#and so they're the one who ends up losing their life. and it always plays out this way and it's always full of grief

[leihaddock]

Let's imagine Steve and Bucky who were well established in their local queer community. Because they lived in one of the few underground queer cities at the time, and it seems damn near impossible that they *wouldn't* know other queer people

Actually, for that, we probably should talk about Sarah first:

as a nurse she saw it as her duty to help anyone and everyone, no question asked and no matter where they come from, and soon developed a reputation for just that

so she had all sorts of people come to her for help

including queer folks in gender and/or sexuality, what we'd nowadays call drag queens and kings, disabled folks, people of colour, jews and so on

little Stevie grows up around a very diverse group of people

when he was only a couple of years old, he asked Sarah ie why that woman had a beard, and she'd explained to him that there are all kinds of people and there was nothing wrong with being "transsexual" or with men liking other men or women liking other women

and that if he ever found out he was like them, she wouldn't care and love him all the same

and that was one of the lessons that stayed with him, along with always getting back up, always protecting those in need of protection, and later from his own experiences, that he didn't like bullies

the community Sarah builds around herself ends up protecting Steve more than once, no matter how much he hates accepting help

So at some point Steve and Bucky meet and befriend each other and become inseparable. And of course the older they get the more people talk. That they're too close, that that sickly Rogers boy is a fairy (or that he's a waste of oxygen and should be dead, let alone ever reproduce), that there are so many pretty girls for Bucky to choose from. You get the idea

Sarah of course figures out they're dating pretty much immediately. she knows her son, she loves Bucky like her own like she knows the Barnes family does in turn for Steve

To me the Barnes family is supportive but it took them some time because they're the "ideal" middle class family and their oldest son being a fairy wasn't quite ideal but they love Steve and Bucky too much to give a rat's ass about it later on

and with all the people Steve grew up knowing and introduced Bucky to, they have plenty of friends, even if they'd choose each other over the world on any given day

society as a whole wasn't kind to them, would never be kind to them, they knew as much, but they weren't alone

sapphic couples to go on double dates with as a cover (though Bucky goes out of his way to find more women to date as a cover, lest people ask too many questions)

underground bars to meet at, in the "bad" parts of town, to drink and kiss and be a normal couple for once

meet artists of all flavours, punks (our modern definition, relative to the time), go to protests and rallies for women's rights and workers' rights

Bucky meets other jewish queer folks, too, to his delight

they run from cops more than once

lose more than one friend in that time too, who got found out and sent to "conversion therapy" at best, but more than once was found beaten to a pulp in the street

Sarah passes away and Steve is distraught, but he's not alone in mourning, her funeral has so so many of the people she'd helped in her life, and there's some solace in that, despite feeling more alone than ever

Bucky moves in with him and they get those few happy years with a lot of the same they'd done since becoming a couple, before the war comes

not only is Steve upset he can't join the war effort, he's now seeing his friends joining, getting drafted, or denied for the same reasons he is. queer women join en mass and he knows he'd find his people there too, but they just won't let him

then Bucky gets drafted and TFA plays (mostly) as we know it

their friends freak the fuck out when Steve's suddenly gone, then shows up as "Captain America"

some of the chorus girls pick up on Steve being queer, and suddenly the whole group feels a lot more comfortable around him, and he actually ends up enjoying their company a lot

the Howlies don't care, Howard doesn't care, Peggy is a Nazi so her view doesn't matter, no one really does, and they get to be pretty open about their relationship, with everyone covering for them

Bucky falls

the Barnes family gets a letter on what happened to Bucky, from Steve, and suddenly they know that they'll lose both their sons/brothers in that war, because there's no Steve without Bucky and no Bucky without Steve

they've always known it would end like that, but just like Steve, they'd never expected Bucky to be the one to die first

Steve puts the plane down

When he's confirmed alive in the 21st century, not only do the families of the Howlies reach out to him, who'd spread far by then

not only the Barnes family, Bucky's niblings and, hell, grand niblings (who all also insist on calling Steve their uncle, because that's who he is to them, and Steve cries at that)

but also all the children and grandchildren of the community he and Bucky had been part of

that had seen so much loss, he gets told, in the 80s and 90s, and before that, but still stands strong as ever and he's welcomed back with open arms

because those people, too, were his family

he's also told how after his death, some asshole wanted to discredit him for being queer, and all the people he'd ever known jumped to help him

his and Bucky's relationship was their families' best kept secret

that loss still weighs heavy on him, so he doesn't have the energy for pride, but there's something about queer rights having advanced enough that people like him can get married, that fills him with both overwhelming joy and longing

then Bucky is alive, and after everything is said and done, they come out to the world and get married, for real, not the fake wedding their community had thrown for them, or the one the Howlies did

and the rest is history

[weirfq1]

with all these gaston crackships/rarepairs that are coming out lately it would be so fucking funny if he had a flig with all the main characters (ambar, nina, simon... hell luna too if you want) and they all know it except matteo

[spidersiren]

no one asked but i will be writing up the loss of her best friend porter at some point because their loss was so poignant and pivotal for lor

[chaoticclownage]

"I didn't realize you think so low of me."

God like I usually HATE the miscommunication trope with a fiery passion because typically it's something painfully obvious that could've easily been avoided and is usually a pointless stressor to elongate the plot but the way it's done with Stolitz is so real like this isn't tiresome tropey miscommunication, it's real world miscommunication. It's a very real scenario that is as complicated as it plays itself to be and it's so well done actually. Like, the perspectives the characters have are completely different because they're individuals with problems and experiences that have formed different views on themselves and the world around them and it's caused this major rift in how they view things. Stolas is a bleeding heart who has always been an honest individual and he doesn't treat his royal status as something to lord over others and tries his hardest to be as free of it as he can despite his obligations, meanwhile Blitz is an imp who has had a rough life and views himself as lowly, as something not deserving of love, as someone that someone like Stolas with all his wealth and power wouldn't ever spare a glance at romantically. Blitz's view is so tainted by his own self-deprecating view of himself and his self-sabotaging nature that he drives Stolas away because he can't even entertain the idea that Stolas would ever genuinely love him.

All up until the moment Stolas has to throw his feelings in Blitz's face and be as vulnerable as he can and say it to him straight. Which is painful. Even for an honest person. What Stolas did is so incredibly difficult for anyone to do because of how raw of an action it is. That level of openness with someone you aren't sure is going to be accepting of it is like trusting someone with a gun pointed at your head not to shoot. This kind of miscommunication isn't just an easy fixup or something that could've been avoided, nor was it unessesary for the plot. It IS the plot. The divergence of their characters and how those two experiences and their flaws clash with one another is the driving narrative here. Stolas being brave enough to let go of the rope he'd given up everything to hold on to, because it was hurting him. Blitz realizing what he was losing and how he was wrong. And Blitz being seconds away from apologizing after he got hit with the reality check he needed only to end up seconds too late.

[cripplecharacters]

Writing Characters With "Anger Issues"

[Plain text: Writing characters with "anger issues."]

Number one, please stop saying anger issues. Anger issues does not mean anything. It's not a medical term, not a diagnosis, and not even a term that will substitute emotional outbursts, emotional dysregulation, or anger attacks. "Anger issues" can mean anything, it's not always indicative of a disability.

Emotional outbursts, emotional dysregulation, and anger attacks are also only symptoms, symptoms that can appear in a large range of impulse, conduct, mood, and emotional or emotion-impacting disborders. This long list includes (but is not limited to;)

Intermittent Explosive Disorder

Episodic Dyscontrol Syndrome (differential diagnosis for IED)

Disruptive Mood Dysregulation Disorder

Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder

Autism spectrum disorders (keep in mind that this source is kind of bare-bones)

Bipolar Disorder

Borderline Personality Disorder

Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorders

Frontal Lobe Disorder

Again, these are only a few of the many, many disorders that can cause emotional dysregulation. Each one is very different and highly varied in causes, presentation, severity, and other symptoms. I couldn't possibly get into all of them in one post. The following disorders will be getting their own posts on specifics about the disorder and how I would like to see it represented in media;

Intermittent Explosive Disorder

Disruptive Mood Dysregulation Disorder

Frontal Lobe Disorder

But, in general, what would I like to see more in characters with emotional dysregulation?

An actual diagnosis. Not just "anger issues" or "bad temper," but "This character has Intermittent Explosive Disorder" or "This character has Frontal Lobe Disorder."

Episodes and outbursts not being played for laughs. They're extremely embarrassing and can have a major impact on our lives. We can lose relationships, be fired from jobs, be expelled from schools, or even wind up in handcuffs and prison over our outbursts and that's no laughing matter.

The other symptoms that come with an anger attack! These can include shaking, racing heart, chest tightness- like an anxiety attack. We get very similar physical symptoms.

Characters being held responsible for what they do when they have an outburst. Look, anger attack or not, we're responsible for paying for something if we break it. If we hit someone, that's still never okay. Just because we did it during an anger attack doesn't mean we get a free pass.

At the same time, characters not being demonized for having emotional dysregulation episodes. We are still just people. We have emotional outbursts, but that doesn't make us monsters unless we choose to be.

Coping mechanisms! People with emotional dysregulation do use coping mechanisms to try and regulate our emotions before we lose control. I've noticed that a combination of both anger coping mechanisms (counting down from ten, counting to ten in Spanish, etc) and anxiety coping mechanisms (five things I can see, four things I can hear, etc) can help before an anger attack or as it's winding down.

Characters with these symptoms who are people, not just their emotional dysregulation.

Scenes that actually portray how horrible having one of these episodes feels. They're terrifying, they're overwhelming, they're stressful, they are the character at the end of their rope. Portray that. I want scenes like when a character gets so stressed and overwhelmed that they start throwing stuff or swiping everything off the desk or yanking books off of shelves, scenes that get that kind of sympathy and serious nature.

Things I would like to see less of

The abusive partner. Yeah, abusive partners can sometimes have a pattern of getting really angry, but when their freakouts look exactly like my anger attacks it perpetuates a stigma that affects me and people like me in real life.

Really, I'd like to stop seeing episodes that look exactly like mine being assigned to antagonist characters just to make them seem like a terrible person.

Episodes being played for laughs or secondhand embarrassment. If you're writing Fred Duke's anger episodes from his first episode appearance in X Men Evolution, where every episode was played up to humiliate him, please stop.

Closing Thoughts

Anger issues and bad temper are not a valid diagnosis, I can't help you until I know the diagnosis you mean to portray. And please, please, please do research on what these disorders actually are and how they impact us. I am begging you.

Mod Aaron

[prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue]

ᴼᴺᴱ ᴼᶠ ᵀᴴᴱ ᴳᴵᴿᴸˢ

✐ an au where the reader is the favorite person in batfam because THEY DESERVE TO BE THE FAVORITE

one of the girls

(by the weeknd)

◁◁ Ⅱ ▷▷

0:00 ●───────────4:51

.　 *　.　　　　. 　 ° 　. ● ° . ¸ .　　★　° :.　 . • ° 　 .　 *　:.　☆

- reader is an average person - literally, they're not a vigilante by choice, of course, though even though they don't take part in the vigilante life, it doesn't mean they don't help.

- reader is such a life saviour, especially after a particularly grueling patrol always coming in clutch with hot chocolate they made for everyone in cute matching hello kitty cups because they're girlie pop .

- reader always helps patches everyone up - giving everyone deserved head pats, especially to poor dick because he always goes too hard on himself .

- despite not being a vigilante - reader knows about who they are and what they do - kinda hard not too when Jason is crashing in the loving room couch with a black eye.

- despite having not being as tech savvy as Barbra and Tim , the reader always sits with them - always engaging them in the latest gossip, which helps time pass by faster !

-every morning, Cas and readers literally does hot girl yoga sessions in Cas' rooms because why not ? And of course, they're both giggling about how last night on patrol Damian totally didn't slip and fall when he grappled onto a rooftop.

