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urdreamydoodles · 2 days ago

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MARVEL COMICS CHARACTERS x FEM!READER

You Protect The Marvel Comics Characters By Punching Someone Who Speaks Badly About Them

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Loki, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Matthew Murdock, Frank Castle, Marc Spector, Johnny Storm, Reed Richards, Felicia Hardy, Stephen Strange, Namor, Johnny Blaze, Eddie Brock / Venom, T'Challa & Elektra Natchios

Peter Parker aka. Spider-Man

- Peter Parker has been insulted more times than he can count. He’s been called a menace, a failure, a joke. He’s used to it, laughs it off even when it cuts deep. But when he hears the sharp crack of your fist connecting with someone’s jaw—when he realizes that you did that for him—his world tilts on its axis.

- “Oh no. Oh no no no.” His first instinct is to grab you, to get you out of there before this turns into something worse. You just punched someone for him. He’s supposed to be the one protecting you, not the other way around. His heart is hammering—part fear, part something softer, warmer.

- He rushes to your side, hands hovering, unsure if he should scold you or kiss you right there in the street. The person you hit is groaning, cradling their face, and Peter is torn between feeling bad for them and wanting to tell them they deserved it. (Because they did. They did.)

- “Okay, that was… something,” he says, eyes darting between you and the stunned crowd. “Not that I don’t appreciate the backup, but—y’know, punching people usually gets me into trouble.” His voice is light, joking, but there’s something else in his gaze—awe, affection, something deeper than words.

- Later, when he’s patching up your knuckles with the gentlest hands, he murmurs, “No one’s ever fought for me like that.” And when he finally meets your gaze, soft and unguarded, you see it—the way he’s looking at you like you’re the most incredible thing in the universe.

Tony Stark aka. Iron Man

- Tony Stark has heard it all. The insults, the backhanded compliments, the jealous jabs from people who will never be him. Normally, he drowns it out with charm and a drink in hand. But then—then—your fist connects with someone’s face, and the world stops.

- For a moment, he just stares. Blinking. Processing. Did you really just punch someone for him? Then, slowly—a slow-spreading, wicked smirk. Because holy hell, that was the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

- “Well, well, well.” He steps forward, slipping an arm around your shoulders like you’re some kind of victorious gladiator. “You sure know how to make a guy feel special.” He’s eating this up, reveling in it, in the way you didn’t hesitate, in the way you stood up for him like it was the easiest thing in the world.

- The guy on the ground groans, and Tony glances down, unimpressed. “Next time, try using words, buddy. Or, y’know, just accept that I’m better than you.” Then he turns back to you, tilting his head. “Not that I’m complaining, but—what was that? You got a thing for defending handsome billionaires, or am I just lucky?”

- Later, when the adrenaline fades, he brushes a knuckle over your bruised hand, voice quieter. “No one ever does that for me.” And it’s not teasing anymore, not deflection—just something real. Something raw. And for once, Tony Stark is at a loss for words.

Steve Rogers aka. Captain America

- Steve Rogers has always fought his own battles. From the alleys of Brooklyn to the battlefields of war, he’s used to standing his ground—used to taking the hits for the people he loves. But this? This is something else entirely.

- One second, he’s turning the other cheek, trying to walk away from the insult. The next, there’s the sharp, unmistakable sound of impact—your fist driving straight into the jaw of the person who dared speak ill of him.

- “Hey—!” His hands are on you immediately, pulling you back before things escalate, before this turns into something worse. But his heart—his heart is a drumbeat against his ribs, because you fought for him. He should tell you it was reckless, that you didn’t have to, but all he can do is stare at you, his throat tight with something he can’t name.

- “That wasn’t necessary,” he says, but there’s no scolding in his voice, only something soft, something incredibly fond. Because no one ever fights for him. Not like that. Not without hesitation.

- Later, when you’re sitting together, nursing your sore hand, he finally murmurs, “Thank you.” And when he looks at you, there’s a warmth in his blue eyes that says more than words ever could—a depth of feeling that leaves you breathless.

Thor aka. God of Thunder

- Thor is used to insults. They roll off his back like rain on a battlefield, drowned out by the thunder in his veins. But when he hears the crack of your fist colliding with flesh— when he realizes you have struck someone in his name— he does not laugh. He is in awe.

- “By the gods!” His voice is both a boom of delight and a whisper of reverence. He steps toward you, eyes shining with something almost worshipful. You are fire, you are fury, you are glorious.

- And then he throws his head back and laughs, loud and full of joy. “A mighty warrior indeed! You honor me, my lady.” He clasps your hand, ignoring the bruises blooming on your knuckles, lifting it as though you have just won a great battle.

- The fool who insulted him scrambles away, but Thor does not spare them a glance. No, his attention is entirely on you. On this magnificent, fearless mortal who would strike in his name. And suddenly, the air around you feels different. Charged. Alive.

- Later, when the revelry has died down, he turns to you, voice softer. “You are… remarkable.” And when he looks at you, it is with the kind of devotion that only gods can give.

Loki aka. God of Mischief

- Loki is no stranger to cruelty. Words have been his weapons, his shields, his burdens. But when someone speaks ill of him— when they dare to drag his name through the dirt—he expects only one thing: to be alone in the aftermath.

- And then you hit them. Hard.

- He blinks. Once. Twice. Shock flickers across his face, unreadable and raw. He watches as you stand, fists clenched, gaze burning with something primal, something protective. And for the first time in centuries, Loki does not know what to say.

- “You—” His voice is different. Lower. There is no mockery, no amusement, only a sharp, jagged edge of something he does not let himself feel. You have fought for him. Him. And the realization shakes him.

- Later, when you’re alone, he traces the bruises on your knuckles with something dangerously close to reverence. “You are a fool,” he whispers, but his fingers linger, his breath unsteady. “A reckless, maddening fool.” And then, softer—so quiet you almost don’t hear it—“And I think I am doomed to love you for it.”

Clint Barton aka. Hawkeye

- Clint Barton is used to being underestimated. People see the bow, the lack of powers, and assume he’s less. They talk about him like he’s a joke, like he doesn’t belong among gods and super-soldiers. He lets it roll off his back—until you don’t.

- The sound of your fist cracking against a jaw cuts through the noise of the bar, and suddenly, the air is electric. You did that for him. Not because he asked, not because you had to—but because someone insulted him, and that was unacceptable to you.

- “Whoa—hey, hey, hold up!” Clint is beside you in an instant, half-laughing, half-terrified. His hands hover near yours, concern flickering in his sharp blue eyes. You’re pissed. It’s kind of the best thing he’s ever seen.

- The guy on the floor is groaning, but Clint isn’t paying attention to them anymore. No, his focus is on you—on your clenched fists, the fire still burning in your gaze. You’re beautiful like this, fierce and unwavering, and he’s absolutely, irreversibly doomed.

