#and this is why they need to talk more to understand each other better

[steddiehyperfixation]

silly little thing for my @steddiebingo prompt: nerds | 758 words | T |

"Hey, maybe he can help," Robin says, sweeping a hand towards Dustin who's just walked into Family Video for his regularly scheduled afterschool bug Steve and Robin time, interrupting their conversation.

"Oh come on." Steve shakes his head. "The kid doesn't want to hear about my trash heap of a love life."

"Oh, no, I absolutely want to hear about that." Dustin perks up at the opportunity to learn about Steve's trivial suffering.

"We're trying to figure out why Steve goes on a million dates but can't seem to find someone he actually likes," Robin fills Dustin in. "Tell him, Steve."

Steve groans, dragging his hands over his face before splaying them out sarcastically, as that's the only thing he can really do in protest right now. Dustin's looking at him expectantly, and Steve has no choice but to tell the kid all about Linda and Heidi and Brenda and Lucy and whoever else he's been out with recently, doing his best to answer any subsequent questions as PG as possible.

"Well of course you haven't found the one yet, you keep trying to date a bunch of normal, basic, girly girls. That's not your type," Dustin informs him once Steve's done talking.

Steve raises his eyebrows. "Oh, it isn't?"

"You can't really be that stupid, can you?"

"No, please, Henderson, enlighten me on what you think my type is."

"You're into nerds," he says like it's completely obvious.

Steve scoffs. "I am not into nerds. You know, just because I hang around you little weirdos all the time does not actually mean I want to hang around even more weirdos in all the other aspects of my life too."

"Seriously, Steve, think about it," Dustin argues. "Think of all the girls you've actually been really genuinely into in your life. They've all been nerds! Nancy-"

"- is not a nerd."

"She's a straight-A student and a journalism super geek. She's a nerd."

Steve rolls his eyes and sighs grudgingly. "Alright, fine, but-"

"And you were into Robin-"

Robin wrinkles her nose. "Ugh, don't remind me."

"-who you can't deny is definitely a nerd," Dustin continues.

"You know what, actually, he does have a point," Robin says.

Steve looks at her in betrayal. "Don't encourage him!"

"That girl you told me about that you liked in middle school who was super into Star Trek, and the other one who wanted to write a fantasy novel one day- oh and the elementary school crush who was always reading a new book every day..." Robin lists, ticking each one off on her fingers.

"I told you all that in confidence!"

"They were all nerds!"

"Exactly." Dustin grins, vindicated and insufferably smug. "Ergo, you, Steve Harrington, need to find yourself a nerd."

"I am not into nerds!" Steve protests hopelessly.

"What more proof do you need?" Dustin says. "You're into nerds."

"Totally into nerds," Robin concurs.

Steve huffs and throws up his hands. "Fine! I'll admit I'm into nerds if it will make you two shut up about it!"

Eddie happens to wander into the previously empty store at that exact moment, catching the tail end of the conversation as he approaches the counter. "What's all this about nerds?"

Steve freezes, glances Eddie over and stares at him strangely for a few long seconds. "Holy shit," he mutters.

His gaze cuts to Robin, whose eyes go wide when she meets his look. "Holy shit," she agrees.

"Oh my god."

"Oh my god."

"Dude."

"Dude!"

Eddie blinks at them. "Are you two having some sort of joint stroke or something?" He looks at Dustin as if the kid might have a better clue of what's going on. "Can you understand them?"

Dustin shrugs, equally mystified. "Don't look at me, man. They're weird."

The incomprehensible parroting conversation is still going on.

"Okay," Steve's saying, taking a deep breath in through his nose and exhaling determinedly.

"Okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay." Robin grins and shoves at his shoulder.

Steve finally turns back around and leans on the counter in front of Eddie with a classically charming smile. "So, Eddie, are you free on Saturday?"

Eddie smiles back despite his confusion. "Yeah-"

"Oh my god!" Dustin bursts out suddenly.

"Oh my god," Robin agrees with a knowing smirk.

Eddie glances at Dustin. "Oh no, not you too."

Steve exhales a long-suffering sigh and pushes himself off the counter, marching around to grab Eddie by the hand and drag him away from Dustin and Robin. "So. Saturday?"

"He's into nerds," Dustin whispers, wide-eyed.

Robin nods sagely. "He's into nerds."

[fishnapple]

Relationship Green flags/ Red flags

This list was a part of another post but I want to make a separated one for it, to serve as a reminder, for myself, and for anyone who needs it. I will update the list if I think of anything more to add.

Green flags

When the couple is also best friends with each other

When they're genuinely curious about each other

When two people walk side by side, not one in front and one behind

They protect each other in front of other people no matter how wrong the other person is (not counting abuse or other legal crimes), but still be able to see the wrong doings clearly.

When both partners put the other's well-being at the top of their priority list

When the first person comes to your mind when you want to share something good or bad is them

When there's a spark in the eyes when they look at the other person

Listen attentively when the other is talking

Ask how you feel

When both can feel comfortable being honest (able to voice their concerns, worries, fears, hidden dreams, aspirations etc.)

Encourage and support each other towards betterment

Celebrate each other's happiness

Keeping their words

Willingness in solving problems

When both are willing to compromise and work together/to face the ugly sides of the relationship or of the self and the other person/ to communicate/ to learn

When both are proactive in the relationship, taking turn to suggest fun things to do, where to go, what to eat etc

All kinds of virtues like honesty, patience, kindness, loyalty, respect, etc. (not just towards you only, but to others in general also)

Love children

Love animal

Consistency: putting in a consistent effort, not being wishy-washy

Fun & humour

Feeling safe in each other's presence

Respect for boundaries and consent

Emotional compatibility

The feeling of being at ease with each other & trust (you can have all the above but without these two feelings, it's kind of meaningless)

and many more.

Red flags

When one is talking and the other is looking elsewhere

When one is in front while the other is behind

Being judgmental and opinionated, about all kinds of topics

Criticising the other person's taste, hobbies, habits constantly. Especially in front of other people.

Calling names (not the cute endearments)

Cruelty & Violence of any kind (obviously)

Silent treatment (refusing to communicate)

Inconsistency

Being avoidant, ghosting (at this point it's not a red flag, it's an ending)

Empty promises. NATO (No Action - Talk Only)

Condescending

Tell you what you're feeling

Unwillingness to compromise/ to understand, unequal effort, one-sided conversations

Lack of care for the well-being of the other person

Lack of appreciation for the other person's achievements and success

When you're low on their priority list ("I will have time for you after I'm done with this or that, after I met with my friends and other important people in my life")

Feeling like you have to tip toe around the other person

Feeling like you have to do something to get the other's attention

Asking the other person for permission to do something like buying something, meeting someone, going somewhere (I'm not talking about getting consent to do something with each other or getting something related to the other person, it's about decisions that normally one can make independently for oneself)

Jealousy & possessiveness (the idea can seem attractive on paper but the reality is usually not)

Demanding to know every secret, every password, getting access to every personal space of the other person

Lack of respect for boundaries and consent

Passivity (waiting for the other to initiate, never initiate anything)

"Why are you doing this to me?", victim mindset, constant blaming

Dating someone while thinking that person is not attractive or up to one's level or vice versa, thinking that person is way above one's level (the idea of "level" is damaging, both ways of thinking can bring illusions, unrealistic expectations and power imbalance)

Lack a healthy sense of self

and many more.

[amutamika]

For some reason, in every of my hc‘s of Moshang, Mobei Jun is the less emotionally and mentally stable. And I know that most fics and headcanons are the other way around. And that is okay. I also love those. Shang Qinghua is also an emotional nervous wreck, always kind of on the run.

It makes sense. He suddenly is in his novel and all his plotholes are coming for him, but also the stuff that should be set in stone is changing ALL THE TIME. He is in a canon fodder body and just like Shen Qingqiu he just wants to survive. At the same time, the system is way less talkative to him, giving him almost no help (not that SQQ got that much more), and also coming way later into his transmigration (the reason being that it is getting its power from LBH’s presence). He cannot relax around Mobei Jun because he doesn‘t know if the ice prince isn‘t killing him one day.

But I also think that changes after the main plot (or at least after the extra chapters) gradually. He no longer fears death by Mobei Jun, he much more sees him as his protector against whatever looms in the unknown future. So he gradually loses his anxiety of dying every other moment. He settles beside Mobei Jun and becomes much more stable over time. The urge to flee at any giving moment subsides.

At the same time, Mobei Jun, who always suppressed his emotions, has the space to let those out. His caring and love for Shang Qinghua is the first emotion, but it snowballs into this whole mass of other emotions, he is unfamiliar dealing with. Now, he is the one, who is afraid of SQH leaving and he is terrified by the thought that something could happen to his husband. Suddenly he is the one with the anxious attachment style, because SQH has left many times, who knows if there isn‘t a next time and if that one might be the last he ever sees Shang Qinghua. And why wouldn‘t he leave? Mobei Jun was horrible towards him for years.