- every morning before they get ready for school , all the girls are huddled in Stephanie's room, and they're all picking out what matching sweaters they're all repping to school and they're doing each other's eyeliner while Chappel Ronan is blasting in the background <3.

- During lunch , Tim and the reader and a couple of other friends are gathered around a lunch table playing uno - Tim literally always changing up the rules when he's losing which earns a playful smack from reader lol.

- after school , Damian and the reader both at the park playing with Titus in the park and feeding the nearby ducks in the pond . One time Reader fell in the pond and Damian couldn't stop laughing at them for a whole week.

- Jason and reader are always trying to one up each other on who can run up the stairs faster ( fun fact it's neither of them it's actually Alfred ) and they're both always grumpy when he beats them both because wdym an old man is faster than them -.

- reader and Duke always do homework together every night - both literally confused - literally the blind leading the blind because neither of them understands what their homework requires of them.

- dick and reader ends off the night by watching a random series like love island together and both gets way too political on who should end up with who and if either watches an episode without the other ITS BETRAYAL .

- reader and Bruce unironically text and communicate with each other in cringey memes, which only they find funny at this point -

- reader who helps Alfred with menial chores because they wanna spend time with him and plus Alfred is always spilling tea about his missions back in the day like wdym Alfred flirted with the Queen of England once -

- so all in all, despite not being a vigilante , reader is integrated in batfam's life so much so their literally dubbed the favorite sibling .

- like the one day reader spent the day with a friend's, Damian, Duke, Cas and Tim showed up and crashed it because they missed them so much . Reader had 12 missed calls from Bruce , 50+ messages rom Dick accusing them of not loving him because they abandoned him , a video sent from Jason of him eating reader's hidden stash of sweets and a message from steph saying she's stealing reader's hair curler .

- Alfred literally brags about reader like their the only grandchild he has 😭😭.

Overall, chaotic family shenanigans and overall batfam loves reader too much .

[harmoonix]

🪄Hocus Pocus🧹

🎃 Halloween - Astro Observations 🎃

~In life there are bitches, there are snitches,

but there is nothing as good as WITCHES~

🎃 Libra Moon/Venus/Mercury have a soft love language. They often like to share the same love language as other people

☠️ Scorpio Rising in your solar return chart can indicate a year where you will experience rebirth/death themes in your life, something is leaving, and something new is coming

👻 Placements in the 9th house deserve the 'witch' title since it is the house of magic and occult, moon/pluto, or venus in the 9th house can give witch vibes

🖤 10th or 6th hosue ruler in the 9th hosue can make a job out of magic/spirituality even occult, tarot readers, astrologers and spiritual gurus can share these placements

💚 Earth Moons and Rising fit the 'green witch' archetype, healing witch, herbal witch, using plants and nature in your power

❤️ To fire risings, how they look plays a big role in their personality and the way they show themselves to the world. Fire Risings always love to present themselves

💜 For Air Risings and Mercury, their personality can be enchanting, air rules over communication and expression. They're the ones with a cool personality

💯 Pluto aspecting Sun or Ascendant can give you the aura or vibe of a villain. Even if that's not what you are, people can perceive it that way

🧹 I love it when people associate Capricorn with endings because that's what Saturn is all about. Where you have Capricorn in your chart is something you need to end

🪄 Sometimes, the 4th house ruler in the 9th house or 8th house can indicate that family members were also practicing witchcraft but also losing family members (if it is connected with the 8th house)

🐈‍⬛ Pluto Dominants have the luck of a black cat, always perceived the wrong way, always in the negative yet powerful energy

🕸 I observed Scorpio Moons really love to keep it all for themselves, which is so common among the Scorpio Placements, so secretive

🫶🏼 Mercury in the 12th house can be a very spooky placement manifesting as hearing, seeing, or sensing entities/ghosts, etc. It's a haunted house placement

🤎 Mercury in the 8th house or Mercury in Scorpio can be recognized by their deep/ gloomy voices, can posses a raspy voice

🌓 Those born on the last quarter of the moon (moon phase) nay have the tendency to cling up the past, especially when they're afraid to change for the better

🫦 Sun in the 10th house natives make sure to always be seen in a good light, and thats how they gain attention. Those people who never do wrong, to an extent they don't want ppl to see that

👻 Sun in the 3rd, 5th, or 11th house natives love to do crafts or creative things such as DIY because they always find something creative to do

🩶 Mercury aspecting Venus natives can be into finding other people's voice attractive/sensual/magnetic

💀 Pluto x Mercury aspects possess a very dark and deep humor. Making jokes not everyone gets/ understands

👹 Aries Placements, but especially Risings and Mars love to play the dominant card even though deep down they like when they're more soft with others

👾 Juno in the 5th spouse can share the same talents as you, sharing similar childhoods, similar view of a relationship

🩵 Sagittarius Juno all the way up standing there beside Aquarius Juno for having different relationships rather than a traditional one (my fav Juno placements)

🤬 Malefics in the 3rd house like Saturn, Pluto, or Mars can influence the native to be more harsh in their talk, communication, and self - expression

🎃 Moon in the 1st house can make your face, especially the cheeks, more prominent and overall a very shiny skin

🐈‍⬛ Pluto in your 11th house can give a dark energy in the way ppl see you. You can affect them deeply, they will not get you out of their heads

🩶 Saturn in the 7th house [If it's retrogade] can indicate more lessons in the area of relationships, spouse, the downfall of a slow relationship (you can't stop the tears from falling down..lol)

🪄 Saturn aspecting the Venus natives sometimes expects the worst in a relationship/situationship to happen. Overthinking if they're good enough

💙 Water Risings and Moons, telling their feelings early in a relationship matters a lot. They want their partners to feel the same things as them

🌙 You can find a comfort place in people who have their 4th house sign in the same sign as your 1st house

🎃 If both partners share the same Chiron Sign, they'll share the same wounds, pain, and suffering, but at the same time, they will heal the same wound

💢 Natives who will have their 9th house sign in the same sign as your Sun will want to teach you. They will want to share the same values with you

╰╮🎃╭╯🪄╰╮🎃╭╯

Halloween in my opinion will always have its magic, It doesn't matter how you celebrate, whether with horror movies, sweets or decorations, it's important to keep it in the heart.

I hope you had an amazing October month from the first to the last day!! 🎃🎃🪄

By: @harmoonix 🎃🪄 October 2024!!!

[acid-ixx]

Hi! I had a question about batfam x neglected! reader. Will it have a happy ending? Love your work! <3

— masterlist !

hello anon !! now, as much as i love happy endings, and as far as my plans go since ive mostly written out outlines for simply the newer chapters but not much for endings, i would say that it most definitely wouldn't be a happy ending/s in terms of being kidnapped back into the manor (before your boyfriend whisks you away), or (even if i love him a lot) getting together with conner—

all because you've long since given up on your family, so trying to love a newer version of them that coddles you all the time, never having any moment of privacy, being given physical affection that you never quite know how to reciprocate or receive; you're bound to be overwhelmed. sure, you've got what child-you always wanted, always desired, but it's so hard finding an inkling of an answer as to why now did they decide to just love you?

is it because you've matured, or do they only like a version of you that used to chase after them, and now they miss that integral part of your life? is it out of sheer guilt of their neglect— or have they always loved you from the start, just never knowing that they did?

either way, breakdowns are a common factor of your life if you were ever kidnapped. you'll always be held, even if you push them away. always peppered with kisses, or hands that linger on your cheeks and the expanse of your back throughout the shivers of fear that someday they might just snap at you for always fighting back. you're not forced to play the fantasy that everything is normal, that your past traumas were never existent—

bruce ensures you get proper therapy sessions alone (though cameras are always plastered in whichever room you may be) and with the family, you can take your time, that is only one freedom they allow you to have; but he always wishes that you'll soon find joy in the way they care for you; no matter how many years it would take, no matter if you fight back with your nails digging deep into their skin or a hidden weapon ready to drag out a fight you know you'd never win.

and it doesn't help the fact that you feared all of them as much as you loved them back in the past, at the knowledge that they're vigilantes, of their powers and abilities that could easily snap necks or break bones. even if you learn to adjust, their strength will always stay a primordial fear of yours— especially if it were jason's finger that slowly tighten overtime without his knowledge whenever he finds himself cuddling you in the soft, bruce's arms that stay dormant on your back, acting as both your support and cage every time he leads you to another, or damian who could turn anything he holds into a weapon used against anyone who threatens his time with his older sibling, even duke's metahuman ability warrants more panic attacks than fascination on your part, no matter how gentle and approachable he portrays himself to be in front of you.

you know it in yourself that you'll truly never get used to whatever love they throw your way, no matter how little of it was given in the past, or how overwhelming overflowing it is in the near future. it's just who you are, a child of bruce who doesn't truly comprehend their feelings.

and if you ever do adjust, if even possible, who's to say it will get rid of the overbearing sense of doom that unsheathes itself stubbornly upon your beating chest, whispering in every crevice of your mind the possibility that their affections are all a farce; that they'll soon lose interest in you the moment you reciprocate.

as for conner, your ending with him might be considered a happy one, if it means you're completely and perfectly willing to live an isolated life with the man of your dreams. i mean, you've already been neglected and left alone all by yourself for more than a decade— is conner leaving you for just a few minutes or, at most, an hour, speeding through different places to restock your pantry in a home in the middle of nowhere going to affect you that much?

well, the answer is... yes.

once you complied that, yes, you're perfectly fine relying on your man for your wants and needs, your desire for physical affection and even your bodily desires— it quite frankly means you've agreed to become one with him, your life will be full of memories of just you and conner, all alone with nowhere to escape, no place to hide; exposing all the deepest parts of yourself for a man who've you met in a bar.

at first, it would all go well. he's always loving you, nothing about that will change; always basking you in gifts, lavishing your home into various decorations he knows you'd love, holding you whenever you're down or need a shoulder to cry on; that's the reason why you even wanted to be with him in the first place. but what will change is your independence, and the foundations that you built based upon boundaries, will crumble.

there will be no secrets to be kept, no emotions hidden. you can journal, still, and be left alone to your whims but you know that conner will always read your entries, or worship your art right after. eating breakfast, bathing, picking and wearing clothes; all your routine life will be done with him. everything about your relationship focuses purely on codependency, on feelings so viscerally raw and pure to the point you both destroy each other in indulging your wants.

your relationship with conner will soon turn into your addiction on him for every single decision, every moment spent together; every year, months, hours, minute, seconds of your days all dictated into the man you're going to spend the rest of your life with.

even arguments, either small or huge, will always lead to you finding comfort in the arms of the person you fought against. you've nothing but him, he's nothing without you. even fights will dissolve just as quickly because you're too scared that he'll leave you, and conner hates it when you look at him with the same look you display whenever you think of your family.

at least for conner, though, you'd be living a life of raw, undulating pleasure. he'll indulge in you, of course he'd do for his lovely little (soon-to-be) spouse, but you gotta remember that "you're safer with me. okay, baby?" that translates that contact with any other human is rarer than finding specks of gold in a river, and anyone outside of your home life is an immediate threat to conner, who shields your exposure to the public, who kisses and wipes away your tears whenever you'd break down after a fight, who'll always be right behind you when you least expect it.

just like how it's always should've been.

i'm back to answering asks, so feel free to send in some conspiracy theories or whatever guys. it's been quite some time that i did and i miss doing so, so expect more of these especially for my main series and occasionally for loving family, unpalatable desire 😭

anyways, the simple answer for this one is: choose your poison. i'm not implying that these two are the only endings. i have so many paths i want to take and i haven't even introduced an integral character yet to the plot. conner is one of them, but there's another and anyone can guess who it is; but i'm sure barely anyone would get it right unless i drop a hint hehe.

— back to the topic, which one would any of you pick? loved by too many, or loved too much by one 'til it destroys you? or do you choose the secret option and move to a country and change your entire identity and hope to god that nobody else would fall in love with you? i think the last option is most realistic but conner kent is also tempting so...

