#fuck fuck fuck why is time management so hard

[luesmainblog]

i hope it's okay to add my thoughts as well, as this is something i think about a lot as a System(multiple people in one body, which the majority of people see as inherently a delusion) and a Kinnie (essentially "i was this character in a past life". again, most people consider that delusional).

it does not matter how stupid or obviously fake the delusion sounds to you, and it is not your responsibility to bring someone back to reality. in many cases, that can actually be worse for them, not better. what matters is, are they Functioning? do they need help from you in this moment to function? if they are distressed, how do you alleviate the distress? you do have to pick your battles carefully when it comes to delusions. it's relatively easy to show somebody, based on evidence, that they are not turning into a werewolf. it can be much harder to convince them they aren't poisoned, especially if there is no food left to test and no rational reason why they would be. but you know what you CAN do? put a bunch of black food dye in a drink, give it to them and tell them it's activated charcoal and that'll disrupt anything they've ingested. hell, if they're not currently on any oral medication, you can give them the real thing. yes, it's treating the delusion as Real, but it's also performing a harmless action to make them feel safe again. "monster spray" type shit. one that people in other mental health circles may be familiar with is the delusion that you are an evil, horrible person who just poisons everything around you and is better off dead. this one is often hard for people to deal with, because it can come from a number of different places, each with their own approach needed. of course for a normal highschooler you can usually just ask them if they've done [terrible thing someone real did] and when they say no you can declare that CLEARLY they can't be the worst person in the world, then. sometimes it comes from intrusive thoughts that a lot of people are uncomfortable talking about; convincing someone they're not terrible just because they fantasize about fucked up shit is largely an excercise in teaching them that actions are what actually matters, which many people inherently disagree with due to their upbringing. but i honestly think the hardest one has to be people who've ACTUALLY done something wrong - or, at the very least, people who are convinced they did in a past life or another dimension. because with them, you have to focus on moving forward as a better person and living with the guilt, and that one can either be a lot to ask, or it can be extremely frustrating because you don't personally believe this guy was actually dracula, so why is he so worked up about killing people who were not real? sorry, big wall of text; my point is, there are some delusions where if you want to address them and help, you need to be prepared to be uncomfortable and possibly even grapple with some genuinely hard questions. or, you can try and find a way to distract them from their thoughts. it won't always be possible to reality check someone, and you need to be okay with that if you're going to be close with a delusional person.

and i've said this before, but i'll say it again: who cares if the lady at ihop thinks she's cleopatra stuck in the present. what does it matter? let cleopatra work at ihop, it's not your business. if it's not hurting you, and she's managing the stress of time travel just fine, leave it be.

also, i feel like this should go without saying, but one of the worst ways to make someone's distress even worse is to accuse them of faking their mental health issue. seriously, the amount of times i have seen somebody have an anxiety freakout like OP describes and be told "you just want attention, you know damn well there's nothing wrong with the food, sit down" is genuinely heartbreaking. if that's ever happened to you, from the bottom of my heart, i am offering you a full serving of your favorite food.

I want to add to the post I just reblogged about delusions and how to help people with them, but op was specifically schizophrenic, and the last time I tried to share a related story on a post like that, a different OP got extremely angry that I didn't have an identical disorder to them and accused me of derailing, so I'm making a new post.

I have severe anxiety. The things you can believe when you are going through an acute anxiety attack or panic attack can be so extreme they can be classified as delusions. I've been convinced I poisoned myself, I've been convinced I had rabies, I've been convinced a building was going to burn down, I've been convinced my blood was full of bug eggs that were going to hatch and kill me.

Doctors and family members who have helped me the most were people who took those fears seriously, who examined me no matter how irrational my fear was, and who told me why, based on what they observed, my fears were unlikely to be true.

Instead of "you can't possibly have rabies", it was "the dog is vaccinated, so it can't have rabies, and the skin where it nipped you is not broken."

Instead of "Of course your blood isn't full of bug eggs" it was "bug eggs would have hatched by now" which was so coldly logical it completely snapped me out of my panic.

Instead of "I'm sure you didn't poison yourself", the doctor looked at the bug spray and the ingredients and listened to how I used it and said "based on your exposure, you haven't been poisoned".

[forzarma]

Between the lines

Lando Norris x Law student!reader

A/N: ok amma just act like i didn’t ghost this app for months and came out if nowhere but here we are ig. Also the Brazilian gp??? What the heck like wild race istg😭

It all started one night in Monaco, on a break from law school. You were on vacation with a friend, celebrating the rare freedom that came with a brief pause in your intense study schedule. A night at the casino was not usually your scene, but your friend had insisted.

After about an hour, she’d struck up a flirtatious conversation with some guy who’d been lingering by the bar. You waved her off, telling her you’d be fine, and took a seat on your own near a roulette table.

That’s when he walked up. Unassuming at first, with that messy hair and a slightly cocky smile that had “trouble” written all over it.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, a hint of an accent in his voice.

You shrugged, amused. “Go for it. But I’m not particularly good at this.”

He chuckled. “Neither am I.”

You exchanged a few more jokes, but it didn’t take long for him to introduce himself, giving you his number in a smooth, unhurried way.

“Lando,” he said, his eyes glinting with mischief.

You stashed the number away without much thought. It was only the next day, when you mentioned the encounter to your little sister over FaceTime, that you realized who he actually was.

“Some guy named Lando gave me his number at the casino,” you’d said offhandedly. Her jaw dropped.

“Wait, Lando who??.”

You blinked, stunned, and then laughed. “I don’t know, apparently he’s famous”

“so it’s lando fucking norris what” she said wide eyed

She rolled her eyes, muttering, “Only my sister would be this oblivious to F1 drivers. I’ve been a die-hard fan since I was, like, ten, and you meet one without even knowing?”

From there, you let yourself get to know him, intrigued by how normal he seemed compared to the hype you’d suddenly realized surrounded him. When he asked you out, you thought, why not? You were used to focusing on your studies and keeping your personal life private, so it didn’t seem like much would change. But with Lando, everything was different.

-

Months later, you’d fallen into an unexpected but steady rhythm with Lando. Despite his career, he managed to keep things low-key. Neither of you posted much about each other. Hell, you barely posted anything at all. You were still a law student with a private life, and the last thing you wanted was for the whole world to know who you were dating.

One evening, you were lying on his couch, scrolling through your phone, when Lando turned to you with a sly grin.

“Babe, you know… you’re eventually gonna get caught, right? Someone’s going to snap a picture of us, and then the cat’s out of the bag,” he teased, nudging your leg with his.

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “Oh, sure, because every random person with a camera is just dying to know who you’re dating.”

He snickered, leaning in closer. “Maybe. But you know, it could be kinda nice… to go out sometimes. Like, properly. We don’t have to make a big deal of it.”

You hesitated, biting your lip. As much as you loved being with him, the idea of being recognized—or worse, photographed—made you cringe. Your accounts were private, your life simple, and you weren’t sure how you’d feel about people seeing you with him.

But, at the same time, you knew it wasn’t fair to keep him hidden away forever. So, you took a deep breath and gave him a small smile. “What if we make a deal?”