- Later, when he’s wrapping your bruised knuckles in an old bandana, he grins, soft and lopsided. “You know, I usually do the whole reckless, getting-into-fights thing. But I gotta say—kinda nice having someone in my corner for once.” And the way he looks at you then? Like you hung the goddamn stars.

Natasha Romanoff aka. Black Widow

- Natasha Romanoff has been called a monster, a traitor, a woman who can never be trusted. She’s lived a life of whispers behind her back, of sideways glances and careful distance. She’s learned to endure it. But she never expected you to lash out in her defense.

- The impact of your punch is sharp, decisive— a clean, perfect strike that she would have been proud of. And yet, it startles her. Not because you hit them, but because you lost control for her.

- “You didn’t have to do that.” Her voice is smooth, but there’s something unreadable in her expression—something unfamiliar. She’s used to people fighting beside her, but no one has ever fought for her. Not like this.

- She grips your wrist before you can throw another punch, thumb grazing the pulse point there. “Look at me,” she murmurs. And when you do, she sees it—the fire in you, the defiance, the unwavering loyalty. And it does something to her, something she can’t quite name.

- Later, in the quiet of a dimly lit room, she traces the bruise on your knuckles with the barest touch. “You’re dangerous,” she murmurs, lips curving slightly. And for the first time in a long time, she thinks—maybe she wants to be protected, too.

Bucky Barnes aka. Winter Soldier

- Bucky Barnes knows what people say about him. A killer. A weapon. A man who should have died decades ago. He doesn’t argue. He knows what he’s done. He doesn’t expect anyone to defend him.

- But then—you do. And not with words. With fists.

- The moment your knuckles connect with skin, he’s there. He’s fast, instinctive, grabbing you by the wrist before you can swing again. His heart is pounding. Not out of fear—but something deeper, something he can’t afford to name.

- “Why did you do that?” His voice is rough, almost accusing. But you don’t waver. You stand your ground, breathing heavy, eyes blazing with defiance. It hits him then—no one has ever done this for him. Not Steve, not anyone.

- Later, he sits beside you in the quiet, his metal fingers ghosting over your bruised knuckles. “You don’t have to fight for me,” he murmurs, voice almost broken. And when you reply—“Then who will?”—he feels something shift in his chest, something old and aching and terrifyingly new.

Matthew Murdock aka. Daredevil

- Matt Murdock hears the insult before it’s even fully formed—the venom in the voice, the disdain dripping from every syllable. He’s heard it before, about his blindness, about his law career, about the devil that lurks beneath the surface. He expects to ignore it.

- What he doesn’t expect is the sharp, sudden sound of your fist connecting with someone’s jaw.

- His head tilts slightly, the ghost of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. He felt you coil before the strike, heard your heartbeat spike. You didn’t hesitate. And God help him, that does something to him.

- “That wasn’t very lawyerly of you.” He steps close, voice low and teasing, but there’s something else there too—something reverent. His fingers brush against yours, light as a whisper, like he’s memorizing the shape of your defiance.

- Later, in the sanctity of his apartment, he takes your injured hand in his own, running careful fingertips over bruised skin. “I don’t need saving,” he murmurs, though the way his breath hitches when you squeeze his hand says otherwise. And when you reply—“Too bad. You’ve got me anyway.”—his world tilts, just a little.

Frank Castle aka. The Punisher

- Frank Castle is a ghost, a monster, a cautionary tale. He’s used to people spitting his name like it’s a curse. He doesn’t care. He’s beyond caring.

- But then you punch someone in the face for speaking ill of him—and everything stops.

- The guy drops like a stone, groaning, and Frank… laughs. It’s not a soft sound. It’s dark, rough, something almost dangerous. He steps forward, crowding into your space, looking down at you like you’re something holy and terrible and his.

- “You got a mean right hook, sweetheart.” His voice is low, amused, but there’s something else there—something molten, something raw. He doesn’t say it, but he’s never had someone do this for him. Never had someone choose him so recklessly, so violently.

- Later, when you’re both alone, he leans against the counter, arms crossed, eyes dark. “You don’t fight my battles.” His voice is a growl, but there’s no real anger behind it. And when you meet his gaze, unyielding, he exhales sharply. Because if anyone in this world deserved someone like you fighting for them—he knows it sure as hell ain’t him. But he wants it anyway.

Marc Spector aka. Moon Knight

- Marc Spector is used to being called insane. A broken mind, a fractured man, a violent, unhinged vigilante. The whispers follow him everywhere, behind his back and to his face. He doesn’t defend himself—because what would be the point?

- But then, you do. And not just with words. With your fists. The impact is sharp, the sound of bone on bone cutting through the murmur of the street like a gunshot. The moment is frozen. And Marc? He stares.

- He should pull you away, should tell you not to waste your breath, should laugh it off like it doesn’t matter. But he can’t. Because no one has ever done this for him. Not for Marc Spector. Not for the man beneath the mask.

- “You really shouldn’t have done that.” His voice is low, but there’s something almost reverent in the way he says it. His gloved fingers graze your bruised knuckles, and the moonlight catches in his dark eyes—like he’s seeing something holy.

- Later, he watches you from across the room, arms crossed, jaw tight. You stood up for him. You fought for him. And now, all he can think about is how much he wants to fight for you.

Johnny Storm aka. Human Torch

- Johnny Storm is used to the attention. The praise, the criticism, the headlines that reduce him to nothing more than a pretty face and a flame. He shrugs it off. Pretends it doesn’t sting.

- But then, he hears your voice—furious, unwavering, like a flame catching oxygen. And before he can turn, you swing. The guy stumbles back, clutching their jaw, and the entire room erupts.

- “Oh. My. God.” Johnny is somehow both horrified and absolutely delighted. He stares at you like you just set the whole world on fire. Because you did. And you did it for him.

- “I didn’t know you had that in you,” he grins, stepping closer. There’s something in his voice—something deep, awed, almost breathless. Because no one has ever burned quite like you.

- Later, when the adrenaline wears off, he’s grinning like an idiot, watching you ice your knuckles. And when you catch him staring, he just shrugs. “What? It’s kinda hot when you punch people for me.”

Reed Richards aka. Mister Fantastic

- Reed Richards has heard every insult in the book. Detached. Cold. Unfeeling. They don’t understand how his mind works, how his thoughts stretch beyond the present moment, beyond normal comprehension. He’s used to it.

- But you? You aren’t. The second someone spits out something vile, dismissive, cruel, your fist is already flying before Reed can even process what’s happening.

- “Oh.” That’s all he says at first, blinking as if recalibrating. He hadn’t expected—this. You. Your anger, your unwavering defense, the fire in your eyes. It’s an equation he hadn’t considered. And now, he can’t stop solving for it.

- “Violence isn’t necessary,” he murmurs, but he’s already taking your hand, stretching his fingers around your bruised knuckles, memorizing the shape of your loyalty.

