#broken fucking system. it's horrifying.

[orcelito]

Genuinely hate being an American. The amount of pro-israel propaganda is insane. The knowledge that my tax money is going towards funding genocide makes me feel fucking livid. And no matter how many people protest it, they won't fucking Listen to us.

"Free country" my ass. Why can one man just decide to bomb another country without congressional agreement? You don't fucking represent me. Stop supporting the genocide!!!!!

[inkskinned]

so one of the things that's so horrifying about birth control is that you have to, like, navigate this incredibly personal choice about your body and yet also face the epitome of misogyny. like, someone in the comments will say it wasn't that bad for me, and you'll be utterly silenced. like, everyone treats birth control like something that's super dirty. like, you have no fucking information or control over this thing because certain powerful people find it icky.

first it was the oral contraceptives. you went on those young, mostly for reasons unrelated to birth control - even your dermatologist suggested them to control your acne. the list of side effects was longer than your arm, and you just stared at it, horrified.

it made you so mentally ill, but you just heard that this was adulthood. that, yes, there are of course side effects, what did you expect. one day you looked up yasmin makes me depressed because surely this was far too intense, and you discovered that over 12,000 lawsuits had been successfully filed against the brand. it remains commonly prescribed on the open market. you switched brands a few times before oral contraceptives stopped being in any way effective. your doctor just, like, shrugged and said you could try a different brand again.

and the thing is that you're a feminist. you know from your own experience that birth control can be lifesaving, and that even when used for birth control - it is necessary healthcare. you have seen it save so many people from such bad situations, yourself included. it is critical that any person has access to birth control, and you would never suggest that we just get rid of all of it.

you were a little skeeved out by the implant (heard too many bad stories about it) and figured - okay, iud. it was some of the worst pain you've ever fucking experienced, and you did it with a small number of tylenol in your system (3), like you were getting your bikini line waxed instead of something practically sewn into your body.

and what's wild is that because sometimes it isn't a painful insertion process, it is vanishingly rare to find a doctor that will actually numb the area. while your doctor was talking to you about which brand to choose, you were thinking about the other ways you've been injured in your life. you thought about how you had a suspicious mole frozen off - something so small and easy - and how they'd numbed a huge area. you thought about when you broke your wrist and didn't actually notice, because you'd thought it was a sprain.

your understanding of pain is that how the human body responds to injury doesn't always relate to the actual pain tolerance of the person - it's more about how lucky that person is physically. maybe they broke it in a perfect way. maybe they happened to get hurt in a place without a lot of nerve endings. some people can handle a broken femur but crumble under a sore tooth. there's no true way to predict how "much" something actually hurts.

in no other situation would it be appropriate for doctors to ignore pain. just because someone can break their wrist and not feel it doesn't mean no one should receive pain meds for a broken wrist. it just means that particular person was lucky about it. it should not define treatment.

in the comments of videos about IUDs, literally thousands of people report agony. blinding, nauseating, soul-crushing agony. they say things like i had 2 kids and this was the worst thing i ever experienced or i literally have a tattoo on my ribs and it felt like a tickle. this thing almost killed me or would rather run into traffic than ever feel that again.

so it's either true that every single person who reports severe pain is exaggerating. or it's true that it's far more likely you will experience pain, rather than "just a pinch." and yet - there's nothing fucking been done about it. it kind of feels like a shrug is layered on top of everything - since technically it's elective, isn't it kind of your fault for agreeing to select it? stop being fearmongering. stop being defensive.

you fucking needed yours. you are almost weirdly protective of it. yours was so important for your physical and mental health. it helped you off hormonal birth control and even started helping some of your symptoms. it still fucking hurt for no fucking reason.

once while recovering from surgery, they offered you like 15 days of vicodin. you only took 2 of them. you've been offered oxy for tonsillitis. you turned down opioids while recovering from your wisdom tooth extraction. everything else has the option. you fucking drove yourself home after it, shocked and quietly weeping, feeling like something very bad had just happened. the nurse that held your hand during the experience looked down at you, tears in her eyes, and said - i know. this is cruelty in action.

and it's fucked up because the conversation is never just "hey, so the way we are doing this is fucking barbaric and doctors should be required to offer serious pain meds" - it's usually something around the lines of "well, it didn't kill you, did it?"

you just found out that removing that little bitch will hurt just as bad. a little pinch like how oral contraceptives have "some" serious symptoms. like your life and pain are expendable or not really important. like maybe we are all hysterical about it?

hysteria comes from the latin word for uterus, which is great!

you stand here at a crossroads. like - this thing is so important. did they really have to make it so fucking dangerous. and why is it that if you make a complaint, you're told - i didn't even want you to have this in the first place. we're told be careful what you wish for. we're told that it's our fault for wanting something so illict; we could simply choose not to need medication. that maybe if we don't like the scraps, we should get ready to starve.

we have been saying for so long - "i'm not asking you to remove the option, i'm asking you to reconsider the risk." this entire time we hear: well, this is what you wanted, isn't it?

[obxsummer]

chaotic // ghost of you

pairing: jj maybank x routledge!reader

summary: a quick glimpse down memory lane before the group heads to charleston where you and john b are placed on cemetery duty. good thing a sibling intervention was needed and john b's hit with the heavy realization that you'd been left with more than superficial scars from the camerons.

warnings: ptsd, non-consensual drug use, angst, rafe cameron, typical obx violence, ward cameron being a dickhead, almost kidnapping?

a/n: good luck, godspeed, & listen to chaotic by tate mcrae

navigation -- series masterlist

ask me anything

--

“Would you do this to your sister?”

Rafe stared at you, horrified, as you hummed on the bed from the effects of the heavy indica based oil he’d put in your drink. You were practically on a cloud, and he was surprised you even had the energy to speak. You’d never asked him anything, just begged him to stop and let go, but never this.

“What?”

You forced yourself up to a sitting position, practically fluttering at the pain relief he’d given you. Rafe spent more time in this room with you, just talking and yelling and taking his anger out on you because you were there. You usually didn’t bother to comment back, just taking whatever he’d give because you’d given up on the idea of life getting any better. 

“Would you put Sarah through this?” You repeated, eyes blinking quickly at him. 

Rafe bent down to snort the line of white powder he’d organized on your calf; any other surface in the room and his dad would notice (or that’s what he told himself). “The fuck are you talking about?”

“I mean, John B would never do this to your sister, so why the hell are you doing it to his?”

The question caught Rafe off guard more than he expected. His dad had practically ruined his relationships with everyone he’d come to know. Except you, Ward had broken you into the perfect little companion for Rafe. There was no running away, nobody to come save you. So, in his own little twisted way, he really liked having you around. You were his.

“I don’t have to answer you,” Rafe replied weakly, knowing damn well he would’ve never allowed anything like that to happen to Sarah. Not…no? Maybe. He didn’t know anymore and his brain wasn’t working correctly now with the drugs in his system.

You sighed, “Okay.” Flopping back on the bedding, you stared at the ceiling. Your heartbeat was in your ears and it felt like time was passing so slowly.

“Would you ever forgive John B if he did that?”

You shook your head and gave him a thumbs down. “John B would never do that. And if he did, I’d never speak to him again.”

The statement hurt. As much as Rafe tried to convince himself that you were wrong, it hurt. He wanted to be good, to be worthy of someone’s love and attention. He’d tried his whole life to but he kept fucking up. That’s why he was leaning on you. You were fixing that hole in his chest whether you knew it or not.

“Would you ever talk to me again?” Rafe stared at the bland walls as he spoke.

A moment of silence filled the room before he turned to see if you were still awake. Your eyes remained unblinking, the rise and fall of your chest in a steady motion the only sign that you were still alive. 

“You’re really scaring me,” You answered honestly. Your mind was silent, the only thing running through it was Rafe’s question, so you had no reason to lie to him. “You’re hurting me. You’re really hurting me and I don’t understand why.”

Rafe turned away when you started crying, your form shivering in an adrenaline drop as you rolled onto your side away from him. He sat silently until your breathing evened out, eyes closing as you fell into an induced slumber before he turned the lights off and left the room, locking the door as he did.

--

John B was worried.

Let’s be clear, as the eldest of the group, John B worried often, but when it came to you, he always was. 

Everything was off since you and Kie had returned from the shop and it was practically a red flag waving in front of his face. Neither of you said anything but it was obvious from the timing of everything paired with tear tracks on your faces that something happened. He just had to wait it out for more details.

Revealing everything to Kie had brought up a lot of buried feelings and although you wanted nothing more than to hide away, you didn’t want to risk staying home by yourself. You were quiet the entire ferry ride, claiming you were tired and needed a nap so nobody would question your lack of energy. That didn’t mean you missed out on the conversations around you, eavesdropping your way into John B’s awkward insinuation of moving into the next step with Sarah.

The topic pulled tears to your eyes as you thought about the idea with JJ. Would you guys stay in Kildare? Would you move somewhere, or stay here and carry out a different kind of life that neither of you had experienced?

“So based on the captain’s log, Blackbeard’s in his ship, the Adventure, somewhere out there, and they’re being pursued by the British Royal Navy, right? So, he comes to shore, takes a bunch of hostages. They called it the, um, the-“

“Oh, the uh, the Blockade of Charleston. That was eighth-grade history.” John B interrupted Pope’s story with such confidence it almost brought you out of your shitty mood.

You walked slowly behind them, head covered by one of John B’s old Kildare High hoodies, the sweater paws keeping you warm. Kie was a few steps ahead of you, walking next to Sarah. Every now and then she would spare a glance back to make sure you were still there. Cleo walked ahead of everyone else, knife twirling between her fingers with murder on her mind. She would get her revenge on Terrance’s behalf.

Your attention drifted from John B and Pope’s conversation to your phone where your messages to JJ had gone unanswered. You knew he could hold his own, but you hated the thought of leaving him in search of his dad, not that he would’ve let you go anyway.

“Come on, Birdie.” John B had slowed his pace to walk along your side, his hand grabbing yours so you’d drop your head on his shoulder. “Wanna talk?”

You shook your head slightly but squeezed his hand in appreciation that he was here. Pope was busy solving the riddle left by the amulet that had brought you here.

“Wait, I have a question. So, if we’re talking about caskets, that doesn’t mean we’re going to another cemetery, right?”

You laughed softly at John B’s question, leaning further into his side as the six of you continued walking down the cobblestone street. The walk continued much longer than you would’ve liked, your mind and body ready to lay down for a little and reset.

“You know what’s been bothering me?” Pope asked after the sun had set and you’d walked a good 5 miles. “Blackbeard has a treasure he desperately wants to keep. He’s being pursued by the British Royal Navy. They’re blockading the entire city. Yet he finds time to make coffins to bury his cook and navigator?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, time out. Time out, time out. Dude, he definitely put something in those coffins.”

“Are you dumb.” You let go of John B’s hand to stop in front of him, giving him a blank look. He looked offended as you walked away from him, shaking your head as you did. It was quite obvious that you were looking for treasure hidden in the coffins.

“Half Moon, Half Moon Battery, where the living and the dead collide, which I figure is a cemetery, which means all we have to do is figure out where-“

“The North Star is?” Sarah finished Pope’s thought as she raised her hand to point to a stained-glass window of the church on the corner. You shrugged at her find, figuring it made sense to at least give it a shot.

John B wrapped an arm around his girlfriend. “Sarah Cameron, have I told you I love you lately?”

Pope stared at the colored object for a few more seconds before turning to address all of you. “Here’s the plan, alright? I’m gonna need you and you for diversions. You’re coming with me, I need to check something in the church. And you two are on cemetery duty.”

That put Sarah and Cleo on distractions, Kiara going with Pope, and you were left with John B for cemetery duty.

“Wait, what?” You asked as you looked around the darkness surrounding you and your brother seemed to be on the same page. “Don’t leave us out here!”

“Look for the gatekeeper in the cemetery,” Pope explained as the remainder of the group started walking toward the entrance. “Be so safe!”

You rolled your eyes at the ongoing joke, turning to face John B. “We just got benched.”

“Yep, where the living and dead collide, the Routledges will provide. Awesome,” He grumbled and walked around the gate to enter the graveyard area. “It’s not real, they’re dead. It’s gonna be fine, we’ll be fine.”

You sighed and let him rant away to himself as you found a spot on the stairs to claim for the upcoming time. Pulling John B’s hoodie sleeves further over your hands, you shivered with the cool night breeze.

“So, are you gonna tell me what the hell is going on or am I going to have to drag it out of someone else?” John B took a seat next to you and cracked his knuckles like it would make him any tougher. 

As much as you loved Kie, you knew she wasn’t good at keeping secrets, and you wanted to talk to John B before she went running. Your teeth pulled at the chapped skin of your lips before you answered, “I heard you on the ferry, talking to Sarah about starting a family.”

He seemed confused for a moment before his cheeks burned red. “Oh, that’s awkward. Um, that… that should’ve been a more private conversation and-”

“Would you hate Sarah if she didn’t have kids?”

The question wasn’t one John B anticipated. Out of all the things you guys had talked about before, raising a family wasn’t one discussed. With your own family relationship being rocky, John B never knew where you stood on the idea and if you’d ever want that for yourself (and JJ, but he tried not to think about that).

“No, n-no. I would be sad, of course, but I wouldn’t hate her. She totally dodged the idea, though so you don’t have to worry about-”

“Would you leave her?”

John B frowned and blinked at you, but you still weren’t looking at him. He wasn’t used to you asking about his relationship in this kind of way. “Why are you asking this?”

You pushed a shaky breath from your lips and let your head drop to your knees. God, you wished JJ was here. He deserved to hear this from you first, but he wasn’t, and you didn’t know when he would be.

“John B, I can’t have kids.” You turned to watch his expression as he processed your words. Your eyes were warm with tears while a million emotions crossed his face.

“What?” John B didn’t know what else to say. You guys were barely adults, and this topic shouldn’t even be a thought in your mind with the current living conditions and lack of funding you all had. But you were his little sister, and his heart was breaking as you spoke. “Can’t or won’t?”

Tugging on the sleeves of the hoodie again, you looked down. “Can’t. Physically unable. Never going to happen.”

John B paused at the coldness in your voice. You were obviously upset but he still wasn’t sure where all of this was coming from. Plus, let’s be real. John B was a teenage boy at the end of the day; female anatomy was not his strong suit in any way. “Oh, okay. Um, is there like a problem or-”

“Rafe caused it.”

--

The Cameron house was cold. Sunlight filled the room, casting some warmth across the hardwood floor but you made no effort to enjoy it. Rose had just dropped a salad off at the door and told you that DCS would be visiting today, to get your shit together and not to mess anything up or Ward would go after your friends. You didn’t know whether to believe him or not, but you had nothing left to go off of. You hadn’t seen your friends in weeks, and you didn’t know if they even bothered to look for you.

DCS had yet to make any checkups on you and your brother since your dad disappeared, minus the one that John B narrowly avoided by jumping from the car when you thankfully weren’t home. You figured Ward had paid them off for so long, but now that John B was lost to sea, they were likely to get suspicious. 

Which meant they were coming to talk to you. Alone.

Perfect.

Forcing your tired and bruised body to your feet, you made your way into the attached bathroom to soak under the hot water and formulate a plan. If DCS did opt to talk to you, there had to be a way to get a silent SOS across. You didn’t know how, but you would come up with something, even if Rafe and Ward followed your every move. 

After soaking up most of the hot water, you finished getting ready for the day, pulling on a pair of shorts and one of John B’s t-shirts that had gotten mixed in your laundry. It would only be a matter of time before they’d come knocking at the door to collect you for show and tell.

Your eyes moved over everything in the room with hope something would pop up with an answer for all of your problems. And then you remembered the remaining food tray in the room. Ward or whoever dropped food to you typically left plastic wear to prevent you from using the typicaly cutlery as a resource, but that wasn’t the case today. Your eyes caught the metal knife that was intended to cut the meal, but you hadn’t touched it.

You grabbed the piece in your hand and moved slowly to to the door, running over JJ’s instructions in your head on how to possibly pop the lock using the tool. Pushing it between the door and the wall, you felt around for the horizontal lock, struggling to move it over. And then there was a pop, and your heart started racing.

Pressing your ear against the door, you listened for footsteps and voices, anything that would give you a warning of someone being nearby. When you didn’t hear anything, your fingers gently twisted the doorknob as far as it would go. A soft click told you it was yours to open as you pleased, so you did so, slowly.

The hallway was dim minus the sunlight leaking in from other rooms and your eyes caught sight of the large grandfather clock to your side. The ticking of the hands echoed down the silent hallway and you stood frozen for a moment before taking your first steps out. 

And nothing.

No yelling, no alarms, no impromptu body tackles to the floor. You could make this. You could make a run for it and they would be none the wiser until DCS was here.

Walking slowly down the hallway, you came to the foyer area where you could hear whispers from the kitchen filtering through. Moving into Sarah’s room, you glanced around for something, anything, that would help you get out of here without any suspicion. 

“Go get her. They’ll be here soon and I need to make sure she’s not going to run her mouth.”

“Dad, she’s going to-”

“Now, Rafe.”

You held your breath as Rafe mumbled an agreement and the sound of his footsteps echoed through the open room as he ascended the stairs. You needed to move, and move fast. Rafe cursed down the hall, likely figuring out that the door was unlocked and you clutched the butter knife tighter in your hand like it would offer any protection.