His eyebrows shot up in interest. “I’m listening.”

“You can have me at the paddock,” you said, already dreading the idea. “But my accounts stay private, no tags, no ‘girlfriend reveals’ on Instagram. I’ll show up, I’ll be there for you but I’m not trying to become some celebrity.”

He grinned, leaning in to kiss you softly. “Deal. Although I can’t promise you won’t end up in a couple of team photos. You know how they love to catch every damn moment.”

You chuckled, trying not to think too hard about what you were signing up for.

-

A couple of weeks later, you were lying in bed with Lando, scrolling mindlessly through Instagram, when you felt a pang of guilt.

“I never actually told you about my sister,” you said suddenly.

“Oh?” He looked over at you with interest.

“Yeah, she’s been obsessed with F1 since she was like, ten,” you explained, laughing softly. “She’s begged me to take her to a race for years, but I was always too busy with school. Now she’s a full-on Ferrari fan… and she’s probably never going to forgive me for dating you.”

He grinned, intrigued. “A Ferrari fan, huh? That’s rough. Maybe I can convince her to switch sides.”

You snorted. “Good luck. She’s already sworn allegiance to Sebastian Vettel. In her words, McLaren’s colors are ‘an offense to her soul.’”

Lando laughed, shaking his head. “Well, in that case, we’ll have to win her over somehow. Why don’t we bring her to a race? I’ll make sure she gets the best seats, full experience,

You raised an eyebrow, surprised. “She’d lose her mind. Seriously. Are you sure? Because I can tell you right now, she’d never root for McLaren.

“Absolutely,” he said, squeezing your hand. “If she’s as big a fan as you say, she deserves a proper race weekend. Plus, I think it’s time we officially break her ‘Ferrari-only’ heart.”

-

On race day, you and Lando arrived at the paddock, and immediately, heads turned. You’d chosen a classic, chic outfit and despite your initial nerves, you managed to keep your cool.

You spotted your sister down the row, and her jaw dropped as soon as she saw you. She approached, barely able to contain her excitement, though she shot a mock glare at Lando.

“Such a shame I don’t like McLaren,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied with a grin. “You just wait. One lap, and you’ll be a fan.”

She rolled her eyes, but you could tell she was thrilled, practically bouncing on her heels as she looked around at the spectacle. She turned to you, eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re really here… at a race. I don’t know whether to thank you or disown you.”

You laughed, nudging her playfully. “I’m still not a fan, if that helps.”

She huffed, pretending to be offended. “I guess I’ll forgive you. But only if you bring me every single time from now on.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur of cameras, fans, and the hum of engines. You couldn’t deny the rush of excitement that came with being part of the chaos, even if it meant being in the public eye. And when you saw your sister’s face, completely lit up as she took in every second, it felt worth it.

-

The relationship slowly became public, just as you and Lando had agreed. You kept your accounts locked down, but fans began to recognize you, and a few photos of you two at the paddock circulated on social media.

Your sister stayed true to her Ferrari fandom, texting you regularly to tease you about your “betrayal.” But every now and then, you’d catch her slipping in a comment about McLaren usually something along the lines of, “Okay, that car looks pretty badass.”

One evening, Lando turned to you with a satisfied grin. “I think we’re doing alright, don’t you think?”

You looked around the Monaco apartment you’d somehow started calling “home” without even realizing it, at the life you’d built together. You leaned over, giving him a soft kiss. “Yeah, I think so, too.”

In the end, you realized you didn’t need to post, announce, or shout your relationship from the rooftops. Being there for each other was enough, even if it meant sharing some of the spotlight.

After all, Lando may have been the one the world wanted to see, but you were his, and that was more than enough.

[pers1st]

she's got a way (she got away)

inspired by chappel roan's the subway!

pairing: alexia putellas x reader

summary: after the World Cup, your mind is set on leaving Spain - Alexia doesn't expect you to leave her too

It was clear, from the moment the Euros ended for the Spanish national team, that this situation would, at one point, escalate. You had been sure of it, despite the fact that all throughout the tournament, you hadn't been able to focus on anything but your girlfriend's recovery. Her knee was in pain, and so was her heart, and you were in England, unable to help due to the strict rules Jorge had set up.

Along with Irene, Mapi and Jenni, you were one of the most experienced, as well as one of the most vocal players. Your manager was slowly losing the team - it was evident that no one would really listen to a thing he said anymore, and he needed you to keep them in check. At least that was your theory as to why he appeared in your room almost every night, asking you the most absurd questions, and calming his mind with the thought of you keeping his back.

You didn't, though. It was merely the worry clouding your head that had you unable to speak your critiques, as you had done before. Jorge didn't need to know the reason, though - you were quiet, that was all he needed for now.

Alexia welcomed you back to Barcelona with open arms, though she noticed the bags under your eyes and the residue of salt on your cheeks. It was hard to miss - the fact that you were completely and utterly done. You were done.

You wouldn't go back to the Spanish National team. Not like this, and not without Alexia.

Your girlfriend was your biggest rock, and despite the fact that she was undergoing her own struggle, or perhaps that was the exact reason why, the two of you leaned onto each other more than ever. Set under pressure by the RFEF, the only way for you to escape was to lean your head on your lovers shoulders and close your eyes. Alexia didn't need to hear. She knew what was going on, without you ever speaking it out loud, and just before the World Cup, she started fighting hard for the federation to make up for their mistakes, and finally give their players a bit of fucking attention.

Still, she had to beg you. Had to beg you to come back, promising she wouldn't leave your side, promising things would be different, better. And they were, for a little bit.

The moment you allowed yourself to believe that your voices had been heard was a fleeting one. The referee blew her whistle, the English players fell to the ground in disappointment, and Alexia sprinted towards you full charge.

A moment later, when you were lifted into the air, and touched in places that left your skin burning, it was gone again. That little faith, the tiny bit of hope. It was gone. And a part of you was, too.

You had your medal. You had your picture with the trophy, you had a week of alcohol.

But still, the World Cup was tainted, and the horrifying response by not only the Spanish federation but also the Spanish press, and people, they made everything else unimportant.

You had been holding off on extending your contract. You had told the club you weren't sure yet-

You had been sure. Before the World Cup, the whole discussions and meetings had been merely a strategy to have a little more compensation for the work you did - it had been your agent's idea, but you had agreed either way.

Now, you weren't sure.

Spain felt different, in a way. You didn't believe that the country wanted you anymore, partly because you had been very vocal about what had happened, partly because the RFEF had told you so. Despite Rubiales' resign, they wanted an apology, a public one, for the comments and statements you had published. Otherwise, they didn't want you anymore.

That fateful email slipped further down with every new email you received, and by the time you told Alexia about their threats, the transfer window was almost closed.

It was rainy, that night. It never really rained in Spain that often, especially not in September. Your girlfriend had hoped the two of you could sit on your balcony and enjoy a glass of wine, for once. But it rained and you sat on the couch and before Alexia could place her drink on the sofa, something within you broke.

You didn't want to leave - you wanted Spain, wanted Barcelona, wanted Alexia.

Tears fell from your eyes so quickly Alexia didn't know what to do, almost spilling her beverage all over the couch in order to get to you.