He starts questioning if SQH even loves him or if it isn‘t some weird Stockholm Syndrom thingy. And it troubles him a lot. He wants SQH to be close at all times, but he also doesn‘t want him to be sick of him. And on top of all that he has all those other emotions to somehow handle.

And that is when Shang Qinghua steps in as the emotional support hamster for his husband. He helps Mobei Jun to regulate his emotions, reassures him and yes, he stays by his side at his own volition. He doesn‘t see it a a weakness, but he recognises that his husband needs help.

And who better is there when it comes to emotions. Shang Qinghua has never used his tears sparingly. He is there when Mobei Jun cries for the first time, even though he himself doesn‘t know why he is crying. All the while SQH is holding this man who is way bigger than himself and whispering into his ears that everything is alright and that he can let it all out. And I just know that Shang Qinghua has tears in his eyes, too. It wretches his heart to see the man he loves coming so undone. But he is also happy that he feels safe enough in his arms, to show him this side.

And as time goes on, they slowly manage to lean onto each other. Mobei Jun gets better with managing and understanding his emotions. His anxiety resides, but he will always hold Shang Qinghua in his arms as if it could be the last time, because he just wants him to feel how deeply in love he is. And Shang Qinghua finally opens up to Mobei Jun about his transmigration. He even tells him, how he sculpted Mobei Jun to be his dream man, although his face is in a deep red shade while talking about that part.

And they live happily ever after!

[thetableshavetabled]

I saw a comment u made on another post about andrew drugging neil and I thought one thing u said was rlly interesting -

it was about Roland's and andrews relationship, I'm paraphrasing but I think u said something like Roland wouldn't get the 'yes or no' that Neil does because andrew 1) doesn't rlly care about Roland personally & 2) Andrew has no promise to protect Roland

I agree completely, but I've never seen anybody else say it! Andrew often gets portrayed by fans like he would always ask for consent this way, and I never rlly agreed. I don't think he would ignore Roland telling him to stop or anything, but I don't think he'd be considerate or careful like he is with neil.

If u have anymore thoughts on their relationship or andrew or roland in general, I'd love to hear it :)

Thanks for giving me an excuse to dig into this! To talk about Roland I first want to talk about the fandom's misconceptions of Andrew.

The way some fans try to retroactively frame Andrew's handling of Neil as a universal consent practice completely misses why it exists specifically with Neil. This comes up especially now that AFTG has reached platforms like TikTok, where I often see claims like "Andrew wouldn't have drugged people, he cares about consent" or the Allison incident or even, most insane to me, how Andrew shouldn't have kissed Neil that first time on the rooftop without asking first. These interpretations fundamentally misunderstand Andrew's character.

Frankly, I don't understand why you would bother to advcate that a character is acting out of character in the canon material. That just means you don't like the character, which is fine. "The monsters were never redeemed" (which was the original post where I left my comment) is much more textually accurate and a much better take than trying to sanitize Andrew's actions.

Understanding why Andrew and the other Monsters act as they do isn't the same as justifying their actions and people should be a lot more comfortabe enjoying morally gray characters, or, even better, just admit you don't like them. Fans do that with Kevin, Aaron and Nicky all the time, but with Andrew they struggle because they love this cute little gay ship with their soft kisses and touch him and die trope. The desire to ship Andreil seems to create this pressure to soften and force Andrew into a romance booktok mold when the real beauty of their relationship lies in how they accept each other's sharp edges and scars.

Take Andrew drugging Neil, for instance. We can understand the strategic reasoning (keeping Neil from running, maintaining control, protecting Kevin) while still recognizing it as a violation. The same goes for his violence toward Allison or his blowout at Katelyn or how he treats Aaron. Understanding that these actions stem from Andrew's trauma, his protection mechanisms, and his "nothing" philosophy doesn't require us to retroactively frame them as morally acceptable.

We are repeatedly shown that Andrew is not a character who cares about others' boundaries. From the moment we meet him and right until the end he shows this. Andrew is not a good person, and he is not mentally well. He's complex, traumatized, and his actions make sense within his characterization, even when, or maybe especially when they're morally questionable.

This brings us to Roland. With Roland, Andrew has a pragmatic arrangement that lets him focus on his own needs without managing someone else's trauma or emotions. Their dynamic works because:

Roland is experienced and emotionally self-sufficient.

Andrew doesn't have to manage his emotional state or trauma responses.

There's an established history that makes Roland a "safe" option.

Neil was always going to be different. The combination of Andrew's promise to protect him, Neil's extensive trauma history, and his complete inexperience with intimacy shattered every one of Andrew's patterns. Where others fit into clear categories - threat, asset, occasional outlet - Neil defied classification from the beginning. With Roland, it's pragmatic: they both know what they want and can handle themselves accordingly. With Neil's inexperience and extensive trauma and the deepness of the relationship it shakes up everything. If Roland had shown the kind of ambiguous consent that Neil does on the rooftop Andrew would never have pushed through or done anything but stop immediately, but he wouldn't have worked through it either. He would just simply not have approached Roland again.

It is less about "yes or no" even though i initally used that phrase and most about "I won't be like them. I won't let you let me be." It exists specifically because of Neil's circumstances and Andrew's promise to protect him. It's not a universal approach to consent, it's about their unique dynamic and mutual understanding of trauma.

This ties into a larger discussion of how Andrew sometimes gets "fanon-ized" in ways that smooth over his complexities and contradictions. He is not someone who is conventionally "good" or mentally well, but whose actions make sense within his own internal logic and experiences. The Andrew who shows careful consideration for Neil's boundaries, who gets in the shower fully clothed, who asks 'yes or no', is the same Andrew who drugged Neil, nearly stabbed Nicky, and almost killed Allison. Not to mention driving under the influence and, of course, literal manslaughter.

This is not to say Andrew doesn't evolve as a character, of course, but not in a conventional redemptive way. Without turning this into a full character analysis I will sum it up like this: Andrew's character arc is about him going from nothing to something.

[virginiaisforvampires]

Ahhh to your other anon, do I get to talk about my fav character Louis? You’re so right about people not seeing Louis for what he is and not understanding his character. Anyone simplifying louis into this Weak vampire who feels bad because he doesn’t want to kill humans is doing him a disservice. The man has two wolves inside him, constantly fighting each other. I’m starting to believe people watch this show(or his parts) while their on their phone because that’s the only way you miss things. That whole confessional scene literally spelled out louis character. His self hatred, his guilt, his shame, his need for control, the fact that he’s fully aware of everything but lies to himself to make himself feel better because it’s too hard to deal with the truth(my delusional king ♥️) He’s a hypocrite and you’re supposed to love him for it. There’s a reason why everybody loves it when Louis lets loose. He’s cold, calculating, cruel, vindictive, petty but he’s also warm, loving, forgiving, understanding and so much more!

Also, Louis being an unreliable narrator ≠ liar! No!!!! He didn’t make everything up!

I also hate when people put Louis on a pedestal and make him out to be “the good vampire” and therefore expect him to be the morality police. You’re falling into the trap he’s made for himself. Also by doing that they make Louis out to be either THE big bad villian or mother Theresa. Where’s the nuance? Where’s the complexity? Why is it either or?

How many times does lestat have to tell Louis (and the audience) to stop fighting his true nature? That’s why us Louis fans are so excited about “I own the night/I didn’t know it was a gift” Louis is finally starting to accept himself and we get to witness it!!! Louis is a heavily repressed character, he’s never lived for himself but always for other people. Claudia asking him “who are you Louis?” Is also important. Like sorry y’all are not picking up on the complexity of Louis character.

Also are the writers trying to be too clever or is the audience too simple minded? It’s a little bit of both I think

"Why is it either or?"

That right there. That is the heart of the matter. Any nuance or complexity or contradictory elements within Louis (and really all the characters) are met with morality judgement and temper tantrums. It's silly.

I can't imagine watching this show and watching what Jacob has done with Louis and coming away from that extraordinary performance of an extraordinary character and reducing Louis to.....what this fandom has largely reduced him to. 😑

But again, that's their misfortune. I love Louis when he's both soft and hard, and that's kinda the entire point to his character. He's multi-layered with both good and bad elements, so richly deep, so mult-faceted.

I like to think of Louis (and Lestat) as a glorious stained glass mosaic sculpture of art. When the light is dim, you can see the cracks and the imperfections, but when the light shines through, you see nothing but illuminated brilliance reflecting all hues of the color spectrum, and those cracks and imperfections just make them reflect all the more brilliantly.