Ducking into Sarah’s walk-in closet, you scrambled to find an old phone or even her laptop if she’d left it behind but came up empty. “Shit,” You whispered to yourself and bent down to pull on a pair of her gym shoes since yours had been destroyed from years of wear. If nothing else, you needed to prepare to run. 

Grabbing a black hoodie from her shelves, you slipped it on over your t-shirt and pulled the hood up to keep your face hidden as much as possible. You would only have one shot at this, and you needed to make it count. 

Moving slowly toward Sarah’s bedroom door, you waited to see if you could hear Rafe’s presence down the hall but silence followed. The doorbell rang, Ward yelling out for his son in hopes that he would bring you down but Rafe didn’t answer.

“Hi, I’m Rebecca Sinclair with DCS. I’m presuming you’re Mr. Cameron.” 

Risking the step into the open, you walked out of Sarah’s room and kept your body pressed against the wall so you would be out of view for Ward and the DCS rep but could see their conversation.

“That would be me. Come in, can I get you something to drink?”

Rebecca shook her head. “This should be fairly quick. Where is Miss Routledge? I have to do an individual check in with her and then one with you as the legal guardian.”

“Let me go see where she’s at. She’s been having a really hard time with the loss of her brother and my daughter. They were such good friends, and-”

“Miss Routledge, please, Mr. Cameron.”

The DCS rep clearly wasn’t putting up with Ward. You took the chance to step forward into view, your mouth opening to yell out before someone’s hand clamped over your face and an arm yanked you back from view. You screamed against the action, the sound echoing throughout the hall.

“Apologies, she’s been crying all day. I’ll go grab her.”

Body thrashing, you attempted to pull out of Rafe’s grasp but he doubled down on his grip, even when you attempted to bite his hand. 

“Shut the fuck up or I’ll kill you!” He hissed in your ear as he dragged you down the hallway back into the room you’d seen for days upon days. Rafe tried to close the door as quietly as possible while still corralling you in his arms.

He slammed you against the bed covers, knee driving into your stomach as he kept his hand over your mouth. You cried out at the force, tears springing to your eyes at the pain that followed. You tried to push against his chest so he would get off, his other hand tightening around your throat causing the air to stop its way into your lungs.

You choked, eyes going wide as you stared back at him in hopes that he would find some sort of empathy and forgiveness, but cold eyes met yours. 

“I told you to shut the fuck up, you useless Pogue. I should kill you for-”

“Rafe.” Ward’s voice was demanding enough that his son stopped speaking but continued to glare at you. “Move your hand.”

Rafe complied, taking his hand from your throat but keeping the one on your mouth. You continued to push at him until he dropped more of his weight into the knee on your stomach and you cried again.

Ward’s face came into view, his sickly fake smile on his face as he held a small syringe into your view. “You could’ve just listened, you know? And we wouldn’t have to go to these lengths.”

He wasn’t gentle as he pushed the needle into your skin, subjecting you to whatever sedative he’d claimed good enough to handle your outburst. 

Your body went quiet within seconds, muscles relaxing and a numbness spreading from limb to limb. Your imaginary fight with Rafe ended and tears fell from your eyes at the helpless feeling. After a moment, Rafe moved his hand and shifted off of you as Ward tossed a spare blanket over your form.

“Go to your room, I’ll handle this.” 

You could tell Rafe wanted to disagree with Ward’s directions, but with a final glare your way, he removed himself from the room. Ward watched as your expression drooped, eyes blinking slower as the medicine kicked in. 

“I told you, you’ll never see them again.”

Heavy tears blinked from your eyes as you tried to fight through, tried to stay awake to warn the woman downstairs of your horrendous conditions, of how damaged they’d left you. But you couldn’t, despite all your efforts, you couldn’t. 

And as your vision faded to black, all you could think of was your brother and how you wanted to be with him again, more than anything in the world. 

--

And now, John B was going to be sick to his stomach so he stood up to pace while fighting the bile in his throat. Rafe Cameron. Rafe Cameron took away something you’d never even had a chance to consider.

“Did he…” The open ended question made John B dizzy at the thought of everything that you’d gone through, and when you shook your head no, he choked out a cough instead of the lunch he was threatening to leave in the bush.

You watched him from your spot on the stairs, heart racing as you recounted everything you’d told Kie earlier that day. “There was so much, um, scar tissue from the kicking…and the drugs. A-and they said it caused permanent damage that even if I wanted to get pregnant, I wouldn’t make it long.”

“When did you find out? The hospital? Or-or-” John B stopped pacing, his hand tugging at his hair to keep him from absolutely raging in the cemetery.

“It was when you got arrested,” You continued to explain around your tears before he lost his chill. “There was so much bleeding and… I didn’t know what to do…so I told Pope, and his dad took me to the hospital and-”

“Pope knows?” John B had never sounded so upset at the idea of one of his best friends finding out this information before he did. You were his sister, his other half no matter what happened. He wanted you to trust him, to lean on him for everything and anything you wanted. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You shrugged lightly, your voice cracking as you spoke, “Because I’m embarrassed? And ashamed and JJ’s going to leave when he finds out and-”

John B picked you up from the stairs and held you so tightly, he could’ve sworn you disappeared. His chest shook with your sobs as you sunk into the embrace. You weren’t even 19 yet and the possibility of growing a family with your boyfriend, John B’s best friend, was practically non-existent. 

Adoption was always an option, but John B knew what you were grieving, because he had almost grieved it when he lost Sarah on that table in Nassau. Plus, let’s not lie, the chances of you all getting your shit together and getting approved for that kind of thing were slipping away by the day. There was still so much time in your lives (you hoped), that you shouldn’t be hearing this news at such a young age, but like you said, life had been so cruel. 

John B stood there, with you in his arms, for as long as you’d let him. You cried for most of it, but a part of you was relieved he knew. You had tried to keep the conversation away as long as possible, like if you didn’t speak of it, you’d never have to accept that it was real. But it was, and you had to come to the realization that John B wouldn’t be an uncle to kids that you’d created on your own, that JJ wouldn’t ever get to redeem himself as a Dad to kids of his own, that you’d never get that experience.

 “I’m so sorry, I… I should’ve been there, I should’ve never left without you,” John B apologized and placed his hand on the back of your head to hold you closer. “God, I shouldn’t have-I didn’t mean for this to happen. I never meant for any of this to happen.” 

 “‘S not your fault,” You mumbled, every word being so honest. It had taken a lot of thought, but you couldn’t and you wouldn’t blame John B for what he’d done. He was a terrified kid, and you were too in your own ways. He was running for his life and you were watching from the sidelines. Older and younger. Brother and sister. Trapped in this horrible spiral life had given you.

“What are we looking for?”

An unsuspecting voice had you and John B diving for a hiding spot, your brother tugging you behind a gravestone that would keep both of you from prying eyes. John B held a finger to his lips, teary eyes making contact with yours as you were wrenched out of your heartbreaking conversation and back into reality. 

Keeping his hand on your shoulder to hold you out of view, John B peeked around the gravestone to see two figures wandering the cemetery with a lantern, obviously looking for something other than a deceased loved one. 

“We’re looking for an angel. A gatekeeper. One that looks a bit like her. Hello, Stede Bonnet,” A woman answered the question. “Isn’t that a beauty? Excellent, come on.”

You shivered, whether from the cool stone against your back or fear, you didn’t know and risked glancing over to see the two figures investigating another grave a few feet away from you. They were pulling out heavy tools in an attempt to open whatever was lying inside. 

“Shit,” John B whispered as you watched the woman place the amulet you’d found in the shipwreck into the stone, the headstone scraping open as she did. You quickly recognized the man as the one who had caught you and JJ while diving and again in the hospital, so that left this woman to be his boss.

After a moment of silence and more scraping noises, they disappeared under the stone, down into the tomb that lay beneath. Thunder cracked overhead and you jumped, grabbing onto John B’s arm in surprise. 

He moved away slowly and your grip tightened to stop him. “John B!”

“Shh, just stay behind me. We’re so not done with that conversation, by the way.”

You shuffled out slowly in fear of someone getting the jump on the two of you. John B paused in front of the headstone that the two people from earlier read; the angel statue had an outstretched hand, which you followed to the tomb they disappeared in.

“The gatekeeper will guide the way,” John B repeated as he followed your gaze. “Holy shit.”

“Holy shit,” You gasped out in shock, realizing they very much had figured out the words on the amulet faster than you’d planned. “Do you think…”

“They’ll be fine,” John B reassured, although you couldn’t tell if he was speaking more to himself or you. “They’re smart. Right?”

You tilted your head in consideration. “Better than us being down there.”

“Yeah, yeah. Way better than us.”

“Pope’s super smart.”

“Right and Cleo’s got her knife.”

“Sarah’s not dumb, she’ll be fine.”

“Kie can have her moments, but-”

Your reasoning was cut off as the headstone shifted and the two individuals from earlier climbed out. John B pushed you behind him further into the shadows of the building as you watched on with curious gazes. Lightning lit up the sky before thunder boomed around you, the storm clearly moving in closer despite your wishes. 

You needed to find your friends. And fast.

--

navigation -- series masterlist

ask me anything

[itneverendshere]

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - six

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛"

WARNINGS: domestic violence; blood; injuries; angst; smut;

word count: 7.6k

You saw it on the news before Sarah told you.

Ward was officially in police custody.

They were calling it the biggest crime operation in years, plastering his face on every corner of every newspaper in the country. You saw it first on your busted-up TV, the morning news anchor's serious tone making the gravity of the situation clear before Sarah had a chance to call.

He was stopped.

The man who caused so much pain to everyone you cared about was finally behind bars.

But your relief came with a bit of caution.

This was just the beginning. There was still a trial to face, and you knew how slippery Ward could be. He had enough money to buy whoever he wanted on the island if not the entire country, and the justice system wasn’t always as just as you hoped.

Trials could take months, even years before he was sentenced.

JJ cheered in the background, almost face-planting the ground as he struggled to get off his chair and call Pope. You hadn’t seen him this ecstatic in years, the hallways of your home echoing with “let’s fucking go, baby!” as he made his way upstairs.

You were content.

Was there really anything to be happy about?

Sure, a bad guy was getting what he deserved, but the destruction he left behind was still very much there.

Months ago, when the police contacted you again, you had refused to testify. What Ward did to you was terrifying, but what he did to Sarah, John B, and Rafe? They were the true witnesses to his evil.

You barely got a taste of his wrath. You were lucky. You wanted to be there, of course. Every person Ward hurt deserved all the support they could get. But watching Rafe Cameron—the boy who had idolized his father for years, now a man—sit in a chair facing countless cameras and strangers for hours as he recounted his life under Ward's control? That was a different kind of heartache.

Rafe.

You hadn’t seen him since that day he dropped by, and it felt like he vanished into thin air. You didn’t see him around town, not at the beach, and he never stopped by your job. You started wondering if he’d been cooped up in that awful house all this time.

You couldn’t shake this feeling of worry, knowing he was stuck in the shadow of his dad’s mess. Did he feel abandoned by you?

The thought of him, alone in that house, haunted you. You knew you should’ve reached out, found him as the town buzzed with the details of Ward’s arrest. More stories came out, each more horrifying than the last.

You almost gave in.

One evening, you found yourself riding past the Cameron estate. You'd forgotten how huge it was, and with the light fading, it just looked like this dark outline in the distance You almost went in, stopping by the gigantic gate, but then you saw movement inside and sped away on your bike.

You couldn’t do it. 

Whatever was between you both just felt… impossible to cross.

The sound of the waves crashing—it’s always been your escape.

You've spent so much time in the water, it felt like second nature to you. Growing up, swimming and surfing were your ways to get away from your dad’s violence and your mom being, well, absent. The ocean became your sanctuary, where you could forget about the yelling, broken furniture, and bottles littering your house. Floating out there, everything bad just… melted away.

But as soon as you stepped back on the sand and headed home, all that peace would disappear. Both your parents were long gone now, but that dread? It never left. It was like the house still held onto those old memories—the shouting, the fights. Even though it was quiet now, the walls were stained with the past. The creaky floorboards, the dim light, chipped paint—You hated it all.

You've thought about leaving so many times, but something always held you back. JJ, mostly. And, well, money.

Tonight, as you got closer, something felt off. JJ’s truck wasn’t in its usual spot, which wasn’t unheard of, but it felt wrong. The windows were shut too, which You never did—You always keep them open to let in the ocean breeze.

You called out for JJ, expecting his usual shout back, but there was just… silence. You brushed it off. Maybe he was out on the boat or glued to his video games.

You dropped your bag by the door and walked inside, calling his name again. That’s when you saw him.

Luke.

He looked even worse than before—disheveled, eyes bloodshot, reeking of alcohol. He’d been gone for a year. No calls, no messages. JJ and you paid him off, made sure he left the island, but here he was, standing in your living room like he belonged.

“You shouldn’t be here,” You managed, trying to sound stronger than you felt.

He laughed, this dark, hollow sound that made your skin crawl. “Just came to see my kids. That so wrong?”

Liar. You knew what he really wanted. “You need to leave. Now.”

His face twisted, the smirk gone. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“Watch me. Get out.”

He took a step back, hands up like he was surrendering. “I just need a little loan.”

You gripped the doorframe tighter. “No. You need to go. For good.”

He took a step back, raising his hands in mock surrender, “I just need a little loan.”

You tightened your grip on the edge of the doorframe, “No. You need to go, for good.”

For a second, you thought he’d listen, but then he took a step forward, and you could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“I’m not leaving without what I came for.”

“I don’t care,” You snapped, “Get your ass out of my house before I call the cops.”

“This is my house!” He all but screamed, the veins in his neck visible.

“Not anymore,” Your heart pounded in your chest, and every fiber of your being screamed for JJ, wishing he was here, “I’m not afraid of you,” you said, more to convince yourself than him.

He took another step forward, his face twisted in anger. “You always were a stubborn little brat.”

“And you’re a piece of shit.”

He lunged.

You barely dodged him, stumbling back into the living room. “Stay away from me!” You shouted, frantically searching for something, anything to defend myself.

Luke laughed again, that same twisted, hollow sound, and came at you. This time, he grabbed your arm, his grip painfully tight. You raised your other arm to block him, instincts kicking in.

“Stay away from me!” you shouted, frantically searching for something, anything to defend yourself.

“You little bitch,” he snarled, shoving you against the wall. The impact knocked the breath out of you, but you stayed focused.

You couldn’t let him win. Not again.

“You’re gonna give me what I want,” he hissed, his breath hot and disgusting.

“No, I’m not,” you spat back, summoning every ounce of courage you had.

With your free hand, you the grabbed the nearest thing—Mom’s old lamp—and swung it at him. The base cracked against his head, and he stumbled back, cursing.

“Bitch!” he roared, blood running down his face. It only made him angrier. He rushed you, knocking the lamp out of your hand, pinning you to the floor.

You were panicking, resorting to kicking and thrashing, doing anything to try to throw him off. “Get off me!” you screamed, clawing at his face.

His hand came down hard across your cheek, blurring your vision. “You really think you can fight me?”

He wrapped his hands around your throat, squeezing. Gasping for air, you remembred that you’d been here too many times. Your hand groped blindly on the floor, finding a heavy candlestick.

With the last of your strength, you swung it with everything you had, hitting him square in the head.

His grip loosened, and you scrambled to your feet, panting as he slumped to the side, groaning in pain.He groaned, trying to get up, but you hit him again. Harder this time. He collapsed, blood pooling around him. You stood over him, breathing heavy, barely processing what you'd just done.

But then, he stirred. He reached for your ankle.

You stumbled back, “Stay down goddamit!” you shouted, raising the candlestick again.

Luke pushed himself up, eyes wild with rage. “You’re gonna pay for that,” he spat, lunging at you again.

This time, you were ready.

As he reached for you, you twisted to the side, driving your knee into his stomach. He grunted, doubling over, and you brought your elbow down on his nose. It cracked. He roared, grabbing blindly at you.

You ducked and shoved a chair between you both, but he kicked it aside. It bought you just enough time to reach the kitchen. You grabbed the first thing yousaw—a cast-iron skillet.

He staggered into the kitchen after you, blood and sweat on his face.

“You just had to put up a fight, huh? Just like her.”

“Stay back,” you warned, gripping the skillet like your life depended on it. “I’ll fucking do it.”

Luke laughed, this sick, deranged sound that made your stomach churn. Then he lunged. Without thinking, you swung the skillet as hard as you could, the impact vibrating through your whole arm as it connected with his shoulder. He staggered, but you didn’t stop. You swung again, this time aiming for his head. The sound of the skillet hitting his temple echoed through the room. He collapsed, finally still.

Oh fuck.

For a moment, the house was deathly silent.

You dropped the skillet, your hands trembling.

Kneeling down, you checked for a pulse. It was faint, but there. Relief and horror flooded through you simultaneously. You almost killed him. There was blood everywhere—on the carpet, on the candlestick, on your hands.

You stumbled back, your mind spinning out of control. What if he dies? What if you actually killed him? This wasn’t supposed to happen. You just wanted him gone. Out of your life. Forever.

Your hands were trembling as you fumbled for your phone. You couldn’t think straight, your heart racing as you scrolled through your contacts. The names blurred through your tears. You needed help, but you couldn’t call JJ—he wasn’t here. And you couldn’t call the cops. Not yet. You weren’t ready for all of this.

Without fully realizing it, your finger landed on a contact you hadn’t called ever before. Your hands moved on autopilot, and the phone was already ringing. You kept your eyes on Luke, praying he wouldn’t move. The phone rang for what felt like an eternity.The phone rang, and you kept an eye on Luke, praying he wouldn’t move. It rang for only ten seconds, but it felt like an eternity.