"Amor, what's wrong?", she asked, over and over again, until all she could do was wrap her arms around you and hold your shaking frame until you calmed down enough to say something. Anything. She really just wanted to hear your voice.

"I think I have to leave", you breathed, finally, just when Alexia had believed you to be asleep.

Silence remained in your shared apartment.

And it seemed even more present when your last things had been moved to Manchester, and you were gone for good.

Your voice still sounded through the hallways, usually as the of two of you cooked dinner, separated by the ocean and phones on the counter, loud speaker enabled. You had vowed to each other to speak regularly, FaceTime if possible, and make visits as often as possible.

Alexia couldn't get used to it, though. It was quiet.

However, the changing room was louder than ever. With every week that you played in the color blue, the girls had something new to talk about. Alexia couldn't participate, because as much as she wanted to, it only reminded her that another week without a phone call had passed. You had said you were tired, yesterday, and you had said so the day before as well.

Moving was big. Especially if it was to another country. Alexia believed that you were tired, she really did.

"She scored another, on Sunday. Did you see?", Mapi pointed around the room animatedly, laughing along as Pina enacted the way you had put your entire force behind the shot, almost falling over her own legs as Cata leapt to the side, pretending to miss a shot.

"It was so good! She is shining!"

Unsatisfied with the acting performance of her own team, Alexia decided she needed to see for herself. Barcelona was playing this Friday, and since your game was on a Sunday, she would have enough time to fly over to Manchester with Jana and watch you and Jill in person.

It was a surprise, and she could see in your eyes as you gazed through the family section, that you genuinely were surprised. Leia was standing next to you, arm across your shoulder, finding her own friends in the crowd shortly before warm up would begin.

You radiated, waving to Leia's parents, shortly before your eyes caught those of your lover. Though you hadn't seen them in a while, you recognized them instantly, and your smile dropped for a split second, before it grew even wider. Waving your hands through the air, the stadium seemed smaller, all of a sudden. Alexia felt a rush of warmth throughout her body. Then, you turned around, focussing back on the task ahead, the way you always could.

Alexia could see it, then. You were happier than you had been for a while. She knew the weight that had pulled you down over the past year, and despite the fact that she was genuinely relieved to see you get on so well, it also inflicted a pang of something else.

Was it jealousy? Was it fear?

Jealousy that Manchester gave you something Alexia never could?

Fear that you would come to the same conclusion?

Alexia couldn't tell, but she could tell, as the stadium roared with each of the goals you scored, that you were happy. Jumping into the air to celebrate a goal you merely would've smiled for in Barcelona, all of your teammates crowding you happily, tapping your head and laughing along as you jogged back into position - you were different.

You had changed, silently, right in front of Alexia's eyes. She knew it was for the better.

A brief talk after the game followed, an excited kiss over the barrier, an apology as you rushed to the changing room to get changed, promising to meet her in the lounge after.

Then came the reassurance.

No, it's fine, I don't have to go for drinks with the others.

No, really, I want to have a nice evening with you before you have to leave again.

Of course I want to know how things are in Spain.

The word left your lips as though it sliced your tongue in the process, and despite the fact that you watched Alexia's brow furrow for the split of a second, the both of you never mentioned it again. The conversation dulled out, and despite the fact that Alexia was going to meet Jana at the airport hours later, she slowly began gathering her things.

You didn't stop her.

You brought her to the airport, and she promised Jana was on her way already. You wouldn't need to wait with her.

The previous goodbye had been different. There had been tears cascading down the both of your faces, whereas this time, there was merely a little glimmer of wet in Alexia's lashes.

There had been promises and plans, when you had left Barcelona. Plans to visit, promises to call, to make this work.

Now, you didn't even know when you would come back to Spain. If you would come back to Spain.

Your Catalan was rusty already, a hint of an accent coming through, that shocked Alexia at first.

She knew it was for the better, though. You weren't sad to watch Alexia leave, and Alexia would learn to live with that. It took two hours until Jana came. By the time the two walked towards their gate, Alexia's tears had dried. By the time the plane touched down in Barcelona, your lover had made up her mind to call you later. By the time she got to training later, she could only answer Mapi's question -

How is she doing?

With a wet "She got away."

Mapi didn't even question her best friend's answer, didn't furrow her brows at the prospect of her two best friends' breaking up, she merely offered a bitter smile.

Good for her, Mapi thought, too scared to voice her words out loud for the fear of hurting Alexia. Unbeknownst to her, your ex girlfriend thought the same exact thing.

[dreamerdrop]

Julian Bashir walks a very fine, maddening line between “self-loathing imposter syndrome who knows almost everyone who speaks to him for more than a minute finds him insufferable” and “incredibly self assured and annoyingly arrogant to the point of a minor god complex”.

He knows he’s attractive, he thinks he’s charming as all hell, he knows he’s the smartest person in the room (while also being acutely aware he’s going to put his foot in his mouth any second now), and he just swings wildly between “I don’t deserve anything I have, none of this is mine, my life is not my own, I am a monster” and “HELL YEAH LOOK HOW COOL AND SMART I AM GUYS ARE YOU LOOKING ARE YOU LOOKING”.

And then there’s episodes that reveal that underneath that annoying arrogance, at the very core of who he is, he really, really just wants to help people, and if he fucks that up he WILL take it personally and hold himself responsible even if there’s no way he could have known and like. Can you imagine what his first patient death was like for him. Can you imagine what a fucking nightmare his brain must be 24/7.

He is somehow as inherently self assured as he is in need of constant validation for his ego because you can SEE him break a little when that ego fails him, even a little, and it’s just.

He’s very fun to write. I hate him. (I love him so much, but oh my god.)

[zyafics-recs]

reblogging comment review from @zyafics

it’s 6:47am and i went “why not” so here i am reading ⬇️

You were home.

PAUSE DID I MISS SOMETHING

Your father, with his disheveled hair and red-rimmed eyes, swung the bottle in his hand dangerously close to JJ’s head. Each wave of the bottle sent droplets of amber liquid flying, dotting the floor like gruesome confetti.

god this paragraph eats ur descriptions 🤌🏼 (the amber liquid, the droplets on the floor? yeahhh i know u ate with that)

It was Rafe.

ohmygod im spiraling right now

You felt a surge of nausea, your stomach churning with revulsion of yourself. The nightmare still clung to you, the vivid memories of his hands around your throat making it hard to reconcile the image of him sleeping so peacefully.

what if she runs away (i would eat that up🤭)

Sleeping around—no, not just sleeping, practically baring your soul to one of the people that had destroyed your life? That had taunted and beaten your brother? Your friends? That killed a cop and got away with it? The thoughts circled in your mind, relentless and unforgiving. The cool night air was a temporary relief, but it couldn’t wash away the shame eating you alive. How did it come to this? How did you go from hating Rafe to being tangled up with him like this? 

why am i so scared of the upcoming angst

Maybe you were holding on to the only person who managed to pull you out of Ward’s grasp, fooling yourself into finding some good in someone who had caused so much pain. 

stockholm syndrome (it’s not… i think)

Rafe's voice cut through the air, his tone urgent, "How the fuck did you not see her leave? Did someone take her?”

he’s so protective of her i’m so in love 💍

Rafe's head snapped up, his blue eyes widening in relief as he caught sight of you. "Thank God," he breathed, his shoulders visibly relaxing, “Fucking hell, Maybank.”