[littlestpersimmon]

Guy with cataracts and scarred from an explosion has a fail toymaking shop in front of a rundown temple and he has a crush on a disfigured lowly priestess whom he suspects is a stealth trans guy because she always picks the boy option when they play board games (he’s right btw)

He's from Kalantiaw, but his mom is diaspora, and I thought her to be half "Japanese" (coded) - still trying to figure out how japanese ethnicities come to play.

She was a sailor turned pirate. She didn't know the language spoken in Kalantiaw (more akin to Khmer), and she spoke a different language (more austronesian), and she named him Kahilingan, which means "wish". But in Kalantiaw, where she settled, his name means "curse" or "bad omen" 💀 it doesn't help that her life ended with the beginning of his. So.

Kahi spends much of his life chasing the image of his mom and trying to.... live up to her- because sailing is the most esteemed occupation in their world. Only very very very very very few people have managed to work on "dragonships".

Basically, their world is physically broken (like living on an asteroid belt) and they sail to and fro each sundering / country on specialized stone ships called "dragonships" / "bakunawa"- and the ships themselves are semi-alive? They're like.. Stone ships laminated with the spirits of devas and dragons and other great beings who have all died because of (redacted).

Anyway, his mom, Maaya, was a renowned sailor- she tamed a dragonship that was imbued with an infamously wild dragon called Duksa- Dragonships are Sponsored, but those who sponsor the ships are almost never in command, and they also easily lose ownership to their hired captains- because the ships themselves are sentient, and they never obey anyone who they deem are incapable of commanding them. Only Maaya could control Duksa hehe. So she became known throughout all their world as this wild woman who loved fast boats and only accepted voyage commissions "if they are very fun". Anyways blah blah blah she fell in love w Kahi's other parent (who is nonbinary) and she got pregnet with him. And they eventually settled in Kalantiaw, in it's countryside near the subterranean capital (Kamharik).

Kahi always annoyed his other parent abt his mom because he too wanted to meet Duksa, but his parent kept warning him not to go near the ship because after Maaya died, it went even more mad with grief. Kahi more of an engineer than a captain like his mom, but his goal was simply to acquaintance with Duksa rather than actually captain her. But Duksa did not accept anyone, not even anyone who was part of Maaya's original crew.. Kahi went to an apprenticeship on shipbuilding-

he became somewhat popular for being clever with his hands, and all around Kalantiaw, everyone thought of him as reliable and very creative when it came to problem solving. So he went from normal ships to fixing dragonships.. ..

The Greatest dragonships are ones that are imbued with the spirits of actual ancient dragons and qilin, bc some are imbued with "lesser" dragons or false dragons, and some are with non-dragon albeit great spirits- like minor gods, wind spirits, phoenix,naga, etc etc..

Duksa was a true and great dragon, and Kahi knew that she was suffering from severe neglect, so all he wanted was to patch her up-

Everyone, every single one of Kahi's peers discouraged him, bc it is known that anyone who even approaches her is immediately kilIed by her; but Kahi, he is different. When he approaches Duksa, she was a shadow of herself, a ghost ship- She senses Maaya, and she even thought that Kahi was her at first- so she lets Kahi patch her big crabclaw sails, fixed her boilers and really tried to replicate how she used to look when Maaya lived.. and Duksa didn't know it wasn't her, because her eyes were covered in barnacles.. The "eyes" of a dragonship is its lodestar, and Kahi was purposefully saving it for last because he is frightened of what Duksa could do to him;;

But before that, Duksa spoke to him, joked like "ah beauty, what happened to you?! Your voice sounds like you swallowed a frog.. are you ill? Why did you abandon me?" Fhjsjs

"Why are your hands so gentle now? I want you to be rough!! Stop this at once! I am not old!"

But when Kahi started scraping finally at the lodestar, and he opened Duksa's eyes to the world once more, she cried in great anger because who tf was this intruder! And why did he carry Maaya's spirit with him !!!

Her entire deck creaked so hard the floorboards broke again, and she swayed her whole body so Kahi nearly fell from the lodestar;; he tried to reason with her, and it sort of mirrors how his mom tamed Duksa. She barrelled in head on and confidently, but Kahi was meek and gentle.

Eitherway.. an angry dragonship is like highly radioactive, its like being in a storm in a contained environment, and she started puffing steam- it's like microdosing being in fukushima; And she called Kahi a fool, he'll never measure up to Maaya, he will never be her- aaaah, but she didn't kiIl him. Maybe because she knew he was Maaya's boy. She warned him never to return, and tossed him into the open shallows. So, he was absolutely brokenhearted. He was 19.

~intense lonely lovestory between him and a closeted trans guy raised by mean transphobic priestesses in a cult the antithesis of a loving and wise lesbian death goddess occurs.~

There she is.. her name is Viharana Magayarin

Names-

Maaya's name is spelled a certain way in kanji, I want it to mean "True"

Duksa's name is Tagalog, it means "grief"

Kahilingan's name is tagalog- and it means "wish". Inspired from.. in tagalog, "curse" is a contronym of sorts- "curse" and "promise" is the same word ("sumpa")

Kahi's trans boyfriend's name is Tala, and it means "star" 😌

[itneverendshere]

addicted to your rafe!! you mentioned in the bartender!reader au that rafe shared his life story after their first time together and was just wondering if youd ever write about it? would love to read about rafe spilling all (in more ways than one hehe) and reader's reaction but only if its something youre interested in writing!!

i was planning on making the smut really cute BUT...it got a little out of hand bc they're both horny so....enjoy!!! but there's fluff i promise. and he spills everything (eheheh)🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️😌🫢 thank you for the request 🩵🫂

i'll do anything you say, if you say it with your hands - r.c (+18)

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe) warnings: SMUT!!!!; a little angst by the end and lots of fluff.

It's past midnight, and you’re sprawled out on your bed, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. You’re still in your ratty tank top and sleep shorts, some throwaway show mumbling in the background.

The night’s quiet, a little too quiet, so when you hear a low thump at the window, you nearly jump out of your skin.

But you know that sound.

That’s Rafe.

You glance over just as his messy dark blond head pops up outside the window, blue eyes gleaming mischievously. Your heart does this stupid thing, and you’re grinning before you even realize it. You slide the window up quickly, shushing him though you know he’s careful.

"Hi,” You whisper, leaning into him the second he’s in, his broad shoulders blotting out the rest of the room.

“Miss me?” he murmurs back, lips quirking as he brushes a hand through your hair.

“Maybe a little,” You tease, tugging him closer by the front of his shirt. Rafe’s standing there in just a pair of worn jeans and a black T-shirt that clings to every hard line of muscle.

God, it should be illegal for him to look this good.

His hair is still damp at the tips, like he just came from a shower. He leans down and kisses you, his fingers moving to the bare skin at your waist. You’ve been doing this dance for two months now. All hot make-outs that never really go anywhere. Mostly because you’re the one always getting called away for shifts, for family, for whatever comes up.

But right now, right here? There’s no work, no responsibilities. It’s just you and him. And the way he’s looking at you right now, all hooded eyes and smirking lips, it’s driving you crazy.

“Why’d you sneak in, hmm?” You murmur against his lips, playing with the hem of his shirt. He pulls back, just enough to look down at you, a lazy smile on his face.

“Wanted to see you,” he breathes, eyes tracing over me like you’re something to devour. “Couldn’t wait.”

You practically pounce on him, shoving him back until he’s pinned against the wall by the window, his eyes widening for a split second before his hands are holding your hips, steadying you as you sit on his lap. You love it when he manspreads.

It’s so unlike you it’s almost funny, but at this point you’re desperate to feel him. You press yourself up against him, grinding slowly, and you feel the exact moment he realizes just how serious you are right now.

“Fuck, baby—” he groans as his grip tightens, like he’s trying to keep himself in check. But you don’t want him to hold back.

“I’m done waiting,” You breathe, pushing his shirt up and over his head in one quick motion. “Rafe—I’m losing my mind here.” His shirt hits the floor, and you let yourself really look at him.

All muscle, golden tan skin, the little dip between his abs you’ve fantasized about running your tongue along. You’ve seen him shirtless a million times, but right now?

He’s a masterpiece.

“I’m so horny it hurts, okay?” You admit in a whisper, almost like you can’t help it. His lips twitch as he leans in, his breath hot against your neck.

You feel your cheeks heat up. It’s not like you’re shy around him anymore, not really, but this feels different. You’re usually more reserved, the one who lets him make the moves, but tonight...you can’t help yourself.

“Sorry baby,” he murmurs as he rolls his hips up, and fuck, you can feel how hard he is already, straining against his jeans, “Want me to fix it for you?”

You know what he’s asking. You’ve had this conversation before—kind of.

The two of you have been skirting around it for weeks now, with heavy petting and breathless goodnights. You want more. You hook your fingers into his belt loops, tugging at him, and he hisses, biting back a curse. 

“Bed” he grunts, half-laughing, half-panting as he lifts you like you weigh nothing, carrying you across the room.

You’re already tearing at his belt by the time you hit the bed, and he lets out this breathless, desperate sound, half-plea, half-growl that shoots straight through you.

“Need you,” You gasp, yanking the belt free, popping the button on his jeans. He’s still standing, hovering over you as you sit on the bed, and you look up at him, chest heaving, hair messy, eyes wild.

“Yeah?” he breathes, and there’s this edge to his voice. You smirk, tugging his zipper down slowly, deliberately, keeping your eyes on his as you push his jeans down his hips.

“Yeah,” You know you have him. He’s yours, and he’s done waiting, too.

Once his jeans hit the floor, he’s on you, all heat and muscle. Rafe’s hands grip your wrists, pinning them above your head as he looks down at you, breathing hard. 

“I was trying to make it special,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost gravelly. “Our first time.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, he’s so stupidly and unexpectedly endearing sometimes it makes you fall even more.

“This not special enough for you?” You tease, arching your back and lifting your hips, feeling the slickness pooling between your thighs. “I don’t do it for you?”

“Oh, you do it for me, baby. Believe me,” His voice drops an octave, “’M trying to be a gentleman.”

“I don’t want a gentleman,” You quip, your tone playful, “I just want you.”

He wants to give in, but you know he also wants to take his time. “You sure about this?”

“Rafe. My shorts are stuck to my skin.”

He breathes in sharply, head dropping to your shoulder, as he murmurs, “You’re not wearing any panties?”

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. What’s it to you?” You tease, biting your lip, but you know you’re being a little reckless, teasing him like this.

He’s gonna get you good.

Rafe lifts his head, that infuriatingly handsome smirk still plastered on his face.

“So you are, huh?” His voice is low, almost predatory. “You trying to drive me crazy?”

You shrug, trying to play it cool even though it physically hurts not to touch him the way you want to right now. “What if I am?”

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck. You arch against him, your breath hitching when he finds the sensitive spot just below your ear and sucks gently.

Your top hits the floor a second later. He’s kissing you again, his hands cupping you through your bra.

“Please,” you breathe, not even sure what you are asking for.

More, closer, something to stop the aching between your thighs. He seems to understand, though. He always does. 

He unclasps your bra and tosses it aside, taking you in inch by inch, “My pretty girl,” You feel a blush creep up your cheeks, but before you can think about it, he dips his head and takes one of your nipples into his mouth, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, he hums against your skin, the vibration making you delirious. His hand slids down to your shorts, pulling them with an easiness that makes your head spin. Then they are gone, too, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. Rafe pulls back slightly, his eyes raking over your body with a look that makes you squirm.

“Beautiful,” he mutters, almost to himself. “So fucking beautiful.”

“Rafe,” you whisper, reaching for him. When he finally slips his fingers into your ruined panties, you are already trembling, whimpering, rocking against his hand.

“Shh,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “I’ve got you, baby.”

He’s touching you, his fingers finding your slick clit and stroking gently. You’re so wet his flingers glid right on, your hips bucking up instinctively as his fingers move across your folds, teasingly slow.