Louis is Louis is Louis. People better put respect on his name and on everything his name encompasses, because it all knits together to make Louis Louis. ♥️

[weneeya]

missing hours m.list | rules

pairing. logan x reader

note. I had this idea with logan for a while so, I hope you'll enjoy it!! please feel free to request <3

The Wolverine. He was a legend, one of the XMen ; actually, he was the XMen. A rude man who lived thousands of years and who seemed to not care about anyone or anything. And there he was, completely pathetic at this bar. Sitting at the counter, he was drinking and making himself miserable. The reason was simple : you weren’t here anymore. It was more than enough to drink until he couldn’t think straight anymore. 

Logan never thought he would care enough about someone to go this far, but apparently he was wrong. God knows how many times he laughed at Scott’s face because of his relationship with Jean ; and yet he was no better himself. A long sigh left his lips as he closed his eyes, your face almost immediately coming back to his mind. You were like a virus invading his brain. 

You were sleeping when you heard your phone ringing. You cursed silently at your own stupidity for not turning it off, grabbing the device to answer the call without even looking at who was calling. “What is it?” You asked, voice half asleep, slowly rubbing your eyes to try to emerge a little. 

When he heard your voice from the other side of the phone, he felt his heart pounding in his chest. He almost forgot how soft you sounded when you were waking up. He stayed silent for a while, maybe a bit too long because you started to talk again, waiting for an answer. 

“It’s Logan,” he said, and it made you stop in a second. A sigh left his lips before he kept on explaining himself. “I don’t have a reason… Guess I needed to hear your voice, bub.” The silence after his words made him feel a hint of embarrassment. He felt a bit stupid right now ; maybe calling you wasn’t a good idea. Well, of course it wasn’t but… 

“You shouldn’t be calling me,” you started, and it broke his heart. He knew you were right. It was more than obvious that he should not have called. Not tonight, and not ever. Yet, he wasn’t able to forget you. You were occupying his mind all the freaking time and it was driving him crazy. He cleared his throat, to make clear that he was still on the other side of the phone. 

“You’re drunk, Logan,” you said, way too softly for him to handle it correctly. “You’re going to regret this in the morning.” This time, your words hit him like a truck. Regret? No, it was impossible. It was the last thing he could ever think about it towards you. “Never. There’s no way I’d ever regret talking to you.” 

It had no sense, all of this. This situation was far from making any sense. How did you end up with your ex boyfriend sitting on your couch, drunk enough to do any stupid decision passing through his mind. You were sitting next to him, the air thick and the tension more than present between the two of you. You didn’t even know what you offered him to come so late. 

Logan cleared his throat before his eyes met your profile, taking a look at you. It’s been so long since he saw you from this close, it was almost like a fever dream for him. “Listen, I…” He started but, when your eyes met his gaze, the words got caught in his throat. 

“I miss you. Every single day, and every single night. No matter what I’m doing, I just miss you all the time.” You started to say, and he felt a hint of hope inside of his chest. So he wasn’t the only one with those feelings? You were living it just like he was himself? So why does something felt so off? He couldn’t understand it. 

“But we can’t do this anymore. We’re hurting each other Logan, and you know it,” you slowly grabbed his calloused hand between your two delicate ones. He could tell how you felt just by looking into your eyes ; he was reading you like you were an opened book. It was way too obvious for him, so hearing those words coming out of your mouth was a pure torture. 

Logan seemed to be searching for his words. The so confident Wolverine was a mess when he was trying to make up things with you. “We were too young, and…” You didn’t give him the opportunity to finish his sentence, a slight chuckle leaving your lips. “Young? You know damn well that the problem isn’t here.” Oh yes, he knew itt. You yelled at him more than enough to understand where it was ; but he wasn’t able to do anything about it. 

“Nothing makes sense if you’re not here. Come on bub, don’t tell me I’m wrong.” Of course he wasn’t wrong. In fact, he had never been more right in his entire life. You came a little bit closer, not thinking too much as you left a kiss against his cheek. The moment after, you were standing up from the couch. You looked at him, and the soft smile on your lips destroyed everything in his chest.

“You can sleep here tonight,” you told him, and Logan understood that the conversation was done for the night. He took a sip of water from his glass before looking back at you for a moment, the corners of his lips slightly rising in a discrete smile.  

“Good night bub,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Good night Logan”, and in those words, you disappeared from his vision in a second. It was easier that way. He was way too drunk to have any serious competition anyway. So you left him on the couch without saying anything more. 

He thought about it, about you until he fell asleep. He didn't know where it would be going, but he had this hint of hope in the heart. Who knows, maybe tomorrow was another day. 

thank you!

[barbwritesstuff]

Okay, so, cat out of the bag, let's talk about it.

Here's the first half of this spoiler:

Lucius kills Nathan at the end of Chapter Twelve.

I've received more messages about this than anything I've ever written (except maybe Alek's death in Blood Moon) so I want to take a moment to address some of those.

No.

If Nathan is in the room, Lucius will kill him.

I'm not sure about this. I need to do some thinking and play testing and decide if there is going to be a proper alternative path around this. I'm not 100% sure if I want there to be an alternative at this stage.

There is one way to bring him back.

Which brings me to the second half of this two part spoiler:

MC can turn Nathan into a vampire.

I decided over a year ago that I wanted the MC to have to make a choice between losing a human, or turning them. Of all the human characters, Nathan is the one that has the most to lose from this transformation... and so he's the one with the most narrative potential.

It's been in the code for a while, and I've been hinting to it a wee bit in Nathan's route.

However, I understand that some people don't like this/didn't have the best time at first/are a little on the fence about this. I totally get that.

I didn't do it to punish the player. I promise. I did it because I thought it would be the best story for that character and would fit with the themes of the bigger, broader narrative.

This I think I need to explain because I really think I fucked it up.

Yes, there was a version of the demo in which Nathan seemed to survive... at least until Chapter 13.

In my first draft of Chapter 12 he died right at the end just like he does now. Then, because the tone of Chapter 13 was a bit lighter, happier, I thought maybe it would be better if he death happened at the end of Chapter 13. So, I changed it, which resulted in a version of the demo where he survived Chapter 12 ,and when the player can send him (clearly bleeding) to hospital or ignore him.

In this version, Chapter 13 ended with Lucius mocking MC, telling them that their weak fledgling ears hadn't noticed that Nathan's heart was struggling. He was dying, either way.

But... I didn't like this. It felt like either he'd die off screen, which didn't feel right for the character, or he'd die in front of you if you didn't actually care about him, which meant players who witnessed his death would probably not be players who were romancing him, or very interested in resurrecting him.

So, I added a 'grief' variable, toggled out all the happier stuff in Chapter 13 for grieving characters, and reverted back to Plan A... and that unfortunately meant people saw a version of the game where it seemed like Nathan could be saved and then played again and he died which... wasn't great on my part. I'm sorry.

However, despite my awful execution, I have gotten a lot of positive messages too.

Which, honestly, I've needed these messages. I've been a little worried that I messed up big time, so it's really reassuring to know some people are vibing with this idea.

Here's some other FAQ:

I don't see why not. They can totally nibble on each other once Nathan's a little more comfortable... but that might take a bit of time. He's still processing, still angry.

The tattoos are a thing I ummed and ahhed about a wee bit. Because vampires heal perfectly... as long as they have all their bits. This meant, in order to destroy the magic in the tattoos Tracy and MC had to cut out bits of his skin (because vampires don't regenerate, aka, grow back new limbs or organs or skin tissue). So, Nathan will always have red lines running through his tattoos where slices of his skin were removed in order to break the spell. They won't 'heal' properly because there's missing flesh.

I hope that makes sense.

I don't know if there is a version of the game where a not-vampire Nathan is there for the final showdown with the king. I need to do some replays and figure out if it's possible. It may be, in which case... yes. He'll get the kiss.

This would be so funny, and yes, technically possible.

One final note to end on.

I love you, anon.

Is it time to talk about the thing?

You know.

The thing.

The elephant dead guy in the room.

[feroluce]

“-and that's why I ain't allowed in Pier Point no more!” Boothill throws his head back and cackles, somehow completely comfortable on the bare floor of the archives. He's the very picture of ease, his arms behind his head, his legs bent and crossed.

Dan Heng barely looks up from his notebook, not much surprises him anymore after the first few tales of lawless exploits. “So they really have that many laws and restrictions there.” 

“And prob’ly a few more now that I've been through there! Heck, ya think they named any after me? I'm hopin’ so.” There's so much smug cockiness seeping through his voice Dan Heng could bottle it.

Silence settles in, stretches out. Dan Heng doodles pensive circles in the corner of his page.