THE FUCKING BUTTERFLIES 🦋

His arms were around you in an instant, his warmth enveloping you. His hands rested gently on your back; fingers splayed wide. For a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into his embrace for the last time, the tension in your shoulders easing ever so slightly. Barely looking at him, you pushed him away, your movements sharp. His hands fell away from you, confusion flickering across his features like a shadow passing over the sun. The hurt in his eyes cut through you like a punch, but you couldn’t bring yourself to dwell on it.

STOP STOP STOP

You hated the fact you could pinpoint the sincerity in his voice so easily. It nearly killed you. 

LET HIM IN PLS 🛐🛐

“It was a mistake.”

i’m actually holding my breath pls gigi let me breathe 😭😭😭

Rafe could act cold and stoic all he wanted; you could hear the hurt in his voice and sense the sadness in the words. He sounded broken.

"You're angry,” Your mouth ran dry, your heart lurching into your throat. "I’m sorry.”

"Sorry?" he seethed, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine, "Angry? You think you mean enough to me to make me angry?"

SHUT UP RAFE

“Stop it,” Your voice broke a little, fighting the waterworks that were threatening to run down your cheeks, “Stop making it sound like it meant nothing to you.”

no bc i would lose it in that room (absolutely go kill bill or disney princess cry idk yet)

“And whose fault is that? Hmm? You said you didn’t want to stop. You wanted it, you wanted me.”

You staggered back, feeling as if the ground beneath your feet was shifting, uncertain, and unsteady.

"I wanted it," Rafe repeated, fingers digging into his chest, his voice raw with emotion, "I wanted you."

the way my stomach rolled oh my god u r incredible at creating emotions

The anger that had driven him was gone, replaced by a hollow, almost haunted look

love the description of haunted had to take a sec to think what that is

He finally looked at you, his eyes bloodshot and filled with a mix of pain and regret. “I... I couldn’t stay away,” he slurred, his words thick with the effects of too much alcohol. “I tried, but...”

RAFE MY ANNOYINGLY POOR BABY

“It’s not, Maybank. I’ve done enough damage for a lifetime. It’s the reason why you’re sleeping on the other side of the bed instead of right next to me.”

actually stop hurting me pls and thank u

It took you hours to fall asleep. You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the events of the past weeks replaying in your mind. You thought of Rafe, of the hurt in his eyes, the way he had looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. 

THE ONLY THING KEEPING HIM TETHERED TO REALITY STFU UP

Rafe’s gaze flicked to you as if he was memorizing your features, from your eyes down to your lips. You could see the gears turning inside his brain and it made you sick to your stomach when he took a deep breath, his eyes hardening with resolve, “Run.”

STOP MY HEART IS RACING 🫨

Without thinking, you ran to Rafe, your heart pounding with fear and relief. His arms wrapped around you tightly, and gently pulled you back, his eyes searching yours to make sure you were okay, but before you could assure him you were fine, he kissed you. His lips pressed firmly against yours, and you felt his tongue gently parting your lips, exploring with a tenderness that made your knees weak. It felt so…real, it nearly brought you to your knees. As cheesy as it sounded, it felt like time stood still for you, the rest of the world ceasing to exist. 

ITS LIKE A CRIMINAL LOVE STORY PLS 😭

“Baby, you—“ he coughed, blood seeping through his teeth, "You gotta go home.”

STOP STOP STOP STOP

“I’m not leaving without him,” You made the mistake to glance back one last time, your heart breaking as you saw Rafe's eyes close, his body slumping against the ground, “No, no, no! Keep your eyes open, I swear to god—” Your hands trembled as you tried to staunch the flow of blood with your already stained clothing, "Stay with me," you pleaded, your voice cracking. 

i’m actually gonna kill u gigi u have no idea

As you were led out of the police station and into a waiting car, your mind raced with thoughts of him, lying in a hospital bed, fighting for his life, by himself. You couldn't bear the thought of him waking up alone, without knowing that you were there for him.

If he ever woke up.

for once in ur life i need u to be crazy and jump the car

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

FINAL THOUGHTS | omg. OHMYGOD??? okay one thing i absolutely love about this chapter is your emotional development and connection. the way that reader had to pull back because of her nightmare, because of what it means to be with rafe in the real world, the way she withdraws from him and it hurts him until they get to that argument. and that ARGUMENT; rafe being vulnerable while also pushing back, while also being sharp and anger? that PIERCED MY SOUL because u did it so well i actually held my breath and stopped breathing and just stared at how well u managed to capture emotional moments without exaggerating it. then then, him looking at her face trying to memorize her features before telling her to run? to kissing her because he couldn’t stand it anymore? screaming. AND THEN HE GOT FUCKING SHOT?? i saw spoilers that he got shot but i was so wrapped in the story i FORGOT 😭 it literally took me out 😭😭😭 I NEED HER TO JUMP OUT THE COP CAR OR SOMETHING PLS STAY WITH HIM 😭

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

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: angst; gun violence; blood;

word count: 7.1k

You woke up confused staring at the oddly familiar ceiling, filled with posters ripped from the old magazines you’d gotten at a second-hand store. When you were sixteen is sounded like a great edgy idea. 

You were home.

What the—? How? 

Sitting up, the room felt stifling, the air thick with the stale smell of old wood and the faintest hint of your father’s cigarette smoke, a scent you had hoped never to encounter again. The heavy feeling in your chest wasn’t just the dread of being back; it was the oppressive memories flooding back, threatening to drown you.

The sound of a muffled argument seeped through the thin walls, pulling you back to the present.

Your heart pounded in your ears as you recognized the angry, slurred voice of your father.

He was shouting at someone, probably your brother, just like he used to. The familiar clinking of bottles and the crash of something being thrown sent a shiver down your spine.

No. This wasn't real. This couldn’t be real.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, feeling the rough carpet under your feet, grounding yourself in the moment. You stood up shakily, each step toward the door feeling heavier than the last. The hallway stretched out before you, longer than it should have been, and the flickering light cast eerie shadows on the peeling wallpaper.

As you approached the living room, the noise grew louder, more distinct. Your father’s voice, filled with venom and rage, cut through you like a knife. You reached the doorway and peered in, your breath catching in your throat. There he was, towering over your JJ, his face twisted in anger. Your little brother was cowering, trying to make himself as small as possible, his eyes filled with fear. The scene was a haunting echo of so many nights you’d tried to forget.

“No,” you whispered, fear and anger bubbling up inside you. “This isn’t happening.”

But it was.

Your father, with his disheveled hair and red-rimmed eyes, swung the bottle in his hand dangerously close to JJ’s head. Each wave of the bottle sent droplets of amber liquid flying, dotting the floor like gruesome confetti. JJ flinched with every movement, tears streaming down his cheeks, and the sight made your heart ache.

“Get out of my sight, you worthless—” your father roared, his voice a terrifying growl.