- Later, he watches you—studying, calculating, analyzing. But for once, the question isn’t why. It’s how he ever lived without you.

Felicia Hardy aka. Black Cat

- Felicia Hardy doesn’t need protecting. She’s spent her life clawing her way out of trouble, slipping through shadows, dodging every snare. She laughs in the face of danger, purrs at the edge of chaos.

- But then—you hit someone. For her. And everything stops.

- She should be amused. Should smirk and tease and call you reckless. But instead—she just stares. Because no one, not once in her life, has ever thrown a punch for her. Not like this.

- “Darling, you really are full of surprises.” She steps close, a slow, predatory movement, her fingers tilting your chin up. There’s something wicked in her smirk—but her eyes? Her eyes are soft.

- Later, she finds herself watching you more than she should. Running a gloved hand over your bruised knuckles, feeling something dangerously close to devotion. And for the first time, Felicia Hardy wonders what it would be like to be caught.

Stephen Strange aka. Doctor Strange

- Stephen Strange is used to arrogance. His own, and the world’s. He’s used to people whispering behind his back, questioning, doubting, scoffing. He doesn’t care. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

- But when someone speaks ill of him in front of you? You react before he does. The crack of your fist against their jaw is startlingly satisfying. And suddenly, the entire universe shifts.

- “You—” He stops himself. Adjusts his cloak. Exhales sharply. He should be chastising you, telling you to hold your temper, to rise above it. But instead, he’s looking at you like you just rewrote the laws of reality.

- “You didn’t have to do that.” His voice is careful, but his fingers are gentle when they brush against your bruised knuckles. He’s spent a lifetime mastering control—so why does it slip when you’re around?

- Later, he finds himself summoning bandages with magic, hands lingering longer than necessary. And when you smirk, teasing—“Was that a thank you, Doctor?”—he only hums, a small, knowing smile playing at his lips. Because maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t mind needing you.

Namor aka. The Sub-Mariner

- Namor is used to disrespect. The surface world dares to look down on him, on Atlantis, on the very ocean that sustains their miserable existence. He tolerates it only because he must. But when someone speaks ill of him in your presence, they are met with something he does not expect—your fist.

- The blow lands sharply, flesh against bone, a declaration of war in its own right. Namor watches, silver eyes narrowing, his body rigid with something unnameable. It is not anger. No, anger is familiar. This? This is something else.

- “You strike for me?” His voice is velvet over steel, laced with the kind of dangerous curiosity that comes before a storm. His people have fought wars in his name. But this? This is different. This is you.

- He moves toward you, slow, deliberate, fingers tilting your chin up. There is no hesitation when he speaks next. “You are worthy of a crown.” And the way he says it—it is not a compliment. It is a fact.

- Later, the sea sings your name. And though he will not say it outright, he watches you differently now—like a king who has found the one thing worth more than his throne.

Johnny Blaze aka. Ghost Rider

- Johnny Blaze has been called many things. Freak. Monster. Hellspawn. He doesn’t care—not anymore. He’s spent too long carrying his curse, dragging his soul behind him like a dying star.

- But then you hit someone. For him. Your knuckles split skin, the sound echoing in the dim light of the bar, and for the first time in a long time, Johnny forgets how to breathe.

- “Shit.” The word is barely a breath. You turn to him, fist still clenched, shoulders tight with fury, and Johnny? Johnny just stares. Because no one, not in his entire damn life, has ever thrown a punch in his name.

- “You really shouldn’t have done that,” he mutters, but there’s something dangerous behind his voice—something that flickers like an ember waiting to catch. He should stop this, should tell you he’s not worth it. But instead, his fingers brush over your bruised knuckles like a prayer.

- Later, he watches you from his bike, the engine growling beneath him, his heart doing the same. And when he finally speaks, voice rough, almost shy, it’s only to say: “Next time, lemme do the hitting.”

Eddie Brock & Venom aka. Venom

- Eddie Brock has heard it all before. Loser. Washed-up. Parasite. He grits his teeth and lets it slide, because what else is new? Venom, on the other hand, is far less patient.

- But before either of them can react—you do. Your fist cracks against the jaw of the one who dared to insult him, and suddenly, everything goes still.

- “Did you just—?” Eddie’s eyes go wide. Venom, however, purrs with delight.

- “They are ours,” the symbiote rumbles, voice sliding through Eddie’s skull like liquid night. “They fight for us.” Eddie wants to argue, to tell Venom to shut up, but he can’t, because he’s too busy watching you, heart pounding, something terrifying and warm curling in his chest.

- Later, he doesn’t bring it up—but Venom does. “We like them,” the voice whispers, thick with amusement. Eddie doesn’t respond. He just glances at you, hands tightening into fists, and thinks: Yeah. We do.

T’Challa aka. Black Panther

- T’Challa has faced enemies greater than words. He has fought battles with his hands, his mind, his heart. He does not concern himself with petty insults.

- But you do. The second you hear someone speak his name with disrespect, your body moves before your mind does. The punch lands with precision, trained and true—a warrior’s strike.

- He should chastise you. Should remind you that his reputation needs no defense. But when he looks at you—fire in your eyes, your breath sharp, your hands still clenched—he feels something stir beneath his ribs.

- “Impressive,” he murmurs, stepping closer. He does not touch you, not yet, but the space between you hums with electricity. He sees you differently now—not just as an ally. As something more.

- Later, as he watches you spar in the Wakandan training grounds, his mind drifts back to that moment. You fought for him. And T’Challa? T’Challa is not used to losing battles—but he is certain he is about to lose this one.

Elektra Natchios aka. Elektra

- Elektra is used to being hated. She does not care. She exists between life and death, between shadow and steel. She does not need protection.

- But then, you hit someone. For her. And Elektra? She does not know what to do with that.

- She watches as the body crumples to the floor, watches as you shake out your fist, anger still radiating from every inch of you. Something slow and dark unfurls in her chest.

- “Foolish,” she murmurs, stepping forward. But her voice is soft. Her fingers graze your wrist, her eyes searching yours for something she refuses to name. “But… admirable.”

- Later, she finds herself lingering near you more than usual, watching, waiting. You fought for her. And Elektra Natchios has spent her entire life surviving—but now, she wonders what it would be like to be worth saving.

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rafes-slut · 2 days ago

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The cross

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x You (Enemies-to-Allies-to-Betrayal)

Summary:

You and Rafe Cameron were never supposed to be on the same side, but greed makes desperate allies. With the golden cross finally in your possession, you think you've won—until everything goes downhill. When the Pogues storm the ship, Rafe’s paranoia takes over. Convinced you betrayed him, he does the unthinkable.

One shove. Cold water. Open ocean.

Warnings: Betrayal, attempted drowning, violence, language, paranoia, enemies-to-allies tension, themes of survival, morally gray characters.