Rafe smirks, clearly enjoying how wrecked you already are even though you hardly started.

"Easy, baby,” his lips brush against your jawline. “We got all night.”

You’re past patience.

You grab his wrist, guiding his hand exactly where you want it.

“Rafe,” you groan, your voice breaking a little, “I need more. Don’t piss me off.”

He chuckles, “So needy tonight,” he teases, but his voice is tight, he’s losing it too. His fingers dip lower, stroking where you need him most, and you nearly lose it right there.

He lingers there for a moment, just barely grazing your needy folds, before pressing a finger against your entrance. Slowly, he slides it in, and the sensation makes you moan—a big, delicious stretch as his finger sinks deep inside you. He curls it just the way you need him to, stroking your inner walls, already knowing your body better than his own.

He’s taking his time, not rushing into it, drawing it out. You tighten around him, embarrassingly horny, and he groans as he adds another finger, filling you more, the stretch making your legs tremble.

Oh, he's gonna ruin you for anyone else.

“Fuck,” you whimper, head falling back against the pillow as he starts to pump his fingers in and out. The way his fingers stretch you, the wet sounds of him working you open makes you want to go at it all night, even if you have work in the morning.

“Like that, baby?” His free hand gripps your thigh, easily keeping you spread wide for him. He’s so strong it makes you want to suck him whole.

You nod frantically, too far gone for words, only able to moan as he quickens the pace, thrusting his fingers in harder. Your walls flutter around him, tightening with every stroke, and you know you’re getting close—humiliatingly quick, but it’s been a while. 

A very, very, very, good while.

His thumb circles your clit, and the sensation makes you cry out, your body arching off the bed.

“Oh God—please,” you gasp, fingers clutching at his big buffy arm, desperate for more. He smirks against your skin, enjoying the way you’re panting beneath him. 

He’s got you in the palm of his hand, and he knows it.

His lips brush against your neck, teasingly slow, while his fingers move with purpose, hitting all the right spots, half of them you didn't know you had until now. Your breath is coming in ragged bursts as your body answers to his, feeling the heat coiling tight in your belly, practically shaking with anticipation. You know it's gonna be a good one.

He presses his forehead against yours, his breath uneven, eyes locked on you as if he’s watching every bit of pleasure cross your face.

You realize something—something that should’ve been obvious, but it never really clicked until now. It’s the way he looks at you, refusing to break away from yours that sends you into another orbit.

The eye contact—it’s doing something to you.

“Come for me, baby,” he murmurs, his voice just as wrecked, “Let me feel you.”

There’s no escaping him, no hiding from his gaze, the way he watches every twitch of your body, flutter of your lashes, every quiver of your lips. He’s drinking in your pleasure like he’s addicted to it.

You’re so close it’s dizzying, you can barely catch your breath. 

His forehead is still pressed to yours, nose brushing against yours, his lips so close but not touching—not yet. He wants you to see him. To know it’s him making you feel this way.

He leans in, lips caressing your ear, then.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, “Can feel you’re almost there. You’re so tight around my fingers—fuck, you’re close, aren’t you?” You can only nod, your breath hitching as his thumb circles your clit with just the right pressure, your hips grinding up into his hand instinctively. every word out of his mouth pushes you closer. “Look at you,” he coaxes, his voice like velvet, “So perfect.”

His fingers twist inside you, hitting that sweet spot, and your whole body tenses. The pleasure builds into a burning coil deep in your tummy, tightening with every movement. You can’t think, can’t breathe, and all you can do is feel—feel him, feel the way he’s working you. The way he’s talking you through it. 

“Just like that,” he whispers, “You’re doing so good, baby. Let me feel it.”

His thumb presses harder against you, and your whole body jerks up, like a woman possessed. You cry out, hips bucking uncontrollably like an animal as your orgasm hits you perfectly. Rafe’s fingers never stop, drawing it out, his other hand still gripping your thighs open.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful when you come.” Your body trembles beneath him, the pleasure still vibrating through you, and he’s right there, “Ride it out, baby,” he breathes, his lips kissing your temple, his voice full of pride. “I’ve got you. You’re doing so good. So fucking good.”

You can’t do anything but cling to him as you shudder, once he finally slows his fingers, easing you down gently, pulling them out. You feel the emptiness like a loss, noticing the shit-eating grin on his face as he glances down at his hand, fingers still slick from you, and then slowly brings them to his mouth.

He holds your gaze, never breaking eye contact as he slips his fingers between his lips, tasting you. It’s slow and the way his eyes darken while his tongue sweeps over his fingers makes you whine. 

"God, baby," he murmurs around his fingers, as he pulls them from his mouth with a soft pop, licking his lips. “You taste so fucking good.”

You’re breathless, watching him like you’re in a trance, your heart pounding in your chest. The sight of him tasting you like that, makes your legs open again.

He grins, noticing how wrecked you look. “Didn’t think I could want you more,”

You’re still so turned on that you can’t help the way your thighs squeeze together instinctively. His eyes flicker down, catching the movement, and his grin only widens as he crawls back up your body, settling between your legs, “Don’t tease.”

"Don’t worry, baby," his lips skim against yours, “Not teasing anymore.”

You’ll never be able to have sex the same way again, not without looking, not without seeing him.

You don’t know where you get the strength to do it. But you do it anyways. As soon as Rafe settles back, you push him onto his back, taking advantage of his surprised expression, and climb on top, straddling his waist, your hands braced against his chest. You can feel the hard planes of his abs beneath your fingers, and the heat of him pressed against your pussy makes your mouth water. You can feel it building inside you, the need to take him, to ride him until there’s nothing left.

His hands settle on your ass, firm, but not controlling, giving you full reign to take what you want. His eyes are on yours, half-lidded and a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Go on, baby,” he drawls, his voice like honey, “Show me what you can do.”

You don’t even remember pulling his boxers down.

You let yourself brush against the hard length of him, and the sensation alone makes you bite your lip to hold back a moan. His cock is thick, long and hot beneath you, and you grind against him slowly, dragging your wetness along his length, teasing the both of you. You’re rocking back and forth against his tip, dragging him in between your soaked folds and pulling huffs and puffs from his throat as he only grows more impatient by the second.

“Fuck,” Rafe groans, his hips jerking up involuntarily, your clit rubbing against his pubic hair with every movement, the friction doing it for you. His abs tense beneath you, flexing with each of your movements, and the sight of it—of him completely at your mercy—only makes you wetter. 

You lean forward, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the way his muscles move under your touch.

“You like that?” you murmur, your voice breathy, teasing, as you grind harder against him. “Like watching me ride you?”

Rafe’s head falls back against the pillow, all the way back, his jaw clenched, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Jesus Christ,” he groans, his hands gripping your hips tighter, lifting his hips to try and shift his cock towards your entrance.

You lean in, your lips dragging against the side of his neck. He shivers under your touch, and the reaction makes you grin. You start off slow, pressing gentle kisses, your lips trailing from his jaw down to the spot where his pulse is beating just a little faster, teasing him with your breath.

“Right here?” you whisper, barely grazing his skin.

You can feel his body tense as you speak, a low sound escaping his throat. You roll your hips again, this time letting the tip of his cock catch at your entrance. You’re so wet that he slides in just an inch, and the stretch is enough to make you gasp, your nails digging into his chest. His eyes fly open, and you can see the tension in his body, every muscle tight as he holds himself back from pouding into you, waiting for you to take him fully.

You press your mouth to his neck and start sucking, enjoying the taste of him under your lips.

His grip on is borderline bruising and you love it when another low moan slips out as you work your mouth against him. You make sure to take your time, alternating between sucking and nipping lightly with your teeth, just enough to make him shudder beneath you.

“Shit,” he breathes, his voice strained as you keep going, making sure to leave your mark. With a deep breath, you sink dow, slowly feeling every inch of him stretch you, filling you completely. The sensation is overwhelming—he’s big, almost too big, and it feels so fucking good you almost drool. By the time you’re fully seated on his lap, his cock buried deep inside you, your thighs are shaking, and you can feel the heat pooling in your belly all over again.

You suck harder, enjoying the multitasking, applying enough pressure enough to leave a dark bruise that he won’t be able to hide. His fingers dig into your waist, but he doesn’t pull you away—instead, he’s holding you there, wanting to feel every second of it.

“Now everyone’s gonna know you’re mine," You manage to breath out, moaning as you grip his chest for support, spit slicked lips parting as you gasp some more, "You feel so good."

His eyes are hooded as he looks down at you, lips parted, breathing uneven. “Yeah?” he rasps, his gaze flicking to your lips before he grins, a little breathless. “Didn’t think you had it in you, baby.”

His hands slide up your waist, his fingers splayed across your ribs, guiding you as you start to move. You start to ride him, slow at first, grinding your hips in slow, deliberate circles. The friction, combined with the way his cock fills you, hits every nerve just right. Maybe if it was someone else you’d be embarrassed to be panting like a bitch in heat, but it’s Rafe and you never felt so comfortable during sex before.

Every time you lift your hips and drop back down, you take him deeper, as you work yourself on top of him. His hands slide up to your tits, squeezing gently, his thumbs brushing over your nipples.

You pick up the pace, bouncing on him harder now, grinding down with each thrust, chasing that high. Rafe’s eyes are glued to you, watching every move you make, his lips parted, his chest heaving with each stolen breath.

“Fuck,” you pant, barely able to catch your breath as you ride him faster, “I want you so deep, so bad.”

He lets out a rough, desperate groan, his hips bucking up to meet yours, his cock hitting even deeper inside you.

“I’m right here, baby,” he grits out, his voice strained with the effort of holding himself back, “Take what you need. I’m all yours.”

His hands are on you, gripping your ass with a desperation that makes you mewl out. His fingers dig in, rough and possessive, and the way he’s groping you, like he can’t get enough, makes you want to never stop. Each time you move, his hands flex, squeezing and pulling you down onto his cock, it has you practically whining with every bounce.

“You’re driving me crazy. Just look at you, taking me so good.”

His grip tightens as you roll your hips, pushing your ass back against his hands, the pressure sending a jolt of pleasure straight through you. You’re completely lost in the rhythm now, grinding down on him like you’re in heat, the friction of his cock inside you and the way his pubic hairs rub against your swollen clit making you lightheaded.

And then, out of nowhere, his hand comes down hard.

The sting of his palm smacking your cheek sends a shock through your body, and you gasp—half surprise, half pleasure. It’s rough, but fuck, it feels divine. Your head snaps forward, and you moan, the sound coming out needy. 

“You like that, huh?” Rafe growls, a smile playing on his lips as he watches you react. His voice is thick with satisfaction, knowing exactly what he just did to you. “Being spanked?”

You bite your lip and nod, too far gone to be shy. "Yes," you pant, your voice shaky with need. "Do it again."

He doesn’t need to be told twice. His hand comes down again, harder this time, it makes your skin burn and clench around him. The pleasure spikes, white-hot, and you moan louder, your body arching into his.

"Fuck, you're so sexy like this," He groans, watching you with hooded eyes, clearly loving how much you’re enjoying it.

You practically whimper, the combination of pain and pleasure sending you spiraling. You’re riding him like you’re losing your mind, your thighs burning. The way his hand soothes your skin, kneading the tender area where he just spanked you, makes you want to do this every single day for the rest of your life.

You lean forward, bracing your hands on his chest as he bucks his hips, meeting your movements with his own, driving deeper inside you. It’s too much and not enough all at once.

“You feel so good,” you hiss as you rock your hips faster. His tip hits that perfect spot deep inside you, again and again.

His eyes flick between your face and where you’re connected, and you can tell he’s close too. His grip tightens on you, nails digging into your skin like he’s afraid to let go.

“You’re killing me, baby,” he rasps, voice hoarse, “Fuck, you’re so good. You’re gonna make me come.”