“No!” you screamed, stepping into the room before you even realized you were moving. “Stop it!”

Your father turned, his bloodshot eyes narrowing as they focused on you. For a moment, there was a flicker of confusion, as if he couldn’t quite believe you were standing there.

Then, recognition set in, and his scowl deepened.

“You,” he spat, the word laced with bitterness. “You think you can just walk back in here and tell me what to do?”

The room seemed to shrink around you, the walls closing in, suffocating. But you couldn’t back down, not now. Not ever again.

“Leave him alone,” you said, your voice trembling, “He’s a child!”

Your father took a menacing step toward you, the bottle still clutched in his hand. “You’ve got some nerve, coming back here and talking to me like that. Looking exactly like her!”

Every instinct screamed at you to run, but you stood your ground. “I’m not afraid of you Luke,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes flashed with anger, and he raised the bottle, ready to strike. You braced yourself, every muscle tensed, waiting for the blow.

“Dad, please!” JJ’s voice broke through the tension, small and desperate. 

“Don’t hurt her.”

The plea hung in the air, a fragile thread that seemed to hold back the storm for just a moment. Your father’s hand wavered, his eyes darting between you and JJ.

Then, with a roar of frustration, he threw the bottle against the wall, where it shattered into a thousand pieces. The crash echoed through the house, a final, violent punctuation to the nightmare unfolding around you.

“You’re a coward, you know that? Hitting on your own children. You’re trash.” you spat out, the words flying from your mouth before you could stop them.

His face twisted, “What did you say to me?” He lunged at you, his hands going straight for your throat. Fear surged through you as his fingers tightened, cutting off your air supply. Your hands flew up to try and pry his grip loose, but he was too strong, too relentless, too driven.

Black spots began to dance at the edges of your vision. You struggled, gasping for breath, but his grip only tightened. The room started to spin, and just as you thought you might pass out, his face began to shift, blurring and changing. You blinked, trying to clear your vision, and when you opened your eyes again, it was no longer your father choking you.

It was Rafe.

Rafe's face, with a sickening grin, loomed over you. His eyes, filled with a cold, calculating malice, bore into yours. “You thought I’d be any different?” he sneered. “You signed your death sentence, pogue.”

The terror was overwhelming, a wave of cold dread washing over you. 

Your heart pounded frantically against your ribs, but you couldn’t scream, couldn’t call for help. His grip was like iron, unyielding and merciless.

You fought against him with all your strength, but it felt like trying to move through quicksand. Every movement was sluggish, every attempt to break free met with resistance. The walls around you seemed to close in, the room becoming a claustrophobic prison.

As the edges of your vision began to fade, a new sound cut through the suffocating haze – JJ’s voice, calling your name. “Sis! Please, wake up! Wake up!”

With a final, desperate burst of energy, you tore yourself away from Rafe, his grip suddenly gone. You were falling, tumbling through darkness, and then–

You jolted awake, gasping for breath, your body drenched in sweat. The familiar ceiling of the motel room came into focus. The terror of the nightmare clung to you, and it made it hard to breathe.

Your hands went to your throat, feeling for bruises that weren’t there. It was just a dream, you told yourself, trying to calm your racing heart. Just a nightmare.

As your breath began to steady, you turned your head, feeling the sheets rustle against your skin.

The dim light of the room cast long shadows, and your heart sank when you saw Rafe lying next to you, his chest rising and falling in a deep, peaceful slumber. He was naked, his body partially covered by the sheets, a stark reminder of what you’d done hours ago.

You felt a surge of nausea, your stomach churning with revulsion of yourself. The nightmare still clung to you, the vivid memories of his hands around your throat making it hard to reconcile the image of him sleeping so peacefully. You quietly slipped out of bed, trying not to wake him, and grabbed your clothes, dressing quickly.

Standing in the small bathroom, you splashed cold water on your face, trying to wash away the remnants of the dream. The coolness against your skin brought a brief sense of clarity, but it didn’t banish the lingering sense of dread. You looked at yourself in the mirror, your reflection pale and haunted.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. You had to get out of here, clear your head, and figure out what to do next. Slipping out of the bathroom, you grabbed your keys from the nightstand, sneaking one last look at Rafe. He was still asleep, completely unaware of the fear inside you.

The motel hallway was dark and quiet, with the faint hum of the vending machine being the only noise. You made your way to the exit, and the cool night air hit you like a splash of reality. It felt like you were stepping out of one world and into another, the contrast so stark and jarring. 

You took a few more steps, but your vision blurred, and you felt lightheaded. You slumped against the wall, struggling to catch your breath.

The panic attack hit you full force, your chest tightening, and your mind racing. You couldn't let Rafe see you like this. You couldn't let anyone see you like this. You sank to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest, trying to focus on something, anything, to calm yourself down. You started counting your breaths, focusing on each inhale and exhale, trying to slow your racing heart. You thought of JJ, of how much he needed you to be strong. You couldn't fall apart now, not when there was so much at stake.

You kept counting, kept breathing, the cool air helping to clear your head. Slowly, the tightness in your chest began to ease. The world started to come back into focus, the shadows in the hallway retreating.

You wiped away the tears that had slipped down your cheeks and stood up, feeling a little more in control.

Sleeping around—no, not just sleeping, practically baring your soul to one of the people that had destroyed your life? That had taunted and beaten your brother? Your friends? That killed a cop and got away with it? The thoughts circled in your mind, relentless and unforgiving. The cool night air was a temporary relief, but it couldn’t wash away the shame eating you alive. How did it come to this? How did you go from hating Rafe to being tangled up with him like this? 

You thought of JJ, of your friends, the people who had been there for you through everything. They’d never understand.

Hell, you didn’t even understand it yourself. You stopped and leaned against a lamppost, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. You had to sort through this mess, had to figure out what was real and what was just the lingering effects of captivity and longing. Maybe you were holding on to the only person who managed to pull you out of Ward’s grasp, fooling yourself into finding some good in someone who had caused so much pain. 

An hour later, you made your way back to the motel. Each step felt like a struggle, the guilt and self-doubt threatening to consume you entirely. You couldn't shake the feeling that you'd betrayed everything you stood for by letting Rafe into your life, even if it was just for a moment of weakness.

As you approached the entrance, you saw him standing at the front desk, looking worried and disheveled. He must have just woken up, throwing on some shorts in a hurry. His expression was tense as he spoke to the front desk guy, hands moving rapidly, gesturing around. 

Your pulse pounded as you walked in, not sure of what to say, what to do, how to approach him. The memory of the nightmare still lingered, haunting you like a specter refusing to be exorcised.

Rafe's voice cut through the air, his tone urgent, "How the fuck did you not see her leave? Did someone take her?”

The front desk guy shook his head, his expression apologetic. "I apologize sir, but I haven't seen anyone come through here."

With a deep breath, you stepped forward, revealing yourself to him. "I'm here," you said quietly, voice rough from not speaking since you woke up.

Rafe's head snapped up, his blue eyes widening in relief as he caught sight of you. "Thank God," he breathed, his shoulders visibly relaxing, “Fucking hell, Maybank.”

