#because that's what makes letting go of him so hard. He has to accept he will never be able to save his loved one

[spicy-apple-pie]

Swearing is weird in Wayne Manor. Especially before Jason dies.

Alfred was taught that swearing is impolite and implies that you have a small vocabulary or are dumb. So when he’s in charge of Bruce he, of course, applies those same principles. Once Bruce hits the age where he knows what swears are and how to use him, he introduces a swear jar. Which he thinks is very lenient because he used to get a wooden spoon to the butt at Bruce’s age. Bruce, being a tween, is pretty upset with this, but accepts it as he grows older.

Fast forward and Dick is adopted. Dick’s parents (and the circus in general) swore like sailors, so they didn’t really see the need to limit his use when it’s just them. But when interacting with children, they teach him not to use those words. When he asks why, they shrug and say that some times people don’t like those words, and you can’t tell who’s okay with it and who’s not. So make sure you use those words when you’re with someone who is comfortable with them.

And Dick thinks to himself how much it would suck to have to watch your language with someone 24/7.

Cut to Alfred bringing the swear jar back because Dick is swearing too much for his taste. And Dick is pissed. Because he wants to say whatever he wants, and his parents always let him swear. Alfred allows him a little grace, but for the most part, he will ask that Dick put a dollar in the jar for anything worse than crap or hell.

But Bruce remembers how frustrating it was, so he lets Dick swear as much as he wants when Alfred wasn't around. Even though the swear jar isn't for him, he still doesn't want to risk Alfred going off on him. So long as Dick isn't swearing in school or in front of Alfred, he can say whatever he wants.

But Jason is another story. Because Jason swears in almost every sentence, but the swear jar gives him massive anxiety because of his financial insecurity. Alfred tries to get creative and assigns chores for Jason to do. But Jason is like, not too upset by the idea of taking the trash out, or vacuuming. Until he realizes that it takes time away from his reading. But since Dick is an adult now, Alfred has no say in what kind of language he uses, so he's swearing more often. So eventually Alfred gives up but still doesn't approve.

After Jason dies, all sense of normal is thrown out the window. And with Tim and Cassandra, it's hard to discipline them for different reasons. Tim technically isn't Bruce's child, so it feels a little weird to impose a swear jar on him. Luckily, Tim doesn't swear too much to begin with, because when he was little is mom and a few nannies would wash his mouth out with soap when he swore. Alfred is not happy when he hears that, but again, not Bruce's kid. Cass is just learning to talk with them so she doesn't know a lot of swears. When she does learn them, Alfred really can't get made because it just shows him how much progress she's made.

So thanks to Tim and Cass, swearing in the manor is free reign. Dick and Jason are a little jealous of their sibings that didn't have to get lectures about swearing tho...

[munsonsmixtapes]

hii! i love your writing and i had an idea for an eddie x reader - so maybe the reader buys him a ring as a present and they weren’t sure if he’d like it but they see him wearing it all the time and he never takes it off sort of thing (kind of got the idea from gilmore girls with lorelai and luke with the baseball cap)! :)

First of all, I love Gilmore Girls, it's one of my favorite shows! And second, this is such a cute idea, thank you for the request!

You stand outside Eddie's trailer with the ring box in your pocket. You're nervous to give it to him, because one, you have no actual reason to give it to him besides the fact that you thought of him when you saw it when you went to the mall with Robin. And second, even though it's exactly something he would like.

It's a thick, silver band with a bunch of little designs on the side that are hard to make out and a black crystal is in the middle. You think it will go great with his other rings and even though Robin assured you more than once that Eddie would love it, you're still not sure.

The door opens and Eddie is on the other side, a wide smile on his face as he lets you into the trailer. You're too nervous to say anything so you just hold the box out to him and he takes is gratefully.

"What's this, baby?" He asks as he opens the box. "Baby," he gasps. "This is fucking amazing." He sets the box on the couch that's next to him and puts the ring on his left hand because his right is so cluttered. He holds his hand out to admire his new piece of jewelry and puts on a grin as he looks up at you, holding his arms out.

"You like it?" You ask, stepping over to him to accept his embrace, your arms wrapping around his waist.

"Love it. Now give me some sugar, sweetheart," he puckers his lips and you oblige, giving him a quick kiss.

As the days go by, you notice that Eddie never takes the ring off, not even when the two of you go to bed, even though he's removed the others and put them on his bedside table. He's thanking you for it every chance he gets and you start to realize that he really does love it and he's not just saying that to make you feel better.

It's the best gift he's ever received and it warms his heart that it reminded you of him and that's the reason why you bought it for him. He's never had anyone in his life that has done anything like that for him except for Wayne.

It's only when he takes the ring off to clean it that he notices that your name is engraved on the inside and that makes him love it even more.

"So you always have me close," you tell him and he feels like he might cry.

"God, babe, you're so cheesy," he laughs as he pulls you in for a hug.

"And you love it," you reply as you rest your head on his shoulder.

"I do," he says with a sigh as he pulls you in for a kiss, knowing that he's only going to take the ring off to look at your name every time he misses you.

[strwberri-milk]

Hello I hope you're doing well.

I swear your Fics get me through the day❤️

I love the way you write about the boys!

I have a (sort of angsty I think) request:

How do you think each of them will handle/what they're gonna do if they aren't exactly the reader's/MC's type? Like, they're not in a relationship with MC yet, and they're in the stage where they're starting to court MC, and then they find out that MC's type is like their exact opposite, and that's where they sort of notice MC doesn't really consider them as a potential partner because of this

Zayne has never really thought that his feelings for you have been reciprocated. Somehow, it slips his mind to think that you could ever like him, especially since he's seen the types of people you had crushes on growing up. He'd never ask you on a date because of this, happy enough to stay your friend. That's why he was so surprised when you asked him on a date, the happiness in his chest dissipating as he began to realise that you simply didn't seem to have it in you to love him as much as he loves you.

His response is simply to break things off. He tells you not to try and force yourself onto him, that if you don't like him you don't have to pretend you do to fulfill some sort of perceived expectation you think he has. He doesn't really let the conversation progress further than that, moving past it. The two of you end up never really being the same, still able to be friends and hang out together but there's always something just bubbling under the surface.

Xavier doesn't realise what's wrong until he sees the way you look at other people. You do your best not to stray while you're sort of with Xavier but you also haven't had a conversation about exclusivity yet, despite the fact that he is wholly devoted to you. He doesn't entertain the idea of breaking things off, not thinking that things were that bad.

You end up breaking things off, telling him that it's really nothing he's done to you. You just didn't know how to feel, struggling to move into more romantic feelings for him. He takes it surprisingly well you think, acting as though things are totally normal. You don't realise that he's become even quieter than usual, not really taking team missions anymore and going out of his way to avoid you. He doesn't know how to cope with his feelings for you and a desire to make you happy, ending up further into avoidance.

Rafayel is devastated. He can tell immediately that you don't really like him, not in the same way you seem to like other people. A part of him wants to delude himself into thinking that maybe it's just a phase, that you'd eventually fall for him the way that literally everybody else seems to. The other part of him is angry, incredibly so. He doesn't like the idea of you messing with his feelings, being cold to you before you can reject him.

The two of you just end up drifting apart. He doesn't return your calls or messages anymore, internally begging for your attention but also being too irrational to consider that maybe if you two talked something could be figured out. He thought that being by your side would be okay as long as he could touch you but your rejection did nothing but make him spiral.

Sylus doesn't take your denial well. You aren't fully aware of it right away, but he's known from the start that you don't really care for him as much as he does you. He doesn't want to do anything about it, seeing if he could slowly encourage you into accepting him in further. He'd do everything he can to try and convince your relationship to progress further but things just seem to remain stagnant.

You'd have to tell him that things just aren't working out. The two of you struggle to maintain a cordial friendship afterwards. That's not to say you can't depend on him - just the fact that it's hard for him to act as comfortable around him as he used to be. He still aims to keep you safe but you lack that camaraderie that the two of you had.

[hyperions-light]

hey I was planning another post today but instead let’s talk about how much I love that there’s not really a ‘good’ ending to the companion plotlines in Veilguard. It reminds me of Leliana and Alistair’s plotlines in DAO in that what you choose says more about the player/protagonist than anything

I just finished Isana Negat a second time, and I did the other ending and I thought it was just as good. Like, yeah, Harding does deserve to be angry! They did fucking get everything taken away from them! It’s so painful and horrific; yes you can, and should, be mad! But also Harding prioritizing her very real love for and compassion towards other people is not wrong. It’s just different! It’s just Rook’s friend/lover asking them for advice, and Rook giving it! You know, like in real life except with huge magical rock giants

And okay I’m never going to kill Illario because I think it would make Luca really sad and he has enough problems, Whoops I misremembered this, I don’t think you can kill Illario actually. I love that for Luca <3 But yk, I’m probably still not going to imprison him. but I can see it! Because the cycle has to end, right? The violence and infighting of the Crows endlessly attacking each other over power is part of what allowed the Antaam to get a foothold in Antiva, because there was like a double agent or something (if I’m remembering right from Tev Nights). Some kind of ending needs to be made to this endless violence. And I suppose it depends on how retributive Rook is, which is a great question to ask of the player (one that is asked repeatedly throughout the game). It’s not like Illario didn’t do anything, you know! He probably deserves punishment. But Rook, as they always can at various points, can be merciful, can choose absolution. Wow no, I’m glad I was wrong I love it more like this.