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You and Rafe Cameron have never been on the same side before. In fact, you’re practically enemies—both stubborn, reckless, and willing to do whatever it takes to get what you want. But when it comes to the golden cross, you realize you have no choice but to work together.

The partnership is anything but smooth. You have the inside knowledge—whispers of a shipment, hidden clues that no one else has caught onto. Rafe, on the other hand, has the connections, the brute force, and the reckless confidence to get you past security. It’s a temporary alliance, one that neither of you trusts.

Every interaction is a battle. Tense car rides, sharp words, and the constant threat of betrayal hanging in the air. Rafe doesn’t trust you, and you don’t trust him. You both know that when the time comes, only one of you can walk away with everything.

But the deeper you go, the more complicated it gets. Near-death experiences force you to rely on each other. Close encounters with Ward, the Pogues, and even Carla Limbrey keep pushing you together. The constant proximity turns your partnership into something more—something dangerously intoxicating. Late nights spent strategizing turn into lingering stares. Heated arguments turn into something else entirely, something neither of you are ready to name.

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The golden cross is finally yours. After months of planning, chasing, and risking your lives, you and Rafe finally have it secured. The two of you haul it onto the ship, adrenaline still coursing through your veins as the weight of your victory settles in.

But the celebration doesn’t last. The sound of footsteps—ones that don’t belong to either of you—echoes from the deck above. Before you can react, a gun cocks, and everything spirals out of control.

The Pogues.

They came back for what was theirs, and somehow, they found you. A full-on battle erupts on the ship, chaos spilling across the deck. Fists fly, gunshots crack through the night air, and the ship rocks violently against the waves. You’re dodging attacks, trying to figure out how the hell they knew where to find you, when suddenly—

Rafe turns on you.

There’s a wild, unhinged look in his eyes, one you’ve seen before but never directed at you like this. He grabs your arm, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

"You snitched," he snarls.

You barely have time to react. "Are you insane? I didn’t—"

But he doesn’t listen. He never does when he’s like this. His paranoia, his obsession, the way he never really trusted you—it all snaps into place as he shoves you backward. Your foot catches on the edge of the ship, and before you can steady yourself, Rafe shoves you again—

And you’re falling.

The cold ocean swallows you whole, the impact knocking the air from your lungs. The salt burns your eyes as you fight to resurface, gasping for breath. Above you, chaos rages on, but Rafe doesn’t look down. He doesn’t hesitate.

He just turned on you.

As the ship grows smaller in the distance, the weight of betrayal sinks in harder than the freezing water around you.

The moment Rafe shoves you, it happens too fast to stop. The cold ocean swallows you whole, knocking the breath from your lungs as you sink beneath the surface. For a terrifying second, everything is black—just endless water, freezing and suffocating, pressing in on all sides. Your arms flail as you fight to break through, lungs burning, heart pounding like a drum in your ears.

When you finally surface, gasping for air, the ship looms above you, rocking violently against the choppy waves. The stormy sea churns around you, sending icy tendrils of panic through your veins. You kick your legs, trying to stay afloat, but the current is strong, the exhaustion creeping in fast.

And then you see him.

Rafe is still standing at the edge of the ship, watching. His grip is white-knuckled on the railing, his chest heaving, his jaw clenched so tight it looks like it might break.

But he doesn’t move.

He doesn’t help you.

He just stands there, eyes locked on yours, breathing hard like he’s trying to convince himself that this is what had to happen. That you betrayed him. That you deserved it.

The waves crash into you again, pulling you under for half a second before you break through, coughing, struggling to keep your head above the water. "Rafe!" You choke on saltwater, reaching toward the ship instinctively, but he still doesn’t move.

The betrayal sinks in deeper than the cold.

"You think I told them?" Your voice is hoarse, shaking, but filled with something else now—rage. "Are you that fucking paranoid?"

His lips part like he wants to say something. Maybe even like he regrets it. But before he can, another gunshot rings out on the deck behind him, and he flinches, whipping his head toward the chaos still unfolding on the ship.

Your limbs are going numb. The current keeps dragging you further, the ship drifting just enough that your fingers grasp at nothing but air. Rafe turns back to you, conflict flashing across his face—like he’s debating whether to pull you up or let the ocean take you.

You hold his gaze, chest rising and falling, waiting for him to make a move.

And then—

The ship lurches.

The cross shifts.

And just like that, the decision is made.

Rafe steps back.

And you’re left to the sea.

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ectospacecadet · 3 days ago

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It’s kind of wild how some people will look at shows that are over 20 years old and start comparing them to the modern standard of television and berate the show or fans of the show. If we ever had reboots made of 90’s or 2000’s cartoons they would be nothing like what they were before due to how heavy the TV censorship is now. The Powerpuff Girls reboot is proof of that.

These are products of their time; they’ll have a lot of aspects to them that would deem them as problematic or outdated by today’s standards, and most jokes, designs, and other things would definitely not fly today.

This doesn’t make them bad shows either, for a lot of those old shows were what crawled before other shows could run; things that were considered inclusive media back then would be perceived today as a negative stereotype and so on.

Danny Phantom had sexist jokes and a lot of negative stereotypes, but the show had a lot of interesting creativity that just never really went anywhere.

Xiaolin Showdown had questionable design choices but was actually considered inclusive for its time, and the writing? Awesome.

Johnny Bravo would definitely not air today despite the creep actually getting beaten up by women, and that’s what made the show funny.

Ren and Stimpy has SO MANY adult jokes and themes that it would NEVER air today, but it was so fucking funny, and all of those themes would go way over kids heads.

These shows are simply products of their time, but they are by no means awful shows; there was amazing storytelling, character growth, action, and animation quality that would never be given the budget today. A lot of positive things that these shows provided to kids would never be put into the blindingly oversaturated, puppet-rigged, and dumbed-down kid shows of today.

As someone who’s nearly 30 and grew up during the time of the greatest cartoon roster periods and had access to every cartoon channel available, I can watch the shows that would be considered problematic today and acknowledge that these shows were by no means perfect, but also know the fact that they were actually what paved the way for modern shows to be as progressive as they are today.

The networks learnt from these shows what worked and didn’t work and then took that knowledge onto their future IPs.

Watching these shows that are considered problematic by today’s standards and enjoying them doesn’t mean you don’t recognise that, because you know those shows don’t embody those issues and that there’s more to them than that.

Does it impact the story the show is telling? Does it impact the way characters treat other characters? If the answer is no, then just keep watching; these shows are great in their own way in an era that were the steps to the shows of today.

You can just say ‘oh damn, that was fucked’ then keep watching, or just turn it off if it’s not for you. :/

If you’re going to put other people down for enjoying these older shows, shows that are either older than you or you were barely talking when they were airing, and you never watched them once in your life. Sit down, watch them, then get back to us after. If not, be quiet and let people have their fill of nostalgia.