His arms were around you in an instant, his warmth enveloping you. His hands rested gently on your back; fingers splayed wide. For a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into his embrace for the last time, the tension in your shoulders easing ever so slightly. Barely looking at him, you pushed him away, your movements sharp. His hands fell away from you, confusion flickering across his features like a shadow passing over the sun. The hurt in his eyes cut through you like a punch, but you couldn’t bring yourself to dwell on it.

You took a step back, putting some distance between you and Rafe, needing the space to breathe, to think, to figure out what comes next.

Your gaze flickered to the floor, unable to meet his eyes, unable to face the consequences of your actions, "Just needed some air," you muttered, your voice barely audible even to yourself, “Sorry for not leaving a note.”

Rafe's expression shifted from relief to concern as he watched you, his brows furrowing with worry.

"You okay?"

You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze, "I'm fine," you replied, your voice lacking conviction even to your own ears. "Just felt a little nauseous.”

His hand reached out tentatively as if he wanted to comfort you, but he hesitated, letting it fall back to his side. “I just woke up and you were gone, and I...I panicked."

You hated the fact you could pinpoint the sincerity in his voice so easily. It nearly killed you. 

“We should go back.”

"Will you... will you be okay?" he asked, his voice hesitant.

You nodded, trying to muster up a reassuring smile, but it felt hollow and insincere. "I'll be fine," you lied, the words tasted bitter on your tongue, “Just need some rest.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah, let’s go back.”

As you stepped inside the room, the early sunlight washed over Rafe's face, highlighting the worry etched into his features. He watched you carefully, as if afraid you would’ve disappeared again at any moment. He tried to reach out and grab your arm, but you moved too quickly, and he was left grasping air.

You offered him a weak smile, ignoring the look on his face, "I'm sorry for leaving like that," you said, your voice tinged with genuine regret. "I’m fine.”

You didn’t think he believed you. He was watching you so closely. He took in how disheveled you looked. The mess of your hair, and barely laced-up shoes so you could get out the door faster. Rafe’s eyes pierce into your own, searching them for something as he took a deep breath to calm himself.

It took several tense moments before he finally spoke, “Is this about last night?”

Your body froze, panic taking over every single one of your muscles. What were you supposed to tell him? Lie? Tell him the truth and make him hate himself even more? Keep your pain down to hold his?

“It was a mistake.”

You went straight to the chase.

He stalked closer to you, and you took a step back reflexively, “A mistake?” he echoed between labored breaths, “A mistake?”

“Yeah," you stammered, trying to articulate your thoughts, "It's not right. We, we're just lonely."

You despised yourself for even hinting at it, but the tumultuous month spent with him had been bewildering, to say the least. You questioned whether you were truly good for each other.

"I thought..." he began, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find the right words.

The pain in his voice pierced your skin, a reminder of the consequences of your actions. But you needed to put yourself first.

“I’m sorry.”

Rafe's face contorted, his features tightening into a mask of disbelief. And you couldn’t blame him for whatever he was about to unleash on you.

“So, what? You're just gonna walk away?" He tried to bark, but his voice quivered from grief, “Stop looking at me?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” He scoffed, lips twisting into a sneer, as he started to pace around the room, his movements restless and agitated. “That’s funny.”

Rafe could act cold and stoic all he wanted; you could hear the hurt in your voice and sense the sadness in the words. He sounded broken.

"You're angry,” Your mouth ran dry, your heart lurching into your throat. "I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” he seethed, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine, “Angry? You think you mean enough to me to make me angry?”

His words struck you like a physical blow, a slap to the face. You recoiled instinctively, the weight of his fury bearing down on you. 

"I don't know what I mean to you," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper as you struggled to maintain your composure. "I just know that I can't keep doing this."

Rafe's laughter was bitter and mocking, a harsh sound that echoed off the walls of the room.

"Can't keep doing this?" he repeated, his voice laced with derision. "And what, exactly, is 'this'? Fucking? You can’t even say it.”

“You’re being an asshole.”

"An asshole?" he spat, "Is that what you think of me?"

You held his gaze, refusing to back down despite the hurting coursing through your veins. "You're acting like one.”

“Maybank,” His voice was still harsh as he lowered his head to try and meet your eyes. He was close enough that you were able to smell him, "You don't know anything about me, remember? Maybe the fucking really did confuse you.”

“Stop it,” Your voice broke a little, fighting the waterworks that were threatening to run down your cheeks, “Stop making it sound like it meant nothing to you.”

His eyes shut tightly, “Why are you doing this?”

“Because it’s wrong! Rafe—don’t you see it? I can’t do this, not with you of all fucking people, okay?”

He looked down at the carpet, a look of shame falling over his features as he ran a hand over his face, “You knew who I was since the beginning.”

You felt a surge of frustration rising within you, mingling with the anguish that threatened to overwhelm your senses. "Yeah, and every time I look at you now, I see everything that's wrong with me."

“And whose fault is that? Hmm? You said you didn’t want to stop. You wanted it, you wanted me.”

You staggered back, feeling as if the ground beneath your feet was shifting, uncertain, and unsteady.

"I wanted it," Rafe repeated, fingers digging into his chest, his voice raw with emotion, "I wanted you."

The admission hung in the air between you, everything left unsaid. You wanted to reach out to him, hug him as you had just hours ago, but you knew you couldn’t.

“We can’t.”

His eyes were slightly dewy, a somewhat defeated look to his gaze as he walked towards the door.

“Well, congrats Maybank. You won.”

The sound of the door slamming echoed through the room, the finality of it hitting you like a punch to the gut. You stood there, motionless, as the silence enveloped you. The weight of everything that had just transpired pressed down on your shoulders, threatening to crush you.

You sank to the floor, your back against the wall, and the tears came in a torrent. Sobs wracked your body, each one more painful than the last, as the reality of your situation washed over you. You had pushed him away, and hurt him, but what other choice did you have? 

The quiet was almost eerie. 

You couldn't deny that you had felt something for Rafe, something more than just anger and resentment.

But it was twisted, born out of shared trauma and desperation, wasn’t it? Wiping your tear-streaked face with trembling hands, you tried to gather yourself. You still needed to get home. In five days. How the fuck were you going to live in the same room with Rafe for five days after what went down? You couldn’t, you needed the money to pay off the men taking you back home.

You sat on the motel room floor for what felt like hours, the silence pressing in on you.

The weight of your words, of the confrontation, was suffocating. Eventually, exhaustion won out, and you crawled into bed, your mind too restless to allow for more than fitful dozing.

It was around 4 a.m. when the door to the motel room creaked open, startling you awake. You sat up, your heart pounding, straining to see in the dark. The figure that stumbled through the door was unmistakable: Rafe. His movements were unsteady, his clothes disheveled, and the sharp scent of alcohol hit you even from across the room.

“Rafe?”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned heavily against the doorframe, his eyes unfocused. He looked lost.

The anger that had driven him was gone, replaced by a hollow, almost haunted look. You had done that to him. You got out of bed, approaching him cautiously.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice tinged with worry.

