always you.

word count: 1.3k

Summary: After the kiss with Melissa, Shauna hallucinates Jackie and comes to terms with some feelings she may have had for her ex-best friend. (ghost Jackie kiss ofc)

Note: kinda self indulgent because i miss Jackie and have to make everything about jackieshauna. and also you can’t tell me there isn’t something behind shauna picking the only other blonde girl to make out with…

☆ ☆ ☆

“So what the hell shipman? You full lesbo now or something?” Jackie bit out, causing shauna to whip around, knife in hand.

“Fuck off” she mumbled back, already feeling the heat in her cheeks rise has Melissa’s footsteps receded into the woods.

“No now I really want to know” Jackie smirked, arms crossed and hip popped the same way Shauna remembered her. She wasn’t wearing the clothes she died in anymore, now adorned in a clean relaxed outfit, one she’d worn so many times, the feeling of the fabric was burnt into Shauna’s fingertips. Perfectly in season, perfectly fitted to her lovely frame. Her hair was light, clean and loose around her face. She looked like the Jackie that Shauna thought about most often.

“It’s nothing” shauna grunted, taking a step forward, knife still raised towards Jackie’s stupid ghost face.

“I mean I get it Shipman! You get lonely out here sure but come on! Hat girl? Really?”

Shauna frowned taking another step towards her dead friend. If ‘friend’ really was what she was in the end anyway.

Jackie only laughed, head tipped up, canine teeth displayed to the sky above. Shauna shivered. It was all too real, too well remembered. Jackie was so clean and Shauna felt so, so dirty.

“So is this lesbo thing just a stuck-in-the-wilderness type thing or…?” she uncrossed her ams and stalked towards Shauna, footsteps silent even on the dry autumn leaves that littered the forest floor.

“Or maybe it’s always been there huh? You always were a bit shy in the change room” her voice took on a fake lilt, the tone she used to take with girls who thought they could talk to her at parties.

“Poor innocent Shipman! Taking a little extra peak in the showers? Looking a little to long and Tais muscular legs maybe?”

Shauna flinched, staring Jackie down with a withering look that would make anyone else in the team pause. Jackie just smiled, big eyes cruel and curious.

“Or maybe you really did just sleep with him to imagine it was me.” Jackie stated with an air of finality, jaw set, eyes twinkling. Shauna’s mouth went dry.

“Shut up Jackie”

“Oh no” she cackled, almost manic, “It’s all coming together now. Little shauna, stuck in my shadow! But you never really hated it, did you? Huh? I bet you loved being close to me. Breathing my air, sleeping in my bed?” Jackie’s volume grew and Shauna had to remind herself that no one else could hear her.

“You sick perverted-“

“i’m warning you! I’ll eat you again, fucker!” Shauna screamed, leaping forward as she backed Jackie up against the tree where Melissa had been only minutes ago.

“Oh I bet you would” her voice lowered, perfect throat uneffected by the knife shauna had pressed there, deep enough to draw blood in any other circumstance.

She studied Shauna with her keen eyes, the same eyes shauna had always prayed to be the focus of. Jackie was soft under her blade. soft and warm and shauna wished she could pull her eyes away from her open mouth.

“Oh I get it!” she jeered, smirk falling back to her lips with a cruel grace.

“What.” Shauna bit out, feeling stupid for how little she was saying. Jackie always seemed to have a way of making her look dumb.

“It’s because she looks like me huh? Blonde hair, same height. A bit more masculine than my personal taste but I guess nothing is as good as the original” Despite the trademark narcissism of her words, Jackie’s voice was strangely soft, clawing at Shauna’s chest and lungs and heart.

Shauna snapped her eyes up from Jackie’s lips, staring directly at her now. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t quite muster the rage to push the knife deeper, to step back and walk away. Instead she swallowed thickly, feeling her free hand itch to touch Jackie just once. Just one more time.

“So” she croaked clearing her throat as Jackie’s freezing breath hit her cheek. “So what if you’re right?” Her chest loosened with the admission, her breath freeing itself from her ribs.

Jackie, to her credit, did not look shocked. She smiled, not smirked but smiled, teeth showing behind her perfectly chapsticked lips.

Shauna leaned forward, their noses brushing slightly. She was careful now not to press the blade deeper but too stubborn to take it away. “I did think of you” she breathed, “when I fucked Jeff. you were all I thought of. His car smelt of you, his clothes, his hair.” Jackie opened her mouth in a silent gasp and shauna’s eyes once again found her lips. “I imagined it was you. Every. Fucking. Time. Jackie.”

“And this time?” Jackie whispered, eyes darting pointedly towards the far off camp.

Shauna’s free hand gave in now, reaching for Jackie like it always had, like it always would. It grasped onto her shirt, tangled in the soft fabric. Her palm pressed against her abdomen and Shauna, for a second, forgot that this was all in her head.

“And this time?” jackie repeated, her whisper much breathier than it had been a moment before.

This time… Shauna stared at her, knife finally falling from her hand as her replaced the hard blade with the soft cup of her hand. Jackie was right. Fuck, of course Jackie was right. She wanted to touch Melissa, to kiss her to hold her and feel her in all the ways she had wanted, no, needed to with Jackie.

“Jackie” Shauna gasped, fingers tightening in her shirt and in her hair. God she’d missed the feeling of Jackie’s hair.

She could have had this. She could have had Jackie if she had swallowed her pride and told her. She could have had Jackie if it wasn’t for Jeff, if it wasn’t for Jackie’s stupid mother, and the stupid 90s and the fucking stupid plane crash. God she was angry, all she felt these days was anger.

“Shauna.” Jackie gasped, eyes much darker than before.