“Maybank?”

“Rafe?” Your voice broke, the word barely making it out before a sob tore through your chest.

There was a brief pause, and then his voice came through, “Hey, hey. What's wrong? Are you okay?”

But you couldn't speak. Hearing his voice after all this time, after everything that had happened, it was too much. The fear, the relief, the chaos, all of it came crashing down, and your breath hitched.

You couldn’t think.

“Hey! Are you there? Talk to me!” Rafe's voice grew more urgent.

You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat, a sob escaping instead. Your knees gave out, and you sank to the floor, the phone slipping slightly in your grasp. You could barely breathe.

“Where are you?!”

You focused on his words, trying to match your breath to his timbre.

In. Out. In. Out. It helped, if only a little. The shaking in your hands lessened, but the fear never disappeared.

“I think... I think I killed my dad.”

You looked at the bloodstained carpet, the unconscious body of your father still lying there. The words felt foreign on your tongue, like someone else was speaking for you.

“Are you home? Are you safe?”

“I’m home,” you whispered, “JJ’s not here. I don’t know where he is.”

“I’m coming,” Rafe said, no hesitation in his voice. “Stay there. Don’t touch anything. I’ll be there soon.”

“Rafe—” You began, but he cut you off.

“I’ll be there soon. Just hang on, okay?”

The minutes ticked by, and you found yourself staring at the door, willing Rafe to appear. This wasn’t you. You didn’t hurt people. You just wanted peace. Why did it always end like this? What were you going to do? How were you going to live with yourself if Luke died?

Why did things never work out the way you wanted them to?

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, you heard the sound of a car pulling up outside. Moments later, the door burst open, and there he was.

“Maybank?”

He called out for you as he stepped inside.

Seconds later, he was standing in front of you, scanning the room, analyzing the scene. He rushed to your side, pulling you into his arms without hesitation. 

“It’s okay. I’m here. You’re gonna be okay.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple as he guided you away from the scene, his eyes lingering briefly on your father’s motionless figure.

“What happened?” He asked softly, leading you to sit on the couch. 

“He just showed up out of nowhere. He wanted money. I told him to leave, but he wouldn’t. He got violent, and I... “

“It’s okay.”

His warmth helped. But guilt? It stayed. The blood on your hands—it all felt surreal, like a nightmare you couldn't wake up from.

“Have you called 911?”

You shook your head, lips trembling as you tried not to cry.

“Do you want me to?”

The thought of police cars and paramedics filling the house, made your stomach churn. The fear of what might happen if Luke woke up, or if he didn't, paralyzed you. It took you a second to realize he already had his phone out, pressed to his ear.

"I need an ambulance.”

He stayed on the line with the dispatcher, giving them your address and the details. Your ears were ringing, unable to make out exactly what he was saying. 

"They're on their way," he reassured softly. "It’s gonna be okay."

You nodded, but you weren’t sure you believed it.

"They'll take him to the hospital," He murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "He'll get the help he needs."

"I... I didn't mean to..." you finally managed to whisper, your voice trembling.

Rafe’s hands griped yours, despite the blood coating it, "I know.”

The minutes felt like hours as you waited for the ambulance. You just wanted it to be over.

When the paramedics finally arrived, Rafe guided them to Luke's unconscious form while you sat numbly on the couch. They immediately went to work, assessing his condition and preparing him for transport. Police officers soon followed, asking questions, and taking statements. Rafe handled most of the interaction, protecting you from the brunt of their interrogations. After what felt like an eternity, they finally moved Luke onto a stretcher and carried him out of the house. He followed them to the door, speaking briefly with one of the paramedics before they loaded Luke into the ambulance and drove away.

He kneeled in front of you, “You can’t say here, okay? They called JJ, he’s on the mainland, but he’ll take the first ferry down here tomorrow.”

You nodded, feeling drained.

"Come on," Rafe urged, helping you to your feet. "Let's get you out of here."

He guided you out of the house and into his truck, the engine already running. The drive was quiet, the only sound being the hum of the engine and the occasional sniffle from you.

Rafe reached over, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. You slumped back in the plush seat, eyes closed, trying to steady your breathing, too embarrassed to look at him.

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

You didn't even register where you were headed until the truck pulled to a stop. When you finally opened your eyes, you realized you were at Rafe’s place.

Tanneyhill.

It felt odd, being there, and under such circumstances. He helped you out of the truck, guiding you inside with a protective arm around your waist.

"Sit down," he said gently, leading you to the living room. "I'll get you some water."

You sank into the expensive couch, feeling the soft cushions envelop you. It was weird sitting in his home after everything that had happened.

He returned quickly with a glass of water, pressing it into your trembling hands.

"Drink," he instructed, sitting beside you.

You took a small sip, the cool water soothing your dry throat. Rafe watched you closely.

"You need to rest," he said. "I’ll be right here."

"But I—"

"You need to rest," he repeated firmly, "We can talk more in the morning.”

There was a part of you that wanted to argue, to insist that you were fine, that you didn’t need his help. You’d done this for years, alone. And yet, here he was, offering you help. Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe you just missed him, but for once in your life, you didn’t fight him. 

You nodded, letting him take you upstairs.

"Let's get you cleaned up," he said, noticing the blood still on your skin and clothes. "You can’t go to bed like this."

At this point, you were too tired to speak, simply following his instructions as he guided to the bathroom.

"Here," he turned on the shower and adjusting the temperature. "Take your time. I'll leave some clean clothes for you right outside the door."

You slipped into the bathroom and shut the door behind you. The sound of the water running felt comforting, like a tiny slice of normalcy in the middle of this mess. Your hands shook a little as you peeled off your clothes, your shorts sticking to your skin. The sight of the dried blood on your hands and shirt almost broke you all over again. This couldn't be real.

You just stood there for a while, letting the heat work its way into your muscles. Eyes closed, you tried to block out the image of your dad lying there on the floor. Slowly, you started scrubbing your skin, trying to wash away every trace of what had just happened. The soap smelled like lavender, and for a split second, you smiled—this was Rafe’s scent. You recognized it from earlier when he hugged you. Somehow, that tiny detail grounded you, pulling you back to the present.

By the time you stepped out and wrapped yourself in a fluffy towel, you felt slightly more like yourself.

Outside the door, Rafe had left you some clothes: his sweatpants, a t-shirt, and boxers—like he said he would. They were a little too big, but warm and soft, like a hug. And, well, they were Rafe’s. That felt oddly comforting.

You opened the bathroom door to find him waiting in the hallway. He seemed relieved to see you and you hated yourself for making him worry so bad.

"Feeling better?" 

"A little," you admitted. "Thank you."

He nodded, then motioned for you to follow. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

He led you to a guest room, the bed already made with fresh sheets. It looked so inviting, you almost forgot everything that happened tonight. Almost.

“Sit here,” he said, gesturing to the edge of the bed. He disappeared for a second and came back with a first-aid kit. Kneeling in front of you, he gently took your hands in his. “Lemme see.”

Your hands were scratched up and bruised, still carrying the marks from your dad. You hesitated but then slowly extended them to Rafe.

“This might sting a little,” he said softly, wiping the cuts with antiseptic. You winced but didn’t make a sound. He noticed though, his brows furrowing in concern. “I’m sorry."

"’M used to it. It’s okay,” You nodded, biting your lip as he cleaned the wound. 

The antiseptic burned, but you focused on Rafe’s face, the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the softness in his eyes as he wrapped your hand with practiced care. 

“I didn’t want to drag you into my mess.”

Rafe paused, his hands stilling for a moment.

“You’re not a mess.”

You let out a short, dry laugh. “Right.”

His fingers continued their work, securing the bandage with gentle precision. “I mean it.”

His tone was so final, like there wasn’t even room for doubt.

“Why—Why did you pick up the phone?”

“You know why.”

His answer made your heart hurt, the kind of hurt that came from months of trying to keep your distance. But he wasn’t budging, and that did something to you. When he finished wrapping your hands, he set them gently in your lap. “All done.”

You sank into the mattress as he pulled the blankets over you and ssomething about it felt so foreign and so… nice. No one ever took care of you like this.

“C-Can you stay here?”

He paused, adjusting the pillows, clearly debating with himself. “I don’t think—”

“Please.”

Without saying anything, Rafe slipped off his shoes and climbed into bed next to you. He pulled you into his arms, and instantly, everything felt a little less terrifying. His warmth, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the faint scent of lavender—it all made you feel safe, like maybe you could finally let go.

"It's okay. I'm here. You're safe."

You buried your face in his chest, tears finally spilling over, but this time they weren’t from fear. They were from relief. From release. Rafe held you tighter, his hands gently rubbing your back in soothing circles. He didn’t say anything more. He didn’t need to. He just held you, and that was enough. The minutes passed and your breathing synced with his, your body finally relaxing for the first time in what felt like forever. The tension started to melt away, and before you knew it, your eyelids were getting heavy.

"Thank you," Your voice was muffled against his chest. "For everything."

He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Sleep.”

You snuggled closer to him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest, and for the first time in a long time, you felt at home.

When you woke up the next morning, Rafe was gone. The bed next to you was cold, but the events of last night still pushed heavy on your chest. You sat up, your heart dropping to the floor as you realized the nightmare wasn’t over. The bloodstained clothes on the floor, the hollow feeling in your chest—it was all real.

You felt an immense amount of guilt as you remembered how you had leaned on him for support after you cut him out of your life. He had enough going on with his own family, his own problems. And now you’d dragged him into yours.

You rolled out of bed, Rafe's oversized sweatpants and t-shirt practically swallowing you whole. You had no idea where he went, so you headed toward the door, ears perked for any clue. As you walked down the hallway, you heard voices coming from the kitchen—well, Rafe’s voice, specifically, speaking in a low hushed tone.

You hesitated for a moment, your curiosity getting the better of you. Slowly, you made your way towards the kitchen, the sound of his voice growing clearer with each step.

“…I don’t care what it fucking takes,” Rafe all but spat, his tone filled with determination. “Yeah, I know the charges will stick. Just make sure he doesn’t get out on bail. I don’t want him anywhere near her again.”

You froze mid-step. What?

He paused, listening intently. You took another step closer, peering around the corner to see him standing by the counter, his phone pressed to his ear.

“No, she’s fine,” he continued, “But I want to make sure she stays that way.”

You felt your breath hitch. Oh my god. He was talking about your dad. He was trying to protect you, even now.

“Rafe…” 

He turned around, his eyes widening as he saw you standing there.

“I’ll call you later.” He hung up fast, slipping his phone into his pocket, trying (and failing) to act casual. “Hey, you’re up.”

“What were you doing?” You asked, arms crossed. “Who were you talking to?”

“Hmm?”

“Rafe,” You warned, too tired to play games, “Who were you talking to?”

He sighed, looking impossibly uncomfortable as you sized him up.

“My lawyer. Getting a restraining order for you.”

The confirmation nearly made your brain split into two.

“What?”

Rafe hesitated, knowing he couldn't hide the truth from you. Not that he even tried lately. He ran a hand through his buzzed hair, a gesture you recognized as a sign of his unease. 

"I'm trying to get a restraining order against your father."

"Why?"

“Why?”

His eyes met yours, so serious. “Because you need one.”

You stood there, completely thrown. He was really doing this—for you? He was going to bat for you, putting himself in the line of fire to protect you from the man who had haunted your life for so long. Tears welled up in your eyes, and you didn’t even try to stop them.

“I’m sorry.”

"Stop saying that," He rubbed his hand over his face like he didn’t know what else to do, "What happened last night… it’s not something you should ever have to deal with. I should’ve been here sooner. I should’ve—"

“You couldn’t have known.”

Rafe shook his head, "I should've been here.”

You walked closer, closing the distance between you. "Rafe, you don't owe me anything."

He reached out tentatively, his hand hovering in the air for a moment before he gently cupped your cheek. His touch was familiar, comforting and you leaned into it, closing your eyes briefly.

"I owe you everything," he murmured. 

You let out a shaky breath, “Don’t say that.”

But he wouldn’t let it go. He tilted your face up, thumb brushing away a tear. “You think I’d be there if it wasn’t for you? Shit—Pretty, look around. It’s just me.”

Your heart pounded in your ribcage, the sincerity in his tone making it hard to breathe. You had spent so long building up walls around your heart, convincing yourself that you didn’t need anyone, that you could handle everything on your own.

“You’ve been alone?” You all but sob, “You’ve been here all this time? By yourself?”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry,” His hand on your cheek trembled slightly, “I’m okay, see?”

You covered his hand with yours. “I was so mad at you,” You admitted.

“Baby—”

“You don’t understand,” you explained, voice cracking slightly, “I just... I didn’t know what to do.”

He drew you closer, his other arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you against him. You melted into him instantly. 

"I deserved it,” Rafe muttered, trying to laugh but failing.

You shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks, "You told me you were getting clean, that you were seeing a psychologist, and I-I wasn’t there.”

Rafe’s grip on your hand tightened, his eyes pleading with you to understand. “I was a train wreck, and I hurt you. You needed to protect yourself.”

“But I should’ve been there for you,” you insisted, your voice breaking. “You were trying to get better, and I just...walked away.”

“Jesus Christ Maybank” He let out a breathy laugh, almost like he didn’t know how to handle the conversation.. “Stop the waterfloods, you’re gonna make me cry.”

“Shut up,” I sniffled, laughing through the tears. “I’m trying to apologize—”

“You don’t have to, baby,” He cut you off, shaking his head, “Not to me, or anyone else.”

His breath mingled with yours, his presence soothing you in a way you hadn’t felt in months.

Your heart pounded in your chest as he closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, hesitant kiss. It was as if he was testing the waters, ensuring you were okay with this, and when you didn’t pull away, the kiss deepened. His hand moved to the back of your neck, holding you gently but firmly as his lips explored yours.

You felt yourself give in to him, your hands gripping his shirt to make sure he was real. You’d dreamed about him for too damn long to understand the difference. The kiss was slow, deliberate…loving.

When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, Rafe rested his forehead against yours, breath ragged.

“Can’t believe you made me fall in love with a pogue.”

Oh.

You blinked, caught off guard.

“In love?”

He bit his lip, looking nervous all of a sudden. “Yeah.”

You could see the anxiety roaring inside him. The way his shoulders seemed to squeeze back in, eyes dropping to your lips. 

You smiled, brushing yours fingers against his cheek. “Never thought I’d fall for a kook.”

Rafe groaned, dropping his head onto your shoulder, teeth grazing against your skin, “Don’t play with me.”

“I’m not,” You whispered, tilting his chin up so he had to look at you. “I mean it."

His eyes examined yours for a long moment as if confirming your words. Then, without even saying anything, he closed the distance between you again. This time, no hesitation. None of that uncertainty from before.

His hands roamed over your body, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t get enough. The kiss was so different from the one before. You could feel the heat building between you, that undeniable chemistry pulling you together.

His hands slipped under your shirt, his shirt, the touch of his fingertips on your bare skin sending shivers down your spine. Rafe’s lips trailed down your neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin there, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You gasped, tilting your head to give him better access. His hands were everywhere, exploring, caressing, making you dizzy with need.

“I need you,” your voice came out all breathless, your fingers clutching his shoulders.

He stopped for a second, lifting his head to look at you, those blue eyes dark with desire.

“You’re hurt,” he muttered, swallowing hard. “Last night—”

“I don’t care,” you replied, shaking your head. “You fucked me after I got shot.”

“That night was different. We were different.”

You nodded, the memory flashing in your mind. The urgency, the desperation, how you clung to each other like you were drowning.

He hesitated for a split second longer, his thumb brushing over the bruise on your cheek. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t,” you promised, pulling him back to you. “I trust you.”

That was all he needed. His restraint melted away, and he kissed you like he couldn’t help himself, lifting you easily and carrying you upstairs. When he laid you down on the bed, it was so gentle, like you were the most precious thing to him.

Rafe hovered over you, his eyes locked on yours as he stripped off his shirt. Your hands traced the lines of his muscles, loving the way they moved under your touch. He leaned down, capturing your lips in another kiss, hot and deep, as his hands started unbuttoning your shirt.

Everything blurred after that—clothes disappearing, just the two of you, skin to skin. His hands, his lips, everywhere.

“Do you know how much I missed you?” he murmured.

You smiled, cupping his face, “Tell me.”

Rafe’s breath hitched, “Every damn day. Every fucking minute. I’d close my eyes and all I could see was you.”

His voice faded, but his hands kept moving, tracing soft patterns along your sides. He was rediscovering you, like it had been forever.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer. “I’m here now.”

Rafe smiled against your skin, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, holding you steady. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again.

You nodded, pressing a kiss to his jaw, “More than okay. I want this. I want you.”

His kisses trailed down your neck, slow and deliberate. “I love the way you laugh,” he whispered against your skin, his lips brushing your collarbone. “How your eyes light up when you talk about something you care about. How strong you are, even when you don’t see it.”

You shivered at his words, your heart swelling with love for the man holding you so tenderly. "Rafe..."

He kissed your lips softly, silencing you.

"I love the way you look at me," he continued, his hands slipping under your shirt, caressing the bare skin beneath. "Like I'm the only person in the world. Like I matter."

You could feel tears welling up in your eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity of his words, his touch.

"You do matter," you whispered, your voice breaking. “You matter to me.”