He finally looked at you, his eyes bloodshot and filled with a mix of pain and regret. “I... I couldn’t stay away,” he slurred, his words thick with the effects of too much alcohol. “I tried, but...”

You sighed, the concern battling within you.

“Rafe, you’re drunk. You need to sit down.”

He let you guide him to the bed, his body heavy and uncooperative. Once he was seated, you grabbed a bottle of water from the small table and handed it to him.

“Drink this,” you instructed.

He took a sip, his hands shaking slightly. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, staring down at the floor. “For everything.”

It was the first time he ever apologized to you. You didn’t know what to say. Part of you wanted to comfort him, to tell him it was okay, but another part of you was still reeling from the emotional whirlwind of the past few days. 

“You need to sleep this off,” you said instead, trying to keep your voice steady.

He nodded but didn’t move. Instead, he reached out, his hand brushing against yours. “I don’t want to be like him,” he confessed, “I can't."

If you allowed him to keep sputtering out his drunken thoughts you would’ve ended up crying your eyes out again, so instead you squeezed his hand, “Let’s just sleep, okay?”

He nodded again, his eyes drifting shut as the exhaustion and alcohol finally took their toll. You helped him lie down, covering him with the sheets. As you laid back down, you watched Rafe’s breathing even out, his face softening in sleep. 

The next few days passed in a blur of tension and silence. That night?

It never happened.

Rafe didn’t spare you a glance from the moment he woke up, choosing to care for his hangover by himself. You and he moved around each other like ghosts, the motel room becoming a prison. You barely slept, the nightmares coming back with a vengeance, leaving you exhausted and on edge.

Every time you closed your eyes, you saw your father, Rafe, or the haunting echoes of your past, blending into a relentless cycle of fear and regret. You knew he’d been having nightmares as well, but you pretended to be asleep every time he woke up, chest heaving. 

He seemed so caught in his torment. You could see it in the way he clenched his jaw, the way his hands would flex into fists and then relax as if he was battling some inner demon. He avoided you, constantly, and when he did speak, his words were clipped and distant. Your shared meals were silent, the clinking of cutlery the only sound breaking the oppressive quiet. 

Even the TV stayed off.

On the fifth night, you lay awake in the dark, listening to the rhythm of Rafe's breathing from the other bed. It was uneven, indicating he was also awake. 

“You’re not gonna end up like him.”

Rafe's breathing hitched, and you could almost feel his eyes on you through the darkness.

"I mean it," you continued, turning slightly to face his silhouette. "You're not your father, Rafe."

He didn't respond immediately, but you sensed a shift in the atmosphere, a subtle change in his posture. Finally, he sighed, the sound heavy and laden with years of unspoken fears and insecurities.

"How can you be so sure?" he murmured, his voice raw.

You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Because I've seen you. I've seen the parts of you that fight against becoming him. The parts that want to be better. And that matters."

He let out a bitter laugh. "I'm not sure it’s enough.”

“It is.”

“It’s not, Maybank. I’ve done enough damage for a lifetime. It’s the reason why you’re sleeping on the other side of the bed instead of right next to me.”

You wanted to reach out, to reassure him that he wasn’t alone, but you knew it wasn’t that simple. 

“I’m still here,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “And I’m not leaving.”

“You already did.”

Ouch.

Before you could utter a single word, he turned his back to you.

“We’re leaving tomorrow. Sleep.”

“Rafe—”

“Goodnight.”

It took you hours to fall asleep. You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the events of the past weeks replaying in your mind. You thought of Rafe, of the hurt in his eyes, the way he had looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. 

The next morning, you didn’t bother much with packing, only shoving the pieces of clothing you’d collected in a backpack. It felt torturous, to be so close to Rafe yet so far away. He didn’t speak a word as he packed his things, his movements stiff and mechanical. You wanted to break the silence, but every time you opened your mouth, the words seemed to stick in your throat. The taxi drive to the port was just as unbearable. You stared out the window, watching the landscape blur past, your mind racing with thoughts of what could have been, what should have been. 

Once you arrived, you and Rafe stepped out, the silence between you as impenetrable as ever. The boat that would take you both back home loomed ahead. He took the lead, heading towards the ticket booth with his shoulders hunched, and you followed, your steps heavy with reluctance.

You were still scared shitless of those men. They were only helping you because at some point Rafe had helped them smuggle drugs into the States, and that did not leave you the least bit reassured over their intentions. 

Finding a spot on the deck, you both settled into a tense silence, the hum of the boat’s engine and the cries of seagulls filling the void between you. The sun was beginning to rise, casting a golden hue over the water, but the beauty of the scene did little to ease the knot of anxiety tightening in your chest.

He leaned against the railing, his gaze fixed on the horizon, his face a mask void of any emotion.

You watched him for a moment, torn between wanting to reach out to him and the fear that doing so would only make things worse.

Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, you cleared your throat. “Rafe,” you began hesitantly, “I—”

Before you could finish, he turned to you, his expression weary. “We don’t have to talk about it,” he said, his voice flat. “Not now.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Okay.”

“Just stay low, stay quiet. My dad got eyes everywhere.”

From the corner of your eye you spotted one of the men. Tall, burly, with a scar running down his cheek. He simply nodded towards the cargo boat and for a minute you’re taken back to your first day stuck with the Cameron’s, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong.

Rafe walked in front of you again, entering the ship, rounding his way through the halls behind the sketchy guy, only stopping when he knocked on a door, after a moment, it swung open to reveal a bald shot man, eyes way too big for his face, which flicked over you and Rafe, a predatory smile curling his lips.

“Well, well, look who decided to show up,” he drawled, his voice laced with mockery. “You’re late.”

“Had some complications,” Rafe replied curtly, his posture tense.

The man’s smile widened. “Complications, huh? Well, come on in”

You followed Rafe inside, your heart racing. The interior of the room was pretty dark, the air thick with the smell of smoke and something you couldn’t quite identify. Nor did you want to. 

“Rafe,” the older man said, his voice cold and commanding. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about our arrangement.”

“Never,” Rafe replied, his tone clipped. “I brought the money.”

He handed over a thick envelope, and the man behind the desk took it, flipping through the bills with a practiced eye. After a moment, he nodded, satisfied.

“Good,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Now, let’s discuss the other part of our deal.”

Rafe stiffened. “I told you, I’m out. I’m not running anything for you anymore.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, his smile turning dangerous. “I don’t think you understand. You don’t get to just walk away.”

You felt a chill run down your spine as the tension in the room escalated. The man behind the desk stood up, his gaze shifting to you.

“And who’s this?” he asked, his tone menacing.

“No one,” Rafe said quickly. “She has nothing to do with this.”

The man chuckled, a low, sinister sound. “Oh, I think she has everything to do with this.”

He took a step towards you, and instinctively, you backed away, your heart pounding in your chest. Rafe moved to place himself between you and the older man, his jaw clenched.

“Leave her out of this.”

“You see, your daddy dearest called in last night. Told me about a loose piece he had to get rid off…a pretty one. Guess this is her?”

"That's none of your business," Rafe growled, his voice filled with a warning, body still shielding yours.

The older man laughed, the sound grating against your nerves. "Oh, but it is my business, Rafe. You see, your daddy and I, we go way back. And when he asks for a favor, I don't say no."