And oh boy, I LOVED the ending of Emmrich’s quest, don’t even get me started! Like!! I thought it was going to be ‘well obviously we HAVE to save Manfred’, but how Emmrich talks about accepting his death and his sacrifice convinced me! I was like alright man, this is a real choice! I actually did make him a lich last time (made a lot of sense from a Watcher perspective, imo) and not only was the cutscene sick as hell, but the follow-up was so funny and I got some really sad Spite dialogue which fucking wrecked me. It was great— seriously, his plotline is one of my favorites in the whole game.

And Davrin’s! I’ve already expounded at length about how much I like his quest line and how it ties into the Grey Wardens, but I really think both of his options for the griffons are so workable, because you know the Grey Wardens, especially under Antione and Evka, aren’t going to hurt those little guys again! But also the scenes with Eldrin are so endearing, and Davrin’s hope for a brighter future for them is so sweet and genuine. It’s hard to pick! It’s about Rook's perspective!

Neve's I'll admit I don't vibe with as much just because of the like 'trust the authorities' angle, but i haven't tried saving Minrathous yet and I think it would be sooooo involving as a Shadow Dragon especially. Because that's what they're fighting for, right? That better Minrathous where they CAN be sure that if they send the insane cultist lady to prison she’s going to stay there? But there’s always the practical consideration of people’s lives being at stake NOW, of Neve needing her friends safe NOW. And just killing Aelia ensures she will never be an issue again. So I can see both angles for sure

And Taash ;-; oh, Taash. I haven’t posted about them that much yet because they make me very emotional and it’s hard to organize thoughts like that. But I really love their quest, and their struggle to define themselves. And look, I know people wanted the option to tell them they could be both, but like as a person who has lived a similar experience, it really feels sometimes like the world is making you choose. It can feel like you’re not enough of either thing for anyone. And there are parts of your identity that you will have to make a choice on, and I think it’s trying to speak to that. I did the Rivaini one, and it’s like… well, they’re embracing the culture of Rivain, but it’s not like anyone is ever going to look at them and NOT see a Qunari. You can’t get away from that. What you choose to do in response is a real dilemma and I think that if you engage with the text genuinely you can see what Trick was doing. Also, there is a really great dialogue from Rook that I think gives more context to the discussion; they can say that they have been many things, and it’s important to take what works from each experience and make it part of yourself. So I don’t think Taash’s plot is trying to make them throw away any of themselves, just defining priorities. (Sorry, that got long. Feelings, opinions about that one)

And I don’t think Bellara’s is obvious, either, especially with how they involve the Nadas Dirthalen in her personal plot. This is a thing that is really emotionally and culturally significant to her, but at the same time it is part of what hurt her brother and ultimately took him away from her. She’s really preoccupied with not causing harm by her actions; she spends the whole game worried about it! And even though Rook doesn’t see the dangerous elements of the repository, that doesn’t mean they’re not there. The puzzle quest you can find in Arlathan proves that other people besides Cyrian were taken in by Anaris. And also, there’s the plot thread they briefly touched on in the last game which is that the culture the Dalish have built, that they have RIGHT NOW, is not wrong. You can tell Solas during the romance that you want to keep the Vallaslin, even knowing what it once meant, because it means something else to the elves now. But it’s also important to remember history, even if it’s unpleasant or could be dangerous, which is another thing you can discuss with Bellara during the game. So there’s no wrong choice! It’s just about Rook and Bellara and what’s important from their perspectives.

Anyway it was super refreshing to have these kinds of choices! It reminds me of the best character choices in DAI and DAO, especially, and I’m so happy they carried those things forward and improved on them.

[toto-the-cactus]

Eat up, yall starving lunatics. More Papatarion for the books since yall feel kinda tender for this man <33

Summary: Mortarion's approach to fatherhood 2.0

Pairing: Mortarion x Reader (Female)

CW: Mentions of pregnancy

Little and Precious (Part 2)

Mortarion wasn’t a fan of going through every little report that needed to be addressed by him after any sort of deployment from the Legion. It seemed too meaningless in comparison to other tasks that needed most of his attention.

So far, it was a drag having to oversee the next resupply of the dreadnoughts even when his gene-sons could go for long periods of time without needed them, but neglecting his duties could lead to terrible consequences he rather not have to contemplate when the ones in the line were you and his daughter.

The fact that you had understood and even tried to help on the workload made Mortarion wheeze in amazement because how had he managed to find someone like you in this wretched universe?

You’ll be the end of him.

While overseeing one of the many dataslates on his desk, the Primarch heard the door opening and closing just as fast. A light shuffling approached behind him, but Mortarion pretended to not see or hear anything and kept himself occupied while a twitch graced his scarred lips in an attempt to hide a playful smile.

There was a breathy giggle and immediately the partial silence of the room came back as if nothing happened.

When Mortarion looked at the pile of dataslates on his right, he noticed a freshly cut yellow flower above them. It was very innocuous in nature and contrasting in a manner that made the Pale King blink a few times in bewilderment.

He still found surprising how silent and fast his girl could be when she wished to.

The Primarch then heard the shuffling again to his left and right there on his desk rested a pile of hard candies of different flavors.

“Hmm… It seems a spy has entered my private chambers” he said with a serious tone despite the gentle smile on his face. “Where would they have gone?”

Mortarion made a show to ignore the giggling behind his chair and simply checked under the desk to left and right, his smile only widening at the sound of snickering when he sillily checked under the dataslates to keep the play.

The mighty Primarch can only imagine how much his Legion would be both confused and perplexed at his behavior, but the demigod had spent enough time with you and his daughter to start understanding the soft edges he could possess too with his family.

The sweet silliness that accompanied the toddler’s laughter made any sense of shame or aggravation be forgotten at the sight of happiness from the girl. What would have been a slight towards his person, now it made something tender spread over his ribcage.

Of course he always made sure not to make a fool of himself in public, but no one was blind to the gentleness Mortarion displayed towards the little lady of the Death Guard Legion.

It was a good thing his daughter had the same approachable and warm disposition that her mother possessed, as she had managed to have pretty much any astartes graped around her little fingers without realizing.

The Pale King hummed, tapping patiently on his desk until his precious girl let her guard down and swiftly scooped the toddler with his two hands under her armpits, all while she shrieked in laughter.

His little girl always loved to be raised in her father’s arms.

Mortarion went ahead and sat himself along the child on his lap, grabbing the yellow flower over the dataslate and settling it behind his daughter’s ear to decorate her hair.

“I thought you were with your mother, my little bud” he extended one of the hard candies to the toddler, who sheepishly accepted the offer while swinging her little legs.

“Mama got tired and went to sleep” she explained idly in that sweet tone of hers, but Mortarion noticed some dejection too. “I just feel a bit sad that mama can’t play with me like before because of my little sister being in her belly…”

Ah, so that’s why his precious lady had wandered here.

The second pregnancy had been a huge and scary surprise just like the first time, as you two and some apothecaries had believed that the first one had been nothing short of a miracle.

Mortarion wouldn't say that he felt disappointed at the result, but he could see now what other effects were starting to have an impact on his little girl in a terrible manner. Your due date was just a month away and rest had become nothing short of obligatory at this point, so he understood where the frustrations of his daughter seemed to arise from.

This was the kind of stuff you would usually be dealing with, as the Primarch still had a hard time understanding a proper approach to the simple concerns a small 4 year old would have.

He was the imposing and protective father while you managed the complexities of baseline human feelings his little flower may experience.

This was a territory he never expected to cross.

“Well… my little bud… I know right now it’s hard since it's only been you around us… but once your little sister is born, you know who else she will need to guide her and protect her?”

She looked expectant at the answer. Big childish eyes drinking every word from him.

“It will be you. When your Mother or I can’t be around, your little sister will be counting on you to take care of her… at least, until he grows and can protect herself”

The once dejected look on her face regained a new light of understanding. Little fist balling the beautiful fabric of her purple dress while looking now at him with one can only describe as unshakable determination that made something inside Mortarion choke a bit.

“Then I’ll be the best big sister ever! I’ll help mama and-and I’ll help you too papa, then…!”

His precious daughter seemed to have gotten quite the fire on her rambling now. Going on and on about the things she wished to do once the baby was born and even making plans at which of her favorites astartes will be allowed to help protect her future younger sibling.