Feeling you wrapped around him like that—so fucking tight, so warm—he can’t fucking stand it. Every time you slide back down, taking him all the way like you're made for it, he feels his mind slipping. It's like he's losing control, just hanging on for dear life, and every little throb around him pulls him closer to his orgasm, it makes him feel dangerously close to delirium. 

He uses one of his hands to grip and knead at the fat of your hip. You let out a high-pitched squeal and clench around him. 

"Baby," you cry out, pretty tears collecting on your lash line. 

He pinches your chin lightly, rubbing the pad of his thumb against your skin, “You have to be quiet, pretty,” you glance up at your boyfriend, “The walls are thin, and you can’t—”

You interrupt him by leaning down and kissing him sloppily. You swirl your tongue around his, feeling the way his cock throbs inside you as he grinds up into you, hitting that spot every single time.

The sloppy kiss you planted on him shuts him up, but only for a second. His lips slide against yours, his tongue swirling in that messy, desperate way that makes your head spin. He groans into your mouth, rough and low, like he’s losing the control he’s trying to hold onto. His hand slides from your chin to the back of your neck, holding you in place as you ride him faster, bouncing harder on his cock.

“Look at you,” he grits, pulling back just enough to watch the way your face twists in pleasure.

The way you clench down on him makes him groan, his grip on your neck tightening just a bit as his other hand lands another sharp slap on your ass.

“You like when I fuck you like this, huh?”

You whine against his lips, your body trembling as he thrusts up harder, meeting each of your desperate bounces. You can feel the pressure building inside you, ready to snap. 

His hand slides between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing tight, quick circles that make you drop your head forward, laying on your body on top of his. You can’t stop the way you grind down harder on him, chasing that final push.

“Fuck, baby,” you gasp, barely able to push the words out. “I’m gonna—”

And then you’re gone, falling into that mind-numbing pleasure as you come hard around him, your whole body shaking, thighs tightening around his as your orgasm crashes over you. You’re clenching around his cock, the feeling making him curse under his breath, his hips bucking up into you as he chases his release.

He rams up into you, full force, his breath coming out in harsh, irregular pants. “I’m right there,” he groans, “Gonna fill you up, you want that?”

You can barely nod, still lost in the aftershocks of your orgasm, but that’s all he needs. With one final, deep thrust, he comes hard inside you, groaning your name as he spills into you. His hands grip you tight, holding you down on his length as he empties himself into you, his whole-body twitching with the intensity of his release

His hands roam lazily over your back, the touch slow, like he doesn’t want it to end. He’s still inside you, softening, but neither of you make a move to separate.

His lips press a few lazy kisses against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he murmurs. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

You smile weakly, too blissed out to respond, and nuzzle into the crook of his neck. After a few minutes, you reluctantly lift yourself off him, a soft whimper escaping your lips at the loss of connection. Rafe lets out a content sigh, his hands still trailing down your sides as you move.

You flop down next to him, breath still shallow, your head resting on his chest. He immediately pulls you close, his arm wrapping around you, holding you tight.His hand stops moving, resting on your back, and you feel his chest rise as he takes a deep breath.

"My mom left when I was seven," he says, voice oddly quiet, almost hesitant, like he’s not sure where to start. It almost feels like he’s talking to himself more than to you. He’s lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, one arm slung across his stomach, the other still lightly resting on your waist.

You lift your head, looking up at him, but you stay quiet, giving him space to talk. 

“She just… up and left. Told me she was going to visit some family and never came back.” He lets out a short, bitter laugh, his chest rising and falling against you. “I used to sit at the window for weeks, thinking maybe I’d see her pull up one day. But she didn’t. She never did. And I thought, you know, for a long time, maybe it was me. Like, maybe if I’d been better, she would’ve stayed. I don’t know—kids think dumb shit like that, right?”

You feel your heart tighten at the pain in his voice, and you reach up, brushing your fingertips against his chest. He doesn’t look at you, but you can feel him lean into the touch just a little.

“And Ward… fuck, Ward didn’t know what to do with us. He just buried himself in work, left me to deal with Sarah and Weezie. I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing. I was just a kid myself. I never accepted that responsibility, just kept running away from it.”

You can tell this is hard for him. His hand tightens slightly around your waist, like he needs to feel you’re still there.

“When I was sixteen... I started doing coke. Barry—yeah, that Barry—he used to sell it to me. Just to take the edge off, you know? Numb it all out. Ward’s expectations, Mom being gone, having to pretend like I had my shit together when I didn’t. I didn’t care about anything but getting high.”

He pauses, swallowing hard, his jaw tightening. You can tell this part of his story is the hardest to tell.

“I fucked up a lot. Scared the shit out of my sisters. I’d disappear for days sometimes, come home all strung out, and Sarah—God, Sarah would just look at me like... like she didn’t even know me anymore. Weezie was too young to get it, but Sarah? She knew.” He lets out a shaky breath, “I saw what it was doin’ to them. Saw how Sarah would flinch every time I walked through the door like she was waiting for the next disaster. It got bad—real bad.”

His voice drops even lower, almost like he’s ashamed.

“I didn’t want to be that guy anymore. The one scaring my little sisters, acting like a piece of shit. So I went to rehab. Didn’t tell anyone where I was going, just… left. I needed to get clean, for them. For me, too, I guess.”

He pauses, looking at you now, his blue eyes filled with something vulnerable, something that almost breaks your heart.

“I didn’t think I’d ever get out of it, but I did. Been clean since. That doesn’t mean I’ve figured everything out, though. I’m still... fuck, I’m still a mess most days.”

He’s never opened up to you like this before—not like this.You reach out and run your fingers through his hair, the simple gesture calming him a little. He leans into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment. 

“You probably didn’t sign up for all this shit,” he says with a half-smirk, trying to lighten the mood. “Me, my addiction, all that.”

He opens his eyes, looking at you like he’s waiting for something—maybe for you to tell him you can’t handle it. But you don’t say that. Instead, you brush your thumb across his cheek, “I signed up for you, Rafe. All of you.”

“I don’t talk about this shit much. Guess I didn’t think anyone cared enough to hear it.”

You move, propping yourself up on your elbow so you can look him the eyes properly,. “I care,” you say, your voice full of conviction. “I care about all of it. I’m here for you.”

He can’t believe what he’s hearing. 

His hand moves to hold your cheek, pulling you down to meet his lips in a slow, tender kiss. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours.

“You have no idea what you mean to me.”

He kisses you again, this time deeper, his hand sliding up the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair.

His lips trail from your mouth, pressing lazy kisses down your jaw, over your neck. He shifts, pulling you closer, your body molding perfectly to his. “I don’t deserve you,” he mutters, his lips hovering over your collarbone.

You shake your head, resting a hand on his chest. “You do. You deserve someone who’s gonna be there for you.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

You know this is a side of Rafe not many people see—probably no one else does. 

“Good thing you won’t have to find out.”

“You make it sound so easy,” he murmurs, his lips twitching into a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says suddenly, the words spilling out of him in this quiet, almost reverent way.

You can’t help the soft laugh that escapes you as you lean down, pressing a kiss to his nose. “Stop, you’re gonna make me cry.”

He chuckles softly, pulling you closer again, his arms wrapping securely around you. His cheek rests against the top of your head. You’re not going anywhere. And neither is he.

Rafe lets out a disbelieving laugh, running a hand over his face. “I can’t believe your pussy made me trauma dump after sex.”

The crudeness of it makes you roll your eyes.

“Yeah?” You tease lightly, “That what you’re calling it?”

He swallows, feeling that familiar tightness in his throat, but it doesn’t feel as suffocating this time. You’re still here. “No. It’s...you. Just—being you.”

He doesn’t know how to say it any better, doesn’t know how to put into words what it means to finally be seen — not as the perfect son, not as a ticking time bomb — just as Rafe.

But you peck him, simple and sweet.

“I guess I’ll just keep being me.”

The next morning you’re standing in the kitchen, lazily pouring milk over your cereal, still a little giddy from the night before. Rafe left earlier, before anyone was up, whining about how he wished he could stay longer.

As you take a spoon, your sister walks in with Milo perched on her hip, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Monica stops in her tracks, a sly smile creeping across her face.

“Nice hickey you got there,” she says, raising an eyebrow and gesturing toward your neck.

You choke on your cereal like an idiot.

“Uh, it’s just a... a bug bite! A really aggressive bug bite,” you stammer, trying to sound convincing as you awkwardly touch your neck.

Right, you’d forgotten about that after round three this morning.

She laughs, clearly not buying it. “Right. And when am I meeting him? Are you gonna make him sneak through the window again?”

You can’t help but giggle at the mental image. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Monica rolls her eyes, clearly enjoying this way too much. “What’s next? Is he going to slide down a fire escape to avoid us?”

You smirk back, shaking your head. “Only if you promise not to scare him off with your ‘get-to-know-my-sister’ interrogation.”

Milo, oblivious to the banter, tugs at your sister’s hair. “Mommy, can I have a snack?”

“Just finish getting ready for pre-school, buddy!” She turns back to you, still wearing that teasing grin. “Seriously though, when do I get to meet this guy? I need to know if he’s worthy of you.”

You shrug playfully, trying to keep your expression neutral. “We’ll see. Maybe next time he sneaks through the window, you can just happen to be in the living room.”

She gasps in mock horror. “Oh no, imagine the chaos! I might just scare him away on purpose.”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “You’re terrible.”

“Terribly excited! You better let me know when he’s back. I want to be ready to intimidate him.”

“Noted!” You wave her off, still grinning, secretly glad that your sister is supportive—even if she loves to poke fun at you.

For some reason, it doesn’t scare one bit thinking about Rafe meeting Monica and Milo.

[azsazz]

Shots & Spins

Hockey!Azriel x Ice Skater!Reader

Summary: Req from @kristijenner19: I saw you were thinking about hockey!AZ because same. How about a fic where she's a figure skater and they're trying to teach each other their respective sports. Imagine poor Az trying to do a spin/jump/twizzle and a reader who can barely ever make a shot into a goal

Bonus points if they switch their skates and have to re-learn how to skate with the new blade

Warnings: Mild panic attack, mentions of readers injury (torn ACL), trauma from coaches (verbal) mentioned.

Word Count: 3088

Other Fics in the Hockey!Az AU: Penance, Shut Out, Out of Order, All's Well That Ends Well, Brr-eakdown

HOCKEY SZN SOON MY LOVES 💙💙

Notes: I swear I meant to make this cuter but of course, I had to give it some angst 😅

_________________________________________

“What is this?” You question. You’re probably being rude, with your nose scrunched in disgust. With the way you’re holding the pair of skates as far away from your body as possible, you’re pretty sure you look like the biggest bitch on all of campus. But for the life of you, you can’t figure out why Azriel has handed you hockey skates.

“They’re skates,” Azriel answers. You rip your glare from the offending skates at his obvious response. Your heart stumbles in your chest at the sight of his pink lips twitching, begging to reveal that grin he spends most of his time expertly hiding.

You don’t even realize you’re leaning closer in anticipation, so eager to see that smile until the hitch of his breath snaps you back to consciousness.

You rock back on your heels so quickly you nearly tumble over. Would tumble over if it weren’t for Azriel’s quick reflexes, his large hands enveloping your waist and steadying you back on your feet.

“Thanks,” you reply flatly, dipping your chin to the ground to hide your flaming cheeks. There’s not an ounce of amusement in your body.

“You’re welcome.” You don’t like the smugness in his tone or the way he’s playing with you. Tilting your face back up, you muster all the annoyance lancing through your veins at his retort, shooting him the nastiest glare.

“That’s not what I meant, Az, and you know it. Why am I holding a pair of hockey skates?”

Azriel sits on the bench beside the empty arena, and you want to pout. Why would you want to spend any more time at the rink than you already do? You’re bone-fucking-tired and your knee is feeling stiff. You overdid it in practice this week, trying to get back into the shape you were in before the time you’d been forced to take off, and it’s hitting you hard. All you really want to do is crawl home, roll out your muscles, and dive into a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.