#xiaolin showdown #johnny bravo #ren and stimpy #danny phantom #90’s cartoons #2000s cartoons #modern media #ecto says

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bumbled-bees · 1 day ago

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The Impact of Joon's Video

Lily is desperately trying to downplay the impact of Joon’s video, acting like it’s insignificant and hasn’t bothered her at all—but everything she’s doing suggests the complete opposite.

If it truly didn’t matter to her, she wouldn’t be spiraling the way she is. She wouldn’t be lashing out at fans, contradicting herself even more frequently, or making drastic changes to her brand. These are not the actions of someone who isn’t affected.

Her behavior since the video dropped has been more aggressive, more erratic, and more contradictory than ever. She’s always had a habit of lying and rewriting history, but she’s had to work overtime since Joon’s video put everything out in the open.

Her claims that she’s not affected are laughable when:

She keeps talking about it. If it didn’t matter, why even acknowledge it?

She’s losing thousands of subscribers and isn’t gaining any back.

She’s spiraling on streams—being openly hostile toward viewers, snapping at casual fans who don’t fall in line, and exposing more of her real personality to her YouTube audience.

She’s making excuses for every damning claim, but her justifications are getting sloppier and more inconsistent.

She rebranded to CD-Call, acting like this was a planned move, when the timing is extremely suspect.

If anything, Joon’s video has backed her into a corner. Before, she could easily silence critics within her controlled space, but this is too big for her to contain.

The more she claims it doesn’t matter, the more obvious it is that it absolutely does.

Before Joon’s video, Lily was already habitually combative, controlling, and revisionist, but since the video dropped, all of those behaviors have escalated. She’s gotten angrier, more aggressive toward her audience, more hostile toward critics, and more erratic in how she handles her own narratives.

She’s also losing ground. She’s hemorrhaging subs—over 4,000 gone—and her growth has completely stalled. Her audience is shrinking, and for someone who thrives on control and admiration, that’s a nightmare scenario.

If the video really didn’t bother her, she wouldn’t be:

Doubling down on her worst behaviors.

Contradicting herself more than usual.

Going on the defensive constantly.

Acting more hostile toward her own audience.

She’s used to controlling the narrative within her echo chamber, but Joon’s video put everything out into the open for a massive audience—and she can’t control that. And that’s why she’s spiraling.

#lily orchard #cd-call #lily orchard analysis #lily orchard critical

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lucidheart3 · 2 days ago

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An Analysis on how the movie could make the SonAmy dynamic similar to game version without making Movie Sonic and Amy too out of character:

Heyya! If you follow me you maybe saw me screaming about Reverse Sonamy for the fourth movie for ages, and as much as my shipper heart enjoys that, I decided I should also share my more serious hc’s about their relationship.

After Sonic 3 we all know Sonic has more of a little something called ✨TRAUMA✨. So I don’t imagine him taking a liking to Amy (as a friend) immediately . Because if we compare his first reaction to Amy and Shadow, I recall it being ‘Guys wow look at him he is just like me’ for Shadow, And it’s a more serious ‘who are you’ for Amy.

For Shadow, he didn’t take him serious for their first encounter, he was even asking about highlights and stuff when he was chasing Shadow. Because he really believed talking with him could turn him around. Then when they meet him again at the abandoned GUN facility, he tries to give him a wake up call, still believeing that only talking will suffice.I think he is still going with his experience with Knuckles, thinking Shadow got a little mixed up like him. But then, Shadow turns out to be a real threat once he hurts Tom (we know he thought Tom was Walters but Sonic didn’t know that, especially when shadow said he did what he had to). So that’s when Sonic switches up his approach and literally goes for the kill, and that’s what makes the violance really impactful.

Yes in the end they made up and worked together, but that has to elavate his trust issues that he admitted to having earlier in the movie. So, when he sees Amy, who despite saving him also got him flung to the ground by the impact of her hammer, I bet he won’t fall to his mistake with Shadow, and consider her a potential threat too despite her saving him at first. We can actually see it with his first sentence to her, too, it’s a straight up ‘ Who are you’ rather than even an acknowledgement that she is a heghehog like him. I think this actually lays a good baseline to their relationship if they want to keep the usual SonAmy dynamic we see in nearly every media. Because they can make Sonic not appear as ‘excited’ as her without making him look like he isn’t interested in her in the slightest. He’d have a hard time trusting her, therefore he’d have his eyes on her every move, which can make him acknowledge her strength, maybe even faster than others. I imagine him gaining his hope back once he really accepts that she has a good heart. And since he kept her closer because his initial distrust in her to protect his family,I can see their relationship develop fast, especially on Amy’s side.

About Amy, I don’t think she’d be like Sonic in this regard. She will be the Amy we know and love, except that I hc she was the hero of their home planet since Sonic wasn’t there. She helped everyone in need, and that’s how she is portrayed in her first appearence, as a confident heroine.And especially since she looks like she has been chasing the metal army in my opinion instead of trying to find Sonic. If the theory of Ivo being sent to their home planet is true and he actually builds metal there to capture Mobians/ animals to use them as power sources, I can see her stepping up to fight them. And if Robotnik is the one to make Metal Sonic there is no doubt that he’d send them after Sonic, which is proved by the fact that the screen we were shown that said ‘Blue Hedgehog’ when a robot scanned Sonic, then the robot immediately attacked Sonic.

And about how she will be in their dynamic, like I said they can excuse her being a lot more excited to meet Sonic than he is by his trust issues and not that she is a damsel in distress that falls for the hero. Because she is a hero in the movie too, and she is quite confident in herself as we’ve seen from her expression, and she thinks she can manage everything thrown her way like Sonic did before the events of the third movie, therefore she has no problems of warming up to everyone. Like @iwasbored777 mentioned in one post, she must have heard Sonic boast while fighting Metal, and might be thinking he is too cocky. But I think his reluctance towards her especially when he is with the family will pique her interest a lot more. Like, she must have heard the rumors about him, and like Tails said he must have been talked about as ‘a legend’ minutes before he was boasting then when he sees her there is none of that confidence, he is just warry of her. And knowing Amy that will make her a lot more prone too try and win his favor, hence leading them to have their game dynamic without making her obviously fall in love right away.

These were all about my hcs for the platonic side of their relationship. About the romantic side, I can see Sonic falling for her as he sees her ‘giving the world her love’ side. Because this boy has been surrounded by love for a long time now, be it from his parents and brothers, and we have seen him have a hard time to acknowledge that he has all of that, now. He took two movies to call Tom ‘dad’ and he still hasn’t acknowledged that Tails and Knux are his brothers (which we got the definite confirmation of with Tom calling them all ‘siblings’ instead of friends like he did back in the first movie). And ıt amazes him just how easily she loves and shows her love, and is all more stronger for it. While everytime Sonic tries that, his loved ones get hurt. So he is afraid of labels, afraid of showing affection (because he took long to get used to hugs, too). He must feel like he should hide he holds something dear just so the world doesn’t see and decide to take it all away. He still hides himself like Longclaw told him to all those years ago, he has never stopped running. And Amy will make him realise exactly this. Embracing his love for his family and friends won’t make him lose them, because they are all capable of defending themselves especially when they are together with him, and he doesn’t have to run ahead to protect them. I’m so certain we will get a scene about him running ahead and leaving his team behind again, this time to protect them,because this has been a huge theme of sonic 3 and despite apologising and making up,the team didn’t actually resolve the issue.