Never in his wildest dreams, Mortarion believed he’ll be granted such wonderful moments.

This is me while I wrote this shit at midnight

[butchvamp]

turning over my final thoughts now that i've finished the game... my interpretation reconciling with the game we got and my big takeaways on agency and choice and redemption... Solas and Varric have always been contrasts of each other, with Varric focused on the here and the now-- he's made mistakes but he keeps it pushing, he wants to help the people he can, and he knows he can't do that if he gets hung up on all of the "what ifs." while Solas, on the other hand, is completely compelled and consumed by his regrets and desperately wants to fix his "mistake," regardless of the cost, regardless of how selfish it ultimately is. and now with the reveal about the titans you get an extra layer of guilt from Solas in these interactions with Varric in inquisition, questioning why Varric does the things he does, and why isn't he more angry? why doesn't he care? all the wrong questions to ask Varric, who does care, but Solas is projecting his own feelings of rage and despair (and, of course, guilt over the titans).

this whole game is about accepting your mistakes, taking responsibility for the choices you make, but also letting go of your regrets and respecting other peoples' choices, too-- thinking particularly about what's said in the Fade prison about Harding (or Davrin) choosing this path, about Varric choosing to care in the way that he does and trying to confront Solas at the start, and how Rook blaming themselves and shouldering this guilt as the sole responsible party takes away their agency and their choice to do these things, their choice to live in this world and to try to make it better. i think it really wraps up nicely with a few of the other companion quests, like Emmrich's, accepting death and honoring others' sacrifice and letting them rest. Harding's quest, where she can harness her anger and compassion and choose to move forward, rather than turning inward like Solas and obsessing over before.

and then of course there's Solas, who we know never wanted a body, who was forced to fight and twisted from wisdom into pride-- who never chose this, and what choices he did have were always between a rock and a hard place. i think this is part of what skews his view of the world and makes it hard for him to accept both Varric's and Rook's perspective-- this loss of his humanity and autonomy through violence. but he does have a choice now, even if he doesn't realize it, and he's choosing to hold onto this idealized vision he has of the world before, he's choosing to ignore Rook and Varric and the Inquisitor before them and act like he is both solely responsible for what happened and also the only one able to fix it.

but there are people in this world now who are doing things to fix it, Neve's entire plot is about how much Dock Town sucks, she's cynical about it but never ever would she abandon it or choose to destroy it. there are people here that are living fulfilling lives even in this horrible world and they deserve to have that choice. it's not Solas's to make. Varric understood that the best, having lived in Kirkwall and seen all the things he has, the good and the bad. and either way bad things are going to happen, people are going to die-- as Solas said, people are always dying. but Varric wanted to make it better regardless, he didn't want to start over, because there are things worth saving even in a bleak world like Thedas. people like him and Neve and Harding and Davrin and the others will always choose to keep moving forward and try to make it better for everyone, regardless of their mistakes in doing so.

Solas tries to justify himself by holding his own mistakes over his head-- he even says "To stop now would dishonor those I have wronged to come this far." the inquisitor interjects with "Even if those you've wronged ask you to stop?"-- the inquisitor who had something similar happen to them, forced into a role and forced to make choices between a rock and a hard place.

this is one of my favorite exchanges in the game. and then Mythal appears and breaks his chains-- "I free you from my service." and faced by Mythal, the Inquisitor, and Rook (and by extension, Varric)-- all people he betrayed-- he can no longer hang onto that justification, and he is forced directly to face his regrets and the horrible things he's done (things everyone standing in this circle has done)-- and find peace with it as they have, accept their forgiveness, and ultimately make his choice. i do think Solas's redemption is well-earned, especially after playing through inquisition and now veilguard in these leadership positions, making choices that do result in people dying, no matter what-- the Inquisitor especially has potentially felt exactly what Solas has felt. but you have to choose, you have to move forward, and you have to keep choosing over and over and over again and it's not easy and there will be consequences, but there are things worth fighting for and there are others choosing to stand beside you that will share the burden and help, if you just let them.

[clubsmarties]

"No one but you just had this look, like I don't know, it affected you worse than it would have anyone else. It was the look." Could he have been talking nonsense, sure if he was anyone else but Wally caught things from her. He paid attention when he really looked at her. He gave a shrug afterwards not realizing that this wasn't the normal and it could get coughed up to just an agent doing what they did. They were paid to be detail oriented.

He really looked at her past the dress and the way she looked. All of that was nice but there was something in the way she radiated that captivated his attention. Her soft smile made his appear as he nodded and brought his glance down to his hands. "Sure," he whispered as his eyes now took deep interest in his wrist. He did wonder what it would have been like to tuck a stray hair over her ear. If this crush, no it had to have been more than that. It had been more than a few weeks and he still couldn't get her out of his damn mind. Now they were here where she was thinking he didn't believe in her capabilities.

He appreciated the fact she brought him the muffin. His eyes saw where she had put it and thanked her. Going back to what she had said he sighed and took a beat. "I'm not—" his face scrunched up slightly as he ripped the skin off the edge of his nails as he paused and breathed through his nose. "I'm not disputing that. I asked you to come because I knew what I was getting. My belief in you knowing how to do what you do was never in question. I am taking you seriously but I also worry about you. Do you know how that'd make me feel if you got killed because of me? Because you said yes to helping me out? You didn't need to accept but you did anywa. No one has ever been that selfless to help when they didn't need to. It isn't even dangerous because of these bozos out there, trust me I'd take them over my boss any fucking day. Please don't think I'm disputing the fact you can take care of yourself, I'm not. I know you can. This kid is a priority yes, but so is your well being."

His head went back to the mini trail off she did in the middle of her sentence. "Since you what?" Another sigh. "My boss, Karina." How would he even explain this whole bitch to her when he couldn't even describe her without wanting to put a fork through his eyes. "You said Nolan, right? I have a very deep rooted feeling he is a plant coming from her. That's why I think he went and touched you."

"I asked you to come because you're the best at what you do. You don't just look at things in one set ways. I need that. I didn't ask you to come because I wanted to prove I'm better or stronger than you. I don't do that bullshit. I need help and admitting that is hard enough to be honest but here it is. This kid seems like it'll be the first time we won't get her in time. This ring is three steps ahead and I can't help but think it's because they have inside help. As for the rookie by the way she vanished into thin air again. I don't think she's innocent." This was the first time he ever let his walls of having it handled down. To show that weight he actually carried around him. This was one of those moments he wanted to check himself out.

Shaking his head he didn't want her to leave. "You won't hear a peep out of me from now on. Please do what you know how to do. All I ask is that you be careful. I do actually care about your well being."

"Didn't appreciate?" The words were repeated back to herself unsure of what was happening. "Who appreciates a stranger touching them at all?" He wasn't wrong, the touch had caught her off guard and left her a bit off her game the day before. It was something that she had shaken off with last night's rude awakenings. She wouldn't make that mistake again, she'd make sure he'd make it out alive, she wouldn't let her guard down and she wouldn't let him down.

The way he shook his head at her, upset her for a moment but she had to remind herself of everything she learned since arriving here. There was so much already going wrong for him, she needed to stop being one of the things fighting against him she was here to help. Despite calling him on his previous promise, guilt knotted in her. She hated this. As he moved she started to walk over to help him like she had last night only to find herself stopping in her tracks as he looked her over. Whenever anyone looked her up and down she knew how to play, how to move and place herself to make them like what they saw, but it felt different right now. She didn't know what he was thinking. Her breath caught in her throat awaiting what he had to say, only to find herself giving him a soft smile. "Thanks."

Rolling her eyes at the cinnamon sugar comment, like she could ever forget that he was allergic to that, she began to make her way to the door. "I think I saw some in the kitchen. Let me get one for you and a cup of coffee. And then we'll talk before I head out." Before he could say anything, she made her way downstairs to the kitchen. It would give her time to think over how to say things nicely.

As the coffee brewed, she took the same ingredients from last night, minus the chocolate to make a muffin in a mug instead. Granted it would be a lot plainer than the chocolate one from last night, it would still be what he wanted. After the coffee and the muffin were ready she took a deep breath and headed up to talk to him. As much as she hated having to work with someone else, this was his case.

Had someone tried to save her from Jennifer as a kid, she would have hoped they had someone helping them to make sure it had happened. As much as she pretended to not care, she did. It was why she took on people's cases when they came to her at barely a payable wage. She kept the office floating with all her old aliases saved stashes for now. She was their last resort and knew that she needed to help however she could. Settling with her best friend had been the worst thing to happen to her.