When you don’t join Azriel, he says, with a humor you don’t feel, “Don’t tell me you forgot about our little bet. Or how you so gracefully lost it.”

Of course you hadn’t forgotten. Who could forget losing at something as simple as a race across the arena? Afterwards, you tried to blame it on the differences in the ice, how it was colder and harder than you were used to, as it was prepared for the hockey team’s game later that weekend.

A rookie mistake, honestly. One that you’ve been kicking yourself over up until this very moment. Well, if you could kick with your injured leg, that is, you’d be doing just that.

You grind your teeth as a memory rises to the forefront of your mind. Your coach’s voice rings in your head, shrill and reprimanding. Why would you take such foolish chances? You need to get your head in your sport or you’re never going to make it on the Olympic team, let alone the University team.

Shame presses down on you, and your eyes prick at the criticism you should be used to by now. Your private coach from your time before Velaris University, Amarantha, had been very creative with her insults, always coming up with comments worse and harsher to cut down any semblance of confidence you had in your sport.

You bet she’s thrilled that you won’t be back in her presence until you’re healed enough. If you heal enough to relearn the very trick that took you out of the running for the Olympic team in the first place.

It must be a thing, coaches insulting their prodigies. You glance at Azriel from the corner of your eye and wonder if his coach is the same way. If Rhys is brutal with his teammates.

And you hate losing. It was Azriel who you wished forgotten about the bet you’d so stupidly agreed to, but here he is, wearing the same look that got you into this position in the first place.

You take your time studying him as you mull over how to get out of this. Azriel’s broad shoulders take up the space of two people, and his deep, dark hair falls over his brow, growing out into the perfect flow all the players seem to be sporting right now. You wonder if it’s superstition or they actually like the look. His thick lashes sweep as he bats them, and your cheeks take on a pink hue as he pretends to preen under your attention.

“Look,” he all but sighs, giving up his act. He leans back, reaching over to grab something out of sight. When Azriel rightens himself, he holds a pair of figure skates, a sheepish smile on his face. The apples of his cheeks mottle with pink. “I got myself figure skates, so we can both look like fools out there. Together.”

Fuck. The sentiment makes your throat tighten. He doesn’t have to be so damn thoughtful, you’re hardly even friends for Mother’s sake.

“Fine,” you manage when you can speak again. You plop onto the bench beside him. Your knee throbs dully in protest, but it’s nothing you haven’t been able to smother before. You’ve worked through worse conditions than hockey prepped ice, have skated in casts and aches so deep you weren’t sure you’d be able to compete at all if it weren’t for your raw love for the sport and your brutal stubbornness, holding yourself to the highest of standards.

And it’s not like you’re going to be doing your usual tricks. No, that’s all Azriel. All you have to manage is a few forward spirals, twizzles, and perhaps an axel just to show off a little, because there’s no way he’ll be able to recreate all of that in one go.

You just hope your knee stays steady for a few more hours.

The both of you lace your shoes in silence. The hockey skates are so different from your figure skates, you note. The blade is much thicker than you’re used to, more curved too. The boots are shorter, and you grimace at the lack of ankle support.

Not to mention you’re not entirely sure how well you’ll be able to stop without your toe pick.

Azriel leads you to the ice. You step on tentatively, giving the new skates a test. They have a lot more give than you’re used to. They’re not as snug, but easy enough to navigate. Muscle memory kicks in and after a few sluggish runs up and down the ice, you think you’ve gotten the hang of it.

The rest of this bet should be a breeze, especially compared to how Azriel is faring.

His face is contorted with a concentrated frown. He looks stiff as a fucking board, which make you giggle and him complain about. “How the hell do you wear these things? I can barely even move my ankles!”

“Practice makes perfect, young Padawon,” you tease, testing how best to shift your weight on the new blades. The pressure on your knee isn’t terrible, thanks to the looseness of the hockey skates.

“Yeah, yeah,” Azriel waves you off. He trails behind you at a slower rate, focused on getting used to the stiffness of the figure skates on his feet. “Just wait until we scrimmage.”

Ugh, no thanks. This is just perfect for you, the both of you out on the open ice, all alone. You don’t want to ruin this peaceful bliss by bringing your competitive personalities into it.

“I knew if we raced under different conditions I’d have won!” You exclaim, zipping past Azriel again, showing off. He glares playfully, but you’re much too busy admiring your skates to notice the way he’s tucked his lip between his teeth, hiding a satisfied grin.

His toe pick digs into the ice, grinding down as he gets a feeling for the foreign piece, but his eyes stay glued on you.

“Ready for a stick and gloves already, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know,” you throw a smirk back in his direction, crossing your arms over your chest and cocking a brow. “You ready for twizzling?”

“Twizzlers?”

You roll your eyes at his lame joke, but your heart still skips at his wry smile. It’s more than cute. You push off your blade, moving closer to him.

Which is fine, until you try to use your toe pick to stop, only for the realization to hit that there isn’t one on these skates.

You go barreling into Azriel, who catches you in his arms. Your motion throws him off balance and before you even have the chance to squeeze your eyes shut and brace yourself, you’re both falling to the ice.

Azriel hits with a grunt that reverberates through your bones. You’d think that Azriel breaking your landing would be less painful than it is, but with the way the muscle is packed on his body, he’s just as hard as the ice that’s no longer beneath your feet.

“Sorry,” you cringe. It comes out breathless and embarrassment flushes your cheeks, but you’re frozen to your spot and all too aware of how his large, warm hands are wrapped firmly around your waist.

“No worries.” Your lashes flutter as his breathy whisper caresses your face. He’s probably just winded, that’s why he sounds like that. Yes, that’s exactly what it is. “Didn’t think to remind you how to stop.”

“I know how to stop,” you argue, but there’s none of your usual fire tainting the words. You can’t even muster one of your famous glares that you reserve for the normally broody hockey player. You break eye contact as the humiliation begins creeping in. You scratch your nail distractedly down the waffled fabric of his olive colored henley. “I just…forgot, I guess.”

The hitching of his breath in his chest shifts your body and you jolt, the situation slamming into you like a truck.

You scramble off Azriel, grimacing at the sound of your blades clinking against his. His grip loosens, hands falling away as you slip to the ice beside him.

You shoot to your knees, then not-so-carefully climb to your feet. Azriel holds his hands out from where he’s still lying on the ground, like he’s more than ready to catch you again should you fall.

You’re positive the heat of your cheeks could melt the entire arena’s ice right now. You need to get the fuck out of here before you embarrass yourself further. You need to never show your face around here again. You’ve already transferred schools once, what’s one more time?

Azriel calls your name, but you hardly hear him over your racing thoughts. If the sheer embarrassment wasn’t enough, Coach Weaver’s voice now fills the rest of your head, screeching about your recklessness and how you could’ve injured yourself—

He’s quicker than you thought, or you’ve been trapped in your mortified headspace for too long because Azriel’s on his feet, towering over you and pulling you into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” your voice trembles and his hands tighten around you. He lets you bury your face into his chest and pretends not to notice the tears dampening the fabric of his shirt. You’re fucking trembling, and his heart is pounding just as hard.

This is all his fault.

“Breathe, sweetheart, breathe,” he tries to console. He looks around frantically, like one of the sports therapist students or coaches might be walking past the rinks this late at night. There’s no soul in the building besides the both of you, everyone resting for their busy weekends of competitions and away hockey games. “Please.”

You focus on his words, how he guides you, three seconds in, three seconds out. You focus on the soothing patterns he’s drawing down your back, focus on the beating of his heart and latch onto his scent: night-chilled mist and cedar.

“Sorry,” you croak when you finally manage to calm yourself and slide a step back. Your gaze sits pointedly on the ice. You don’t want him to see you like this, a woman who’s about to fucking crumble.

“Don’t be,” Azriel says softly. His hand finds your face, and as much as you don’t want him to, he lifts your chin. You don’t fight it, emotionally exhausted. You should have asked for a raincheck, but you can admit to the fact that Azriel’s gentle touch is a comfort that you can’t help but lean into.

Sad, hazel eyes meet yours. They’re more golden brown than green, a forest of hues backlit by a burst of gold. Your breath hitches as he drags a thumb softly across your lips. They part, even though you don’t mean them to, and the whisper of breath that leaves you passes over his hand, crawls up his arm, and sends shivers down his spine.

“You okay there, sweetheart?”

You’re not sure you can hold yourself together enough to answer his question without completely melting into a puddle at his feet.

Your silence must be answer enough. Azriel takes both of your hands in his own and guides you back toward the bench where you left your shoes. His grip is reassuring, and you’re so tired that you don’t even have it in yourself to sling a witty remark his way.

For what might be the first time in your life, you allow yourself to be taken care of.

You can’t even muster a chuckle at the way he stumbles over the toe pick on his way off the ice, or the way you’re waddling in these skates. You feel anything but graceful and strong right now, but with Azriel’s hand in yours, it’s not as off-putting as you feared it might be.

“Sit,” he says, keeping his fingers clasped around yours as you heed his command. It brings you eye-level to his hands, puckered and pink and scarred to hell. They’re beautiful in every way. He embraces his story, and it’s an incredible strength, one you’re much too terrified of attempting to recreate.

“Azriel, no,” you protest, jolting forward when he lowers himself to his knees before you. You plant your hands on his shoulders, ready to force him away because you’re more than capable of taking your own skates off.

He catches your wrists, and you didn’t think his eyes could soften any more, but they do, and you melt. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Let me take care of this for you.”

You try to swallow past the knot in your throat to thank him but are unable to. Instead, you nod and reluctantly sit back.

Azriel’s gentle with his movements, like you’re a wild doe that he’s helping free from a snare. He unties the tight knots, and your heart pinches when he struggles for a moment. You wouldn’t notice if you weren’t watching so intently, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Like he knows you need to see this.

You carefully keep your mind from wandering into how good he looks like this before you.

He slips the first skate off, and you stretch your toes. It’s a reflex. Azriel smiles, peeking up at you just in time to catch your blush. His gaze ducks away before you become embarrassed, setting your foot down and holding your other ankle, lifting to get to work.

You hiss softly at the ache in your knee.

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” Concern laces his voice, and you’re quick to reassure him.

“No, no,” you cringe a little at the lingering sting. “It’s nothing.”

“Sweetheart.” Azriel says sternly. Seriously. “That reaction wasn’t nothing. What’s wrong?”

You sigh, defeated in more ways than one. You don’t want to admit that the injury that threw your entire career off-kilter is acting up again. You’d rather not have anyone know.

Perhaps Azriel is different. Or, maybe he’s forcing you, because the gold in his eyes is intense, pinning you to your spot. His mouth is set in a straight, firm line. He looks like he means fucking business.

You avert your gaze. You’ve never admitted defeat like this, but if Azriel can wear his scars so proudly, maybe you can too.

“I tore my ACL a few months ago.” You admit, sniffling. You can feel the shock in Azriel’s gaze, but you refuse to look him in the eye. He’s the first person at this school outside of your coach who’s hearing it. You’ve never been so vulnerable, especially with someone you hardly know. You press on nonetheless. “It’s been fine up until now.” A white lie. “But it’s been a little sore since I started practicing my jumps again.”

“How many months is ‘a few’?” He questions, and he’s not going to like the answer, so you opt for brushing over it.

“I’ll go back to seeing my therapist,” you offer instead, but even you’re not too sure how much truth your words hold.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Azriel says, and you don’t want his sympathy, but you’re too exhausted for your usual anger to stir to life. “You need to take care of yourself, before it gets any worse.”

His sentiment has your nose stinging, eyes prickling once again. What the fuck is wrong with you these days? Get it together, girl. You can cry in your own room, not in front of the hot boy who’s helping you with your godsdamned shoes.

You drag your gaze back to his. “I will.” You think.