He shouldn't ask. It's a private matter. It's none of his business. He of all people should know-

Something pokes his shoe, and when he looks up, Boothill has stretched one arm up to tap metallic fingertips against his foot. “Ain't like ya to hesitate.” With his head tipped back on the tiles and gazing at him upside down, Boothill's hair is out of his face and spooling out all over the floor, offering a rare view of his right side. His right eye is sealed over with a pitch-black patch, stark against his skin. Dan Heng wonders what he looks like behind it. “C'mon, then, out with it. Spill the beans, brother, just say it.”

“What does ‘Boothill’ mean?”

The man blinks at him, the crosshair in his cybernetic left eye flickering. Dan Heng shifts, smooths out his long coat. “I tried to look it up once. It's not in any database as a name...other than your wanted posters.” There's a thread beginning to fray near the hem, he should sew it up. “I couldn't find it anywhere.” 

He nearly takes it back, but- “Heh, ya that curious about me, darlin’?”

Dan Heng quickly levels his face into the most impassive, nonplussed expression he can muster, but Boothill has already turned away, head pillowed on his arms and face once again turned to the ceiling.

“But nah, ya wouldn't. Hah, like they'd allow any record of the language, fudgeheads.” One arm sweeps around blindly until it finds the edge of Boothill's hat, sets it back where it belongs on his head. Dan Heng shuffles around, scoots a little closer, but the brim is pulled too low to see his eyes anymore.

“It's ‘cause it's not a name. It's a noun.” All that's visible of his face is a sharp grin, pulled too tight at the edges.

“It's my people's word for a grave.”

Dan Heng's pencil stops.

“It's the kinda grave fer someone who died with their boots on. If ya catch my drift there.” Boothill's foot starts to bounce. “There was a war, and it got reeeeeal intense, yup. Folks started droppin’ like flies, ‘n’ there was bodies faster'n what we could bury ‘em.” A cooling fan kicks on somewhere. Dan Heng is pretty sure it's not any of the Express equipment.

“We lost some real good people there, real good. Mighty shame.” His hidden Vidyadhara ears detect a quiet metallic click, a whir, pressurized gas. Boothill's next words waft steam from his angry circuits into the air. “When I left, I decided to leave my name there, too. Didn't feel right otherwise. The life I lead now is a whole ‘nother existence.” And then Boothill turns his head, raises his hat, and Dan Heng suddenly feels pinned dead center, caught in that crosshair.

“Ya know what I mean, don'tcha?”

Dan Heng swallows.

Does Boothill know? Who he is and who came before him? There had been that moment in the Penacony Grand Theater, after he activated the Jade Abacus… Dan Heng had tried to shoo him out, keep him from seeing anything, but Boothill has the astounding ability to turn up exactly wherever people are trying to keep him away from.

If he did see, does he actually understand it? Does he know what a High Elder is? Does he know about the sedition of Imbibitor Lunae, the transmutation arcanum, everything Dan Feng had done and Dan Heng was punished for?

He doesn't want to explain it all. Not now. Possibly not ever, truth be told.

And it's not the same as Boothill leaving behind his old identity when whatever event happened that caused him to leave home. Not really. But…

But so far, Boothill has slid so easily into Dan Heng’s routine. His presence never feels like an intrusion. He's already figured out what he can push and when to back down. And even Dan Heng finds himself able to roll with whatever punches Boothill throws with baffling ease. They share too much in their methods and ideologies, and sometimes Dan Heng knows what Boothill will do seemingly before even Boothill himself knows.

“...Tell me about Talia and the Nailscrap Town.” Boothill must know he's avoiding the topic. He must. But the man just throws his head back and cackles, melting easily back into what they had been doing before, as he speaks fondly of a planet that Dan Heng has never visited.

Not today. But.

Dan Heng inches just a little closer, just enough to nudge his foot against a metal leg. Boothill doesn't pull away.

Maybe someday.

[some-pers0n]

Every once in a while I think about the ship I've been obsessed over for close to two years now and feel like I'm ascending to another plane of reality. Like sometimes you just encounter a ship that hits every single mark and is perfect in every regard and you're left stunned how something like that can even exist

[marc--chilton]

(mgv) even when they're helping each other with their cycles they're still..... open? i guess? they're not exclusive, or dating, or even bondmates, which is.... fine. wilson sometimes tries to encourage house to look for a serious partner, which house tends to flake on most of the time. hookups are one thing but a serious thing, ehhh.... house does not return this sentiment for wilson when he has someone new on his arm. the fact house keeps himself from growling at her is as far as his good deed goes on that front.

[sysig]

UI Special Feature! (Patreon)

[radiumrat]

Nobody asked but white supremacy is the reason why white women are obsessed with true crime.

So when chattel slavery was becoming cemented in the United States and other European areas, the idea of biological race and racial hierarchy emerged to justify the generational enslavement of Africans and the genocide of indigenous people. Africans and other non-whites were labeled as less developed, more susceptible to their "primal urges" and committing sex crimes and therefore needed to be controlled by white men. Specifically to protect white women.

White supremacy is typically framed as necessary to 'protect' (read: control) white women, the mothers of the next generation of whites. They must be protected from "sexually voracious black men" (read: miscegenation and mixed race children). So white supremacy operates on the myth that white women are constantly under threat of sexual violence and must be protected by white men.

That myth becomes baked into the public consciousness, many unaware of the origin or even that the idea is there. It even becomes less racially based, but there is still a common belief that white women are inherently vulnerable to violent crime. Especially among white women. To be fair, it's difficult to not internalize an idea that you are not exactly aware of but is still seeped in every interaction and bit of advice. Don't wander off, don't talk to strangers, don't go out alone or late at night, cover your body, hold your keys between your fingers, take self defense, watch your drink, don't be under the influence. Your body is soft and valuable and delicate and you must protect it.

This idea of vulnerability is reinforced in the news media, which chooses to focus on stories which fit this particular narrative of white women's vulnerability. Missing white women syndrome. This subconscious belief has saturated society. White women develop an outsized fear of death by violent crime. So what do they do? They embrace it. They eat up stories of families like theirs and the deaths of women like them.

It's been suggested that experiencing that fear of violence in the controlled environment true crime provides can be cathartic, somewhat like watching a horror film. There is also a sense of justice and closure felt when the perpetrator of that crime is punished.

In conclusion; White women love true crime because it's a coping mechanism for their deeply embedded fear of violence which was established and is upheld by white supremacy.

[blodeuweddschild]

Imo most of the time a child should decided to do/not do something not because they know their parents don’t want them it and they’re scared of the consequences, but because their parent has explained why something should/shouldn’t be done in a way the child understands and makes sense to them. And consider if you can’t find a reason to explain to your kids, maybe there’s no reason at all and your rules are arbitrary

[frostbite-the-bat]

remembering old fandoms and rps and aus i had and im realizing this isnt the first time an au version of frostbite interacted a lot with someone who at least in text had a quirk that does something to the letter s which is ironic considering their name

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - SIX

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mention of pregnancy; abortion; lack of self-care; drug and alcohol addiction;

Rafe had been clean for the past three years.

Over the course of the year, things between him and you had been smooth sailing. 

It was almost easy, something he wouldn’t have believed a few years back when everything he touched seemed to go up in flames. There’d been a time when he was just too much—angry, impulsive, doing all the wrong things for all the wrong reasons.

He’d been selfish, reckless, it was intense, way too intense, and when you fought, it was like you were both throwing grenades, just waiting to see who’d blow up first. You’d pushed him away, he’d pushed you harder, and you’d both crossed lines that should’ve never even been close.

Eventually, both of you learned to talk instead of shouting, learned when to back down instead of pushing buttons just to get a reaction. You’d gotten better at letting each other breathe. He’d pull back when he felt himself getting heated, and you’d do the same.

It wasn’t perfect; sometimes you’d still get into it, still end up in an argument that felt like old times, but it was different. There were no more lines on the bathroom counter, no disappearing at all hours. 

Until Ward died. 

Rafe didn’t know what the fuck to feel when he got the news. He knew what he was supposed to feel, right? He’d done it before with his mom, now it was his dad’s turn. The man who had raised him, the one to teach him everything he knew about how the world worked, even if it wasn’t pretty. 

Ward was a hard man, a strong man. The kind of guy who commanded respect, even if he didn’t always show it the way others might expect. But that’s the thing, he was a man of respect. 

To Rafe, that meant something. Everything. 

Ward had shaped him, he couldn’t just forget that, couldn’t act like that wasn’t important.

At first, you were there for him, no question. 

He knew you hated Ward, you barely tolerated the thought of him even existing in the same room as you. You spent those first few weeks with him, making sure he didn’t spiral back into the shit that nearly destroyed him. He needed the support, even if he didn’t always know how to ask for it.

You were there, holding it down. You got through it, the late-night talk, but then, you started getting distant.