Rafe's hands moved lower, teasing the waistband of your, his, boxers.

“I love how brave you are," he said, his voice husky, "How you face everything, even when it's terrifying." He slid them down, eyes never leaving yours. “Last night… I was terrified. I thought I was gonna lose you.”

You reached for him, fingers tangling in his grown-out hair, pulling him closer. “I’m right here,” you whispered, lips brushing his. “Right here.”

Rafe's hands found your hips, his touch firm and reassuring. "I love you," he said again,�� "And I need you to know that. Shit, I need you to feel it."

You nodded, tears streaming down your cheeks. "I do. I feel it."

He kissed you again, this time with an urgency that made your heart race against your ribs. His lips, his hands, everything about him was showing you just how much you meant to him. You could feel him holding back though, his body tense under your hands. You trailed your fingers down his back, feeling every inch of him, and it wasn’t long before he pressed against you, letting you feel just how much he wanted this too.

His lips found your breasts, kissing and teasing, his hands caressing your sides, your hips. You moaned, arching into his touch, your body trembling with need. "Rafe..."

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire, "I love the way you say my name. Like it's the only word that matters." He kissed his way down your stomach, his hands sliding lower, teasing you, driving you wild with anticipation. "I love the way you taste," he breathed, hot against your skin. "The way you feel."

You gasped, your body arching off the bed as his fingers found you, teasing, exploring. 

"Rafe, please..."

He kissed his way back up your body, "I've got you. I'm here. Tell me if you want me to stop."

You shook your head, urging him on. "Don't stop.”

He kissed your hip bones, his hands gently spreading your legs wider. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, and the intensity in them made your breath catch. He moved lower, his lips trailing down your inner thigh, his fingers lightly caressing your other leg.

When his mouth finally reached your pussy, you gasped, your body arching off the bed. His tongue flicked out, teasing you, tasting you.The sensation was electric, sending jolts of pleasure through you. Fuck you missed this. His grip on your thighs tightened, holding you in place as he continued his slow, deliberate assault.

He explored you with his tongue, each movement precise,intentional. He found a rhythm that made your head spin, alternating between gentle flicks and firm strokes. You moaned, your fingers tightening in his short strands, pulling him closer, needing more.

Rafe responded to your silent plea, his tongue delving deeper, his hands gripping your thighs harder, fingernails digging into your skin.

The pressure built, an overwhelming pleasure that threatened to consume you whole. He groaned against you, the vibration sending you even higher.

"Mmm," you gasped, your breath coming in short, desperate bursts. "Don't stop. P-Please, don't stop."

He didn't.

He increased his pace, his tongue moving faster, his hands sliding under your hips, lifting you slightly to give him better access. You could feel the heat pooling in your core, the pleasure building to an unbearable peak. Rafe’s mouth never left you, his tongue driving you to the brink. You cried out his name, your body trembling as you teetered on the edge. He sucked gently, his tongue flicking rapidly, and that was all it took. You shattered, not a wave, but an entire fuckcking ocean of ecstasy crashing over you, your vision going white as the pleasure consumed you. He continued his ministrations, guiding you through your orgasm, his tongue and lips never slowing, drawing out every last bit of pleasure.

When you finally came down, your body spent and trembling, Rafe kissed his way back up your body, his hands soothing the aftershocks with gentle caresses.

He hovered over you, his lips capturing yours in a deep, passionate kiss. You could taste yourself on him, the intimacy of it making your heart swell.

"My perfect girl," he growled against your lips.

Your bruised hands roamed over his broad shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles, he shifted, pressing his hips against yours, letting you feel his arousal. You moaned into his mouth, your hands moving lower, wanting to touch him, to feel him inside you.

Rafe’s breath hitched as your fingers brushed against the waistband of his boxers, teasing him.

“Are you sure?” he asked one more time, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’ve never been more sure,” you answered, and that was it.

He cared so much it nearly sent you into an emotional spiral again.

In one swift motion, he shed his boxers, and you took in the sight of him, hard and ready. He moved over you, positioning himself between your legs, his eyes never leaving yours. He took his time, teasing you with his fingers, making sure you were ready for him.

You gasped at the feeling—God, you missed him. Every inch of him.

He paused, forehead resting against yours, giving you a moment to adjust. “Fuck, I missed this,” he groaned, his voice strained.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him to move. “Don’t hold back,” you whispered, almost begging. “I want all of you.”

Rafe didn't need further encouragement.

He started moving, slow at first, but each roll of his hips had you feeling like you were losing it. Every time he pushed deeper, you swore you could feel him in your bones. Your nails dug into his back, leaving marks that you knew would be there tomorrow, but right now? You didn’t care. You just needed to feel closer to him.

His kiss was intense—like he was pouring everything into it, his tongue matching the rhythm of his hips, making your whole body shiver. His hands were all over you, one sliding under your back to pull you even closer, the other tangling in your hair, keeping you exactly where he wanted. You moved with him, your bodies syncing up like you’d never been apart.

Rafe’s pace picked up, and you could tell he was losing control, his thrusts coming faster, harder. And then, his voice, low and rough, sent a chill straight through you.

“Don’t stop, baby. Fuck—don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he growled, his words barely audible between breaths. “Never.”

That was it—he completely let go, moving even harder, like he couldn’t get enough of you. The sound of your bodies crashing together, the moans and gasps—it was all so intense.

You didn’t understand the sudden urge, but suddenly, without even thinking, you pushed at his chest, flipping him onto his back.

“Your turn,” you whispered, climbing on top of him, straddling him. He looked up at you, a little surprised, but the way his hands landed on your hips made it clear he was all in. And God, you’d never seen him look so good.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, his hands sliding up your sides, cupping your breasts gently. “Every part of you."

You leaned down, brushing your lips against his stubbled jaw. That roughness on your skin sent a rush through you, especially when you felt him brushing against you just right. You let out a soft moan, then pulled back, grinding down on him. The way his eyes darkened, the way his fingers tightened on your hips, it was like you were driving him wild.

“You like that?” you teased, your voice low, your fingers running down his chest.

“Fuck, yes,” he groaned, gripping you harder. “You feel incredible.”

You reached between you, guiding him back inside, both of you gasping at the sensation. You started moving, slow at first, taking your time with it, loving the way he filled you.

Rafe’s hands were everywhere, caressing you, teasing you, making you lose it a little more with every touch. “God, you’re perfect,” he murmured, his eyes locked on yours. “Ride me, baby. I wanna see you come again.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, spurring you on. You increased your pace, rolling your hips, finding the angle that drove you both to the edge. Your hands braced against his chest, your nails digging into his skin as you rode him harder, faster.

“Fuck, Rafe,” you gasped, your breath coming in short, desperate bursts. “You feel so good inside me.”

He groaned, “You can’t be real,” his hands guided your hips, urging you to move faster. “This can’t be real—Shit, keep doing that.”

The pleasure built with every movement, your bodies moving together like they never parted.

You could feel the heat pooling in your core, the tension building, ready to snap. Rafe’s hands slid up to your breasts, teasing your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through you.

“Come for me, baby,” Rafe urged, his voice rough with desire. “I want to feel you come around me.”

His words pushed you over. You cried out, your body arching, your vision going white as the orgasm crashed over you. Rafe groaned, his hips thrusting up to meet yours as he followed you, his release filling you, pretty hisses and groans filling your ears.

You collapsed on top of him, both of you completely spent, still trying to catch your breath. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, and you buried your face in his neck, overwhelmed by how intense everything felt.

When you looked up, the way he was staring at you caught you off guard. There was this softness, this disbelief in his expression, like he was seeing you for the first time.

"What?" you asked softly, a smile tugging at your lips despite the slight confusion.

He blinked, like he was snapping out of it, then gently traced your cheekbone with his fingers.

“I just… I can’t believe you’re real.”

“Rafe…”

He silenced you with a soft kiss, his lips barely brushing yours, but it sent a wave of warmth through you.

“I love you,” he whispered.

You smiled, heart full. “I love you too.”

[brionysea]

jason todd as a meta character (meta as in a story being aware it's a story not as in the dc version of mutants) is so fascinating to me because he doesn't even know he's doing it, he's just criticising the structures in universe, which has the power to bring the whole thing down because batman as a franchise relies on systemic oppression and cruelty and the broken system never being fixed and the status quo never changing. batman has to be a failure in order to be a success, he can never truly make any meaningful change in gotham because that would mean the end of the story, and jason is doing media criticism from inside the media.

the point of him truly can be summed up in two words: fuck batman. because yeah, existing as a comic book character must be kind of horrifying, actually. they can rewrite your life as many times as they want, kill you on a whim because robin isn't popular with readers anymore, then drag you back out of your grave, reach into your mind, and change your past so that everything bad that's ever happened to you was your own fault all along.

let him out of the comic book.

[unforth]

I keep seeing posts comparing this to 2004 or other past election losses and how this feels the same or similar to those past times.

As another Old who voted in 2004 (and I missed voting in 2000 by a month and was furious about it) I really can't even put into words how vehemently I disagree.

In 2008, I remember very earnestly sitting down with some friends and saying that if somehow McCain beat Obama, I'd have to join the fucking revolution, because I couldn't believe that this country would elect a Republican AGAIN after the previous 8 years of bullshit. I look back now and think how incredibly naive I was, but I also look back now and think, damn, why aren't I 25 NOW? I can't join the revolution now, I'm 41 and I own a house and have two young children and one old parent depending on me.

Because honestly, truly, as someone who has been studying American history since I was 7, as a Civil War buff with expertise on the years before the Civil War, as someone who has at least some memories of every election since 1988... guys, this isn't the same as 2004. I was furious then. Swift Boat bullshit I swear to fucking dog. And I was and still am fairly convinced that the 2000 election was deliberately stolen. But also I still had every reason then to believe in the rule of law.

In 2004, I still believed term limits would be respected.

In 2004, I still believed a person who wasn't elected would demure gracefully to the winner.

In 2004, I still trusted the courts.

In 2004, I still believed that we'd made progress on bigotry.

I could go on, and to be clear, my point isn't "I thought these institutions were ~good~" in literally any objective sense. Y'all are cynical but my generation was raised by, surrounded by, Vietnam vets and trust me, there was no way to be a kid, seeing what the 70s did to this country, and not come out as cynical and furious as the best of um. (My grandfather was a World War 2 vet, as were his close friends. My father and both his brothers are Vietnam vets, tho my dad didn't go overseas.) But I did believe that even corrupt institutions, even broken racist systems, even fucking Republicans, would follow basic norms of democracy. They said they believed in the constitution and I believed them. I believed that, like Nixon, truly getting caught doing something insane would at least force a mea culpa and turn public opinion. I believed...

Well, I guess it doesn't matter.

Because I no longer believe any of that.

I have watched the guard rails disappear over my lifetime. I have watched the party who once spent 2 years pursuing a guy over a BJ in the oval office elect a convicted rapist. I have watched and at times I've participated and I've voted and I've organized and I've protested and I've read the news more days than not and I've lived and I've grown and I've learned.

I have been an adult, legally, for almost 24 years now.

Guys... there are no norms remaining on the far right. The guard rails are gone. The Fascists control the White House, the senate, the Supreme Court, and things aren't looking promising for the House.

The bus has no brakes anymore. They think they have a mandate - and I can't blame them, as horrifying as this mandate is, because if things had gone the other way and Harris had gotten these results I'd also think it was a mandate.

Please sit with what this means: Trump and the Republican party said, "hand us the reins and we'll make everyone you hate hurt," and more than half the people who bothered to vote said "sure buddy, here goes." We don't have a usurper this time. This is the country that the majority of Americans said they wanted. Whether they come to regret that or not, they saw open Fascism and went "oh yes, count me in." And it wasn't because of the electoral college this time. It was because this country is so bigoted and misogynistic that they'd rather have this than a woman of color in the office.

I'm sick of "well she didn't run a good campaign." (Lie.) I'm sick of, "well we didn't get a primary." (Who cares?) I'm *extremely* sick of "well, Palestine." (Yes! Democrats actions have made the suffering there so much worse! It fucking sucks! You know what's about to suck so much worse?)

15 million people who showed up for Joe Biden couldn't be fussed to place a vote for Kamala Harris. Whatever their reason for not voting, we all knew the outcome if she lost. And seeing open fascism didn't fire them up enough to make the effort, and that's fucking pathetic. The consequences of the worst happening mattered so little to them that they couldn't be fucking bothered to make the minimum effort to stop it, and now millions of people will suffer as a result.

Because here we are: the huge swathe of the country who wanted a strongman now have one.

Look, I don't know what happens next. But I do know, and remember keenly: after 2016, Trump did, or at least tried to do, most of the things he said he'd do. When he was stopped, it was often because of career government employees: judges, bureaucrats, etc. And this time, he's said he's going to purge those people. I don't know if he'll succeed, but I certainly believe he'll try.

This is not 2004 again.

This is 2024. The Republicans have ripped the mask to shreds, shredded apart the book of political norms, and empowered hate, and they've been handed a governmental mandate for stamped "have at with our blessing!" in exchange.

And now they'll use that mandate to make everyone they hate suffer: people of color, queer people, trans people, immigrants, non-Christians.

Don't assume the worst can't happen. I am a Jew, and I have a photo album full of black and white photos of dead people that constantly reminds me: the worst has happened and it can happen again.

Do not despair. Despair is enervating. Be furious. As we should be. These douche bags are repulsive. Be prepared to fight. Be prepared to flee. Be prepared to defend. Don't assume you simply can't do something. There's always something to do, and even the smallest act of defiance can help. There's never any knowing until after which acts of resistance will end up galvanizing the good and just out of their apathy. But that apathy is the enemy.

Because none of this is normal. None of this is "just like when..." Please stop saying it is.

And before anyone screams "privilege" at me, yes, I am in many ways. I'm white. I have access to some generational money even tho my own family lives paycheck to paycheck - we won't be rich but have enough of a support network to be comfortable. I live in a blue area of a blue state. But I'm also a woman (legally speaking, at least) married to another woman - since before Oberkfell, and yes I remember exactly what steps we had planned any time we wanted to leave our state. My wife has physical disabilities. We have two children. Both are biracial (half black). One is trans. We are caring for an elderly parent. I am Jewish and as my kids' birth parent, so are they. I own a publishing company that publishes the exact kinds of queer and kinky lit these people intend to ban. We tick so many boxes of what these people hate.

I know ya'll are scared. Trust me, I'm terrified. But fear is paralyzing. And that won't help. Whatever happens, don't lie down and take this shit.

When Gore lost I was one month shy of my 18th birthday and already in college. I have been fighting my entire adult life, and I'm exhausted. I'm much less able to fight now, much more tied down with responsibilities. But the fight isn't over. I'm checking our passports. I'm packing a go bag. I've convinced one vulnerable friend to move here and I have another who wants to and we're figuring out how to make that happen. I'm protecting who I can, starting with putting on my mask first. I don't know what will happen but if in the end all I can do is uproot my entire life to protect my children then I am preparing to do so. I can at least save them if no one else.

None of this is normal.

And I'm not sure, after Trump's in office, that anything will ever be normal again in the US. At least not the old normal. And there are ways that's a good thing, so many ways that the old normal sucked for so many people, and I'm optimistic that there's a bright future ahead, but man it looks far away right now. I don't want to go back to the old normal, and I want to be part of establishing a kinder, more just, more equal new normal, but we're a long way from there.

Whatever happens, we must endure. We must survive. We must support each other. We must find our allies and be prepared to compromise with them. Don't try to save everyone. You'll fail. Help even one person and you can change the world. Everyone things they can't do everything and so do nothing. That's insane. Do a single thing and it will be better than nothing. One phone call. One letter. One act of defiance. Very few people get the opportunity to grand gestures that matter, and the rest of us will die waiting for that moment. But the secret is that what makes those moments - the time when one person is in the right place at the right time for their action to matter - is built on millions of small moments by millions of people doing what little they can to make things slightly better. Think of every iconic photograph of a Sole Resistor you know of and think about every single tiny thing that had to happen for that moment to occur. Most of us will never me that one person, but that one person is a myth anyway. Countless tiny unseen moments create those myths. Doing literally anything is better than doing nothing.

And tooth and nail, quietly and loudly, in our homes and our towns and cities, during protests or when they come for our neighbors, we must fight.

[dawnwriterimagines]

debt that’s owed : Fezco (3)

Summary:  Laurie needs someone to pay her the debt that’s owed to her, Rue ran from her, which gives her the perfect opportunity to use Fezco’s words against him. But, is she worth you?

Warning(s):  Angst, talk of overdose, Fear, Drugs, mentions of sex trafficking, Laurie’s crazy ass once again, etc.

(PART 1)     (PART 2)

Author’s Note: What a beautiful man we lost, in every sense of the word. Rest in Peace Angus. Gone too soon. We all love and appreciate the works you’ve done, the lives you’ve changed and the love you give, rest well in beautiful peace.

 Buy me a Coffee? Ko-Fi 

- - -

You had woken up disoriented and drugged, a needle still sticking out of your arm, a few too many holes made that made your skin splotchy and purple. Laurie had been standing over you, hushing you as she took the needle from your skin, kissing your wrist as a mother would have her only child before she stood. “Laurie...” you sighed out, trying to make sense of what was happening. “Laurie. Please...”

The older woman rubbed your cheek, “Shhh...” the touch running through your system all the way down to your toes, you took a breath, shivering at the discomfort. “They don’t like it when you girlies talk too much, hush now, sweetie.” You’d never felt like this before. You felt terrible. 