I think Amy will play a huge role in this because: 1- He and the other boys don’t have a familial bond with her

2- She proved that she can hold her own right when she first met him.

3- We saw Knuckles and Tails try to snap him out of running ahead several times, but since they are family they weren’t really adamant in fear of breaking him further. And they understand why he did what he did pretty quickly because they know how he feels for his family and why he runs forth, they were there to witness majority of his traumas. Amy wasn’t, and that’s why she won’t shy away from reminding him that they are a team, because she won’t be as afraid to lose him even if his reaction will be negative. She will have the same attitude of ‘I can protect myself’ , he did in the beginning of the movie. And she isn’t actually in the team because she needs them in the beginning, but wants to be there.And isn’t this what romantic love really should be? Two equal people that doesn’t need each other to survive but their lives are all more beautiful because they have each other. They aren’t ‘halves’, they are a ‘whole’ that complement and add onto each other.

And about how she will grow to like him, I hc that as she sees the reasons for his first distrust and reluctance and the obvious boasting he does to hide these, that he has so many precious things he almost got taken away from him to protect,she will tone down her excitement.And him trying to protect his loved ones, and actually having the strength to do so, is so impressive to her.And since being a hero would be her whole identity by now, like I’ve seen @ficsinhistory suggest (for a different but cool reason) she would be self-sacrifical. Because I’m guessing she didn’t really have anyone to love, and she shows her love for the world through heroic deets. And thinks she is nothing without that. As opposed to Sonic who only started trying to play hero after Tom and Maddie took him in. His need for love was achieved through his new family, but Amy’s never was, so she filled that void by trying to protect, so that people love her. Sonic wanted to be a hero, while Amy desperately needed it

I hope this isn’t so disorganized I am just typing every thought that comes to mind!

I’d love to hear your thought on this.

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic wachowski #tom wachowski #miles tails prower #knuckles the echidna #maddie wachowski #knuckles wachowski #sonic movie 3 #sonamy #amy rose #movie sonamy #movie amy rose #sonic and amy #sonic movie 4 #miles tails wachowski #sonamy headcanons

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str4wbberri · 3 days ago

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let’s clear the air!

i didn’t want to make a post about this because, honestly, it feels like pointless drama to me. however, since it seems that filthy feels it’s necessary to repeatedly discuss me publicly and make accusations about me in her discord server, i feel it's important to clear the air. i really want to move on from this and put everything behind us.

you’ve mentioned before that you don’t like drama and that you’re too old for it, but it’s strange to me that if that were the case, you wouldn’t still be making posts about me, talking about me for hours in your server, or making accusations that aren’t true. if you truly feel you're "too old for this," it seems like this behavior wouldn’t be happening at all, right?

i haven’t spoken to you since september, when we were on good terms until you got upset over a misunderstanding regarding my patreon and cc. you accused me of permanently paywalling others’ content, which i’ve never done. you’ve never been a subscriber of mine, so i’m not sure where these ideas are coming from. even when people in my discord server — including my subscribers — explained that these claims weren’t true, you continued spreading the same accusations. this left me confused and frustrated.

to clarify: i’ve never made any public posts attacking you. the only posts i made were about the horrible, abusive messages and death threats i’ve received back in september, which have only continued to today. now, i’m being flooded with messages of people telling me to end my life, calling me a parasite, and telling me to disappear. i can’t help but wonder if you’re satisfied with the impact this is having on me. it’s painful, and it’s not something anyone should have to go through and i don’t wish this on anyone.

i don’t understand why you feel the need to send your friends to continue this campaign of hate. i don’t know you well at all; you were in my discord for a brief time, and from what i’ve seen, it feels like you’ve held a personal vendetta against me for a long time. i just don’t get how anyone could act this way toward another person.

your friends are now making posts about me, people i don’t even know. and i really just want it all to stop. this has gone on long enough, and i don’t want to be a part of this anymore. i have kept screenshots of everything because i had a feeling this would resurface. i don’t mean to sound harsh, but based on how you’ve acted for the past five months, it seems like there might be some instability in your behavior.

i tried reaching out to you in the past to have a mature conversation, but instead, you chose to continue making posts about me. i understand respecting boundaries, so i’m asking that you respect mine: stop making posts about me, stop encouraging hate pages, and stop sending people to attack me. this isn’t fun or enjoyable for me — this is real, and it’s hurtful.

as for the claims you’ve made about me, i’ve already addressed them. i never permanently paywalled anyone’s cc. anyone can see that by visiting my patreon. i never copied anyone’s sim. never used another simmers base, the sim you’re speaking of, i have a youtube video of me creating it from scratch! yet you still are saying. no she did. she copied it. such weird behavior. i lowered the price of my class because some people told me it was too expensive, and i was happy to accommodate. there’s no issue here, yet you keep rehashing things that have already been resolved, while spreading lies that can be easily disproven. people have already sent you screenshots showing that what you’re claiming is simply not true.

what i’m concerned about isn’t the false claims, but the death threats, the hate, and the pages being created to attack me. this whole situation is incredibly draining. i just feel like there are better, more productive ways to spend our time than perpetuating lies and hate online. i almost feel like whatever issue you have with me could have been solved with a simple conversation, which i suggested back in september and asked you repeatedly why did you feel the need to speak about any issue with me publicly instead of just talking to me? you never answered. seems you’re doing the same thing now. just trying to cause drama.

that being said, i genuinely wish you and your friends the best. i hope you can find peace and let go of the anger you’re holding. life is too short for this kind of negativity. please stop with the hate and let’s move on.

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tikosblogg · 2 days ago

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Who Am I? Chapter 2

Warnings: smut (not with Noah), the sex is consensual but she’s not really into it. Idk don’t read it if that bothers you.

A/N: sorry it’s short 😭 it’s so hard to find time to write cuz of my job. I hope you still enjoy tho🥲❤️

Not long after the awkward interaction , we walked back out, and watched bad omens take the stage. “I gotta make a call, don’t run off.” Ryan leaned down, leaving a rough kiss to my lips, making me scowl before walking away.

Nothing about ryan was ever gentle. It was so irritating. I found a spot with a clear view of the stage, so I could watch the set. Finally getting to watch them in person was a dream of mine, and I’ll be damned to let anything ruin it.

The bass vibrated through my feet, a primal thrum that resonated with the energy of the crowd. They were owning the stage, having had me as well as the crowd mesmerized. Noah was a force of nature.