"Look Wally," she said started as she made her way back into the room. Settling the mug of coffee and the muffin in a mug on the nightstand next to the bed she crossed he arms and said her piece. "I don't think you're taking this seriously. You're not taking me seriously. Not only can I handle myself I am really good at what I do. You have a kid and an agent out there and I am here to help. Now," She sat on the edge of the bed. "I am walking out there today and I am going to accidentally bump into Nolan, whether you like it or not. And I am going to do what I do best. What I know to do since I," was a kid, she stopped herself. "For a really long time. Now I need you to level with me and tell me what it is you need me to get from him to save this kid. Because as I see it the kid is priority one. If you tell me to not help in anyway, that I need to just 'enjoy myself' then I will leave. And I mean leave back to my office. If you don't let me help then what is the purpose of me being here, Wally? Why the hell ask me to come in the first place?"

Sighing, she stood up. "So, tell me. Am I packing my things and leaving or am I going out there to do what I know how to do? "

[gods-perfect-idiots]

something something blood-soaked hands cradling your face something something

anyway here's the post btw

[bobosbillionsknives]

(not shipping content)

It's one of my biggest headcanons ever that Vash does NOOOT like his birthday dude I just can't believe it...Knives however. Biggest birthday enjoyer ever. He is the special birthday boy. 🤗🤗🤗

Knives usually leaves Vash alone but Vash KNOWS Knives is going to make an effort to show up on their birthday and it stresses him out so bad. Especially if the July incident was on their birthday...that would leave horrible memories for him. 😭 Not to mention how painful remembering his first birthday with Rem would be. Plus Knives would act so bitchy about it like wooow dont even want to see your own brother on your birthday wow. I get it I'm just the worst ever ..🥀 Vash would be so over it.

I feel so strongly that Vash is the introvert while Knives is the extrovert. Knives self isolates out of fear and disgust of humans but he secretly thrives while talking to others. Especially if they have strong opinions he can argue against (definitely a debate bro). If Knives had a normal childhood he would've loved big crowds, he has absolutely no social awareness or shame . Or filter. He'd talk to anyone who'd listen. Knives drives himself absolutely insane with his own isolation. All he really wants is social connection, something he's convinced himself is impossible with humans. That's why he's so fixated on getting Vash to stay, he feels Vash is the only person he can actually talk to. Vash on the other hand, would do anything for 5 minutes alone. He is constantly pushing away Milly, Meryl, and even Wolfwood. He cannot let anyone know him beyond his silly guy persona. He especially doesn't like being celebrated (doesn't think he deserves it. 😂😂😂) He is constantly trying to skip out on the parties towns people throw for him, leaving without saying goodbye. (He does like getting drunk tho...makes talking easier) He'd never EVER share his birthday with anyone. Especially not Wolfwood or the girls. Knives however, would tell EVERYONE !!! (like how the entire Gung Ho Gun knew Knives had a brother, but Meryl had no idea Vash did. I think Knives loves talking about himself and his tragic past, painting himself as the forever victim to absolutely anyone who'd listen. To Vashes absolute horror 😭.) Vash is constantly drained from forcing himself to perform socially. He loves people and talking to them but he just needs like. 8 hours of alone time to properly function. That's why he gets so bitchy with everyone sometimes lol. She just needs a naaaaap omg 🤦‍♂️. But he feels guilty for being snippy and tired so he'll force himself to be social anyway. Which makes it worse. Love hiiim !!!! 😍 Either way they're both hurting themselves when they behave like this.

Knives is definitely the yapper while Vash just listens. I feel like Vash would appreciate not having that pressure to constantly respond. Even if Knives can be overbearing, I do think they enjoy each other's company. When they aren't... trying to murder each other. Nobody knows him like Knives does, it would almost be relieving not having to pretend to be happy all the time. He can perfectly morally justify being as mean to Knives as he wants to be !! And he wouldn't admit it, but he does enjoy listening to Knives complain about nothing. He thinks it's funny. Knives is just happy to be with someone he's deemed worthy of his time. He views Vash as his equal, someone he actually trusts to confide in. They are the opposite and also the same in every way life is so beautiful I love these guys.

It would also just be such a cute subversion of audience expectation if Knives, the self proclaimed people hater, was a people person. I think that's sooo interesting and makes so much sense with the context of his desperation for the approval of humans when he was a child. I think kid Knives would've tried to argue that celebrating something everyone goes through is pointless, but would love all the attention anyway. Even be a bit resentful that it was Vashes birthday too if he didn't seem to appreciate the attention as much. As he got older hed mellow out and warm up to the idea of having a birthday and sharing it. Mostly as an excuse to talk to Vash and make everything about himself again. Lol. Plus I think he likes organizing parties. His dream is to have that sweet 16 fantasy the humans in the old world used to have. He actually wants to be normal is the thing. They both do.

[traumatise]

he leaves, just like alaric suggested, and it's brutal. a loud silence descends about as fast as regret. because fuck. this isn't who he is. he isn't the one who shoves people away just because he can't take a little heat. what even was that? his mind keeps replaying the look on damon's face, unhelpfully listing all those tiny changes in expression in explicit detail for his viewing displeasure. he isn't that asshole, but he sure is tonight. he isn't the one to take what damon offers and throw it away, but he sure is tonight. for what, ric? for what? what are you so afraid of?

here's what's worse: losing even an ounce of his respect. they've both worked too hard to get here and also didn't even have to work at it at all, in some ways, it comes so naturally to them. so being the reason for a potential damon landslide is ... pretty inexcusable. not just because it's a little embarrassing to contemplate (damon's a grown man, number one, and ric wouldn't take that shit on as his own responsibility as if it isn't fully on damon for however he chooses to react to people being people, number two) but also because fuck, this isn't who they are. these aren't the lines they've drawn, unspoken but understood. important. they're two people who have each other and a bar at the end of the day, if nothing else, and that's more than enough. that should always be more than enough.

he takes a moment, maybe five, to calm his racing heart. to recollect himself, for whatever that's fucking worth, into everything he remembers being when shit gets tough. stable, for one. that's a plus he won't take for granted again. and yeah, when the door opens again, and damon's voice filters through, there's something unfortunate and jittery going on with his pulse again, but that's much more simple to ignore this time. because—fuck, since when does damon even do this, anyway? since when is he the one to come back, hold up a peace offering? something's tugging way too hard on his last guarded heartstring, and it's all he can do not to cross the distance and kiss him hard, fast, messy with more than words can ever say. but that's so counter-productive it has his head spinning. so he locks it up, throws it into the ocean, prays it never finds its way back up for air. ignores the fact that he's done this before. ignores the fact that it always does.

for all ric knows there are dead witches pulling at his sleeves and beckoning him deeper into the house, but they've lost whatever meager grip they could have had on him the moment damon salvatore was asked to leave and let himself come back.

worse liar is a touch concerning, but fair. deserved. ric finally turns around, brings himself back to damon, eyes catching on the bottle in his hands and softening in absolute spite of himself. "done jerking off," he agrees, reaching out to take it; and his fingers do close around damon's, and it is entirely intentional, squeezing a bit. lets the weight of an apology settle there before he fully accepts the bottle from him. "look at you with the booze ready to go while i'm having an episode. are we swapping species and roles now?" and that's an apology, too, at the end of the day.

he eases by damon, out of the house, allows his shoulder to bump the other's gently along the way. tries to tell himself it's more for damon's benefit than for his own. "let's take a minute. the witches are telling me to reconnect with nature by drinking this entire thing, and i don't think it'd be wise to disobey." he doesn't stop until he's all the way to the car, settles himself atop the hood with plenty of space for damon to sit alongside him. it feels better already out here—fresh air, something to drink, fewer expectations. he can do this. he can be normal. he can be the brick wall of alaric that they both need more often than not. he just needs damon to buckle down with that pretty girlfriend and never make him prove himself wrong.

Signals do not get any more mixed than this, he's sure. Further confirmed when he's sent a half stumble backward, forcibly reacquainted with supporting his own weight on the floorboards. He blinks, slow and stupid, trying and failing to figure out how the path from Point A to Point 7 had been a direct one, but Alaric's already halfway across the room when he has the bearings again to just ask. Or, wait. He did that already, and lost out on a real answer and then some. This is Damon's fault, because it usually is, and maybe the push for a magical crash course speed run was a step too far. Many steps too far, the way Ric's shaking an addict, creating as much distance between them like Damon had been the one moving like a man possessed. He opens his mouth and shuts it again twice, wonders when the hell this got so complicated and what could have possibly gone wrong first.

The witch thing might be the tipping point, but it's not the truth. Damon knows that the second it ghosts over his lips. Technically several seconds after, since his mind tends to blank on signs of trouble anytime he's got a warm body pressed over his, but that's beside the point. What he doesn't know is which of his latest attempts at being comforting were entirely the wrong move, or why he's so mind bogglingly bad at this. No need for an extensive play by play of everything going on in Ric's head, even if every flash in his eyes is as tortured and unreadable as the last. Unlike some other very important people in their lives, Damon doesn't carry the inclination to hold him down and force that kind of soul bearing to the surface. He'd sort of like to now, since apparently Ric doesn't trust him enough to get it off his chest even prompted. That's the part that's not sitting well. That's the part that stings.