He studies you for a moment before nodding, accepting your answer whether he believes it or not. You don’t have it in yourself to care right now. No, you just want to be back in the safety of your dorm.

Azriel is even more careful removing this skate and helping you slip into your shoes. He makes quick work of his own, and while his head is down, you admire his stature. Broad shoulders and chest that tapers into a tight waist, an ass for days.

You’re not done drooling over him when he stands, offering you a hand.

You slip your palm into his, ignoring the electricity that zips down your arm. You’re hyperaware of him by your side, and it’s only when he’s absolutely sure that you’re steady on your feet that he drops your hand.

You try not to feel too disappointed at the loss.

“Let’s get you home, sweetheart,” Azriel offers, and you trail him from the arena, your heart feeling a bit fuller with the nickname.

_________________________________________

Azriel Hockey!AU Tags:

@whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog @going-through-shit @crazylokonugget @lilah-asteria @girl-who-writes-stuff @moosemahboi @sherayuki @lyinginameadow @acourtofatboydreams @blackthorngirl @shadowsingercassia @evergreenlark @hannzoaks @bloodicka @whyshouldihaveanam3 @elle4404 @cherry-cin @quinzzelx @i-am-infinite @feeriqueivre @blightyblinders @kennedy-brooke @nyxbranwenn @dee-writes-smut @konaanaria13

[marikamlp]

Were girls always doomed to become what they did?

Spoilers to s03e08!!!

I find it interesting that the three characters who didn't want to come back from the wilderness are the three characters who came home to live exactly the life they feared. It's tragic, yet they're the ones who ultimately make it happen as if there was no real choice, like they were always doomed to live it.

Tai

Taissa tells Van in the Wilderness that she fears they won't be able to be together because the society hasn't changed and progressed that much since they left. But this is exactly what she does once they get back! She ditches Van for "respect" and her "law degree". And as Van says, the tragic irony is that she ends up gay anyway. Not only openly married to a woman, but she's a public figure married to a woman. Yet, Tai is clearly unhappy as she gave up a big part of herself, Van, who is always somehow connected to this free side of Tai, and as I've said in my other post, that's Other Tai. We can see the man with no eyes looking over Tai's shoulder when she tells Van she wants to stay, which could let us assume it's Other Tai's decision. It's a decision based on desires, but that has to be abandoned once they are back in the real society, and Tai needs to bury Other Tai and her desires to follow a rational side of herself. She fears losing Van, and she fears it so much that it ultimately leads to them falling apart and her breaking up with Van.

Shauna

I've seen several explanations as to why Shauna doesn't want to come back, and I want to give my own view on this. I think she doesn't want to come back because she fears becoming "boring" again and getting back to living in the shadow. Shauna keeps on telling everyone how 'boring' they are - Jackie, Melissa, Jeff. But it's truly just that she's insecure about being nobody, and it's something ghost Jackie calls her out on again and again. "So much potential and so little to show for it". When Shauna gets back, not only does she spiral back to living in the shadow of Jackie as she tries to live the life she thinks Jackie would have lived, she also becomes exactly what she destined herself to become when playing sleepover games with ghost Jackie in the meat shed: a housewife married to Jeff. When Melissa talks about all those normal boring things she can't wait to do, when girls dream about such boring, everyday life stuff like toilet and bed and a slushie, Shauna is dissociating at the thought. She's terrified of that possibility of a "normal, boring life" as her mind wanders to the exact image she's dreaming of as an adult in the beginning of the episode: a cashier with nothing to show for herself. She and Melissa live the same life in the adult timeline - a marriage out of shame and guilt, mothers. But Melissa likes it, and Shauna hates it and is constantly looking for a thrill that will let her feel the way she felt in the Wilderness. She doesn't want to give up that freedom but her actions in the Wilderness are exactly what makes her fall back into a boring life with Jeff, holding onto the Wilderness is exactly what keeps her from going for what she dreamt of before the plane crash and what leaves her to be what she feared most - a normal, boring housewife.

Lottie

I find it so tragic that Lottie didn't want to go back because she was convinced that she wouldn't be well back in society. Because she knew she had no life to go back to, that she would just be put in a facility to be dealt with, put on meds that make her probably feel not like herself and that she once again will be lost and made to hide her true self as one with different kinds of conditions often is to adapt to the society that wasn't made for them to live in. And it is exactly what happens. She is put in a facility where she goes through such awful and traumatic experiences like shock therapy. And all that after losing something so close to her heart that maybe was the first place she ever felt at home. The Wilderness. When she says that the scientist "will ruin everything", she means it. She knows that the appearance of outside people means everyone will want to go home, and she can't take it because for her it means she's going to lose home. Nobody will believe her again, nobody will listen to her, and nobody will care for her like people did in the Wilderness. She fears it, and she is doomed to live through it. And not only once, but twice. 25 years later, she again loses her cult, the home she built for herself, only to be sent away to be "dealt with" in a facility.

While Tai and Shauna make choices that make them fall right into their destined end, Lottie doesn't get a say in it, which I think makes her story even more tragic and sympathetic (and I am aware she axed a person and ate their brains out). In the end, the girls are living a Greek tragedy. No matter what they do or don't do, they will do exactly what will land them in those positions. It's fate decided by fatum that they can't escape.

[mintyys-blog]

Hi, hope you're well! Love your invincible headcanons and stories.

I was hoping I could request a mark variants and main mark x reader that's a lot like pearl. But their like full on psycho but in a creepy calm and relaxed way too. They're very collected as well, and smart about what they do. And they have like out bursts or crashouts like pearl, so their not entirely like her ya know, but when they crash out they are fucking horror movie level horrifying. And they prefer to use similar weapons as Pearl too, like an axe, maybe a pistol and a shotgun as well.

HEADCANON | invincible variants with pearl s/o

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST

Main Mark Grayson

• At first, he’s confused by you. You’re quiet, polite, even sweet… but something in your eyes puts him on edge.

• He finds himself oddly drawn to your calmness. It feels like a break from the chaos of his life.

• The first time he witnesses a crashout—blood, screaming, an axe embedded in someone’s shoulder—he’s shell-shocked. He didn’t even hear you come up behind them.

• Tries to rationalize it. Tries to save you. “You’re not a monster. You just need help.” But he’s scared… and kind of fascinated.

• When you’re calm again, he holds you like you’re glass. But he’s always watching for cracks.

Sinister Mark

• Obsessed with you. You’re like art to him—beautiful, composed, and terrifying beneath the surface.

• He doesn’t just tolerate your crashouts. He encourages them. “Go on. Show me what you really are.”

• Will kill beside you like it’s foreplay. If you’re covered in blood, he’s probably kissing you.

• You’re the only person he sees as his equal in cruelty and control. You both play calm, collected roles in public, but behind closed doors it’s pure madness.

• Your axe? He sharpens it for you. Maybe even customizes it.

Mohawk Mark

• He loves chaos, and you bring it in a perfectly wrapped, porcelain package.

• Likes showing you off. He’ll tell people how “gentle” and “quiet” you are… until you start swinging.

• When you snap, he’s laughing, impressed. “Damn, babe, didn’t know you had that in you.”

• You two are like a rockstar couple at the end of the world—lethal, loud, and unforgettable.

• Might try to start fights just to see you lose it. He likes the blood-soaked version of you.

Viltrumite Mark

• At first, he sees you as fragile. Human. Weak. But he respects intelligence, and you’re smart.

• When he sees you kill with such precision and calm—and with a fucking axe—he starts to reconsider that label.

• He doesn’t flinch at your outbursts. If anything, he watches them like he’s analyzing a rare predator.

• “You’re not like the others. I like that.”

• He sees your darkness as strength. Brutality with control? That’s very Viltrumite of you.

Full Mask Mark

• Doesn’t talk much. Just watches. You like that about him.

• When you kill, he doesn’t stop you. Sometimes, he even holds your coat while you do it.

• You two communicate in subtle gestures. The axe hits the floor, he tilts his head. You’re covered in blood, he wipes it off your cheek.

• You terrify everyone else. But with him, it’s almost domestic… in a quiet, eerie, “this is how serial killers flirt” kind of way.

• The mask hides his reactions, but you know he likes watching you work.

Maskless Mark

• He’s broken. You see it in him and he sees it in you.

• You’re the only one who doesn’t treat him like a monster. Maybe because you’re worse.

• He doesn’t try to stop your crashouts—he understands them. He has them too.

• The calm before the storm is his favorite version of you. But the storm itself? He stands beside it, not against it.

• Your connection is raw and quiet and terrifying. You both find peace in the chaos.

Prisoner Mark

• Angry, bitter, and tired. When he meets you, he thinks you’re just another weirdo. Then you kill a guard with an axe and he falls a little in love.

• In a place like a Viltrumite prison? You’re perfect. No one messes with him when you’re around.

• He watches your calm demeanor like it’s the only sanity left in his world. When you snap? It’s biblical.

• You two carve out a space of violence and affection in a place made for death. He calls you “his little executioner.”

• When you talk sweetly after a massacre, he actually smiles. “God, you’re beautiful.”

No Goggles Mark

• Paranoid. Twitchy. You unsettle him… which is saying something.

• Thinks you’re a threat at first. Then starts to need you around. Your calmness keeps him grounded—until it doesn’t.

• Your outbursts make his look tame. He’s scared of you, but he won’t leave. You’re the only one who understands what it’s like to crack and never fully glue yourself back together.

• You terrify him. You soothe him. He loves and hates you for both.

• Your axe? He swears he hears it whisper his name sometimes.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Youth Team IV

Hardersson x Teen!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Your first youth game

The Denmark youth team calls you up on a random day.

Or, rather, they call your mothers who are more than happy to accept.

It's your first youth team call up and you can't help the nerves that settle in your stomach.

At first, everything goes smoothly. You meet the coach and the staff and you get settled in your room.

That's when training starts.

There's two other keepers to play with. They're both on the upper ends of the age range of the team. You're on the lower side.

They're worldly and smart and seem leaps and bounds ahead of you. They catch shots you could only dream of and seem like good friends, already having a solid relationship to pick up every time the international break comes around.

You're the outsider here, the girl that has to fly over from Sweden every time just to play in an international team. The girl that no one else here knows because she plays her football in Sweden. The girl that's so much younger than everyone else and took the spot of one of their friends.

The coaching staff have seen something in you that no one else can see, even you. You're young and untried and everyone keeps looking at you like they expect you to be some great talent.

As of yet, you haven't proven it which is why it's a surprise that you're the starting keeper for the match against France.

It's a surprise for everyone else too, if the way the other two keepers complain is anything to go by.

France is a tough opponent, even at the youth level and while this isn't a tournament, it still sets the bar for the future.

Your coach is trying out new positions and new rotations and new team chemistry. He takes no complaints.

You stay in the starting line-up no matter how many people complain.

You stay in the starting line-up no matter how many of the older girls give you a dirty look during training.

You understand why. You're the outsider here. You're the one taking the spot from their friends. You're the one that's appeared randomly and is taking away chances from others.

The match, as predicted, is incredibly difficult.

France have a good front line.

(One day, all of these girls will be in the senior team against you).

They press high. They press hard. They press fast.

Your defence falls apart before your very eyes.

One time, after a rough training session, Magda told you something in the car.

The goalkeeper is meant to be the very last option to stop a goal. If a defence is good then they should be able to stop a strike before it happens, before it manages to trouble the keeper. The sign of a good defence is when the goalkeeper doesn't need to save a single shot.

But the keeper is also in charge of the defence on the pitch.

The coach can tell the players anything before they're on the pitch but, in the heat of the moment, the keeper needs to remind the defence of their jobs.

Your first half is difficult with your defence making silly mistakes and playing like they've never been in the back line in their life.

France dominated possession and the amount of shots on target with the amount of space your defence has gifted them.

You come off the pitch pissed, unwilling to make eye contact with your mothers as you pass them in the stands.

You don't even want to look in Pernille's direction.