It all came crashing down then, all the years of wanting, of hating, of yearning and backstabbing. All the years watching Jackie with Jeff and hating them in silence. All the quiet unslept nights of nothing but Jackie, Jackie, Jackie.

Shauna was quick to anger these days, and maybe that’s what this was. Or maybe is was the glint of Jackie’s canines behind her smile, and the way her hand had found her hip. maybe it was the softness of her neck beneath her hand and the warmth of her skin that had Shauna itching to bend down and bite. The feeling was very similar to anger, very similar to the special type of hate Shauna held for her.

She shoved Jackie back against the tree, pressing her further into the bark untill Jackie smirked like she’s gotten the reaction she wanted.

“Damn Shipman I didn’t-“

“Shut up”

Shauna followed her words with her mouth, chasing them as she crashed her lips into Jackie’s. She swallowed her gasp, biting down on her lower lip before soothing it with her tongue.

It was fake. She knew this. She knew it was all in her head. Some fucked up hallucination conjured from vivid memories and vivid desires.

But god it felt real. It felt real as Jackie kissed back, just as desperate as Shauna felt. It seemed real as Shauna clawed at her shirt and ran her dirty fingers through Jackie’s clean blonde hair.

It was ungraceful and messy and full of grunts and sighs and half choked moans, but god was it perfect. Shauna kissed and bit and sucked at this stupid hallucination and Jackie returned it all full force.

She still felt angry, the special type of rage she bottled up just Jackie taylor, but something about this, feeling her again and again and again, turned the anger into something else that left her mind chanting the only name it ever would. Repeating it over and over like the prayer that it was.

Jackie, Jackie, Jackie.

[yardsards]

clint mcelroy creating a dnd character: oh yeah, this bad boy can fit so much simple zest for life in him

[altschmerzes]

seen one too many snide posts about this in the last week or so but did you know that if you don't enjoy scenes in smut establishing consent or checking in then you simply don't have to read them and you don't have to go online and whine about how they're Consent Posturing and Purity Culture and Sanitizing Everything and God Just Kill Me Now. like you can have a preference without making it into a three act morality play, which is ironically what you are accusing other people of doing.

the same goes for like, detailed content warnings on fics. or content warnings at all. you can just skip those. they're not a sign of Purity Culture Gone Too Far or Those Damn Puriteens or whatever. you can dislike things without being an asshole about them or implying they're Taking Away What's Good And Correct About Fic Or Creativity.

[bigmfrat]

i want to see more terrible mindflayer OCs, but canon evil mindflayer ocs, not just some half baked "this is the bad guy i used in my dnd game, he uuuh, can enthrall you". I want to see Abysmal Creed Illithid! I want the tormentors and torturers without a shred of empathy and who only form bonds with others of their kind out of convenience! Enthrallment is so surface level! Illithid can be and are so much worse! I'm all for good illithid but BG3 has 1) given us no lore about them at all and has shown that no one knows jack shit about them, and 2) has woobiefied/watered down the FUCK out of their species. their society sucks and illithid are a product of that! Canonically they can be any alignment but tend to be evil due to their society. Illithid have a growing up phase of 20-21 years and learn from their environment just as we do! Im kinda getting bored of "illithid is a victim of their elderbrain" I want to see a squid that revels in agony all on their own!! 99% of people who have any concept of Illithid think they only eat brains! They don't! they eat the whole person, their favorite parts are the organs and they eat them raw and who knows if they even kill the guy first!!!! Make Some Evil Squid Bitches! Heres two of the most important sources of Illithid canon lore as free PDFs

[dykedvonte]

I think the most baffling thing about the Tulpar as a vessel to me is the fact that the ship really did only have a one way communication system.

I know it was cheap but even the most basic of vessels regarding major transport would have some way, shape or form for outside communication. Not only that but there was absolutely no form of innate emergency signal to show they may have been offline or in trouble despite clearly having a system to dock credits if they went off course. It's another factor that really shows that bad situations are made to get worse by design. One person who is required to relay all information to the crew and make all the choices without feedback. No way to update or call for help in case of a dire situation. No way to inform of inner personal conflicts and acquire procedures accordingly.

It really is like they are all in some sort of fucked up solitary confinement. They have their own world with strict roles that are meaningless in the end, as long as the cargo makes it, it doesn't matter what happens on that ship to the company. They don't want to hear anything and will come to conclusions on what happened based on how much pay they can withhold from the workers. Even what they do send is short, sterile and corporate to the extent it was likely written and sent out with a command by some random unmanned computer in an office.

There's something to be said about how unfair it is to force absolute power and control onto one person when you as an entity could do so much more to offload it but I've said it many times before so I won't again.

[sprucestairs]

hhhhhh I need to properly reread Percy jackson again. This post brought to you by the fact I was about to make a post about a scene I very vividly remember of Will Solace trying to convince Pollux not to keep fighting with his good arm broken before Percy manages to convince him not to bc he promised Dionysus, then thought to myself "huh maybe I should fact check that- I mean I did also convince myself that Travis stoll died in this battle when he actually just went to college." And guess what? That scene ✨️didn't happen.✨️ Pollux was trying to convince Percy to let him rejoin the fight very half heartedly, while propped against a tree, and Percy was just like "hmmmm... no"

[send-me-a-puffalope]

guys wtf i just had the most detailed dream last night about a girlfriend that doesn’t exist,,, like idk how to explain it 😭😭😭 and i don’t even remember her name, it’s at the edge of my memory but i can’t recover it. but i remember like all the events and her face.

[fantasticgothicpeachsludge]

I am now officially a whole two decades old

Everybody congratulate me on my two decades

[finalset]

If you tell me to ‘vote blue no matter who’ im gonna steal something out your house