She left the door open when she left the room, a man you didn’t recognize peeking through the crack of the doorway to look at you, he gave a pleased laugh, whistling. 

You turned on the floor, the blanket beneath you did nothing to shelter you from the cold floor below. The lights were dim from the tiny lamp in the corner, nothing else in the room, but it wasn’t very big anyway.

It took a while to realize you were naked, only from recalling what you had been wearing earlier, and the cold air that you could feel everywhere but nowhere all at once, cause you were sweating terribly. Feeling incredibly hot all of a sudden. You rolled around, pulling the blanket with you as you broke out into a fever, the discomfort you felt was enough to distract you from the horrifying situation you were in currently.

“Laurie...” you drawled, whimpering as the drugs took you once again. It didn’t feel right at all, you felt sick and you felt fucking amazing all at the same time, but you were scared most of all. You had no idea what she had been pumping you with for the last few hours. “Fez...” you called for your boyfriend, sobbing as your eyes rolled back as you quickly succumbed to the feeling. “Fezziee...” you hiccupped.

“I like this one,” you heard the stranger say.

The man at the doorway pulled out a scrunched up wad of cash from his pocket, beginning to slide off his jacket, before Laurie stopped him with a shake of her head. “Just watching for now. She’s not ready yet, still under prep. But, if you wanted to purchase her, that’s different...”

You shivered as you followed your high, wondering what would happen next and if Fezco would ever find you before something horrible happened to you.

- - -

Fezco looks around as he rushes over to Rue, checking for anyone that was around the house that may be unwanted, clearly on edge. “What the hell are you doin’ here, Rue?” he questioned the girl, she follows the two of them into the house. “Imma need you to leave, I ain’t askin’.”

Her gaze lingering on the broken screen door, unable to even close it as it had no knob now, the whole piece completely gone as if it’d been blown to pieces, “I wanted to hang out...but obviously you’ve got some shit goin’ on,” her eye’s going wide at the state of the house. “What the--what the fuck happened here?” the glass on the floor, the broken deck doorway, the flipped table, the broken lamp on the floor, the scuffled carpet.

Rue steps into the house, slowly, Ash getting on the computer, looking for something, Fezco making a call, his shoulders low as if something heavy sat upon them. The girl’s eye’s narrowing as she followed the scuffs over to the room hallway, the bedroom down the hall had its door broken down, wooden pieces still on the floor. 

Concerned was not the word to describe how she felt right. Scared wasn’t either. Worried, maybe. But, she was also pretty terrified. Terrified of the answer to her next question.

“Fez,” she hadn’t torn her eyes away from the hallway when she spoke, her voice small, reluctant. “Where’s (Y/n)?” she turns then, her brows knitted together in complete worry, stumbling forwards and away from the hall. She makes her way over to Fezco, taking a handful of his shirt as she pulls him, “Fez!” her voice breaks, her fists shaking, “Where is she?!” she sucks in a breath as she sees his face and the way he doesn’t look her in the eye. “No...” she shook her head. “What so she’s...she’s what? She’s gone?” her voice raising. “Is (y/n) gone, Fez? Come on, gimme something!”

“She’s not gone,” Fezco turned to her with a hardened look, pulling her hands from his shirt, the material stretching out as her grip hadn’t loosened. “Imma find her. Imma find her and kill the motha’fucker that did this,” he seethed to himself, stepping away from her. “Ash, go over the tapes. Try yesterday and this morning, find a camera that isn’t fucked with.”

Ash doesn’t say anything but nod, rushing to the room down the hall as Fezco took the laptop from him, sitting down on the couch, Rue following Fezco, still confused with what was going on.

“Who...wait, who did this?” Rue asked, loudly. “Stop ignoring me, man.”

“I told you to fuckin’ go home, Rue,” Fezco’s eyes flickered up to the girl before back down at the screen, rewatching this morning’s tapes, trying to find someone he recognized. “I ain’t need this right now.”

“Need what? I’m tryin’ to help you,” Rue frowned, offended. “I wanna help! My best friend’s fucking missing, well...kidnapped, by some fucking jackass and even trashed your crib,” she gestured around the house at the damage. “Lemme do something, I can help! I can help find her!”

Fezco looked up toward her, agitated. “You wanna do somethin’ helpful?”

“Yeah, dude!” She nodded before making a face. “Wait, you aren’t gonna just tell me to leave--”

“Go home, Rue.”

“Oh, come on!” she yelled out. “I can help you! I be doin’ mad detective shit. Besides you need all the help you can get, it’s not like you can ask the guys in blue.”

Fezco ignored her for now, trying to stay focused. “Just go sit down somewhere, man. I don’t got time for this.”

And so, reluctantly, Rue went towards the other side of the couch, around towards Ashtray, she sticks her head out of the sliding panel doorway, which was now gone, broken through. Alarmed, she looks down at the glass at her feet, it crunches, burying itself further into the carpet. 

Behind her, Ashtray took a note from his pocket, letting it sit on the coffee table, sliding it over to his brother. “This gotta mean something. Wanna run this through some contacts?”

Fezco thinks on it, before nodding at the idea. “Yeah, man. Let’s try it.” 

As they head back to work, Rue perks up at the new source of info, “Wait, ya’ll got a clue?” coming over to the coffee table, picking up the note, Fezco fumes and Ashtray gaps at the girl’s unwanted involvement.

“Rue!” Fezco grits. “What I just tell you, man!” He usually saw her presence as quite endearing

Rue brushes him off. “I’m good at riddles, just--” then she really looks at the note. 10k.

10k...?

Oh my fucking god, 10k.

As Fezco snatches the note from her grip, Rue stands there, horrified. Her expression morphing completely, shoulders stiffening and hands tensing up, she turns quickly so Fezco can’t see the mortified look on her face. The guilt that quickly begins to eat at her. 

She had thought about it, of course. Of the money she owed Laurie, the drug dealer that she had made a fake deal with in a pathetic effort to get the pills that her regular plug, Fez, had been refusing her. In some way, she blamed Fezco, if he had just given her the damn pills and let her deal with whatever happened to her later, maybe she would’ve never went to Laurie, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten kidnapped...

No, it was her fault, oh my god it her fault. She went to Laurie cause she was fucking desperate and then she ran when Laurie had gotten her the first time, but now you were taken in her place.

She recalled being drugged out of her mind, just as she wanted, but locked in a room and awaiting to be sold for a fuck. 

Rue feels so goddamn sick all of a sudden. She wanted to vomit. 

God, that’s what you could be dealing with right now. 

She did this. Oh god, she did this to you.

But, Fezco does notice. 

“Rue...” he says, slowly.

Ashtray looks up, stopping in his typing. He glances between the two of them silently, before looking at Rue a bit more seriously, taking note of the way her entire demeanor’s changed. He closed the laptop.

Rue didn’t answer Fezco, didn’t even turn to face him, trying to think of something to say, anything that could defend why. But what could she possibly say besides the fact it was supposed to be her.

Fezco forcefully turned the girl around, “Rue!” to which she stumbled back away from him, her face made his stomach drop, knowing now that she knew exactly why this was happening. “You...”

“I didn’t know, I swear, ok?” Rue started, hyperventilating, sniffling as she wiped a panicked tear from her face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I felt like I was fucking dying, Fez! I was dying! And I--I just--Fez!” she cried as he turned from her, running his hands over his hair, down his face, trying to gather himself, trying to keep himself together. “Fez, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, please, I didn’t think she’d come after anyone, I didn’t think any of it would go this far, please--” 

Ashtray’s eyes widened, lost for words.

“RUE!” Fezco roared, his body snapping towards her, pinched fingers silencing her, “Motherf--FUCK! Are you fucking--!” he shoved at the side wall, hitting anything that wasn’t her as anger overwhelmed him. “Are you out of your fucking mind, Rue?!” he couldn’t believe this. How far the girl had really fell to really get herself, to get you, into this kind of situation. 

“I know! I know! I know!” Rue sobbed, covering her face as Fez screamed at her. “Fucking god, I know! I messed up!”

“DO YOU?! Cause (y/n)’s paying for your bullshit, your fucking dumb ass, fuck shit! You mother--get the fuck out,” he fumed, running a hand over his mouth, gesturing to the door. He turned from her, he couldn’t even stand to look at her right now.

Rue sniffled, shaking. “Fez...Fez, I’m sorry. I can fix it, I can--”

“GET. THE FUCK,” Fezco explodes. “OUT!”

And Rue has no other choice but to leave, casting a guilty glance to Ashtray as well, who stares her down as if he were ready to pull the trigger on her with the glock he currently suddenly had in his hand. 

She quickly left the house, sobbing to herself, hardly able to breathe as she stumbled away from the steps. “I’m sorry...” she hiccupped, turning to the house. “I’m sorry, please...” she whispered. “I can fix this...please, I can...I can fix this.”

Rue made her way away from the house though. Making up her mind to fix this. She can fix this...

- - -

Fezco and Ashtray took their guns, a few mags full of bullets and as much cash they had stashed up, just over 8k, not enough to cover, given the raid that cut their stash short for a while. But, if Laurie wouldn’t take the bribe than getting violent was the next best thing. And Fezco didn’t mind the latter.

So when they arrived at Laurie’s home, weapons tucked into their waist bands, into the inner pockets of their jackets, Fezco parked up, Ashtray loading up his shotgun and snapping the end back into place. “Blow the bitch’s head off if this don’t work out, ight man.”

“That’s the plan, bruh,” Ash said, his young face hardened with his hatred for the sadistic dealer that had stolen his mother from him..

Fezco leaves the car, walking up to the house, fighting the urge to kick the door in and unload every bullet into someone’s fucking skull...”What’chu want, man?” Bruce, Laurie’s partner, large and intimidating in his size, glared down at Fezco.

The young man wasn’t swayed, unblinking eyes peering up at him. “Laurie.”

Bruce frowned at the tone. “You got yo’ shit this month, ain’t you? Unless you got payment already?”

“Laurie, man,” Fezco fought to keep his cool. “Where is she?”

Bruce put his hand on the gun he kept at the waistband of his trunks, “What you gotta say ta her, you can say to me.”

Fezco stood there a while, the two men exchanging violent glares, eyes boring into the other and Fezco itched to grab the gun at his side and let loose. But, he didn’t even know if you were even at this house, he needed to know first. “Ma girl...(y/n), where she at, bruh?”

Bruce smirked, straightening. “Shoulda started with that,” Fezco’s nostrils flared at his words. “You got the money to buy her back, huh?”

“She ain’t belong to nobody, man. And ya’ll fucked wit us with some shit that ain’t got nothin’ to do with her,” Fezco gritted his teeth. “Thought we was cool on this bullshit, bruh.”

“You said she was family,” came Laurie’s soft-spoken voice. She came around the corner, behind Bruce, patting her husband’s arm to back him up, “Didn’t you?”

“She’s a fuckin’ child. And got her ass into some shit. But, if you had a problem wit us, come to me,” Fezco sneered. “You came up and took ma girl--” his nails bite into the palms of his hand, he itched to kill this fucking bitch and her demented ass husband. “Where the fuck is she?”

Laurie calmly stepped in front of Fezco. “Don’t worry, Fez. She’s ok,” she assured him, with dead eyes and a quiet voice. “But, remember, I still need 10 thousand, and another few hundred more for a few packs of morphine, a bit of fentanyl...” as Laurie spoke, Fezco’s heart clenched. 

Fezco tosses the bag at her feet, “A lil’ over $8500 in there,” he said. “I don’t give a fuck if it ain’t enough for you, you took my girl, all your fucked bullshit, trashed ma crib, my fucking family--” he huffed harshly to contain himself. “This all you fucking gettin’ from me, and it’s more than you’ll ever get from us again. Where. Is. She. You fucking bitch.”

Bruce took a step towards him at his words, stopped by Laurie, who held a hand up to keep him where he was, entranced by the rage on the young man’s face. “That’s fair, I suppose.”

“Laurie--” Bruce began.

“Come on in, she’s right in here, Fez,” she welcomed him inside.

Fezco followed her inside, Bruce sneering at him, to which Fezco didn’t bother to acknowledge, all he was focused on now was finally getting his hands back on you, rescuing you from this dreaded place.

Laurie stopped in front of a locked room, pulling out a key from her pocket, the lock clicks open. She takes the lock off and opens the heavy door with a light grunt, the dim lighting offering nothing much, but it was light enough to see you in the middle of the room. 

Breathing harshly, turned on your side, skin drenched with sweat, “Fez...” you drawl out, constantly. “Fez...Fez...” you cried, silently, delirious as you tossed and turned.  

Fezco races into the room, “Ma!” he cries, sliding to his knees at your side, quickly sitting you up, wrapping the thin blanket around your naked frame. “Hey, hey, baby, hey,” he gently slaps your cheek, stroking your flushed face as you shiver in his arms, your eyes unfocused, rolling in the back of your head. 

He didn’t like that, taking your face in his hand. “(y/n), (y/n) look at me, look at me, come on, ma. Look at me,” he turned your head to look him in the eye, “Please, baby, can you look at me, you can, you got it, ya see,” you slowly began to regain consciousness, eye sight clearing. “That’s my girl. Look, you’re ok, you’re alright,” he rubs your arms, you’re freezing but you’re sweating terribly.

“Fez...” you whispered.

“I’m right here, ma,” he assured you. Picking you up off the ground, blanket wrapped tight. “I’m right here. I gotchu, come on, we’re going home, baby,” he stands, heading to the door. Casting a long glare to a calmly smiling Laurie, before exiting the room, he couldn’t afford to do any damage, not when you were in this condition.

“I don’t feel...” you spoke, loosely. Head limp against his shoulder, eyes hardly open. “I don’t feel that great, fez...”

“You’re alright, you’re alright, ok?” Fezco went down the hall as fast as he could, keeping the fear out of his voice, the panic from his tone. 

Coming up to the front door, where he found Rue standing at the steps. Bruce had a short stack of cash in hand that he didn’t have before, less than 10k clearly, but enough to make him happy enough to move out of the way when Fezco made his way past.

The young girl was crying hard, relief clear in her face as she saw Fezco come around the corner with you in his arms, but the state of you made her heart drop. “(Y/n)...hey, is she alright?” she asked, worriedly. “Fez...” To which Fezco brushed her off, moving past her without as much as a word of acknowledgement. 

Ashtray opens passenger door for Fez to place you in, buckling you up as you slump, quickly beginning to pass out once again. “Hey, don’t sleep. Wake up. Mom!” Ashtray startles you awake, leaning over towards you in the backseat as Fezco runs around to the other side to the driver seat. Rue enters the backseat, hesitantly, and stays quiet to not be noticed. She looks at your tired, uncomfortable face in the side mirror, and she cries a bit harder.

Fezco drives off with a final glance to Laurie and her husband waving them off at the step, as if they had just passed by for tea and cookies. The psychopaths'. They waved, knowing he’d be back for blood.

“You’re ok,” he says as he drives. Squeezing your thigh as you shift and turn, “You’re ok, hey, ma. Ma, baby,” he draws your attention. “Hey, there you are, baby.”

You’re lucid and high off whatever the hell must be in your system when you smile at him, “Hi, baby...” you smile at him, before slumping once again. 

Terrified what may happen if you fall asleep, he yells. “(Y/n)!” he startles you awake again.

“I’m sorry,” you cry.

“You’re ok, it’s ok, just keep awake for a little alright?”

“Can we go home now...” you wondered, quietly.

“On our way,” Ashtray says. Fezco glances at his little brother in the mirror.

But, they don’t go home. They stop by a friend’s spot, who had offered to let them crash for the next few days, since he was out of town and they were in some shit.

Entering the home, Fezco carries you to the tub, Rue following behind, as Ash locks the door behind him. Filling up the tub as you lean against the porcelain edge, the warm water clearly calming you, the sound of the running pipe...

But before anything, Fezco sticks his fingers down your throat, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeats as he forces you to gag up anything you might have ingested, emptying out your stomach contents, which wasn’t much. You sniffle and cry, hacking up whatever you could get out, leaning against your lover as your stomach churns in discomfort.

He then helps you into the tub, the water climbing to your chest. Cleaning the dirt from the floor you had been laying on, the dried blood and the horrors of the day...

Fezco takes off his sweater and his jeans, left only in his underwear, he steps into the tub behind you, holding you close, “There you go, baby,” he soothingly speaks to you, kissing your forehead as he squeezes you. “You’re alright now. I’ve gotchu, I got you...”

He glances down at the holes in your arm, bruised and crusted with blood, your hands were cut from the glass earlier. He raised one of your hands to his lips as you turned to lean your cheek to his chest, and he began to cry, closing his eyes tightly.

You slept as he wept.

 But he was grateful he had gotten you back.

At least god had given him that much today.

He kissed your hands, your knuckles, your cut skin, the tips of your fingers.

Then, he just held you to him as the faucet dripped to a stop.

- - - 

Awakening in a strange bed, in an unfamiliar place, you stood fast and out of the bed, your back slamming against the wall in surprise. You reached for a light switch, but you couldn’t see anything around you, nothing felt familiar at all, you shook in terror as the man you laid next to stirred and sat up in your mad scramble for light.

“No, no, please!” you collapsed in the corner, covering your mouth before the stranger could even say a thing, he had stood too fast for you to think nothing else but soon violence brought against you. 

“Ma! It’s me! It’s me,” Fezco found a light switch, the dark, unfamiliar room illuminating, to reveal himself to you. “It’s just me.”