You're playing for her country right now. You don't want to disappoint her. You don't want her to look at you when you inevitably concede to France and lose Denmark the match.

"Hey," One of the older keepers says to you, standing in front of your cubby with her arms crossed over your chest.

You're sat down, leaning back against the wall as you stare at the gloves in your hand. Your energy drink sits next to you, half empty with the small chocolate bar Pernille always tells you to eat to give you a boost of energy in the second half.

Your throat bobs as you look up at this girl.

"Hey," You say back, completely defeated.

She looks at you, eyes roving over your body before she lets out a long suffering sigh.

"If the defenders are playing shit," She says," Then you need to tell them. I suggest yelling, get it through their thick heads that if they can't stop the ball from getting to you then the goal conceded is their fault."

"You want me to yell?"

"Look," She says," I get you're all quiet and stuff but out on the pitch you're in charge of them. If they're not up to your standards then you better fucking tell them."

"I-"

"Plus it helps get some of your frustration out."

Her words circle in your head even as you walk out for the second half.

France dominates again and it's not long before they're bearing down on goal.

You defence is wide open, allowing way too much space and you have to go to ground to save the shot.

Rage boils under your skin as you stand up, marching over to your defence as they mill around waiting for you to release the ball.

"Tighten up!" You snap," You're giving them too much space!"

"Whoa, wait a minute-"

"No! Just close ranks when they come near! Cut them off then and there and I won't have to make the save because if you keep playing like that sooner or later, they're going to sneak one past me!"

You don't give them time to argue back, rolling the ball out to your midfield.

The game ends nil-nil but you don't have to make any more saves and you don't bother sparing your defence a look as you walk off the pitch, making your way right over to the stands, hoisting yourself up and over.

"I'm sorry," You say, head bowed as you stand in front of your mothers," We didn't score."

"I don't think scoring is exactly up to you," Pernille says, reaching out to cup your cheek and pull your head up," You're responsible for not conceding and you did that. A clean sheet on debut. That's a win in my book."

"But not a proper win," You say.

"Let's focus on what you can control," Magda says," You control the goal and the defence. You didn't let a ball past you. You told your defence they needed to tighten up. You did well."

"Really?"

Pernille laughs. "You're too hard on yourself. Now, go down, get showered, get changed. We're going out with your grandparents tonight and we need to tell them about your amazing debut."

[cosmic-glow]

Can't You See The Connection?

Notes: Just a cute intrusive thought I decided to write, but I hope you like it!

Warnings: SFW!! Thanos x GN!Reader; Reader is not Asian, but country of origin not specified! ; No use of "Y/n" ; Reader paints nails ; Soft ; Cute ; Violence mentioned in the series.

You were still having to absorb your current situation. Stuck in a place you have no idea where it is, having to play children's games to survive, surrounded by people you've never seen in your life… all because of a debt. What a load of shit.

For your own benefit, you've always been more of an observer than a talker. So you managed to read some of the players just by watching what they did. Without having to talk to anyone, you discovered that player 333 almost got punched for manipulating his followers into investing in cryptocurrencies (which led to them losing everything); player 456 had played the games before and won; player 230 was a rapper and players 149 and 007 were mother and son.

It wasn't much, but it was something to know who to avoid and who could be useful.

After the first game, the dormitory no longer seemed so full. Not just because of the people who died, but because most of the players were still in shock, the only ones who spoke were those gathered in small groups. You were sitting on your bunk, minding your own business and totally ignoring the brief glances that landed on you.

As a foreigner, you were more than used to your simply different appearance attracting attention. The problem was when they made hostile comments, but as long as they weren't directly said to you, you could ignore them. These damn games were just beginning, it wasn't a good time to get into trouble and be tarnished in the eyes of others if you needed a group in the future.

Because you were ignoring all the stares, you didn't even notice the one that was most persistent on you. Since the end of the first game, Thanos hasn't been able to take his eyes off you. Not only because your appearance stood out, but because when the game was over and everyone was pale with horror after seeing people die because of a stupid game, you were standing just catching your breath. Not seeming at all affected by what just happened, by what you just saw. And that made him curious even though he was a little high at the moment.

Thanos was sitting with player 124, Nam-Gyu. His eyes still on you with curiosity. He analyzed every detail of you that was different from what he was used to. The shape of your eyes, the tone of your skin, the curve of your nose, the shape of your lips… everything was captivating to him.

But something caught his attention as soon as his eyes noticed it. It made him jump as he stood up and walked over to you without even responding to Nam-Gyu's call. You insisted on keeping your gaze down even when he stopped next to your bunk, thinking that it could be some random player wanting to get into trouble for some reason, wanting to avoid that for at least one more day.

- Hey, your nails! They're just like mine.

The soft but excited voice said and then the man stretched his hand in front of your eyes so you could see. In fact, the man painted each nail a color just like you, even if it wasn't the same colors as yours. When you looked up to see who it was, you were met with the smug smile of Thanos, who was waiting for your answer. You really thought about giving a short and cold answer to cut him off and thus get him away from you. He was very noisy and had already started a fight early on, he was the type of player you should avoid. But honestly? He was the only one so far who didn't look at you as if you were an alien, so at the last second you decided to give him a brief smile before answering:

- It's true. Are you copying me by chance?

You said with sarcasm and a slightly friendly tone. And God… it was just a half smile, but Thanos was sure his heart wasn't beating faster because of the drug. He smiled wider as he absorbed the sarcasm and withdrew his hand, putting both in his pockets.

- More likely the opposite. There's no need to be embarrassed if you're a fan of mine.

- Fan of yours? - You raised an eyebrow - Why would I be a fan of yours? I don't even know you.

- Don't know me? I am the legendary rapper Thanos! Come on, you must have heard me somewhere.

- No, no idea.

If Thanos was upset that you didn't know him, he hid it well by just shaking his head, still smiling and letting out a sigh.

- Guess I should introduce myself then, huh?

And without waiting for your answer, Thanos began to improvise a rap introducing himself and talking about how great he was. In a kind of pathetic way, on purpose to make you laugh. He would soon discover that he was becoming addicted to your smile as if it were a new kind of drug, even if you hated yourself a little every time it happened. But you couldn't help it, his rap was so cocky and pathetic that, for a brief moment, you forgot that you were trapped in this place at the risk of your life. You relaxed and just laughed, feeling the brief lightness that the sensation brought.

When he finished, you said your name accompanied by "I'm just…" in front to contradict the cocky way he introduced himself. Thanos smiled and said it was a pleasure to meet you, repeating the "just" in front when saying your name.

He extended his right hand to greet you, you looked at the gesture for a second before shaking his hand with yours. Your colorful nails matched in a way and he liked that, it was as if there was already a kind of bond between you, something that connected you.

- Come to my group. Nam-Gyu is a bit annoying sometimes, but you can tell him to shut up if you want.

You found it funny how he said the phrase in the most banal tone possible, as if he were referring to some kind of pet and not another player, but you accepted the offer and went with him to the other side of the dormitory where the boy was waiting for Thanos in the same place he left him.

As the drug wore off, Thanos noticed more how much he liked your accent, your smile, your voice, the way you sometimes gestured with your hands… it was as if it was simply difficult not to look at you.

And in that moment of sobriety he knew he would do everything he could to make sure you survived the games with him.

Sorry for any typos;

Buy me a coffee?

Masterlist;

Drabbles Game

[theweewooshow]

a spark ignites the room

bucktommy | 1k | rated: M | prompt: kissing out of jealousy

Tommy normally prides himself on not being the jealous type.

His partners have flirted with others in the past and he’s been fine with it—he's liked it even. He’s very secure in his relationships, so he’s liked it with others and he likes it with Evan, too.

There's something kind of thrilling about watching his partner flirting with another guy, knowing that he's going to be the one they go home with at the end of the day, that he’s the one his partner really wants.

When women flirt with Evan while they're out together, it makes Tommy kind of proud, knowing how much people want his boyfriend.

When men flirt with Evan, something bubbles up inside him, a warmth that gets him hard, knowing all kinds of beautiful people can look at his boyfriend, but only he can really touch him, only he can make Evan cry out and thrash in their bed, only he can love Evan the way he deserves to be loved.

So there's no real reason for Tommy to feel jealous right now.

It's a game they play often, going out to clubs and flirting with others. Sometimes he's the one on the dance floor, grinding on random men as Evan watches from a booth, his eyes on him like a hawk, catching every lewd grind, every stray hand groping, every mouth that chases Tommy's as he grins and ducks away.

Tonight, it's Buck’s turn on the dance floor, and he starts out squished between two men, bodies rolling and grinding.

It heats Tommy’s entire body up, Evan looking so free on the dance floor, the way he looks back at Tommy for approval, like he wants to know the guys he picked are hot enough, good enough to dance with tonight.

Tommy nods his approval and watches as Evan loses himself in the push and pull of the bodies around him.

He watches for a while until he gets a text from Lucy—a meme. He grins and texts her back. They go back and forth for a few minutes and when Tommy glances back up, Evan has found a new dance partner and Tommy's mouth goes dry all of a sudden.

It really shouldn't bother him. Evan is just doing what they always do, but this new guy looks like Tommy.

Like, a lot like him.

He's built like Tommy, same height, similar features from what Tommy can see.

It makes Tommy's blood boil.

It doesn't matter when Evan flirts with women or dances with men who look nothing like him at the clubs they go to, but this? Evan dancing with someone who's a dead ringer for Tommy? That makes something in Tommy want to growl and snarl and bite.

He knows Evan likes what he sees when he looks at Tommy, knows his body turns him on. And, of course, realistically, he knows there are other people who turn Evan on too, but seeing him dance with someone who he's attracted to because he looks like Tommy is too much for him.

He's out of his seat and stalking across the club before he's even decided what he's going to say or do.

When Evan glances over, his smile widens as he sees Tommy and that settles something in his chest a little. Not enough to quell the little green monster inside him, though.

The guy looks over and it’s uncanny, the way it's like looking in a mirror.

"This your man?" the man asks Evan, shouting over the music.

Tommy doesn't mean to puff out his chest, but he does.

He is Evan’s man.

"Yep," Evan says. "Tommy, isn't it weird that this guy could be your twin? He's lived in LA his whole life just like you, too."

"Yeah, weird," Tommy says, his hand itching to reach out and touch Evan. Almost like he can sense it, Evan extracts himself from the guy’s loose hold on him and shifts closer to Tommy.

Tommy reaches out and pulls him in close, one hand sliding to the back of his neck.

He can feel the other guy looking at them as Tommy’s slots their mouths together, as he licks into Evan’s mouth, their bodies pressed tight together in the throng of bodies around them.

The jealous ache in him calms down a little, but he keeps on kissing him because one of Evan’s hands is tangled in the curls at the base of his skull, holding him there like he knows that Tommy was jealous, like he likes that Tommy was jealous.

He grinds against him, feeling Evan’s cock hard in his jeans just like he is. He wants to reach down and cup him through his jeans, grind his palm against him until he’s gasping and coming into his underwear, but he thinks that would maybe be a bit too much—even if they could get away with it, surrounded by people who would turn and look and get hard watching them. The thought makes him pulse.

When he pulls his mouth away from Evan’s, his lips are tingling, his mouth sore, his cock leaking in his jeans. Evan doesn't look much better when he gives him a once over, his eyes lingering on his lips, all red and puffy.

“You wanna get out of here?” he asks, leaning his mouth in close to Evan’s ear.

Evan’s nodding hurriedly before Tommy even pulls back.

“Take me home,” he says, and just like that, the jealousy he was feeling before dissipates.

Because it’s him who’s leading Evan out of the club and into the Uber.

Because it’s him Evan chooses to go home with over everyone else here.

Because he’s the one watching Evan undress for him and crawl into his bed.

Because he’s the one covering Evan’s body with his, blanketing him in his weight.

Because he’s the only one who gets to see him like this now, hard and leaking and whining for him.

Because Evan is his.

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