For the good of the team, he tries to reckon what might actually be justified. It's been a very long time since he was human. Doesn't remember what it's like to very suddenly have immeasurable power coursing under his skin, or how he managed to level it out. Inextricably horny? Maybe. He doesn't appreciate getting jerked around, even if the extraction was entirely necessary, because again, they're. They're working on something. Growth or whatever stupid reason. Ric's the one that planted the idea for Damon to get situated without being so careless about who he's touching on, and here he is unable to contain himself. Should be vindicating - the instant rejection makes it anything but. Paired with his inability to be honest, Damon's seeing a little red. And sure, there's a chance he's overthinking it, but clearly he's been under-thinking everything else, so this seems like the right time to play it safe. Whatever game this is, he's losing. Bad. So. He'll oblige before hurt develops into a really pissy mood like it tends to, and he decides he ought to screw things up on purpose. That he's really good at, but there's two heartbeats pounding horribly out of sync in his ears, and he has no interest in setting the human one off and accidentally killing his best (read, only) friend because he needs to have the last word.

"Sure thing, Ric. Take your time." Curt, flat, and to the point, because he's been trying his damnedest here to be good about, frankly, everything, from the witch stuff to the werewolf stuff to the semblance of human decency stuff, and it's still somehow biting him in the ass. At a certain point this has to be a talent. He doesn't wait for Ric to respond, breezes back down the main way and out the door. Slams it shut for good measure, rattling the frame hard enough to echo a message that he has zero intention of coming back inside. Maybe most of that's the witches' doing. A reminder he's not welcome here, there, or anywhere. Whatever, man. Not his kind of party anyway.

He only gets as far as Ric's car when he remembers he can't vamp speed out of here, which is just more bullshit he's not in the mood to figure out. Breaking something might help, and for a brief moment the windshield is an appealing option. Driving off and leaving Ric to walk would also feel good. For a moment. The combination of both sounds like a recipe for bugs in his mouth, though, so he abandons that pretty immediately. Mostly because he doesn't actually want to do any of those things, just can't temper what part of this is psycho wolf brain and what part is regular grade, psycho Damon brain. Neither are trustworthy. And you know what, neither is Ric. Dawns on him then that his impulse control has found some check, which is a very dim bright side. Does it still count if he doesn’t have an audience? Back to a tree falling in the forest. Might be easier to just burn it down.

He takes a minute, maybe five, trying to sort out what Ric - not present Ric, because that guy's not handling anything well - would do. What he might need to unscrew this particular setback. Maybe he had a point in there. The air outside is clean of any morbid witchy tension, and that helps calm his nerves enough to think of action beyond destruction. There's a couple things he can try. Booze might be the problem but booze is also the solution, where Alaric is generally concerned, so he sighs, fishes the emergency bottle out of the trunk and figures that's a long enough break. He can be cool again. Probably. The front door is heavier this time (for crying out loud, can they get over themselves?) but Damon doesn't bother to step over the threshold. "Hey, asshole," he calls inside, scanning what he can make out under the magic light show, "If you're not jerking off or dead yet, I got something for you. Consider it a grand prize for being a worse liar than Jeremy." And maybe that's sort of an apology, too. Depends on Ric's attitude.

[girlcrushau]

[b-rainlet]

Babe. Babe wake up, I can't stop thinking about Aegond and their weird ass fuck sibling dynamic. Babe.

[skinnymeanfaggot]

also

[slvttyplum]

suguru is the type to answer the phone while he’s fucking you.

ugh the man he is, while he’s deep inside you and he gets a call and he’s contemplating on answering but does it anyways.

this doesn’t happen all the time but it happens most of the time, he’s a busy man who has a lot of people who rely on him.

you’ve gotten used to it but your eyes will still go big when you see him reaching for his as he’s mid stroke.

your walls clenching up from anxiety but all he’s does is smirk and presses the accept button quickly covering your mouth.

muffled moans will come out and he’ll shoot you a glare as he pushes into you even harder as the distant voices from the phone come out.

“hello?… yeah of course i’m not busy… just chilling out.” you feel so good that he himself can’t even keep his moans down but he’s gotten better over time.

especially with how you clench around him when you hear how nonchalantly he’s talking to the other person on the side.

suguru even thinks your pussy feels better when you’re on the phone, the way you clench around him and make those wide eyes turns him on so much.

he’ll lean down and lower his phone down so he can be at a distance to where the other person can’t hear and say…

“you’re being such a good girl, just keep being quiet.” praising you for lying under him as he pushes all his length inside of you, quiet curses slipping out of his mouth.

the other person will question what he said and he’ll just laugh and shoot you a wink as he smirks before deepening his strokes.

“huh? oh nothing nothing i pushed into something too hard.” sometimes you’ll laugh but the other times you’ll be crying under his hand because of how good it feels.

the way he purposely does things so you can let out a whimper loud enough so the other person can hear.

they’ll ask with a lot of concern coating their voice what was that and suguru will say every time…

“it’s just my dog… she’s being a bad girl.” then push into you quickly causing you to moan so loud there was no way the person wouldn’t notice.

it turns him on so much to answer calls in the middle of fucking, he actually encourages people to call him then flips you over and gets to work.

it’s like a kink, that keeps him going.

[simonbrain]

love the idea of reader just trying to fuck all her stress out with a random at the bar before returning back to her mundane life, and simon deciding he's going to keep her instead 🙂‍↕️

the prick doesn't budge when you try to kick him out; instead, he drags you back into bed and works his mouth to loosen you up again, and now you've forgotten why you were trying to haul his ass out of your home.

(you attempted to sound stern while telling him to get out of your house, but he merely chuckled, the sound so raspy and condescending that it stroked a heat within you that you thought was sated last night.

"this is our home. now get your arse back in bed, i'm fuckin' hungry.")

you had to really fist at his hair to pull him off of you, and that only turned him on if the deep groan rumbling out of him was anything to go by—you swear his tongue sunk deeper inside you. he only relented so he could fuck you dumb in the shower after, leaving you with trembling legs and feeling more dirty than clean (atta girl, don't you waste any of tha'—keep it all in).

you blink, and now suddenly you're seated as he spoon-feeds you a nice, hearty breakfast, huffing something like messy girl when toast crumbs get all over your face and the wooden table.

words can't express how flustered you are; you're too stunned to even continue telling the big man who's now feeding you scrambled eggs that he needs to leave. all you feel like you're capable of doing is opening your mouth to accept another spoonful, ignoring the ache you feel between your thighs when you catch his heavy stare and hear a low hum of approval.

then he's leaving (and it's not because of your nagging), muttering something about having to work those mutts to the bone today, all while you're trying to make sense of what's happening. he gives you a sloppy kiss to silence your questions and exasperation, one that makes you feel hot all over and almost melt into a puddle had it not been for the firm grip he had on your ass.

he licks his lips when he pulls back, eyes darting to where your shirt just barely covers where he'd rather be all day than having to go and train recruits. he stares for an uncomfortably long time and before you can speak up, face growing a little hot from the tension, he's turning around to finally leave.

before the door shuts, he says, "be a good girl, ay? see you tonight, birdie."

you're left with your thoughts and feelings of dread and anxiety. there definitely isn't any underlying interest or anything; the freak has fucked your brain out of your head, that's all. you're sure he didn't even mean it anyway. maybe. hopefully.

a drop of his come rolls down your thigh, and arousal shame burns through you. since when did you let one-night stands finish in you?

(your so-called one-night stand came home hungry and pissed, so worked up that he dragged you over to the nearest surface and played with you for a good hour. by the time you had half the mind to tell him about the dinner in the oven—your eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets at how much money he had sent you for groceries earlier, nevermind how he got ahold of your account details—he grunted and finally gave your poor pussy a break, scarred mug all slick and flushed.)

good luck when he takes you to meet his mates at the bar a week later, the same bar you brought him home from; the comments from them make you wish a hole in the ground would just swallow you right up.

"pretty thing ye caught, lt," johnny grins, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. he's a bit over the top, ogles your chest too hard, but overall he's... alright. you'd probably notice how perverted he really was if you actually looked at him longer than a few fleeting glances, but his stare is kind of unnerving.

kyle—perfection personified—hums in agreement, a warm smile on his face that puts you at ease. somehow you don't pick up on the ulterior motive behind his gaze running over your body, eyes roaming over your chest more discreetly than johnny but just as appreciative. "pretty indeed. you don't mind sharing, do you ghost?" kyle teases, pretty eyes glancing over at simon, who only huffs at that and shakes his head (much to your confusion).

who the fuck is ghost? you only know big guy and simon.

there's a deep chuckle and your focus flits over to the man seated in front of you, captain john price. if you thought simon was scary, john's a man who demands respect and attention just by being in his presence. "you chose the wrong dog to bring home," john hums, voice deep and gravelly and making you shamefully squeeze your thighs together.