You released a heavy sigh of relief, that visible took a weight off your chest. But, it also made your tears run fast, the days having been too much for you, the thought alone had brought you down to your knees and crushed you before you even knew it wasn’t true. 

Fezco quickly went around the bed, coming to sit in front of you, to which you fell into his arms, quickly wrapping your arms around him. “I’m sorry,” you sobbed. “I thought someone--I didn’t know if I--” Fezco interrupts you with a simple stroke of her cheeks, running his thumbs across your cheekbones to soothe your thoughts and wipe your tears.

“I know, I know,” he whispered to her, his voice cracks as his control leaves him. It pains him too much to see you break like this. “But, what happened, huh? You’re here with me. They didn’t get you, baby. They didn’t. You’re here with me.”

“You saved me,” you hiccupped, holding him desperately, just wishing to be close enough to feel nothing but him. “I thought I’d never see you again. That I’d never see Ash.”

“Impossible, ma,” he said, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Can neva get rid of me, you know that. And Ash on his own lil’ demon time, he ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

You release a watery laugh at his joke, sniffling harshly as Fezco rocks you in his arms, safely keeping you wrapped up in his embrace. 

There’s a knock at the door, they raise their heads, Ashtray entering the room, silently. He stands there for a second as he shuts the door behind him, he shifts from one foot to the other, eyes glancing around, a frown on his face. 

“Ash?” you whispered, looking to the boy. Fez knew though, what was wrong.

As Ashtray looked at you finally, his frown deepened, but it wasn’t a frown, just a miserable look he couldn’t hide anymore, a joy that trailed to sadness and brought tears to his usually hardened eyes. And then suddenly, Ash looked like the little boy that you had always allowed him to be, and that he would’ve never been again if you had gone.

“Ash...” you spoke, softly. Reaching out to him, you pulled him by the wrist, into your arms this time. And he broke like glass.

Like a dam, his tears flow like a downpour. An unwilling sob escapes him as he sniffles and cries into your shoulder, embracing you as he hoped he’d be able to every time he prayed to God for your safe return. 

You kissed Ashtray’s forehead, stroking his face, his hair, and you squeezed him like no one ever had. You breathe deeply, a shiver leaves you as you fight your own tears, “Oh, my sweet boy,” you hold him close, as he buries himself to you. “I love you, I love you.” You say it fast, and you say it with all the love you have, like it could be your last time.

Complete. Is how their family felt again. Fezco engulfed himself in the feeling. The thought of losing you, the absence of you, it would’ve destroyed them.

Fezco leans his forehead to his brother’s, knocking heads gently, the boy peering up to him as he sniffles into your neck. The big brother tenderly rubs his little brother’s head, he kisses his soon wife and let them both fall into his chest, into the side of the bed.

And like the family they were, they collapsed against one another, holding each other tight.

Everything’s ok.

TAG LIST

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[lizardlicks]

I'm so angry and heart broken and tired posting this. I don't even know if posting it will make any kind of difference the way fandom is right now. I know it won't fix the current situation, I guess I'm just kind of hoping that maybe some of you will read it and think about your own behavior in fan spaces now and in the future.

Found out earlier this week that a fellow fan creator whom I looked up to and enjoyed interacting with has been secretly, gleefully bullying a dear friend of mine. A person that has been a bastion of support for me, who has yes-anded every silly thought I've floated, and without whom even half of my ideas would not have made it even into word documents much less gotten published.

Worse is that this creator made the rest of the fandom unwittingly complicit in their bullying game. They made an OC based on an exaggerated caracature of a real life sweet human being, even took words from them and warped them out of any context in order to make then appear hateful and bigoted, then wrote this OC into a very popular fic of theirs, and invited their audience to point and laugh along with them. People who I know would be horrified to learn they were involved without their knowledge in spreading harm and hatefulness have gushed to me about their works, including that fic specifically.

It's disgusting and despicable behavior. I'm left also with wondering if they've done this to anyone else. If during the course of time we were on speaking terms that I too have been tricked into helping them tear other creators down without knowing. If they'd do it to me or anyone else if we misstepped. The thought makes me sick.

Like I said: the damage is already done. And they're popular enough that if I or anyone else confronted them directly they'd have no problem turning their followers on me so I get to sit here helpless to do anything to resolve it but be angry. There is no justice, no healing here. But I can talk to the people who follow this blog. I can plead with you, that if you've ever had an unkind thought, been annoyed, been put off by another person in the fandom, consider: don't fucking do this? Block them, vent in private to a friend if you really have to get it out of your system, and move on. Live by the fandom golden rule: don't be a dick. Real easy to just not fucking do that.

[lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks]

when I took a month off work I was lowkey worried I'd come back and find everyone had been fine without me and I wasn't needed at all (because being terrible at every previous job I've had did some ✨damage✨ to my self confidence)

but that is not what happened

I have never encountered someone so fucking happy to see me as my boss' wife was on my first day back, her face lit up like it was christmas, she was practically jumping for joy because now that I'm back she doesn't have to do the ops team's fucking timesheets anymore

I have been told by one of the ops guys that my leave of absence had caused a genuine rift in the boss' marriage because his wife hated doing my job so much they were actively fighting about it

to be clear, his wife is lovely, she doesn't usually throw a shit fit about just anything, it was just that my job is just so fucking annoying that she hated every second of it, and that was the most validating shit I have ever experienced in my LIFE

and the reason she was pissed off at my boss/her husband about it is because he's too soft on his crew and doesn't make them all report their hours for the week

which, as you can imagine, makes building their timesheets extremely fucking difficult

it basically turns the whole process into a puzzle that I have to solve using roughly three different sources of information, one of which is the boss himself who isn't always easy to get ahold of when he's on a site

this puzzle is made even more difficult by the fact that a glitch in our form system keeps messing up the dates on the timecards, so I have to cross reference the time cards from the two (2) ops team members, who actually DO fill out their forms, with the roster, but my boss often changes the roster at the last minute without telling me or noting it down, so then I have to cross reference with the reports they have to submit for certain ongoing jobs because they'll have correct dates and also a list of who was present (if they were doing one off smalltime jobs that week I'll have no physical records and will rely entirely on the boss' memory to confirm dates and staff numbers, unless I can get ahold of one of the ops team members themselves and there's only one who will reliably communicate with me but only when he's not currently on a site)

I tried to explain this process to boss' wife before I left and, looking horrified, she asked me 'is there no way to streamline this?' I replied 'this is streamlined'

as far as I'm aware, as long as I've worked there, there has only been a handful of times people were paid incorrectly, and it was because I was not given correct information by the boss, in the time I was gone, his wife told me that she had incorrectly logged several pays because of this broken ass system

so, as you could imagine, my ego is through the fucking roof right now, I am GOOD at this bullshit job, I took an impossible system and made it work, I am playing on hard mode and killing it, in a field I had zero experience in before taking this job other than a natural inclination for organising and scheduling

and to be clear, I love this job, the boss is too soft on his staff but he's a good guy, he makes us all feel valued and appreciated, he paid me above my award rate, he's absurdly accommodating, and I have an insane amount of freedom to do what I want with company files

I may be working with a bullshit system but I can take naps in the office whenever I want and tell my boss off when he's being too soft (one time his wife literally started clapping when I told him off for sending clients their reports before they'd paid for them) and I get to control when I work, and whether I work from home or the office (which is GREAT when my back flares up)

I might not get many hours (only 16 hours per week) because the company is so small and I run out of things to do because I've streamlined everything (boss literally called me TOO EFFICIENT), but he'll give me those 16 even if I spend half of it playing solitaire and watching youtube

so just, yeah, it feels so good to be confident in my work, to feel valued and appreciated and like I'm actually successful at something after being handed dud jobs for years that I wasn't cut out for, and now knowing that what I'm doing is actually genuinely hard but I've been doing it anyway without fail, makes me feel good!

so tldr; taking a month off work taught me I have phenomenal job security because if my boss ever fires me his wife might actually fucking kill him

[throathole]

This is going to sound really jumbled and nonsensical but I so fucking badly wish that I could just be horny in a normal way like every other gay man. Like you can say that you are asexual or that you are on the “ace spectrum” and people will support you and say you’re valid and that’s perfectly fine because they know that’s what they’re supposed to say. But I don’t actually think I’m asexual I think I’m just a very broken person I’m a gay man who is incapable of being horny like a normal man with testosterone in his body.

And the horrifying realization is the reality that “horny” is an immensely powerful source of social capital especially in the gay male world…. I feel like without the ability to navigate “horny” with other men I am worth nothing it’s like i’m trying to connect to another computer on the system without being connected to electricity. “Horny” is the initial spark that generates so so so many interpersonal reactions and relationships on the internet and in real life and I can pretend to the best of my ability to be like all of you but I know that there’s something wrong with me.

If I cant successfully sexually connect with anyone then what’s the point of continuing….. when sexual success is like the driving life force of so many men out there or at least that’s what it seems like on social media. It really makes me want to hurt myself I can’t keep clawing my own skin like this

[tujhse-raabta]

"I didn't even know you have a sister." Percy's voice is sharp - biting. It hurts, after all.

This was the man he'd left behind everything for. He'd lied and betrayed Lupa, let Annabeth lay broken on the wet ground, and forgiven him what he thought was their daughter's death.

Apollo's face is a cold mirage, not befitting the adoration that was displayed mere seconds ago. "You wish to know, do you, Perseus?"

He doesn't wait for a response, turning sharply and walking out of the room.

Percy feels a dull ache spread through his chest as he collapses onto their bed, covering his face with a muffled sob.

_____

Artemis snarls at him the next time she sees him. He ignores her.

_____

It's cold, in the dining room.

Percy doesn't really get it. If there's one thing about Apollo, it's that he hates the cold. He'd rather burn his own skin off, than feel the biting chill of a winter's day. Yet, for some reason, not even the flickering candles on the table can permeate through the freeze in the air.

His Python is smiling at him politely, though his eyes are an empty shell. The fucking person suit.

"Apollo... Hey, listen. This morning - I -" "Do not worry, Perseus."

Apollo's polite, polite, ever so polite, smile widens.

It doesn't look that polite anymore. It's... Predatory. Sharp. And, hidden deep within?

Desperate.

"Allow me to serve you dinner." With those words, his partner has disappeared into the kitchen.

_____

The sludge in front of him is, quite frankly, disgusting.

It's brownish grey, clumpy and burning hot. It looks like a weird mix of oatmeal and soup, and yet -

And yet.

When Apollo places the single dish on the table with a flourish, Percy feels his gut sink.

He silently pulls it closer, and waits for the other to take a seat before forcefully swallowing the thing.

It's horrifying. Bland, tasteless, and hot enough to burn through his tongue - but he doesn't mind. Because something tells him just how important this is, to Apollo.

Gods, he'd do anything for him. To swallow the soup past the bile collecting in his throat is hardly anything.

(He'd swallowed Meg's ear, hadn't he? Felt the loving caress at the base of his Adam's apple, as the pipe shoved it down his throat.)

"Do you like it?" The other's voice is deceptively light, and in a parody of the dinners they've spent together, his hand inches forward to curl around Percy's wrist.

"It's... telling." That's the only honest descriptor he can use.

(It is. It really is. The cold in the room, the conspicuously absent Artemis, and now, this dreadful thing that's reminiscent of war rations, so unlike the killer's usual, extravagant creations. How there's only one serving. How his partner looks only at his face, avoiding the food completely.

Percy feels a pendulum gain momentum in the back of his mind.)

"It's disgusting," Apollo corrects lightly, "And yet - that winter night in Greece, it was the most delicious thing I'd ever had."

Percy's gut sinks further.

He knows his Python's general background, of course - all that research into Il Mostro hadn't been for nothing.

Count Apollo Olympia, the third. Orphaned at a young age by bandits, found by relatives too late to be saved from the horrible foster system.

The bodies of his parents had never been found - presumably, rotted in their castle surrounded by the woods before the younger Apollo found help.

(The pendulum swings faster. There's a background hint of a synth, and Percy feels numb.)

"They had tied me up." Apollo continues to speak, voice as unbothered as ever. The person suit is stitched up tight, to ensure the monster's wounds don't show. "For days, I starved. I had seen my father's corpse, of course. They'd killed him in front of me. But my mother, and my sister? They were saving them. And regardless of what they intended to do, all I felt was relief. Hope, that the moment I was untied, I would return to my mother's embrace - perhaps cradle Artemis' head."

He smiles, then. Bland. Tasteless.

"They starved me for days, and when a seemingly compassionate captor offered me this soup? I glutted myself on it. It was warm as I had forgotten how to feel - it was sensation that my stomach had long lost hope for. It was, as I told you, the most delicious thing I'd ever had. And once I finished..."

(The pendulum in the back of his mind snaps off its string, careening through air to punch a hole in his heart.)

"They asked me, then, how my mother tasted."

Percy collapses in the chair, a visceral sound escaping him as he gags against the cold wood. In a second, Apollo is behind him - pulling him upright, hand clenched around his neck. If he tilts his head back, his eyes would meet the glittering gold of Apollo's.

"You will not throw up, Percy." The person suit is gone. His voice is taut with a grim satisfaction, and shuttered emotions - an everpresent grief, rising to flood his carefully constructed self.

"You will not throw up, no matter how you wish to. Because I didn't throw up, no matter how I wished to. You wanted to understand me, didn't you? You wished to know. Well, now you do. First hand, you know."

The hand leaves his throat, and instinctually, his body leans towards the threat that has become his comfort. Apollo doesn't relent - walking out of the room with a purposeful gait, hiding the tattered shreds of the man inside.

____

Percy finishes the soup. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to stand food again, but for Apollo?

To know Apollo? To know every part of him, broken and fixed and sharp and sweet?

Oh, he'd do so much more.

In some strange way, now, the soup has become delicious. The best thing he's ever had.

Oh, how he's Seen his Python. How he's Become.

By the time Artemis returns, he's thrown away the vessel.

He doesn't look her in the eyes as he passes her.

He does, however, curl into their bed and pull Apollo close to him, letting every part of their body touch in a desperate reminder.

Percy's here. He's never leaving. Never.

And Apollo - despite his flimsy pretence at being asleep - leans into the embrace.

[smytherines]

For the choosing violence ask game, I'm very intrigued as to what your answer might be for 8?

common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

I have two!

The first is more of a nitpick on my part, but it's really annoying to me when people say Owen faked his death. He did not fake his death. Faking his death would be purposefully engineering a scenario designed to make people think he died when he didn't. That is not what happened-- if it was, Owen wouldn't have been so consumed by rage and grief. Owen was left for dead. He was presumed dead because of how he fell and the fact that a building exploded on him. By the time he could've maybe recovered enough to make an escape, he would've already been long declared dead. It's just inaccurate, and it erases his entire motivation in the show to say that he faked his death.

And the second is (oh god everyone is gonna get out the pitchforks but...) that Curt killed Owen to "save the world." I think this is incorrect for a few reasons.

First, Barb brings up pursuing this same technology multiple times in the show, the final time (admittedly when Curt cannot hear her) is just before the staircase scene, really emphasizing it just before that confrontation.

Second, if Curt's reasoning was truly saving the world from Chimera's surveillance network plan, killing Owen is about the worst thing he could do, because Owen is the one person with information that could actually help them take down Chimera. And since he had already disarmed Owen, he could have incapacitated him, captured him, and sent him to A.S.S. headquarters to let them deal with him.

Third, literally the last thing Owen says before Curt kills him is "killing me won't take the system offline, so what are you doing?" Owen outright tells Curt that killing him will not save the world, that it will not change anything.

But most importantly, when Owen asks Curt what he's doing, Curt doesn't say he has to do this, that he's saving the world, any of that. He says he is taking Owen's advice. He is moving on. He outright says that his reason for killing Owen is personal, not ideological.

This part is speculation, but the answer that makes the most sense to me is some combination of:

A mercy killing, in the sense that the person Owen is now is so different and twisted and horrifying that Curt cannot accept this as Owen. That putting him down like a rabid dog is in some way a kindness, because the Owen that Curt knew would not want to be what he has become. That it would have been better for everyone if Owen had died that night in 1957.

That Curt can't accept his role in what happened to Owen. We see in the show that the only time Curt acknowledges that he got Owen killed ("doesn't even matter if I killed my best friend") is when he is drunk and alone, and when he thinks he is about to die. Other than that, Curt frames it as something that happened to him, not something he had an active part in (telling Tatiana he watched as his partner was killed right in front of him, that there was nothing he could do to stop it)

And the idea that if anything could possibly sway Curt from doing what he feels is right, it's the temptation of thinking he can have this person he mourned for four years back. Even if he is completely fucking broken and wrong. So essentially a failsafe, because if he can't convince Owen to come back to the "good" side, then he worries he will be tempted to follow Owen to the "bad" side just to have him back in some way. I mean "bringing back the dead even if they come back wrong" has been a trope in stories for hundreds of years because that desire, that temptation to reclaim something you thought was lost forever, to get the person you love back even if they aren't the same person anymore, that is a very human thing. Being consumed by grief and being willing to make a devil's bargain to rid yourself of that grief, is a very powerful idea.