At first, it was subtle—small things. He’d catch you looking at him like you didn’t quite get him anymore. You’d pull away when he needed you to listen, when he was ranting about Ward, and even though you tried to hide it, Rafe could see the dissociation.

He pretended he didn’t sense it, tried to tell himself you’d come around. 

After all, this was his grief, and no one else was going to understand it the way he did. His dad had been everything to him—maybe not in the way you thought he should’ve been, but that was just the reality of it.

For the first time in years, it felt like you weren’t there with him. It didn’t make sense to him how you couldn’t see it. 

Ward had been a tough guy, sure, cruel sometimes, but he was also a provider, a father who tried to teach him how to survive, even if it didn’t always come wrapped in the right way.

He wasn’t perfect, but he was the only father Rafe had ever known. He was gone all of a sudden and that was what had hurt the most—knowing he’d never get the approval he’d always been chasing, even when he was clean, even when he was doing better. There was no fixing that. 

He wanted to mourn in peace, but no one seemed to understand why Ward still mattered to him, not even Sarah.

Three weeks after the funeral he spent his days surrounded by a few bottles of scotch he’d stolen right out of his dad’s stash. Who was gonna stop him now, anyway? He almost laughed. Three years clean. Shit, that was something, wasn’t it?

He’d had people telling him he wouldn’t make it three weeks, let alone three years. Shit, his dad sure didn’t think he’d get this far. Only you.

Rafe squinted at the amber liquid swirling in his glass, then leaned back in the worn leather of his dad’s old armchair. It felt weird being in here, in his chair, in his office, breathing in that persistent smell of old cigars and varnish.

After the whole “funeral”, with everyone looking at him like he was a wild animal about to snap, this was the only place he could sit without someone judging him.

If you’re so clean, why are you drinking yourself half to death? He took a slow sip, letting it burn down his throat. 

It wasn’t like it used to be, that high that hit fast and hard, and didn’t care if it broke him apart.

This was different, a slower, quieter process.

Besides, he was in control this time. Just a drink, he told himself, fingers tightening around the glass. No powder, no pills. That was progress.

So what if he had to take the edge off? Who wouldn’t, if they’d just said goodbye to their only living parent and had to look at their younger sisters crying like that? 

He was practically swimming in alcohol. Rafe knew he was overdoing it, but he didn’t care.

Every time he saw himself— on a window, mirror, whatever—he had a drink in his hand, and something about it just felt terrifyingly right.

Grounded.

Nobody understood him; they just kept looking at him with that worried face, like he was on the verge of losing it like he used to when he was younger. Maybe he already had.

You watched him—really watched him—and yeah, he could tell you were pissed. He saw it in that little wrinkle between your eyebrows every time he took another sip. But you didn’t say anything. 

Even Wheezie was on his case in her quiet way.

She was hanging around, throwing out old jokes and trying to make him smile, but he barely reacted. She was looking at him like she was scared, as if he was some stranger she was trying not to set off. And he hated that—God, he fucking hated it. So he kept his distance, hoped she would back off, let him get through this his way.

But then came that night at the beach bonfire, when everything changed.

He probably shouldn’t have gone, but he needed to get out and feel normal again—even if that just implied showing up and pretending, he was fine. He dragged you along, flashing that cocky grin you could see right through, but you followed anyway, probably just to keep an eye on him. He could feel it—the way you were watching him, worried as hell, that just made him want another drink.

Half the people were staring, too. Waiting to see if he was gonna go off, if he was back to the same volatile Rafe he used to be, the one they loved watching spin out. And just when he thought he could ignore it, some random pogue, scruffy, half-drunk, threw out a comment loud enough for the whole group around him to hear.

“Guess Ward Cameron finally found some gold he couldn’t buy his way out of, huh? What was he thinking, running off to some country where people don’t just take bribes? Practically killed himself.”

It took everything in him not to lunge right there, but he was too plastered to keep the anger off his face. He pushed his way over to the guy, hands clenched into fists.

“You got something you want to say to my fuckin’ face?”

The guy shrugged, muttering something under his breath, people were looking now, everyone watching to see if he was finally going to give them a show.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was shoving him back, hard enough that the dude stumbled, beer splashing out of his cup. The crowd around them stirred, murmurs, but nobody did a thing—they were just staring, waiting to see the blood spill. He felt tempted to hurt someone, felt that cameron fury crawling up his throat.

It didn’t matter that he was twice as drunk as he should be; all that mattered was the way his father’s name was rolling off this nobody’s lips.

He felt you grab his arm, long nails digging hard enough to pull him back, he jerked his shoulder, trying to shake you off, but you weren’t letting go.

“You’re gonna waste your time on him?”

Rafe gritted his teeth, but you didn’t give him a chance to argue. You hauled him back, forcing him away from the guy, who was still standing there with that smug look plastered on his face. 

“Get out. Now,” you urged him, voice calm but with the tone that even he didn’t want to test. He glared at you, mouth opening to argue, but you didn’t let him get a word in. “Rafe. Now.”

You were mad at him.

It was enough to knock some sense into him, and he let you reel him away, but not before you turned back.

“And you,” you called out, enough to silence the chatter around you. “Keep your fuckin’ mouth shut.” 

There was no bluff, no hesitation, and Rafe watched as the pogue’s smug expression dropped instantly, eyes widening as he realized you were dead serious, your family’s name always had an impact around town, old money and all.

As you dragged him to the car, he muttered that he didn’t need you playing bodyguard, but you ignored it, taking him out of the spotlight he hated but couldn’t seem to avoid.

His head was spinning, his blood boiling, and he couldn’t even look at you, not with how angry he felt.

By the time you pulled up to his house, you got out, guiding him inside with that hard, that silent determination he both hated and admired in you. 

You were there, right behind him with that look on your face—angry, disappointed, like he was missing something big, as if he was the one who didn’t get it.

He stumbled into the bathroom, holding himself against the sink, and before he could even catch his breath, you turned on the faucet and splashed cold water in his face. He jerked back, sputtering, wiping it with the back of his hand. When he looked at you, his anger burned again.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he snapped.

“My problem?” you scoffed head already shaking, “Are you serious?”

“You don’t get it,” he growled, barely controlling the rage, the shame—everything. “You don’t know a fuckin’ thing about him. I had the right to defend him.”

You took a step forward, finger pointed at your chest, “Don’t I? Because I remember standing in this very house, watching him tear you down every chance he got. You’re so busy mourning this man who treated you like shit, that you’re pushing the people who care about you away. It’s not just me. It’s everyone.”

Rafe laughed bitterly, the sound humorless. “Oh, here we go,” he muttered, rolling his eyes as he turned back to the sink, gripping the edge hard enough to make his knuckles turn white.

“Don’t you dare roll your fucking eyes at me,” you retaliated, stepping up beside him. “I stood by you through all of it, I’m not gonna stand here and watch you kill yourself because of him. He’s the reason you felt like you had to be so perfect all the time, why you’re always trying to prove yourself to people who don’t deserve it. And now he’s gone, and you still can’t see it. You’re still trying to be good enough for him!”

He didn’t look at you, didn’t want to see the indignation—or worse, the pity—in your eyes.

“Just stop,” he muttered, but you were past listening.

“No, I won’t stop. I can’t. I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself again. You’re better than this.”

He suddenly pushed himself away from the sink, and turned to face you, his blue eyes practically black with a hurt that was older and deeper than either of you could touch.

“You don’t get to stand there and tell me what I deserve.”

“I know what you deserve.” 

He scoffed, rolling his eyes again, though his face had gone a shade paler. “You think you know everything, don’t you?” he sneered. “Think you know what’s best for me? Get off your high horse.”

“You’re damn fucking right I know better than you do, I’m not the one who’s drowning every night in some pathetic tribute to a man who wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.”

He could feel it now, the bitterness you’d been hiding for weeks. It wasn’t just about him drinking himself stupid. It was everything—every fucking thing you’d been ignoring, it had festered between you two while you pretended things were okay.

“You’re the one who’s just tired of me, of everything that comes with me.”

You took a step back, eyes narrowing, but you didn’t flinch.

“What?” Your rage momentarily dialed down, the sound gurgling, “You think I’m tired of you? I’ve been here this whole time, trying to make you see the truth, but you won’t even look at me. You won’t let me in. You’re too fucking blind to notice.”

His breath was shaky, too fast, but he didn’t care. “So now I’m blind, huh? I didn’t see you sneaking out the door when I needed you? I didn’t notice how you pulled back, how you stopped giving a fuck about me? You’re just waiting for me to give you an excuse to leave.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he wasn’t done.

“You don’t get it! I didn’t need you to fix me, I needed someone to stay. But instead, you—" His voice cracked, the anger choking him up, "Instead, you started to make me feel like I was a b-burden. Some mess you had to clean up. How am I supposed to deal with that, huh?"