"but that's alright, sweetheart. you have three others now, yeah?" the purr that comes out of his mouth is sinful, and when you nod and stammer out a yes, sir as if you were one of his soldiers and not the sweet girl that simon has brought to his captain, looking for approval of his newest toy, he only smiles.

simon's hand squeezes your thigh underneath the table, trailing upwards, and you're slowly understanding what it is that you've gotten yourself into.

[itneverendshere]

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

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

You’ve had to make a lot of unfortunate decisions in your life.

Choosing a place for your entire family to rest for eternity, picking the caskets, the headstones—it felt like deciding which curtains to buy for the house, except you were burying your entire close family.

After the crash, your parents were gone instantly, just like that—no goodbyes, no warning, just there one moment and gone the next.

But your sister survived. Three days. You thought maybe that was a sign, she’d live despite everything, and you wouldn’t be left alone.

Two weeks later, the doctors told you it was time, but you couldn’t accept it. You held her hand, begging her to stay, telling her every promise you could think of if she opened her eyes.

When the monitors finally went flat, you couldn’t feel anything but desperation. Rafe had to pull you out of there, his arms locked around you while you kicked and screamed, sobbing and begging your sister not to go, not to leave you here.

You fought him with everything you had left, clawing, crying, pleading for just one more second. You were screaming so loud you didn’t even recognize your voice. Everything good had been ripped away from your hands, there was nothing left of the world you’d known.

After that, you remember sitting in some stuffy funeral home office, skimming through catalogs and hardly seeing the pages through your tears. The caskets all looked the same, the types of wood made no difference to you, fabric linings, all of it felt so wrong. 

None of it was a choice you should have to make. 

It was unthinkable to be contemplating about gravestones. How could you sum up your family in limited words or dates, let alone choose a font for it?

You just picked something neutral and blank, something that didn’t require thought or emotion because, by then, you had nothing left to give. 

Now you were trapped again, caught between a rock and a hard place.

Your first thought had been telling Topper, your only real family left, but he was as much Rafe’s as he was yours, and when it came down to it, he was still his best friend. Loyal to him since they were five, and jesus knows how he’d react if he found out about this. He’d most likely freak the fuck out and tell Rafe everything, thinking he was doing the right thing, or worse, letting it slip to Ruthie.

Ruthie—no chance you’d involve her. She’d just see this as another fucked up piece of gossip she could hold over your head, another way to judge or control you. She was “friend” only in the loosest sense of the word.

Kelce was the last person you’d consider turning to for something this serious. He has always been there, but you never got close. He was too much of an instigator, always pushing Rafe to do reckless things he’d regret later, peer pressuring him in ways that made you wonder if he even knew what loyalty meant. He had this weird loyalty to Ruthie, defending her comments as if she was some misunderstood angel when really, she was just… mean.

So that left Sarah. 

It felt weird, thinking of her as the person you’d call on for something so serious, she was the only one who felt… safe. She wouldn’t judge, wouldn’t pry, she’d seen what the worst kind of family conflict could do, and she’d keep this private, just for you.

It’s then you recognized how small your world was. How few people were truly yours.

You were pretty sure no one in this town would fully understand, they’d just offer their "advice," as if they knew you, seen what you’d been through. 

The truth was, they didn’t know shit. They hadn't seen you holding your sister’s hand, begging her to stay alive. They didn’t know what it was like to bury everything that made you feel like a person, like you belonged somewhere, and have to get up the next day like nothing happened.

Nine days, you would be halfway across the country, and you needed someone. You pictured saying it out loud: “I’m pregnant", just those two words, to someone’s face, you had no idea what to say next.

Maybe you’d tell them that it wasn’t about wanting it gone out of spite or shame, but because you couldn’t bring a child into a world where you felt this alone.

Earlier that morning, you’d stared down at your phone, thumb itching to click on Sarah’s name, like just pressing "call" could fix everything. You despised how needy it made you feel—reaching out, when you’d prided yourself on surviving alone. 

You didn’t have much time to ponder about it, because you were stuck at the beach cleanup.

Just like every other summer, another "social responsibility" event that your late father’s foundation insisted you smile through. Even back then, when they were alive, your summers were a carousel of charity galas, fundraisers, endless hours of small talk, and impeccably arranged seating charts.

The board members of the foundation probably thought it would “ground” you—remind you of your privilege, of your “responsibility” to give back. As if a couple of hours and a few bags of garbage would somehow balance the scales. They never seemed to understand how much of it was all for show, this shallow idea that if you looked the part, no one would care to learn more.

But, still, you’d show up. You always did. Smile, make just enough small talk to appease the right people. 

Today, it was just you, a few kids and teens dotted along the beach with oversized trash bags. It wasn’t even noon, but the sun felt like it was scorching you alive. It was laughable, really, standing under this blistering sun with a cheap trash bag and an endless stretch of sand to clean. 

Kie, who was so genuinely invested in this whole “save the planet” thing it was almost enviable was there too with JJ, who was running around her as usual, wearing his ‘I’m just here for the ride’ expression but enjoying himself. The love between them made you miss having someone who cared in ways that weren’t just calculated moves.

She waved at you from the shoreline, her eyes moving to the trash bag you were barely half-filling.

You weren’t friends, but if Sarah liked her, you did too.

You offered a faint smile back, tired, because between all the shit you’d been thinking about, you'd forgotten to eat, to drink anything, and every time you leaned down to grab another crumpled plastic bottle or a bit of seaweed-laden garbage, you felt like your legs were about to give out on you. 

Every now and then, she would throw a quick, appraising glance your way, like she was expecting you to miraculously become invested in the beach’s ecosystem.

You didn’t have it in you to pretend this was enjoyable today. The “effortless” philanthropy your family loved was a lifestyle you’d never bought into. It didn’t matter how many smiling photos of you had ended up on some charity’s social media—you knew you’d rather be anywhere else.

You had to take a break every few minutes, leaning against a pier post, trying to get yourself together as a few of the younger kids gave you wary glances. You could have left—probably should have.

You managed a tight-lipped smile, giving a thumbs-up that said, Just doing great over here, guys!

You were in a long t-shirt, which hung over your bikini and shorts, the fabric slightly oversized, to help hide what was still a small change in your body. Paranoia was your new best friend, always worrying that someone would notice something different, even if you didn’t have a noticeable bump yet.

Bending down to grab another plastic bottle, you felt a stab of nausea hit you hard, rolling up from your stomach, thick and sour, but you ignored it. Not here. Not now.

You straightened up too fast, and your vision blurred slightly, that familiar sense of vertigo hitting you. You took a shallow breath, ignoring the burn at the back of your throat, your hands shaking slightly as you adjusted the bag slung over your shoulder.

One girl looked up at you with these wide eyes kids like to pull, “Are you okay?” 

You smiled, brushing it off as if you weren’t about two seconds away from collapsing. “Of course. Just... need a second.” 

The kids were watching you again, with that look of curiosity. You couldn’t look them in the eye. It wasn’t their fault. They just didn’t understand that sometimes the grown-ups didn’t know what they were doing either. 

Just a few more bags of trash and you’d be able to get back to your car, maybe grab some water from the cooler in the trunk, sit down, and think about it.

This used to be easy, you got a weird kind of enjoyment from these cleanups, running around with your sister, making it a competition to see who could pick up the most trash, laughing until your stomachs hurt over stupid jokes about jellyfish and sunscreen. Back then, this was just one of a thousand little family traditions, one of those things that felt effortless.

Now, sweat dripped down the back of your neck, making your skin prickle uncomfortably.

You’d long given up wiping it away, knowing that it would only come back thicker and hotter the next second. Every instinct told you to run off to the parking lot, and sit in the car with the AC blasting until your body remembered it didn’t hate you.

Leaning down for one last bottle wedged in the sand, your legs wobbled and gave way beneath you. Just like that, your vision was spotty, as if someone had turned down the brightness on the entire beach, and you pitched forward.

Just as you felt yourself going down, a hand caught your arm, pulling you back up.

"Whoa, whoa, you okay?" A teenage boy, maybe sixteen, gripped your arm firmly, keeping you upright.

How much longer could they realistically expect you to go on, plastering on that sweet, dutiful smile? How much “grounding” could one person take?

You blinked, trying to clear the haze in your eyes, "I’m fine. Just a little lightheaded, really, it’s fine,” you insisted, but then a shadow loomed beside you. 

Your vision was so foggy that it took seconds for you to register it.

You looked up slowly, feeling a familiar drop in your stomach as you realized who it was.

The last time you’d been this close to him, the two of you had been screaming insults across the room, Lily having to physically step in. She’d forced him to leave before you two killed each other. It was a miracle you hadn’t punched him then and there.

 “You should sit down.”

It felt like a sidekick to your chest.