He worked the stage, his voice growling with intensity. I stood on the side, nodding along to "Dethrone," softly mouthing the lyrics. I’ve been a fan for years, their music a deep comfort. Especially with my unfortunate shitty upbringing. Ryan, didn’t quite understand my obsession. He hardly likes my own music.

I started cheering with the rest of the crowd. As they moved on to the their next song. During the intro to "The Grey," Noah’s gaze swept across the stage, landing on me. For a fleeting moment, our eyes locked. And then he smiled, before continuing his strut across the stage.

My stomach twisted. It was just a smile, a simple sign of acknowledgement. But it made me feel strange. I tore my gaze away, my body buzzing, just as Ryan’s hand grabbed mine. “Let’s go,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

He didn’t wait for a response, yanking me away and down the narrow hallway. The music faded, replaced by the pounding of my own heart. He steered me towards the bathroom I’d used earlier, the harsh fluorescent light of the hallway doing nothing to soften his expression.

He slammed the door shut, the sound echoing in the small space. He shoved me against the cold, tiled wall, the impact stealing my breath. “What the fuck was that?” he demanded, his eyes blazing. I rolled my eyes, at his rough hostility. Nothing new. “Nothing, what the hell is your problem?” I mumbled, completely exhausted from his constant outbursts.

“Don’t lie to me, Alice,” he sneered. “I saw him looking at you. I saw how close you two were earlier too. What the fuck was that about?” His accusation hung in the air, thick and suffocating. I wanted to explain, to tell him it was nothing, a moment of shared appreciation for the music. But it didn’t matter. It never did.

He made a disgusted sound, his eyes raking over me with a possessiveness that felt more like ownership. Then, before I could react, he surged forward, his mouth crashing down on mine. There was nothing gentle or loving about it, not like the soft touches I always craved. It was a brutal claiming, a desperate attempt to reassert his control.

His lips were hard, his teeth nipping at me, bruising and demanding. I tasted anger and insecurity. I kissed back anyways, for my sake. I haven’t been touched in months, and I can’t handle his shitty attitude anymore tonight.

He pulled away yanking me from the wall, and shoving me against the counter. His movements were rough, and my heart began to race.

Without a word, he wasted no time ripping my shorts and fishnets down my thighs. I gasped at the material burning against my skin, but before I could speak, he had already shoved himself deep inside me.

His thrusts were rough and primal, I couldn’t do anything but hold on for dear life. I finally relaxed around him, feeling myself get wetter. I moaned as he filled me up over and over, his dick hitting that perfect spot. His hand reached around, large fingers gripping my throat.

He pulled my head back to look at him through the mirror. “Whose fucking pussy is this?” He growled, his hips slapping against my ass harder. I could feel myself getting closer and closer to the edge, as he squeezed tighter. “Y-yours.” I groaned, as he released my throat. “That’s fucking right. Don’t forget it.”

Just as I was about to tip over the edge, he thrusted into me one last time, before pulling out. “What the fu-“ my words were cut short as he grabbed my hair, forcing me down to my knees. He angled my face up towards him, as he pumped himself a few times releasing on my face.

When he was finally finished, he let go of my hair tucking himself back into his pants. He grabbed a few paper towels out of the dispenser before shoving them into my hands. I looked up at him, my eyes filled with anger. It’s not usual for him to get off, and leave me hanging, but this wasn’t for my pleasure, it was a punishment.

He kneeled down so we were face to face before speaking. “Don’t forget your fucking place Alice. I have no problem reminding you.” Our faces were only inches apart. His eyes bore into mine, dark and unyielding.

I was rendered mute by a cocktail of anger and frustration. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, the pulse of fury echoing in my ears. How had it come to this? A man I once considered a partner, someone who stood by my side during the highs and lows of my fucked up life, was now threatening me like I was some kind of errant child.

When he stood back up, the air shifted. I watched him walk toward the door. He paused and turned, his gaze lingering on me. “Clean yourself up,” he ordered. “We leave in 20.” And then he was gone.

I stood up on shaky legs pulling my shorts and fishnets back up my thighs.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I looked like a wreck..smudged makeup, sticky face, disheveled hair. Hurt turned to anger as I turned the sink on, letting the water run until it was cold against my skin.

I grabbed some soap, scrubbing at my face, my reflection a blur of black washing away.

My makeup melted down my cheeks. The sound of water splashing filled the silence, but it couldn’t drown out the humiliation that wrapped itself around me like a shroud.

“What are you doing?” I whispered to myself, the echo of my voice bouncing back from the grimy tiles. I had fought so hard to carve out my place in the music scene..hell even in the world itself. This night had been a victory, the crowd was phenomenal, the lights were bright. But here I was, in this wretched bathroom, my feeling of happiness tainted by Ryan’s shitty attitude.

Once I finished washing my face, I reached for more paper towels. I dried my skin, the rough texture of the paper a stark reminder of the harsh reality I was living. My hands trembled slightly as I tossed the damp towels into the trash bin. I took a deep breath, trying to gather the shreds of my shattered confidence.

What was it about Ryan that had enamored me so completely? He was charming, charismatic, a refreshing aura of energy that had swept me off my feet. But all that had morphed into something darker, a controlling asshole that stifled my spirit. Just like my parents.

I just stared at myself. Anger, and exhaustion flickering in my eyes. I wasn’t a victim, not anymore. This is my life. I have fought tooth and nail for every stage I had performed on, every audience that had cheered my name. When will he realize that.

I took one last glance at myself in the mirror, and turned off the sink, and stepped out of the bathroom, my heart pounding in my chest.

The stale cigarette smoke curled around my face, as I watched Jett wrestle our amp into the back of the van. Ben was meticulously coiling cables, his brow furrowed in concentration, while Ryan, ever the asshole, directed their efforts with a clipped tone. The air hung thick with the dust and sweat of the festival. "Need a hand, Alice?" Ben asked, glancing up from his tangled mess of wires.

"Nah, you guys got it," I replied, taking another drag, a smile tugged at my lips. We killed it tonight. We felt like we were finally breaking through, the energy from the crowd was undeniable.

Suddenly a voice cut through the air.

"Hey!"

I turned, along with the rest of the guys, and saw Noah, walking towards us. A tall, lanky dude with long hair, trailed behind him. Jolly. They’re a huge, influence to us and our band, and seeing them in the flesh, and actually playing alongside them still gave me a little jolt of excitement.

Noah grinned, and greeted everyone with a friendly nod."I really liked that solo you did." He fist bumped Jett, and gave Ben a nod, "your drum fill was sick. You guys did amazing." Then, his eyes locked on mine.

I smiled, dropping my cigarette and stomping it out. "Thanks, You guys too."

"Appreciate that," Noah grinned. He paused, before looking to jolly, and back to us. "So, look, we're having a little after-party type thing up on the rooftop of our hotel. Just something chill. We wanted to extend the invite." He rattled off the name of some fancy hotel downtown.