You were shaking your head, your eyes had already been filled with tears, your chest suffocating.

“I’ve been here. I’ve been standing right next to you, waiting for you to pull your shit together. I didn’t walk away. You did.

His stomach churned, as if you’d taken every inch of space in his chest and twisted it, just for fun. The worst part was, he couldn’t even argue with you. Not really. He had been so wrapped up in his own shit, so obsessed with keeping everyone out, that he hadn’t even seen how far you’d already gone.

“Don’t. Don’t you dare try to make this about me,” he spat, the words ugly in his mouth, it felt like they were scraping their way out of him. “You don’t get to make me the villain in your story just because you’re tired of playing my fucking hero.”

“I’m not trying to play the hero!” you screamed, stepping closer, your eyes were cold. “I’m trying to help you see that you have to fix this. Not me. Not anyone else. But you. And if you’re so fucking broken you can’t see that, then maybe you really don’t need me.”

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Rafe could feel his heart racing, that agonizing coil in his chest, but he couldn’t stop.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said, voice quieter, but just as venomous.

He turned his back on you, walking to the door. The sound of his boots clamped against the wood floor like a countdown.

“Maybe I don’t. Grab your shit and go.”

"Don’t you fucking—" you snarled, but he was already moving, grabbing your jacket off the hook by the door and throwing it your way, “You know what? Fine. Maybe I will.” You shoved that stupid thing on, hands shaking as you yanked the zipper up. “Don’t come running back in two days like you always do. Don’t come crawling back.”

Rafe paused, hand on the doorknob, his jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle ticking.

He didn’t turn around, didn’t look back at you.

“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.”

“Good. Because I stopped feeling sorry for you a long time ago,” you replied sharply, every syllable punctuated with weeks of resentment. “What I feel now? That’s just disappointment.”

You watched his shoulders lock up; his whole body wound so tight it was like he was one wrong look away from completely losing it. He didn’t turn around either, even as you slipped out the door, but he knew.

That was it.

Two moths later, almost three, he was standing in front of the ER pacing like a complete fucking idiot after you passed out in his arms earlier.

He’d told himself he’d stay away, make it easy for both of you. 

That shitty plan had gone down the drain once he saw you speed away at that party with absolutely no regard for your safety or Topper’s. He’d seen that wild look in your eyes before—the one that said you were about to burn it all down. Or when your dad’s gala came around, and he couldn’t sleep properly knowing he wasn’t going to be there that year, knowing how you spiraled every time you had to step on that stage.

He had stupidly thought that maybe, one day, you two could still be friends. But today? That shit blew up in his face, for the second time in the span of a week.

He forgot what you could invoke in him when you were standing merely an inch away. He promised himself that he’d moved on, forced to consider that the love of his life might not be someone he could spend his lifetime with. Maybe you weren’t meant for each other.

But how the fuck was he supposed to act when the girl who had been everything to him was hurting? 

No, no, no.

Sofia was what he needed.

Someone who didn’t know shit about his past, who didn’t ask questions he didn’t want to answer. She hadn’t seen him the way you had, hadn’t been there through every drunken rant and punch he’d thrown at the wall or someone’s face, hadn’t heard him rail against his dad or drag himself back from one of his darkest nights. 

She hadn’t called him a fucking idiot when he chose to throw his father’s ashes on the ocean. She wasn’t going to call him a coward for it. She didn’t have a clue about any of it, and that was supposed to be what he wanted.

He looked up at the ER doors for the millionth time in the past hour, his fingers clenched around his jeep keys so tight they left marks on his hand.

It was over between you two. He’d make sure to keep the fucking distance, two whole months. If he didn’t give you enough closure, you’d hate him faster and you’d both get over it. 

So why the fuck was he about to set the whole hospital on fire as he watched John B’s beat up twinkie pull up to the parking area? It shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did. 

Of course you’d call her, his own sister—his father's favorite.

Sarah had always been the golden child, Ward’s little angel who could do no wrong, while he was the family screw-up. Even now, you’d picked her, just like Ward would have. 

He didn’t think before he moved, closing the distance between him them in seconds. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He barked right up in her face, daring her to explain herself.

Sarah didn’t back down, though. She just looked up at him with that same cool, level expression she always had whenever he tried to get a rise out of her. 

“I’m here because she called me.”

“She called you?” He scoffed, eyebrows pulling together in disbelief. “You? She called you?” He took a step closer, “So what, you’re her savior now or some shit? Why the hell would she call you if I’m right here?” His eyes narrowed, searching her face like he couldn’t believe it. “Are you kidding me?”

Sarah threw her hands up, a look of pure exasperation on her face.

“Are you dense, Rafe? You’re with someone else! Why would she want the guy who broke her heart to drive her home?”

He blinked, thrown off. “I broke her heart? She broke mine!” He laughed, but it was harsh, bitter. “I did us a favor. We were just—”

“Oh, right. A favor?” Sarah cut in, voice dripping with sarcasm. “That why you’re pacing out here like a goddamn lunatic?”

“Go away. I’m driving her home.”

She stepped closer, her voice steely as she looked him dead in the eye.

“No. She called me, she wants me here. Not you. So do yourself a real favor and go home before you do something even more stupid.”

A breathless chuckle escaped his lips, “She already hates me, Sarah. What’s the fucking harm, huh?” He threw his arms out, as if daring her to come up with an answer that would hurt less. “What’s one more screw-up on top of everything else?”

“You’re real dumb if you believe that. But if you wanna make it worse, then by all means, go ahead. You’ll just prove her right.”

He stayed rooted in place, chest heaving, the conflict ripping him to pieces. His hands shook, his throat tight with words he couldn’t even begin to understand.

But Sarah had already turned her back on him, heading toward the entrance.

“Walk away,” she warned him, looking over her shoulder, “That’s the only thing left for you to do right now.”

Rafe didn’t know why the fuck he listened to her.

It was as if his body had already made that decision for him, understanding that if he didn’t leave right then, he’d end up doing something stupid—something even more fucked up than what he’d already done. His tongue was locked in place, a curse on the tip of his pursed lips, but it never came. 

His feet wouldn’t move, his hands stayed at his sides, and that tightness in his throat wouldn’t let him get a single word out, not one that would make any fucking sense. He hated that. Hated that you still had this kind of control over him.

Hated that he just…felt like something was wrong.

You hadn’t been this frantic, so impulsive since he had to take you home after your sister passed. He didn’t want to remember that night—you damn near threw yourself out of his truck.

But he couldn’t ignore the memory, the desperation on your face, the screams, the fight in his grip as he pulled you by your shirt back inside.

He’d felt like he was holding on to something breaking apart in his hands, something he couldn’t fix but couldn’t let go of either. He’d seen it again in your eyes when he’d caught you earlier at the beach clean-up, the way you’d tried to dodge his stare, voice cracking, legs wobbling when he mentioned the hospital. 

Rafe still felt like he’d swallowed shattered pieces of glass every time he thought about you. And if he could just push it down, if he could just get through one fucking day without looking back, maybe he’d start to forget you.

His feet were glued to the hospital pavement, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. If you were about to crash, if this was anything like before…He didn’t know what the fuck he was going to do.

He had no reason to stay, you’d made it clear as day. He was supposed to be gone—out of your life for good. You’d told him you didn’t need him, he told you he didn’t need you. So why the hell was he still standing here? 

Perhaps because he remembered the last time he’d let you walk out, the way he’d watched you disappear, thinking he was doing the right thing—giving you the clean end you’d both needed.

Maybe that made him sick to his stomach now, thinking of you in there with Sarah, telling his sister things you wouldn’t say to him, letting her be the person he once was to you.

But you’d called her, not him. You’d picked Sarah to be here, and that hurt like a bitch, but it was what he’d asked for, wasn’t it?

This was what he deserved. He told you to grab your shit and go, forced you to leave because that was supposed to make it easier.

He’d impulsively made his choice the minute he’d wrapped his arm around Sofia, pulling her close in front of everyone who’d once known he was yours. He’d talked himself into it. It was the right call, moving on was the only way to finally get you out of his system. 

He was the one who decided it’d be easier to act like he forgot you than to actually try. He thought he could make it easy—pain-free.

Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose as he walked back toward his Jeep. He gripped the door handle so hard he could break it in half if he wanted to, feeling his knuckles strain.

If he let go, if he closed that door and stormed inside, he’d just be right back where he started.

He stared at his reflection in the window, his hardened face staring back. His pulse was pounding in his temples, his gut twisting and turning as he tried to bury it all six feet under—the need to just go to you, to hold your hand or yell at you for making him care so fucking much.

He finally released the death grip he had on the door handle, forcing his fingers to relax, his knuckles still throbbing. He slid into the driver’s seat, the cold leather you’d help him choose, mocking at his skin as he slammed the door shut.