The sound of his voice was grinding on your nerves, and just like that you were stuck back in your dream, a real memory, leaning against him, his hand playing with a strand of your hair as he laughed at something you’d said, the two of you carefree under a golden sunset. 

Except this was real.

Rafe was shirtless, with his board tucked under one arm, surf wax staining his fingers, and the sun glinting off his damp skin, like he was God’s gift to the Outer Banks. His buzzed hair was dark and wet, droplets trailing down his temples and catching along his jawline. His cheeks were flushed, a little red from the heat.

You looked away, somewhere over his shoulder, anywhere but at him, refusing to let him see you in this fragile state.

“Go away. I’m fine.”

But he didn’t move.

He’d been summoned from your absolute worst memories, catching you at your lowest when you least wanted his help. Typical. 

“No,” he refused firmly, with that stupid, stubborn look that made you want to throw something at his head. “I’ve seen you almost fall three times now.”

“Maybe if you stopped looking at me like a creep, you wouldn’t have to see me ‘almost fall.”

“I wasn’t—"

You grounded your teeth, “Just go back to surfing.”

Rafe let out a dry laugh, shaking his head as if you were the one acting crazy. “Yeah, 'cause you look perfectly stable right now.”

He'd always been a master of the passive-aggressive half-sneer, the art of making you feel like everyone else was imposing on his day, no matter the situation.

“Don’t act like you care.” you snapped, voice carrying over the sand, earning a few glances from nearby kids.

He ran a hand over his face, looking around as if he didn’t want to be there any more than you did, mouth pressed into a tight line. You wanted to scream that this was his fault too, that every choice he’d made led to you standing here alone, exhausted, and terrified.

“Water would help, y’know”, his tone just shy of patronizing “You can’t go around dehydrating yourself just to make a point.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Your fingers twitched with the urge to send him stumbling to the other side of the beach, you knew that any sudden movement would make you light-headed again, and the last thing you wanted was to give him more proof of your weakness.

The kid—still standing there, eyes wide and darting between you both—looked like he was watching a reality TV show when Kiara appeared at your side.

“Let’s not do this here,” she begged under her breath, handing you a bottle of water she’d brought over, a kindness you didn’t want but couldn’t reject. “Just sit down for a second, please?”

JJ followed, always with that air of easygoing nonchalance, but his eyes were serious as he glanced from you to Rafe.

“She’s right. Just take a second, yeah?” He looked over at Rafe, “Maybe you should leave,” he said pointedly.

“Maybe you should mind your fuckin’ business Maybank.”

“Look, uh,” the kid stammered, knowing he could get caught in the crossfire. “I’ll… I’ll go see if anyone needs help further down the beach…”

You waved him off, your focus still locked on Rafe as the kid all but bolted away, you didn’t want anyone to think they had to “rescue” you.

You tried to take a step back, but the little strength you had in you disappeared as you felt your knees wobble.

"Jesus," you heard him groan, and then his hands were on your arms, board on the sand, holding you as you stumbled. "I told you to sit down."

You shook his hands off, "Don’t tell me what to do.”

It was hard to believe the two of you had once burned hotter than any bonfire, two people who got under each other’s skin, in love, and in hate.

He let out an exasperated sigh while you took a sip from the water Kiara handed you, ignoring how your hands were still shaking around the bottle. 

She spoke again, trying to be the voice of reason, "We’re here to help the community, remember?"

JJ smirked, "Yeah, think the sea turtles are rooting for y’all to work out your issues somewhere else.”

You ignored his joke, keeping your eyes on Rafe, your pride and stubbornness refusing to let him win, “I’m fine.”

“Yeah?”

He looked you over, his gaze fixed to your warm cheeks and the dewy sheen across your temple, “You look real fine, don’t you?” He didn’t even try to cloak his sarcasm.

God, he could be so exasperating.

He couldn’t understand. How could he even think he could look at you now and know anything about who you were? Standing there, with that stupid board and that look, like he couldn’t imagine anything bothering him as much as this seemed to be bothering you.

As if he hadn’t already ruined you in so many ways that felt impossible to get over. 

“Don’t you have something better to do?” 

“Oh, believe me, I do,” he drawled, his eyes trailing from the waves back to you. 

You were tired of this game, of fighting him every time he showed up only to leave you feeling even emptier than before.

Your fists clenched, and you opened your mouth to hurl something back, but the dizziness hit you again. Before you could compose yourself, Rafe’s arm wrapped around your waist, strong and frustratingly secure, holding you upright with an ease that made your skin crawl.

He had seen you at your weakest, had been there at the hospital after the accident, keeping you together when you were certain you’d break. 

Yet, here you were, in a sick way, back in his arms, all broken apart.

“That’s it. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“I hate to say it, but he’s right,” JJ chimed in, hand shielding his eyes from the sun.

The world alone had all kinds of alarms going off in your brain. You fought back instinctively, your hands pushing at his chest, freeing your arm. 

“I told you, I’m fine.”

He let go, but he didn’t back away.

Instead, he narrowed his eyes, “You think I don’t know what fine looks like? I was there.”

He was there. And you didn’t want to be reminded of it, not in front of other people. 

He meant the exhaustion and hunger pains you’d welcomed after your family was gone, embraced even, because it meant you wouldn’t have to feel anything else.

You’d wanted to disappear, and he’d been there—dragging you back, forcing you to drink water and swallow bites of food, even when you pushed him away. He’d seen you at your absolute lowest, where you didn’t care if you made it through the day. 

The thought of the hospital, tests, questions, you fought it, but your vision was already blurring.

You couldn’t let him find out about the baby. 

Your breathing felt tighter, each shallow breath only making the spinning worse, you could sense your body giving in to the exhaustion

“Shit,” you heard him curse, sounding distant now like he was farther away. 

You felt yourself sway as if the ground was opening beneath you, there was a ringing in your ears that made his voice sound muffled but you still felt his arms catching you again, holding you upright before you fell.

Waking up in a moving vehicle was like emerging from a nightmare, except somehow, this was worse, because you were no longer at the beach. 

You blinked hard, desperate to wipe the fogginess in your eyes and when it did go away, you realized who was behind the wheel. 

Rafe. 

Your heart pounded—your desperation to keep the baby a secret, how you almost passed out at the beach, and the fact that now he was most likely driving you to the hospital.

“What the hell are you doing?” you practically screamed, your voice hoarse from the lack of water.

He didn’t spare you a glance, “You passed out, genius. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

Your whole body went rigid. “Are you insane?”

“Me?” He scoffed, as he kept his focus on the road. “You practically ate sand back there. You’re not fine.”

“Turn the car around. I’ll call my driver and be fine.” You huffed like he was too dumb to understand. “I don’t need your help.”

He let out a dry laugh, still not looking at you. 

“Yeah. You’re out of your mind if you think I’m letting you out of this car right now.”

“Rafe, I’m not kidding,” you warned, louder this time. “Stop. The. Car.”

He gave you a sideways glance, his grip on the wheel tightening.

“Not happening.”

Your heart hammered as you realized he wasn’t going to back down, you were driven by sheer desperation.

“Fine, then I’ll do it myself." you muttered, reaching for the door handle. 

Anything to get out of this suffocating car before he dragged you all the way to the ER and they found out you were pregnant—with his baby, no less.

His eyes widened, finally snapping from the road to your hand on the handle.

“Are you crazy? Get your hand off that, I’m fuckin' serious.”

You yanked at it anyway, twisting the handle and pulling with spiteful defiance, and Rafe’s expression went from annoyed to full-on rage. He swerved the car to the side of the road, tires skidding as he slammed the brakes and practically threw the car into park.

Before he could even stop fully, you flung the door open and stumbled out, sandals sinking into the gravel as you stalked away.

You didn’t get more than a few feet, he was already bolting after you.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you muttered, digging your nails into your palms. 

How the hell had it come to this? You were stuck here, pregnant with his child, and he played the reluctant hero like you needed him swooping in to save you.

Rafe reached you in two strides, his fingers were digging into his forehead, pointing at it with exasperation imprinted into every corner of his face. 

“Are you out of your fuckin' mind?” He sounded like he was talking to some unruly child.

And the worst part? You could see that frustration in his eyes, the same look he used to give you when he’d reached his limit with you.

You wondered if he ever got to that point with Sofia.

What would he do if she was the one almost fainting? Would he still look like she was some colossal burden, or would he soften, maybe even smile as he fussed over her, acting like he wanted to help?

You hated yourself for caring at all.

Sofia—the one who looked like she'd been ripped off from some perfect postcard, all wide-eyed sweetness and gentle smiles. She probably never challenged him, snapped back, or made him want to pull his hair out.

There was no way he’d look at her like she was a mess, someone he just had to “deal with.” He likely saw her as easy, perfect, all soft and sweet words, everything you weren’t.

This wasn’t who you wanted to be, and yet here you were, stumbling around half-dead and pregnant with his child.

“I’m sorry, am I bothering you?” You spat the words, watching his jaw clench tighter. 