[paragonrobits]

on a whim i looked up the Templin Institute (a worldbuilding-focused youtube channel I dropped because I was horrified at a video they made where they claimed that the Men of Tolkien's Legendarium aren't REALLY human because they're not vicious enough, cruel enough, or obsessed with war) and I was miffed to see that apparently since I dropped them they made a video arguing that everyone in the MCU should be living in constant fear and that it would be better to live in the universe of The Boys (because the super serum is qunaitifable) and Warhammer 40k (since in that one, everyone is a zealot who believes that the God-Emperor protects them and thinks that all aliens are inherently evil)

and it sort of illustrates a thing that... I don't think sci fi fandom or writing IN GENERAL is like, but it is enough of a common element to bother me, and its when people treat cruelty, systemic brutality or man's capacity for evil as an inherently positive aspect.

This ties into the video that caused me to drop them; the channel made the claim that the Rohirrim would have been doing better if they had been genocidal and brutally attacked anything different enough from them (in the sense of "maybe if they had killed all orcs on sight for being nonhuman, Rohan would be doing better"). and its like... why?

I honestly can't fathom why anyone would consider that a good thing, or even think that it SHOULD be expected to hate and fear anything different from you, and to got to the extreme that NOT being xenophobic by default is some kind of failing, or imply that not wanting to kill all other forms of life makes you different from humans, or that being more bloodthirsty or willing to hurt others is an advantage.

What, I can't help but wonder, is the appeal in lionizing the worst parts of ourselves?

You see a lot of this in sci fi, and i think its because a lot of those look at the factions involved as characters in their own right, so they don't really feel much when stuff like 'by performign x social policy, the Human Dominion allowed 42 percent of its people to starve to death on purpose' is considered a fairly neutral detail.

Mindless fanaticism is often prized in these settings, to the point where the most common fandom memes is numbing stuff like 'FOR THE EMPEROR' and 'PURGE THE XENOS'. quite literally stuff all about turning your brain off and being happy about being a murderous garbage-animal that acts like a walking personification of the 'maybe the people who say all humans are inherently evil animals and that it will be a blessing when we all die and no longer poison the universe with our cancerous capacity for evil' idea.

i find it really, REALLY fucking creepy when this stuff gets popular, and more to the point, when the idea of 'humans are naturally warriors/soldiers' becomes so prevalent that you have people hating the idea of some universe where we don't automatically try to kill things for not being like us. its just exhausting, and tedious and...

I don't know, but it doesn't really sound right with archaelogical evidence for us.

I'm thinking about how ancient graves from our own ancestors and our neanderthal cousins both have many signs of caring for the ill, the elderly and infirm. the remains of children with severe Down's syndrome who survived until at least five years old, well cared for by others. Lots and lots of bodies with healed fractures and broken legs, which means someone took care of them; a running animal, and a hunter, with a broken leg is a dead animal. A healed leg is someone who was taken care of.

I think about how on the island of Cyprus, they found an truly ancient burial. In it, they found the body of a long-dead human, and beside them, the body of a cat, laid to rest with ceremony and by all signs, love.

The burial is around 9,500 years old; almost ten thousand years ago.

This predates the first confirmed use of writing by at least 3000 years or so. 3000 years before the epic of gilgamesh became one of our first stories (a story, I note, about a king who grieves the death of a friend and desperately tries to find the secret to immortality, and in time makes peace with the inevitability of death, and becoming a story we still know today).

War goes back a long way; there's no mistake about that. But I think about how friendships and love for animals that loved us too, and long-dead people still showing the signs that people cared enough about them to keep them alive as long as possible, is probably much more integral to the concept of being human, or perhaps what it means to be a thinking entity at all, more than our capacity to hurt each other.

[sepublic]

Another thing I appreciate about 2003 is the backstory of the Grand Arcanum as an Ishvalan practice that was pretty clearly imperialistic and/or sacrificing its own citizens for the “prosperity” of the culture. And yet this is treated as kind of a frank fact; There isn’t some moment of OMG indigenous people can be evil too!!! So Amestris’ genocide is secretly justified or nuanced!!!

In fact the focus of this revelation was still about white racism, with how Ed’s takeaway was that he couldn’t imagine Ishbalans being capable of advanced alchemy, rather than him realizing Ishbalans Bad too. Because the point is that he’s already operating off of this idea deep down, and that PoC IRL don’t need more reminders by white people about how we’re degenerate.

I like this because you cannot discuss how PoC and indigenous cultures have also done slavery and empires, how you can’t support a PoC spearheading genocide, without Whataboutism idiots who believe in reverse racism crawling from the woodworks to use this as a rallying point to deflect any criticism towards white peoples, because ummm actually PoC do it too this is just a human thing and we’re absolved because of it! Maybe those PoC secretly had it coming!!!

And it’s telling because these people don’t give a fuck that these indigenous empires were bad because of what they did to (indigenous) victims, or that said victims were also slaughtered by white settlers too, even betrayed after making an alliance. They act as if those white settlers didn’t also believe in empire, and that any condemnation of indigenous empires would’ve been hypocritical with they’ve done, did, and would do. They don’t care about victims at all, just making themselves look less guilty as if that’s how it works.

They can’t let PoC have flaws while still having the full range and depth of the human experience, whereas white people obviously do because Not All White People. They can’t be normal about PoC also having problems without being in abject denial over their broken pedestal, or smug because now they can drag us down to their level! Never mind that the issues they bring up are no longer/less relevant, unlike white people’s continued, global-scale imperialism that I’m sure any brown cultures could also do under the right circumstances, but we’re not here about What Ifs are we???

Because when you talk about the actual victims caught between white and brown empires, it makes me think of how the Ishvalan revolution against the Grand Arcanum system wasn’t done by white saviors. It was done by Ishvalan folk who were likely chosen as sacrifices themselves. Ishvalan folk got themselves out of it too.

And those Amestrian dogs deserve to die just as much for their genocide because damn, it’s not like they know about the Grand Arcanum, it’s not as if they have any right to throw stones, it’s not as if genocide is okay under any circumstance. The Ishvalans were allowed to have an f’ed up system in the past without the narrative having them bend over backwards to repent for it amidst persecution, or acknowledge that this is proof both sides are humans too. Fuck those white people for their genocide.

Whites IRL still saw PoC as uniquely and unusually dangerous and not in the same way they as white people also are, so they didn’t take prisoners. White people were so horrified from killing other white people in WW1 that they devised the Geneva convention, and then in the same breath turned around and continued to exploit natives with the exact same ruthlessness, because it can't be a war crime if we're not at war!!! We cannot be good at all without a constant reminder by whites that we’re bad too btw. When white countries pull off a W you don’t have other whites immediately scrambling to remind you of their war crimes, meaning you can’t even enjoy it for a moment.

[labyrinthofsphinx]

Statistical Outliers

Part 6 and 6.5 of drabble. Another long one, but chopping it up would've been weird.

“I don’t even like you right now.”

Vox had been laughing for far too long. This might be the most he’s laughed since Alastor had his ass handed to him by the angel prick. He finally found something that scares the kid, and all that was required was a little body mutilation.

The kid was currently rewiring the circuits into his new head, but he kept his gaze down the whole time. A deep scarlet of embarrassment was seeable even under his fluff.

“You, hahaha, you sound like a broken dog toy! Hahaha!” He hadn’t so much as screamed as he had made this high-pitched squeak of distress. Everything else was perfect, the horrified look, the freaking out, but that squeak ruined any of drama that Vox might’ve wanted to see. Now, he couldn’t help but think of the tossing the kid across the floor just to hear that stupid noise plink like a bouncy ball.

“I can’t help it! It’s a fox thing, I think.”

Oh, Vox knew that. Val squeaks too. His were subtler though, like a wet sneaker on a tile floor sound. Go figure, he had to go hell before he ever found out that moths and foxes apparently squeak. More news at eleven.

“God, that’s, hahaha, so pathetic. Haha!”

The kid rolled his eyes and went back to his work. Off to the side, Vox was making sure to record everything. While his body was still sitting down and hugging its sides, his face appeared across every screen that wasn’t currently being ripped open for repairs. He was keeping a close eye on the situation, I mean, it was his head after all. That and, if he saw how to do it, maybe he could attempt it by himself. Write some code for his body to follow, a series of pathways meant for this exact action. At least that way he wouldn’t have to rely on anyone to do this again.

Oh, the things he was going to do to his engineer later.

“Hey, um, do you know why there’s limiters on it?” He asked, bringing up a string of small black boxes he pulled from the backside.

Limiters? What hell was a limiter?

“Why? Something odd about it?”

“I mean, wasn’t the point of all these upgrades to give you more options? The limiters make it so there’s a cap on everything. The sound can’t get to max. The brightness can’t go above a certain degree. That sort of thing. Sometimes people use them when the system can’t take it, and it prevents burnout but…I mean this is as state of the art as possible. There’s no reason to have them here.”

Double dead, his engineer was double dead.

“If it doesn’t have to be there, no need to take up the space then.” He said, trying to be casual. The kid seemed to notice the twitching of his eyes though, so it’s not as if he couldn’t tell that he wasn’t…miffed by that.

The kid nodded in agreement and started unplugging them from the rest. About, the sharks had finished with their meal and were now lazily floating around. They always get like that after a large meal. One second, they were vicious man eaters, then next they were oversized house cats. For Vox, anyways. They hated just about everyone else.

“I like your sharks, by the way. Do they have names?”

“Anchor and Barge.” He said, his headless body pointing at the hammerhead and the tiger respectively. “They’d both eat you alive, you know.”

“After that meal? I don’t know. Sharks are pretty slow to digest things.”

True. Very true. He didn’t jump in there with them for obvious reasons, but he does find it easier for his aquarium workers to clean it up if they work right after breakfast or dinner…or one of them falls in around lunchtime and the rest wait until after the sharks were finished.

“So, you know about TVs and sharks. You’re a weird kid.”

“Yup.” He scanned his work, then stood up. “Okay, all done.”

What?

“All done?”

“Yup.”

“It’s been fifteen minutes.”

“I know.” He sighed. “Had to get all the limiters out. Sorry it took so long.”

It used to take all fucking day. He had to plan for months when he was going to do a big upgrade. He had to reschedule appointments, hold off on any later announcements, and god forbid Vel or Val have any minor inconvenience that day. It was a nightmare to deal with. The only reason he was fine with doing it today was because he literally hadn’t had a choice. He couldn’t exactly attend business meetings with half of a face. That said, he fully expected to be in cyberspace even longer since, you know, it wasn’t his technician doing it but a literal child. A smart child, granted, but still.

“So…how do I put it back on?” He threw his hands up. “And please try not to scare the hell outta me. A little warning first, maybe?”

He didn’t get it. His body stood up like the headless horseman and lifted his new head up over his shoulders. Cables, wires, and what amounts to veins and arteries in him now, climbed up through his neck and into the new set. Like a horde of sentient worms, they twisted and slid where they needed to. From the outside, it might look like he was being possessed. Or that Vox was secretly a bunch of leeches all working together to form some form of being. As the last wires connected, he jolted into the electrical stream. In the span of milliseconds, he crossed every pathway, checked every system, and detailed every change.

The kid did a good job. A great job, actually. Huh.

The so-called limiters being gone was interesting. He really hadn’t noticed them at all, but now, it was as if he’d had a cold all this time and only just got over it. Turns out, his speakers could get even louder, and the frequency can get to spectrums even dogs couldn’t hear. The brightness was also absurd. He often liked to see Val’s face turn to mush when he turns it up in the dead of night, a part of being a moth he’s never really gotten over. Now, he feels like he could probably blind someone like that, if he wanted to. Power output was also insane. He could kill with it before, sure, but he’s not sure he’s had the ability to bypass other functions, essentially just letting specific parts of himself be almost exclusively energy if need be. If he had, he’s surely never used it before, probably because he would’ve been running the risk of having everything that wasn’t energy accidentally fried from the overload.

“Okay, I know it’s all wires and stuff, but that was pretty gross.”

“You still own your soul, right?”

The kid paused.

“Um, yes?” He said, then quickly added. “It’s not for sale.”

Vox laughed, a little more sardonic this time.

“Everything is for sale. The question is just the price.”

With the snap of his fingers, the whole room lit up with possibility. He could have fame and fortune, the applause of all, his own show, his name reaching the farthest corners of hell. He could have comfort and a place of his own, something he wouldn’t have to share and somewhere to feel like home. He could have security and safety, never again having to worry about the frivolous battles and vicious monsters they live with down here. He could give him any toy he wanted. He could track down any family he might have down here. He could pull some strings and send him upstairs for a time.

All these things and more played across the room like collage of different endings, each sweet and inviting. He could be walking the red carpet. He could be playing video games in his own penthouse. He could be safe in the arms of his mother or his father or whoever else might be out there looking for him. And he could stay here, in Vee tower. He’d even let him sleep on the couch.

“See? I could give you everything. Anything. And what would it really cost you? You’d work for me. Not a bad deal, huh?”

He looked tempted, especially by the idea of family. His eyes lingered there longer than any other. Still, he sighed and offered Vox a somber look.

“That’s a very generous offer, but I’ll have to pass.”

“You sure that’s wise, kid?” Vox teased, slowly working his way around to his side. He skimmed a hand on his shoulder. “Think of what you’re missing out on! Take some advice from me, when opportunity knocks, seize it!”

He wasn’t paying attention to the kid’s hands. All his focus was on his face, that’s where weakness shows. He didn’t account for the strength of a hand. His little paw reached up and grabbed Vox’s claw. He pulled it down slightly, now just holding it. He almost swayed with it.

“You don’t owe me anything, you know. I don’t mind helping out my friends.”

The screens all blinked out at the same time.

“We are not friends.” He said, pointedly. “I don’t have friends.”

He can remember hearing that, seemingly ages ago, from someone he really thought was one. The kid held on just a tad tighter.

“What about Velvette and Valentino?”

“That’s entirely different.”

“Well, I’m might not be your friend, but you’re my friend.”

“I…I was literally going to kill you not, like, an hour ago!”

“Yeah, so? Husk stole all my money last week playing poker. Nifty stabbed me in hand, like, three times the week before.” He mentioned offhand, like any of that was normal. “I mean, Alastor tried to eat me the day before you grabbed me, I’m kind of used to-”

“He is not your friend!”

He’s not sure who was more surprised by the outburst, the kid or himself. His face glitched at the idea of Alastor and any concept of friendship. Really? Manipulating children? Is that what the great radio demon has been reduced to? Yeah, sure, Vox was offering to buy his soul off of him, but at least he intended on fulfilling his end of the bargain.

His hand gripped tighter, and his claw unintentionally dug into the kid’s palm.

“Kid, if you learn nothing else from any of this, I want you burn this into your skull: Alastor will always look out for himself first. He will lie, cheat, murder, or be the most charming person you’ve ever met, as long as it benefits him. Nothing he says is the truth. And he will play anyone against anything if he gets something out of it. If hell was burning down to the ground, he’d step over everyone to be king of the ashes.”

“I…I mean he is…creepy sometimes. I know he lies a lot.” He stuttered.

He grabbed him by his shoulders, forcing him to look him in the face.

“Trust your instincts.” The swirls of his hypnotic eye danced with focus. He hadn’t even done it on purpose. Any time the radio freak pops up, he tends to drown out other thoughts. Oddly, the kid’s attitude didn’t change. His smile was gone now, but he was still giving him that stupidly soft look.

“Where you two friends?”

The bitter truth tasted like bile on his tongue.

“Alastor doesn’t have friends, kid.”

He only had pawns. Allies, maybe. And ladders to higher power. Everyone else was a waste of time.

“Well, you’ve got one thing now that he doesn’t then.”

I…he…ugh.

“Oh, shut up, kid.”

…

It was little surprise to him that Velvette and Valentino were waiting in their lounge, not so subtly sitting around as if they had nothing else better to do. He knew they were lying around, hoping he’d come out. Val might want to continue their fight, or at least marvel in his small victory with Vox’s broken screen. Vel, he can only imagine, wants to see Vox’s reaction to her stupid little prank. The better the reaction, the better the video it would make.

Surprise to all! Voxtek now presenting ‘You fucked up!’: the show! Watch as two of hell’s strongest overlords sit there gaping like fish as Vox walked in, nothing but smiles and a clean screen!

The kid was quick on his heels, though he stopped a little short the minute he saw Val.

“Um, hey, Vee.” Velvette started. Her video was already rolling so she needed something for content. “You look good. Anything happen today?”

“Oh, worked on a few projects. Got some exciting things coming up for sure!” He offered a hand out towards Valentino. “Like Valentino’s new film. I’m sure he’s just about done shooting it. We’re all very excited by all the big promises you’ve made about the star quality.”

In truth, Val’s recent work was nowhere near done. He was always more interested in the actions on the screen than anything involved in actual screenplay. That’s part of the reason the scripts were always for shit. This particular project started off as more of a fever dream, and just started escalating from there. Vox knew, because of course he did, that Val was nearly out of time and also out of budget.

And he also knew who Val would go running to, to fix everything right before it gets released.

He took a big drag of smoke, and nearly choked on it.

“Uh…” Velvette almost looked apologetically at Val for turning the gun on him by accident. “I meant, did anything else happen today?”

Oh, he didn’t realize they were lining up for an execution today!

“Actually, yes! The strangest thing happened before!” He gently guided the kid forward. “I found this little guy all by himself, unattended! Who knows what could’ve happened to him if I’d not found him! Obviously, his owner was very negligent in his care. Now, I understand that she was very busy with so many important things to do today. Therefore, until she’s done with her little projects, I’ll take it upon myself to make sure he’s safe!”

Vel’s mouth dropped in silent agony. Careful dear, still being recorded.