With a quick flick of his wrist, he threw the car into drive, the tires screeching as he peeled out of the parking lot.

He drove like he was being hunted down. He wanted to get as far away from that place as possible, praying the miles between him and you would stop the churning inside him. 

You’ll just prove her right.

He hated her for saying it, hated Sarah for knowing exactly what buttons to push. 

As he rounded a curve, his headlights swept across Topper’s house. Rafe cut the engine and stalked toward the backyard. Topper’s sprawled-out form on a reclining chair, arms crossed over his chest, sunglasses somehow still on evenly.

He stomped up and smacked the end of his chair.

"Wake the fuck up."

He jolted, nearly tumbling off the chair, ripping his sunglasses off and squinting up at him. “Jesus fucking christ, dude, ever heard of calling ahead?”

But Rafe didn’t answer. He just paced, hands in his growing hair, digging into his scalp like he could rip the frustration out of his skull. Topper sighed, propping himself up on one elbow, he didn’t even look at him, just kept muttering to himself, biting his lip, pacing.

“What the hell happened?”

Finally, he stopped, “I need you to find out what’s wrong with your cousin,” he muttered, not wanting to admit he cared enough to ask.

Topper blinked, brow furrowing. “What do you mean, what’s wrong with her?”

Rafe only shook his head, hands on his hips as he stared at the ground. “I don’t know, okay? She just…she’s acting off. And I can’t—I’m not supposed to care, Top. I’m not. I’m with Sofia now, alright? But she’s still…” His voice trailed off, as he scrubbed a hand down it.

Topper tilted his head, eyeing him knowingly.

“Right, yeah, whatever you say. I’ll figure it out.”

If Sarah Cameron didn’t walk through that hospital door within the next three minutes, you’d lose all the courage you’d summoned over the last hours. Or was it just an hour? You weren’t sure how long you’d been lying there, the IV needle taped uncomfortably into your arm. 

Your fingers curled into the thin blanket draped over you, and you wished—desperately—that you didn’t feel so…empty.

Ten minutes later, she strode in with a glance at the door, as if she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to get there on time. The relief on her face when she saw you was reassuring but it only made the confusion in your chest heavier.

She was so different from Rafe, yet still looked so much like him. She sat in the chair by the bed, eyes scanning your face like she was trying to gauge just how bad it was.

“Hi.”

You swallowed, blinking up at the ceiling to keep the tears at bay.

“Thanks for coming.” 

“Of course,” She reached for your hand where it lay on top of the blanket, hesitating for a split second before giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You okay?” 

You felt a laugh bubble up, “Not even a little.”

She let out a small breath and nodded, squeezing your hand again. “I figured,” she said quietly, and you appreciated that she didn’t pretend to have some miracle answer, “I made him leave.”

She’d made him leave.

You could imagine his face distorted with anger.

You wondered if he’d put up a fight or if he’d just walked away,  giving in to his sister in that infuriating, self-pitying silence he’d perfected.

You weren’t going to ask, the less you knew, the better.

“Good.” You were relieved, but it felt bittersweet, “I didn’t want him here.” 

Except your voice shook, like it simply had to let her know you were lying.

You’d been telling yourself for so long that you didn’t need him—that you didn’t want him anywhere near you. But the second you pictured him there, waiting… God, you hated yourself.

Hated that tiny, pathetic part of you that still wanted him to care, even if it was just a sliver of anything that wasn’t anger or flat-out ignoring you.

“He threw a hissy fight, but don’t worry. He’s not coming back.”

You nodded, half in agreement, half in frustration, “He never listens.”

“Especially when it matters,” Sarah added, rolling her eyes. “I swear, sometimes I think he just likes to make things worse for himself. And everyone else.”

You recalled the sound of his footsteps trailing yours earlier, the way his hand had hovered near you when you swayed, the wild look on his face when you told him to back off. He had seemed…hurt. Like he wanted to fix something he’d already smashed to pieces.

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

She respected that—she wouldn’t insist. There was a lot to unpack when it came to Rafe, but you didn’t need to go there right now. She could tell.

"Okay. Do you want to tell me why you called me and not Topper?”

There wasn’t any judgment in her tone—just plain curiosity, confusion. And you couldn’t blame her. If the roles were reversed, you’d be asking the same thing.

You had to bite your lips to avoid crying for the hundredth time that day. You hadn’t planned on telling someone the biggest secret of your life in a public space, or after nearly having a mental breakdown.

Not like this, with the IV in your arm.

"I—" you started, the words tangled in your throat. "I don't trust him," you admitted quietly, "I don’t trust him with this.”

This.

You turned your head to look out the window, the late afternoon light pouring through the blinds, but it never touched the void you felt inside. 

“He’s too close. He wouldn’t get it. I needed someone who could just… not be involved, you know? I mean—You’re still his sister but—”

Sarah’s already frowning, interrupting your pitying party, “Sweet girl, you don’t have to explain your reasons to me. I’m listening either way. I don’t know what’s going on, but I get it, I understand why you’d want to keep him out of this.”

“You’re the only one I can trust to keep this a secret,” you confessed, “If anyone finds out—if Rafe finds out—it’s over. I’m not ready for that.”

A shadow crossed Sarah’s face, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn’t ask questions about what you meant—about how Rafe had ruined things before. She didn’t need to. 

“I won’t tell him,” Sarah promised, her grip tightening on your skin. “It’s safe with me. I’ve got your back.”

You closed your eyes, breathing out slowly.

This was hard, harder than anything you’d ever done before, and that was saying something considering all the shit you went through when your family died. She had no idea what you were about to say, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it would change everything between you—between you and her, and you and everyone else.

"Sara, I—" The truth choked you once more, cutting you off. You couldn’t breathe.

Your chest felt vacant, something was missing, something that you didn’t know how to fix, but you had to say it. It was the only way out.

“Are you—" she started to ask, but you quickly shook your head. You could hear the hesitation in her voice.

"Just… just let me tell you,” You begged, pushing the words out before you lost them. “I-I’m pregnant,” you finally blurted out, as if confessing it all at once could make it easier.

But it didn’t. 

You didn’t dare look at Sarah right away. 

Your eyes were stuck on the ceiling, blinking rapidly, you didn’t need her to see how much this was breaking you or how terrified you were. You could feel her eyes on you now, and your hand clenched around the blanket, your knuckles white from the lack of circulation. 

Then, slowly, Sarah squeezed your hand again, she was giving you a moment to breathe, even though you didn’t feel like you deserved it.

“Rafe’s?” she asked quietly, confirming what you already knew she understood.

You nodded, not needing to say it aloud; she could sense the truth in the way your chest hitched, how you couldn’t bring yourself to meet her eyes.

“God,” Sarah breathed out, "And you... you want to...?"

You nodded again. She wasn’t asking if you were sure; you could hear it in the hesitation of her question. She was asking if you were ready to make the choice.

“I don’t want this,” you choked out, the tears finally breaking free. “I can’t have it, Sarah. I can’t. I’m not ready for that. I’m not sure I even know what I want anymore," you spit the doubt out with the brokenness you felt, wiping the traitorous tear that traced down your cheek. "I don’t know what to do."

“I’m here. Whatever you need, however you need to do this—I’m here,” she promised, making sure you wouldn’t float away.

“I can’t… I just… I don’t want him to find out,” you managed between shallow breaths. “If he knew, he’d… I don’t know what he’d do. Maybe it’s stupid, but I don’t want him to look at me like… like he owns me something.”

Sarah nodded, not a hint of judgment on her face, “He won’t know a thing from me, I swear. He’ll never have any say in this, not unless you want him to. This is your choice, no one else’s.”

You didn’t know you’d been holding your breath, but it came out all at once in a shaky exhale.

“Thank you. I just… I didn’t know who else I could ask.”

“Hey,” she said, her voice gentle. “This? This is exactly what I’m here for. I’ve got you, no matter what.”

The empathy there, the way she held space for all your broken pieces.

“New Mexico’s clinic rules… they won’t let me go through with it alone. They said I need someone with me.” You took a shaky breath. “I can’t imagine anyone else but you there, Sarah.”

“Then I’ll be there,” she said, without hesitation. “I’ll get the tickets, we’ll go together. And if you feel like breaking down, then break down, because you don’t have to keep any of this in anymore.”

Her words broke something in you that had been holding everything so tightly. The relief, the gratitude— “You’re really… You’d really do this for me?”

“Of course,” she murmured, pulling you close so your head rested against her shoulder, her fingers brushing through your hair soothingly. “Sweet girl, I’d do this a thousand times over.”

“I mean—he’s your brother. I don’t want to mess things up between you two even more.”