He exhaled sharply, rolling his eyes. 

“Unbelievable. Only you could take me trying to help and turn it into this.”

You were done. You were done with the memories, with the torment of seeing him be something better for someone else. 

“Help?” You laughed bitterly, the anger engulfing you so hard it felt as if it choking you. “You think this is help? That I need you, of all people?”

He took a step back, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I'm trying to help."

You hated how calm he was, how rational he sounded.

It was maddening when all you wanted was for him to get angry, to let that icy surface crack, to give you even a glimpse of something real, something that wasn’t just irritation or sarcasm.

You wanted proof that he still was affected by you, that this was the same guy who used to be everything, who’d promised you everything.

But you swallowed it down, straightening up, because there was no way in hell, you’d let him see even a hint of weakness.

“Trust me,” you shot back, “I’ll be just fine without you.”

He raised an eyebrow, a bitter smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “Get in the car.”

“No,” you said, firm and unyielding, every inch of you screaming that you wouldn’t let him decide anything for you ever again.

“Fine. Have it your way.”

In one swift move, he reached out, his hands gripping your arms with enough pressure to pull you forward, lifting you clean off your feet. Your breath caught in a furious gasp as he practically dragged you back to the car, his fingers warm against your skin, like you were just a mild convenience. 

“Put me down!” 

You struggled against his hold, jabbing at his chest with what little strength you could muster, but he didn’t even flinch, didn’t so much as hesitate. 

“Rafe, I swear—”

He opened the passenger door with one hand, keeping a firm grip on you with the other, before finally setting you down—not gently—onto the seat. Without meaning to, tears began falling as you struggled against his hands. You could feel them wetting your cheeks, your voice was breaking, jumping to distress as you tried to twist out of his hold, feeling so small under his unrelenting strength.

He almost knelt in front of you, reaching for the seat belt with one hand, while his other remained firmly on your shoulder, holding you still. You felt trapped, impresioned as you tried to turn in every direction, hands weakly pushing him back, but he caught them effortlessly.

“Stop!” you meekly choked out, failing to shove him, the words coming out shameful.

You could feel your heart breaking all over again.

You hated that he was seeing you like this, how he dared to act like you needed him—it made your skin crawl. You hated that he could do this, like he had any right like you’d ever wanted him involved in this part of your life, let alone now.

This was a version of you only Rafe could bring out.

You glared up at him, practically shaking with rage as Rafe ignored your protests like you were nothing more than a child throwing a fit. 

“Get your hands off me.”

His jaw tightened, ignoring the flailing punches and slaps grazing him, and you couldn’t stop the sob that escaped, loud and ugly.

“I’m not letting you kill yourself out of spite.”

Your chest hurt like you’d been run over a hundred times—it felt suffocating. “I hate you.”

For the first time, you thought he might actually leave you here. 

His fingers stopped as if your words had made an impact, his lips pressed into a thin line. Your vision blurred as he leaned in, his touch hovering as if to wipe away the tear running down your cheek, but he didn’t, instead, he closed his hand into a fist and drew back, his face just inches from yours. 

A faint, humorless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he clicked the seatbelt into place. He made a low humming noise, that thing he did when he was getting ready to make someone feel two inches tall. 

 "Yeah? Get in line."

Without another word, he pulled back, slamming the door shut, and walking around to the driver’s side.

You wiped at your cheeks, furious that he’d seen you like this, that he had the power to break you down. It was humiliating, sitting here in his car, every part of your body screaming to escape. 

He got in, started the engine, neither of you spoke.

Rafe drove fast, every rev of the engine matching the churning in your stomach perfectly. You sat there, trembling, the dread building with every mile that passed. You gripped the seatbelt so hard it felt like your entire body might go numb, and stared straight ahead, breathing shallow, trying to ignore the sting in your eyes.

You bit back another wave of nausea. Weakness.

You’d already shown him too much. 

You didn’t need a lecture from some doctor on how you “should’ve taken better care of yourself", let alone with Rafe there, watching, scrutinizing, acting like this was his business when he’d made it clear long ago that it wasn’t. He was in your space in the worst way, reopening all the wounds.

You were seething. He had no right to do this.

The thought made you want to drop dead—doctor would walk in, casually drop the news about the baby, and you'd be left watching his reaction in real time.

You looked at the entrance to the ER. The vision of anyone running tests, of some well-meaning nurse, coming in and spilling everything about the baby in front of him—no way. You wouldn’t let that happen.

He wasted no time getting out, moving around to your side, while you sat rigidly, staring straight ahead. His hand was already on the door, yanking it open, looking down at you like he was ready to drag you inside if he had to.

You weren’t moving. You knew the second you stepped inside, it would be over. 

“C’mon,” Rafe pressed, his hand outstretched, hovering there like he thought he could compel you to listen. “Stop being so stubborn.”

You crossed your arms over your stomach, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I’m not going in.”

Rafe let out a sigh, nearing his limit, and knelt down to your level.

“Look, you passed out. I’m not leaving until you get checked out.”

“You’re gonna be here for a while then.”

“Would you stop?” His voice softened for the first time, as if he was trying to reach some part of you that he thought still cared. “You look like you haven’t slept in days, like you haven’t eaten anything that wasn’t out of a vending machine. I know you don’t want my help, but can you just stop for a second and—”

“And what?” you interrupted.

“And think! If you don’t get in there, I’ll drag you in myself.”

Your heart raced, “You wouldn’t dare.”

Rafe stepped closer; his jaw set in determination. “Try me.”

“You’re not coming in."

He blinked like the idea hadn’t even occurred to him. “What?”

Maybe he was seeing the protection you’d built up around yourself since he left, how there was no longer any crack left open for him to slip through.

“I don’t need you. I don’t want you in there.”

“Fine.” His tone was clipped, restrained. “But I’ll be right here.”

You slammed the door shut behind you, not letting him your legs still shaking. You’d rather collapse face-first into the concrete than give him the satisfaction of listening to him. 

“Yeah, you do that,” you replied, turning and walking toward the entrance, refusing to look back.

Stepping inside, you felt a slight tremor run through you—part relief, part panic. The lights were too bright, almost white. Your heart wobbled, replaying how he’d been such a fucking asshole to you.

You’d forgotten how mean he could be, how easily he could go from angry to something so frigid it made you want to cry yourself to sleep.

“Hi there,” The receptionist greeted, her eyes moving over you with a professional once-over, “What brings you in today?”

You forced a small smile, knowing she wouldn’t buy it.

“Just…got a little dehydrated, that’s all.”

“Okay…let’s just get some basic information.” She clicked into her computer, her fingers poised over the keyboard. “Name?”

You cleared your throat, rattling off your full name, she nodded, typing it in.

“Have you experienced any other symptoms besides dizziness?”

“Nothing serious,” you replied, dismissively. “It’s just the heat, like I said. I just need some water and I’ll be good as new.”

This had to be a fucking nightmare you got sucked in, you could sense your blood pressure spike.

She tapped her screen and glanced back at you.

“Alright, Miss Thornton, it looks like we’ll just need a few quick details here to get you all checked in. Can I start with your insurance provider?”

A chuckle almost slipped out of you. Insurance—God, you were fine with insurance. What you weren’t okay with was everything else. You answered, “Blue Cross.”

She asked for your birthdate, which you gave on autopilot, hoping she’d skip any weird or invasive questions. “Any allergies?”

You shook your head. Please, just let this be over. 

“It’s really not a big deal,” You blurted out, giving her a thin smile and forcing calm into your voice. “I just need the IV. You know, standard stuff.”

“Of course, dear. We’ll get things started, it will include routine tests, like bloodwork, just to be safe.”

Bloodwork. Perfect. You were doing everything you could to keep from falling into that spiraling panic mode. 

Please, just get me in, get me out, and don’t find anything.

“Just head down to Room 12.”

All you could think was that you wanted this to be over—before the whole town, or worse, he, found out. It made you want to scream. He was the last person who should be outside.

This was his fault. You’d never be here if he hadn’t shown up.

The next hour passed in seconds—questions, forms, an IV drip.

They’d done blood work, too, but you’d sighed in relief when they’d told you the results wouldn’t be ready immediately. As far as they knew, you’d just overdone it, and now, as you lay on a cot in a room that reeked of sick people, all they’d prescribed was rest, hydration, and food.

When the nurse asked if anyone could pick you up, the thought of calling someone, asking them to see you like this, made you delirious. You didn’t need anyone; you were perfectly fine on your own.

But you also didn’t want Rafe and his delusional ass to barge through the doors.

The nurse moved around you awkwardly, eyes still expectant, as if you were just a button away from a reliable “someone” to come running.

You looked at her, controlling the compulsion to yell. Little people ever bothered to check on you, to show up for more than just the drama or gossip.

Out of them, only one face bounced around in your head.

“Yeah, I got someone.”

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