Vox popped his bowtie, his collar flaring open and exposing his neckline. He slowly dragged his jacket off and tossed it over his arm. Val’s eyes dragged across his chest the whole time. He’s pretty sure he actually ate some of the cigarette.

“Well, I don’t know about you two, but I’ve had a very exciting day. I think I’ll turn in for the night.”

“W-what about food?” Vel said suddenly, grasping for a reason for him to stay.

“Tell my secretary that I’ll be ordering in tonight. I’m thinking Chinese.” He started to walk towards his room. The kid had enough sense to follow without argument, though he seemed less confident with Vox’s co-workers burning their gazes into their backs.

Val didn’t get his argument, his trophy shot, or his makeup sex. He was going to be angry and alone tonight. Vel didn’t get her candid shot of Vox’s embarrassment, instead making her come across like a joke. He didn’t expect her to post that video, if only to save face.

When the door to his room closed, he only just kept from laughing.

“Aren’t they going to be mad tomorrow?” The kid asked. He stepped into the room with uncertainty, like he was afraid to disturb the space.

Vox’s room, like his workspace, was pretty sterile looking, almost futuristically modern in design. He tossed the jacket into a side pocket on the wall. From there, his machines would wash it, press it, and hang it back up in his closet. A flick of the wrist, and the suite came to life with lights, stripes of neon blue that pulsed about. The hidden fireplace rose up from the floor, turning on with a hiss of gas. Off to the side, he could hear his bathtub prepping itself, turning on the warm water after an appropriate amount of fragrances were added to the mix.

He always thought it was a little silly of Val, constantly having his personal servants running around and doing everything for him like that. In the age of the electronic servant, why would you ever leave anything up to a human unless you had to? It was so much more trouble.

“They’ll be mad.” Vox confirmed with a nod.

“Isn’t that bad?”

He gave a quick turn, just so the kid could see the utter delight on his face.

“It’s only bad if you don’t know how to use it. And, trust me, I’ve lived with these two for more than long enough to navigate just about any thought in their heads. You’ll come to find that they’re dreadfully predictable when they’re angry.”

“Oh. Okay. I guess.” He muttered. “Are…are we still getting Chinese?”

Vox brought up the menu on his phone and let him shift through it. He already knew what he wanted anyway. He gave a quick point over to another setup of monitors, all of them hooked up for voice commands.

“Tell the computer what you want. It already has my order pre-programed. It’ll send a text to my secretary, and she’ll handle the rest. Just answer the door when she knocks. I’m taking a bath.”

With that, he left him to his own devices.

His bathroom smelled of sea salt and ocean breeze. Just opening the door made him almost nostalgic about his mortal days of summer, out on the end of the island. The tub was less of a tub and almost like a small swimming pool. Up above it, the ceiling was fitted to allow it to become a shower at any time. He didn’t often take showers, on account of his head being, you know, a TV, but he did like the kinetic energy it gave the room anyways. It felt a bit like he controlled the weather too.

He stepped down into the water and turned on the jets.

Oh, he needed this. Today might’ve started off like shit, but it was ending out on a high note.

Now then, the plan for tomorrow. Though he’s rested his body, letting the whirling water pull the knots from his muscles and batter down sore spots to the point of pleasure, his mind kept running. It was kinda a curse really. He never fully relaxed ever.

The miniature aquarium he had there, a circulating one of moon jellies, caught his eyes’ attention while his brain rambled on and his body unwound.

Aside from Vel and Val issues, he had one other major concern. The kid still wasn’t under contract. He tried tempting with sugar. That hadn’t worked. Close, but no cigar. That meant that, tomorrow, he was going to have to try the other way. Weirdly enough, he was actually, truly dreading it.

Not only was the kid hard to scare in general, apparently, but Vox kept feeling a little sick thinking about that broken cry, asking him if he was okay.

He seemed to care significantly less about his own, personal safety than he did for…his friends. And, unfortunately, Vox currently only had one of those on hand for use…aside from himself, he’d suppose. How would one threaten themselves anyways? Note to self, look into that. For now though, Angel was going to have to do, wasn’t he?

Ugh. This was going to suck. Buck up, Vox. You do what you have to do, nothing less.

His cameras informed him that his secretary just dropped off the food. She was a little gob smacked to be opening the door to the kid. Her shirt was opened three buttons more than appropriate, and her skirt about six inches too short. When the kid showed up in his place, she looked like she wanted to melt into the floor.

Food was calling. Time to get out.

Thankfully, his machines had a new warm robe ready for him. Val keeps stealing them and not giving them back. It’s probably because he makes sure they’re pre-heated before tossing them on, like fresh clothing from the drier.

He stepped out to find that his food was already put together for him, plate, silverware, and fortune cookie to boot. He wasn’t about to bet on who set that up, his secretary or the kid.

To his surprise, instead of finding him where he expected, over by the TV, he found him sitting and admiring the view from the broad, curved windows.

“Wow, you can see everything from up here.”

Vox grabbed his food and joined him, more out of curiosity than anything else.

“Well, I designed it like that.” He mentioned. “To be fair, I designed most of these buildings on this side of the pentagram.”

The skyrises made it feel more like home, if he were honest, which he never was.

“That’s…actually really cool. I’m lucky if I can get a card tower up.” Then, he spotted something familiar. “Hey! You can see the hotel from here!”

Sure, he supposed. He gets a better view from his drones. Speaking of, it seemed like they hadn’t had any more luck today than they had the last couple of days. The princess was in literal tears, both her girlfriend and her father trading off between comforting her. Angel Dust only just got back, his driver dropping him off not a moment ago. Vox didn’t need to turn up the audio to know that they were asking if he’d gotten anything useful today. The answer was no, obviously.

These people cared about him. They were distraught and desperate and thinking the absolute worst must’ve happened. There was a very, very small part of him that almost pitied that.

Then, a little anger bubbled up from nowhere. Why the fuck did you let him go alone? Not fucking one of you could’ve gone with him? Like, yeah, the worst did happen, but could you imagine if it was worse than that? Vox was bad news, obviously. But…so there so many worse things that could’ve happened.

That made feel gross, like the bath didn’t matter. Then he got mad because why did he feel gross? Then, he felt worse because why did even question why he felt gross? Then-!

“My fortune cookie insulted me.”

Oh, thank god. That rabbit hole was one he wasn’t going to crawl out of otherwise.

“What?”

“It says ‘Your life is a blockbuster of bad luck. Enjoy the Oscar’.”

“That is the best fortune cookie I’ve ever heard.” He might’ve wheezed, probably swallowed a chicken bone while he was at it.

“What does yours say?”

He didn’t actually eat the cookie. Most of the time he threw them away. He made his own luck but, well, when in Rome.

He unfurled the sheet of paper and began to recite it.

“‘Everyone you’ve ever stalked online had just been notified’.”

There was good pause, before they both started rolling. The kid coughed on his water, spewing out like a vaporizer. Vox tickled himself enough to accidentally pop a laugh track from his mix.

“Who makes these?” Vox rasped. “I need to get some for those two outside, hahaha!”

Memo from Vox to Vox, always order from that Chinese food place whenever he needs to lighten the mood.

They polished off the rest of their meal shortly, but they still caught themselves looking out the window. The embassy tower seemed so out of place now, sand dripping down to nothing, and a clock that didn’t keep time.

“It still feels weird that its over.” The kid said.

“Yeah.” He pointed at the building. “We should melt it down and turn it into a giant sign that says ‘Fuck you’ so they can read it from up there.”

“You know, I think Lucifer said something similar.”

Well, he now knew more about the king of hell than he thought he would. Great minds think alike and all that.

“Did you guys just hang out up here when it happened?” He asked.

“You mean extermination day? Yeah, of course. I’ve got every security feature in the world in this building. The place is basically a bunker when it has to be. It was just easier for those feathered freaks to go hunting for the easier prey on the streets.”

He shrunk, disheartened by something or another.

“Yeah, it was pretty scary out there.”

…hold on.

“Wait, you were out there? Like, on the streets? On extermination day? Are you stupid?”

“I didn’t really have a choice.” He argued back, ears flicked against his head. “I didn’t have anywhere to live back then so-”

“You…you lived on the street?” In Hell? That was-! I mean-! Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding!

He pointed down at a line of buildings you could just barely see. That part of town was all very old stores, secondhand electronics, and pawnshops. It was barely lit, and almost dilapidated. Last time there was a hellquake, two of the buildings collapsed in on themselves.

“Over there, next to that pawnshop with the ring on it, is a store that resells electronics. Most of the TVs are really old and not hooked up to the new system. The owner plays a lot of re-runs on them though, so people know they work. I used to live in the alleyway right next to it. The TV boxes were a lot thicker than the other boxes, you know?”

He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know.

“What did you do when they came in to slaughter everyone? Hide and hope they don’t find you?” His voice jumped up an octave.

“Yeah, basically. Or run. Also, I’m kinda of small, much smaller than they are so I could sneak into the pipes if I climbed down into the sewer. ‘Course then you gotta worry about gators, but at least when they get you, you’re not dead dead. Just the usual dead.”

“…why did you say it like that?”

“I mean, unless it’s cause of an angel, we don’t really die down here. It just…hurts, and you show up again sometime later…which also kinda hurts.”

It’s not ‘kinda hurts’. It’s excruciating. It’s akin to torture. That’s why it’s still a big freaking deal, and why people still don’t want to die down here.

“Did you-! Holy shit, do you die a lot?”

“Uh, I used to. Not so much anymore. When I first got dropped down here, there were guys who found me and made a game of hunting me down with their hellhound friends. I think they were British, but I’m not sure. They used to get me a lot. Then there were the usual crazies running around, that sort of thing. But I’ve been doing pretty good these past couple of years. I think years. Man, my idea of time is gonna get so bad without extermination day keeping me straight.”

“You’re twelve right?”

“Yup, or thirteen. I forget.”

“How long have you been down here?”

He thought for a second.

“Since the 90s, but I forget the year…Vox? You okay? Your screen’s bugging out. Everything feel okay with the circuits?”

30 years! A twelve year old in Hell for 30 years!

“Um, Vox. I-I don’t think your face should be doing that-”

Are they deranged? What the fuck!

“Are they crazy? What manic torments a fucking kid for 30 years?” It’s too bad he just replaced his face. He felt like he might need a new one in short order. “And you! You just let it happen? Put up a fucking fight!”

He just stared.

“I…I am four foot nothing. I am fuzzy, with very tiny teeth and paws. I don’t have electricity powers or evil shadows or extra arms or anything. I just fix things. I’m good with cars. That’s…that’s all I have. I don’t think someone like me was meant to thrive down here.”

“How do you still have your soul? Why do you still have your soul? You could’ve soul it! Gotten something for yourself, anything!”

“What good would that have done?”

“A job. A place to sleep. I don’t know, kid. I offered a lot.”

“Yeah but…most of Hell owes their soul to somebody. They didn’t seem any happier than me.”

God, this kid.

“You know, part of being down here is indulging in the worst parts of yourself.” He explained like he would explain to someone who was braindead. “That includes getting mean, and even selling your soul.”

“So…what? I’m already down here so it’s not worth it trying to be nice or better?”

“Exactly!”

“That’s silly.”

Holy shit, he was just as bad as Lucifer’s brat.

“Don’t tell me you actually believe in this redemption bullshit. Please don’t tell me you let all this crap happen to you because you think you had a shot at getting into that fuzzy place.”

Blood trickled down from his mouth. Vox hadn’t even realized he’d stressed the kid out enough to bite down on his lip.

“Don’t tell Charlie.” He pleaded. “Please?”

“…Don’t tell Charlie what?”

“I…I’m not sure I believe it. On one hand, I kinda hope you can, but on the other hand…then…me being here isn’t a mistake. And I don’t know what else I’m doing wrong.” He gulped some air. “I joined the hotel because…even if we can’t get into heaven that doesn’t hell has to be that bad. If Hell really was a hell, it’d so much worse than this, right?”

For once, Vox heard something he could agree with. Hell sucked. No denying that. But…he’s lived through so much worse than this. As Alastor had once said, hell was what you made of it. And Vox chose to be on top.

This kid though? He shouldn’t have any hope left. He would call him delusional except…he was a kid. He was always going to be a kid. He’s never going to understand. He can’t.

He was robbed of his life. Thrown to wolves in his afterlife. And all he thought about was learning to be nicer to people. Because that might change something.

“That,” He said finally. “is a great way to get yourself killed. Try to be kind to the literal worst of humankind.”

“I’ve survived so far.” He smiled again, through a bloody grin. “I’m a kid, but I’m not stupid. I’m not about to go hug Jeffrey Dahmer.”

“You’ve all but hugged me.”

To that, the kid just beamed.

Well, he’s not Dahmer. That’s for sure.

You know, that’s more than enough emotional damage for today.

“Okay, time for bed.” He stood up. Over by his dresser, he tossed on his comfier set of pajamas. He grabbed a big shirt of his and tossed it over. The kid leapt up pretty high, catching and tossing it on before he even hit the ground. Agile little thing.

He all but collapsed into bed. The silk sheets felt so nice and smooth. He never loved his mattress more than when he’s been away from it too long. But, the second he settled in, he caught sight of the kid curled up on the floor by the window. Vox didn’t have much in the way of rugs or carpeting. He knew the floor was cold and…well…now with the mental image of the street…

“God fucking damnit.”

Reluctantly, he got back up. He walked over, picked the kid up like you would a cat, then brought him back to the bed. He sat him at the foot of it, where Vox’s feet would be in a second, and he tossed him a spare blanket.

“You stay there. Don’t even think of crawling in next to me because that’s Val’s side of the bed and lord knows what you’ll catch from being there.”

With that, Vox called it a day. He dragged his wayward mind back to the items on the list for tomorrow: Velvette’s punishment, Valentino’s anger management, and the Val and Angel deal to name a few things. Also, track down that technician of his because he’s going to need to fry something after today.

His dreams got the better of him about halfway through the night, thinking of things that never wanted to crawl out of his head. Alastor’s mocking smile bearing down on him. Oh, stupid Vox. Don’t get attached now. Remember what I said about weakness?

His eye flicked open, only for a moment, when a wet nose touched his hand. The kid was still on top of his blanket, but he’d crawled up enough to let Vox’s fingers thread through the top of his head. He probably saw something on the screen that bothered him.

Whatever. He wasn’t awake enough to yell.

So, he went back to sleep. And when Alastor tried to tease him again, he told him to fuck off. You’re just jealous because you don’t have one. Go die alone, you crazy shadow freak.

And he did, because dreams could be really sweet sometimes.

Part 1/ Part 2/ Part 3/ Part 4/ Part 5/ Part 6/ Part 7/ Part 8/ Part 9/ Part 10

[samuelroukin]

Look just as a sample:

Soap blends into the pub, at least, grabbing the wobbly, ancient table by the shadowed corner. The shit seat, clearly, since no one thinks to look in that direction even as the evening crowd filters in and fills the space. His accent doesn't quite fit, but he's close enough, and looks the part watching. Funny, he thinks, scanning the room promising himself he'll recognize her if he sees her even though it's been years and he was just a boy when she left, but sure anyway, that this sinkhole of a village was harder to get to than some of the scars in the earth he's been sent to with a gun in his hand. He feels a little naked without it, compensating with knives. Ghost would be proud, if Ghost wasn't done with Johnny completely. Big bastard. Soap can almost hear that rumbling Manc purr in his ear: haven't a plan, have you MacTavish? It's true. He's always been impulsive, has Soap. And when Ghost cut him off, broke the promise to join him on leave, left him staring down the barrel of awkward days in his mum's dingy flat while she pressed him about leaving the forces and settling down, his sister Katie too weigh down by her bairns and her job and her husband and her church, Soap had thought I fucking wish Elspeth were here. She had always understood him best, always was a little of sync with their Mother's God and her rules, hair cut short and sneaking him off to things that would never be approved. He'd love her, and then she'd simply been gone. He'd come back from school, rushing for the call, only to find she'd rung early and their Da, alive then, was screaming that she was a whore down the line. He didn't even really know why, piecing it together with a child's mind and the snippets overheard. He hadn't called his mother and said he had leave. He'd used the skills Queen and Country had given him to access the ancient computer system of Elspeth's old uni and found this fucking village. Found her, he thinks. He'd asked about a bit, trying to seem like a lost, rock stupid tourist. And the postmaster had finally taken the bait. Grabbed his fucking arm, like John was some civilian, like he couldn't shake off an old man with a nose full of broken veins after long years drinking. Best leave the Uaths alone, he'd said. Mrs. Uath was a respectable woman, a pillar of the village. He still remembered when she'd first come there. And, besides, Uath women didn't often come to town. It'd be even rarer if they knew someone like him was hanging around. Soap had almost taken off down the lane. The fuck did it sound like, then? Ellie trapped, locked away, implied to be married to a jealous fucking ogre. Soap had done bad things. Making his sister a widow seemed easy enough. But the whatever the fuck they're celebrating here, the harvest or plowing or some such shit farmers care about was better. A chance to look in. The whole village had come, filling their ugly little pub. Soap waiting, nursing a beer. She would come, he knew she would come. And he would know her. He was sure he would know her.

[Anyway yeah they do recognize each other but her sons nearly jump Johnny assuming he's a creep of some sort. And she's horrified bc she loves her baby brother but she can't leave and he will die if he stays she need him to GO]

ooooh the setting, the drama 👀also what the Fuck is ghost's problem, just leaving him like that?