She sighed, giving a small, sad smile, almost like she’d been waiting for you to say that. “You think he’s my priority right now? Don’t you worry about me and him, we always figure it out. Trust me, I’m used to it.”

“He might hate me for this. And if he takes that out on you…” You couldn’t finish.

“Listen to me,” she sighed, “I’m here because I care about you. Rafe and I, we’ll always have our issues—he’s stubborn, and he thinks he has all the answers. But that’s our problem. He’ll never have a say over what I do or who I’m there for. Especially not with this.”

You swallowed hard, “I don’t want you to regret it.”

She gave a wry laugh, brushing a piece of hair back from your face. “You don’t have to protect me from him, remember? He’s my brother, yeah, I love him despite all our shit, but I’m not here for him right now. I’m here for you.”

“You’re sure?” you asked, the question a whisper, almost childlike. You were afraid of the answer, terrified she’d eventually pull away.

“Of course I’m sure,” she replied, tilting your chin so you’d meet her eyes. “Whatever’s going on with Rafe will figure itself out—But right now, you need someone who’s all in, no strings, no doubts. That’s me. You focus on you. I’ll handle him.”

You looked down at your hands, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket, “I don’t think he loves me anymore,” you admitted, almost hoping she wouldn’t hear it, “I was so mean when your dad died.”

When you finally looked up, Sarah was watching you with a sad smile, one that made your heart hurt in both comfort and ache. “You really believe that?” she asked quietly, and you could hear the disbelief in her voice as if it was so obvious to her, something you couldn’t see.

You nodded, swallowing down the sting in your throat. “He doesn’t want me, not really. He’s…he pulled away. Like he’d rather hate me than be close to me. He’s with her.” 

The words tasted bitter, and made you want to hurt him twice as bad, but there was finally some relief in saying it out loud.

She sighed, looking down for a second, almost like she was thinking how to tell you something that hurt her to admit.

“I don’t think that’s the problem,” she murmured, with a knowing sadness. “I think the problem is that you two will never stop loving each other. He’s still hurting from dad’s passing, he’s angry because he doesn’t know how to stop loving you. And you—you’re here, angry that he loved my dad so much, hurt that he left, trying to protect me from him, still worrying about me when you should be focusing on yourself. You’re scared he doesn’t care anymore, and he’s scared you don’t need him at all."

Your lips quivered, your heart about to leap out of your throat, your tongue darted out, briefly brushing your lips.

You weren’t sure you should say it out loud, but maybe you had to. “We’re better off without each other, aren’t we?”

“You’re allowed to be someone without him, and you’re allowed to find out who that is.”

You were slipping, falling back into that spiral of guilt and shame, the one that told you maybe this was all you were good for. Maybe Rafe was right to break things off, perhaps he’d realized that, in the end, you weren’t worth fighting for.

And shit, you hated yourself for still caring. For still wanting him to want you, even though you knew it was poison. Even though you knew that being with him, needing him, was only dragging you both down.

“Thank you.”

And as you sat there, in the stillness of that room, with the sunlight dimming outside, you felt that maybe someday you’d be able to trust yourself too. To believe that you were worth more than the heartache you’d come to accept as your own.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige

@rafebb @rafesbby @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron

@serrendiipty @sunny1616 @yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog

@psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

[mrsbarnesblog]

the "it" couple

masterlist

requests are open

summary: you and Rafe being the hottest couple on the island

word count: 1.3k.

warnings: established relationship, mentions of sex, mentions of nude pictures, Rafe is reader's first everything, you're both lovesick

a/n: my obsession with soft and painfully in love Rafe is not curable at this point. but like could you imagine having him all to yourself?? ughhh the things i'd let him do to me😩

Everyone knew that there are couples that, at first glance, give you the impression that they just have really good sex. Like they are so hot and perfectly compliment each other, with a certain vibe oozing out of them, especially when they are together. 

You and Rafe were that couple. 

Before you started dating, no one ever considered that two polar opposites like you might even coexist. You were a kook, but still completely different from Rafe and his little gang. You were pretty, but more on the quiet side, never showing off or bothering anybody.

Rafe, on the other hand, was mean and sarcastic to everyone and everything. It was a good thing that you put him in his place the first time he talked to you, making it clear that you are not having his shit. And also making Rafe instantly interested and following you like a puppy.

You were annoyingly teasing and flirting with each other, and everyone tried not to get involved in whatever was going on. It was your first experience with a guy, because before that, nobody was really making their shots, or, at least, you never paid enough attention to notice it, choosing to focus on yourself. But with Rafe, it felt fun and so damn easy. 

Your first kiss set everything in its place because you finally gave in to your hidden emotions. It made sense why you were always arguing and pestering each other—you simply craved attention from one another and it was the easiest way to get it. 

Surprisingly, Rafe’s rough edges softened, especially around you, and he was so affectionate and craved you around him 24/7. Though, knowing that you’ve never been in relationships before, he never pushed you to do anything, just following your pace. 

But after your first time happened in the third month of dating, after the ice melted and your insecurities fully disappeared, Rafe almost got another version of his girlfriend. 

If he thought that you couldn’t be better, then he was wrong. 

He never understood his friends who said that they had to almost beg their girlfriends to have sex, mostly because Rafe had never been in actual relationships before. But it made even less sense for him because you, seemingly, had the same energy and high sex drive as him. 

The first few times may have been slightly awkward with you still learning and trying to understand your own body, but once you got confident, you became unstoppable. 

Whether it was early morning, the middle of the day, or way past your bedtime, you were ready to have sex right away, straddling Rafe's legs or luring him into a kiss while your hands slipped under his pants.  

It was crazy how much you both wanted each other. It was a perfect fucking match to have someone with exactly the same needs. You probably have been bent over every single flat surface in the house and not a single room was safe from the two of you. He wanted you all to himself and he could go hours just worshiping your body and fucking you into bliss. 

You were almost glued together, never coming to an event alone. Rafe was so obsessed with the way you looked, with your smell, and with the feeling of your skin on his, so he always had to touch you one way or another. His friends teased him that he was absolutely pussy whipped for you and he had never denied it. They also started calling you Mrs. Cameron because you acted like a married couple and neither of you were against that nickname.

To say more, the idea of that made Rafe so feral for you, so he didn’t let you get out of bed the following day. Not that you complained, though.

Rafe loved sneaking out with you. Whenever you two had to visit a gala with your families, he always snatched you from the main room to drag you to the bathroom or another hidden place to have a quickie or to burry his head under your dress because you were too hot to resist. Yeah, maybe other people noticed it, giving you their usual politely awkward smiles, but neither of you care. 

On his birthday, you gave him the best fucking gift, which was a stack of your naked polaroid pictures. You were really nervous to do that, thinking that Rafe might react differently, but he reminded you once again why he was your perfect match. After looking through the photos several times, he literally attacked you, throwing you back on the bed and giving you the best orgasms of your life. 

Since that day, one of the less explicit pictures of your ass has been placed in his wallet.

You were officially the “it” couple on the island, with everyone either admiring or being jealous of that spark, which never seemed to diminish. Everyone saw the way the Rafe Cameron gave you heart eyes, soft smiles and gentle kisses. The way he held you close to himself, protecting you, taking care of you, and treating you like a queen.

Some people told you that it was only the excitement of a new relationship, but after a few years of dating, with a promise ring on your finger, it was still there. You still craved each other's touch; you still craved being together whenever it was possible, always going on dates and trips, attending all of Kook’s events, but mostly spending lazy days in your shared house. Sex was even better than before—more passionate, fun, hot and full of unconditional love.

Despite the gossip on the island, Rafe didn't get “bored” of you. No, over time, he became addicted to you because you felt like home, and there was nothing better than being with you. 

He didn't need any other women. And he still couldn't grasp the idea of cheating. If he had you, then why on earth would he do that? Every time he came home, the best person in the world and the best sex of his life were in that exact location, so he never complained about anything.

You were his afrodisiac and whether you were in full glam, in a bikini on the beach or in his old t-shirt with messy hair, he couldn’t just keep his hands to himself and not kiss the air out of you. 

He liked how you stayed at home, doing whatever you wanted and treating yourself while he worked. You always greeted him with homemade food, but more importantly, you acted as if you had not seen him in months.

You were waiting on the porch or finishing up in the kitchen, but when you saw him, you ran and jumped into his arms and pulled him into a kiss. It always melted Rafe’s worries and bad mood away, as his shoulders sagged in relief from being in your arms again. 

You always ended up in your bedroom, with you on or under him, while your hands were tugging at each other’s clothes. Rafe knew that it would eventually end up with him finally putting a baby in you—something that more and more flooded his mind—but for the foreseeable future, he first had to officially make you his Mrs. Cameron.

And the red box with the big ass diamond ring, which was currently sitting in the drawer, was just waiting for the perfect moment.