My eyes immediately darted to Jett and Ben. Their faces were lit up like Christmas trees. We’d been grinding for years, sleeping in cramped vans, eating gas station food, and dreaming of moments like this of being welcomed into the inner circle. This felt like validation, a sign that we were finally being recognized.

I opened my mouth to accept, already imagining the good time we’d have hanging out with THE Bad Omens, but Ryan's voice, sharp and dismissive, cut me off.

"We're good. We have shit to do tomorrow."

The air instantly thickened. The excited buzz from Jett and Ben evaporated. My own elation fizzled, replaced by a familiar sense of frustration and resentment.

Noah's smile faltered, but he recovered quickly. "No worries, man. Just thought I'd offer. Maybe next time."

He nodded at Ryan, then gave me one last, look before turning away, Jolly shuffling awkwardly behind him.

They disappeared into the throng of leaving festival goers, an uncomfortable silence settled over us.

"Seriously, Ryan?" I turned towards him, my voice tight with annoyance. "What the fuck?"

He turned to me, his expression unreadable. "I’m fucking tired Alice, and I have shit to do other than babysit your drunk ass all night.”

"One drink wouldn't kill us," Jett mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

"Yeah, Ryan. We could have networked," Ben added, equally subdued.

Ryan rounded on them, his voice rising in pitch. "Networked? You think schmoozing or fucking rockstars is going to get us a better record deal?" His eyes cut to me with that last statement, and I couldn’t stop the scoff leaving my lips. He’s fucking mental.

I stepped forward, my fists clenching. "It's not fucking like that Ryan and you know it! It feels like we're finally being accepted. We busted our asses tonight! We deserve to celebrate! We deserved that moment".

"Yeah well I’m your fucking manager, and what I say goes."

I’d had enough. “And I’m your girlfriend! Do you ever think about what I want?”

"I don’t give a shit Alice! I'm doing what’s best for the band!," Ryan retorted, his voice laced with exasperation. "Do you know what kind of people are at these parties; those guys are bad fucking news, I know it!"

"Doing what’s best? By doing what? Keeping us from having a good time? From making connections? From being treated like real artists instead of nobodies?" I spat, my voice trembling with anger. "You're not doing what’s best for us, Ryan. You're just fucking controlling.”

The stale hotel air hung heavy, thick with the ghost of previous occupants and cheap disinfectant. I tossed my bag onto the ridiculously floral comforter, the zipper screaming in protest as I wrestled out my pajamas. My muscles ached, a delightful reminder of the amazing set we played.

But now, that high was plummeting, dragged down by the ever present weight of Ryan “forbidding” us from going to the after party Noah had invited us to. With some bullshit excuse. As if being a woman in rock wasn't hard enough, I had to constantly fight to be seen.

I glanced over at him as he heaved his bag onto the bed. He was already heading for the bathroom, the door clicking shut.

I flopped onto the bed, grabbing my phone and mindlessly scrolling through Instagram. The feed was ablaze with posts from the festival. People were talking about our set, praising my vocals, complimenting Jett’s insane guitar riffs, and even acknowledging Ben’s solid drumming. A warm feeling spread through me, a sense of validation that Ryan rarely offered.

30 minutes later, the bathroom door swung open. My fingers froze on the screen. Ryan stood framed in the doorway, but it wasn't what I was expecting. He was dressed in black jeans and a tailored leather jacket. His hair, usually casually tousled, was meticulously styled. He looked like he was about to step onto a movie set, not into bed for the night.

My stomach clenched. A cold knot of unease tightened in my chest.

"Where the hell are you going?" The question burst out before I could filter it, laced with a bitterness I couldn't quite suppress.

Ryan rolled his eyes, the dismissive gesture slicing through me more sharply than he probably intended. He patted his pockets, checking for his phone and wallet. "I’m meeting someone important."

The words were like a slap in the face. "You tell us that we can’t go to a small after-party to celebrate our show tonight, but you’re gonna run around town to meet with someone 'important'?" My voice rose with each word, frustration bubbling to the surface.

He sighed, as if I were a particularly annoying child. He turned towards the door, his back to me. "I don’t have to explain anything to you. I know what’s best for us, and that’s that."

“Seriously?" I scoffed, sarcasm dripping from my words. I pushed myself off the bed, my bare feet slapping against the carpet. "Or best for you, Because it sure as hell feels like those are two very different things these days."

The air crackled with tension as he finally turned back to me, stalking towards me until we were almost chest to chest. His eyes were cold, hard chips of ice. "I said I don’t have to explain shit to you. Now go the fuck to bed. I’ll be back in a couple hours."

He stood there, radiating an aura of control and dominance that I hated, that I was starting to resent more with each passing day. The familiar fear pricked at the edges of my anger. I wanted to scream, to lash out, but something held me back. Years of conditioning, of being told to be quiet, to be agreeable, to not make a scene.

I shook my head slowly, disbelief warring with hurt. "Who are you meeting that's so fucking important?" The question hung in the air between us, heavy with unspoken accusations.

His jaw tightened. "I told you. It's none of your business."

Without another word, he turned and walked out, the door slamming shut behind him with a resounding thud.

For a long moment, I just stood there, frozen in place, the silence amplifying the hum of the air conditioner. The anger, simmering beneath the surface for months, finally boiled over.

Fuck that.

I grabbed my phone, my fingers flying across the screen.

Me: get your asses ready. We're going to that after-party. Meet me in the lobby in 20.

I didn't wait for a response. I ripped open my bag again, pulling out a pair of ripped black jeans, a vintage band tee, and my leather jacket. Adrenaline surged through me, washing away the fatigue and replacing it with a fierce sense of defiance.

I stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. The hot water pounded against my skin, cleansing not just the sweat and grime of the day, but also the lingering feeling of being controlled, of being diminished.

As I dressed, my mind raced. Who was Ryan meeting? I didn’t have the answer, not yet. But I knew one thing for sure: I wasn't going to let him dictate my life anymore. I had a voice, a talent, and the right to make my own choices.

I glanced at myself in the mirror, my reflection staring back with newfound determination. My eyes, usually soft and yielding, were now hard and bright.

This wasn't just about an after-party. It was about taking back control. It was about reclaiming my own power.

I grabbed my phone and headed out, leaving the oppressive atmosphere of the hotel room behind and walked towards the lobby.

Jett and Ben were already waiting, grinning like mischievously.

"Took you long enough," Jett said, slinging an arm around my shoulders. "Ready to party?"

"Born ready," I replied, a smile spreading across my face.

Taglist- @lacy1986 @theanarchymuse95 @lyschko666 @rumoured-whispers @pathion @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @xxkatsatwatwafflexx @chey-h @dontwantthemoney @lilsugacubeot7

#noah sebastian #bad omens #badomensimagines #noahsebastiancult #bad omens cult #noah sabastian smut #imagines #bad omens band #bad omens smut

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