You felt a surge of terror at his words, your mind racing to find a way out of this situation. "Rafe, we need to go," you whispered urgently, tugging on his arm.

He didn't move, his eyes locked on the man before him. "We're leaving," Rafe said firmly, his voice unwavering. "Now."

The man smirked, his gaze shifting between you and Rafe. "You think you can just walk out of here? You're in deep, Cameron. And now, so is she."

Rafe's jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists. "We're not doing this.”

The older man took a step closer, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent. 

"You have two choices, Rafe. You either do as I say, or she pays the price like Ward asked.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, fear coursing through your veins. You couldn't let Rafe get pulled back into this world, but you also couldn't bear the thought of what might happen if you stayed.

"Rafe, please," you pleaded, your voice trembling.

Rafe’s gaze flicked to you as if he was memorizing your features, from your eyes down to your lips. You could see the gears turning inside his brain and it made you sick to your stomach when he took a deep breath, his eyes hardening with resolve, “Run.”

Before you could process his words, Rafe launched himself at the older man, tackling him to the ground. The suddenness of the movement caught everyone off guard, but you knew you had to act quickly. Heart pounding, you turned and bolted out of the room, dropping your backpack in the process, your footsteps echoing down the dimly lit corridor.

Behind you, you could hear the sounds of struggle—grunts, crashes, and the thud of bodies hitting the floor. You didn’t dare look back, knowing that every second counted. Rafe had told you to run.

The ship's layout was confusing, with identical-looking hallways and doors leading to who-knew-where. You sprinted through the maze of metal and dim lights, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The distant sound of shouting and commotion indicated that the fight was far from over. You turned a corner and collided with one of the burly men from earlier. He grabbed your arm, his grip like a vise.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he snarled.

Panic surged through you, but you fought it down, remembering the self-defense moves Rafe had taught you back at Ward’s island. You stomped on his foot and jabbed your elbow into his ribs, wrenching your arm free as he grunted in pain. Without wasting a second, you continued running, your legs burning with effort.

You burst onto the deck, the cold, salty air hitting you like a slap. The early morning light was just beginning to brighten the horizon, casting long shadows across the deck. You looked around frantically, searching for any means of escape. Your eyes landed on a lifeboat secured to the side of the ship. Without hesitation, you made your way towards it, fumbling with the ropes that held it in place. Your fingers were shaking, but you managed to free the boat. As you were about to lower it into the water, a rough hand grabbed your shoulder and spun you around. It was the man with the scar, his face twisted in anger.

“Going somewhere?” he sneered.

You tried to fight him off, but he was too strong.

Just when you thought all hope was lost, a loud bang echoed across the deck. The man with the scar froze, his grip loosening. You took the opportunity to break free, scrambling away from him.

Rafe stood at the entrance to the deck, a gun in his hand and determination in his eyes. The man with the scar raised his hands slowly, backing away.

“You okay?” Rafe asked, his voice tight with concern.

“I think so.”

“Come here.”

Without thinking, you ran to Rafe, your heart pounding with fear and relief. His arms wrapped around you tightly, and gently pulled you back, his eyes searching yours to make sure you were okay, but before you could assure him you were fine, he kissed you. His lips pressed firmly against yours, and you felt his tongue gently parting your lips, exploring with a tenderness that made your knees weak. It felt so…real, it nearly brought you to your knees. As cheesy as it sounded, it felt like time stood still for you, the rest of the world ceasing to exist. 

Until reality broke you again.

Rafe's body tensed suddenly. You heard a muffled sound, like a distant pop, but it took a moment for your mind to register what had happened. His grip on you loosened, and he staggered, his breath hitching in pain.

No, no, no, no.

"Rafe?” You caught him as he fell to his knees, eyes darting around, searching for the source of the shot. Your eyes nearly popped out of your head as you watched a showdown between the so-called human traffickers and the fucking police. This had to be a fucking nightmare, no way, were you getting caught in a crossfire. 

Rafe clutched his side, blood seeping through his fingers, staining his white shirt. His face was scarily pale, and he struggled to stay upright.

"You need to...get out of here," he managed to say, his voice strained, “Right now.”

“I’m not leaving you, you fuckin—Shit, Rafe. Fuck!” You looked around frantically, your heart pounding in your chest. The island, which had seemed like a safe haven moments ago, now felt like a trap. "Can you walk?" you asked, trying to keep the panic from your voice.

“Does it look like I can walk, pretty Maybank?”

A sob broke through you, “Don’t try to be fucking funny, you got shot!”

“Baby, you—“ he coughed, blood seeping through his teeth, "You gotta go home.”

"Stop talking!" you repeated, your voice trembling with desperation. You looked around again, trying to find a way out, a way to save him, anything. But the chaos around you was overwhelming. The police and the traffickers were engaged in a fierce shootout, bullets whizzing through the air, ricocheting off metal, and splintering wood.

Rafe's hand tightened weakly around yours.

"Listen to me," he said, his voice just a whisper. "You have to...Go gome."

Tears streamed down your face as you shook your head. "I can't leave you here."

You knew you had to move, had to find help, but leaving him there felt like tearing your heart out. As you turned to peek around one final time, you heard a shout from behind you. "Freeze!" a police officer yelled, his gun trained on you.

You stopped, your hands raised, your mind racing. "Please, help him," you begged, pointing to Rafe. "He's been shot."

The officer's eyes flicked to Rafe, then back to you. "We need to secure the area first," he said, his tone firm but not unkind.

"Please," you repeated, your voice breaking. "He's dying."

The officer hesitated, then spoke into his radio. "Officer down, need medical assistance immediately."

Another officer approached, his gun drawn, and you saw his gaze soften as he took in Rafe's condition. "We'll get him help," he assured you, "but we need to get you out of here safely."

“I’m not leaving without him,” You made the mistake to glance back one last time, your heart breaking as you saw Rafe's eyes close, his body slumping against the ground, “No, no, no! Keep your eyes open, I swear to god—” Your hands trembled as you tried to staunch the flow of blood with your already stained clothing, "Stay with me," you pleaded, your voice cracking. 

His eyes fluttered open briefly, a weak smile touching his lips.

"You... have to... go," he whispered, his breath coming in shallow gasps, "Go."

Before you could respond, you felt strong hands grip your shoulders, pulling you back. "We need to get you to safety," one of the officers said firmly, trying to drag you away from Rafe.

"No! Let me go! I can't leave him!" you screamed, fighting against their hold.

"Ma'am, we need to get you out of the line of fire," the officer insisted, his grip tightening as he pulled you to your feet.

Through your tears, you saw more officers surrounding Rafe, their voices urgent as they called for medical assistance. You watched helplessly as they began to administer first aid, their movements efficient but hurried. As the officers dragged you away against your will, your eyes never left Rafe. 

You struggled against their hold, but their grip was unyielding. "Please, don't let him die," you sobbed, your voice breaking with despair.

"We're doing everything we can," one of the officers reassured you, guiding you towards the edge of the deck where a police boat was waiting.

You stumbled, your legs weak with fear and exhaustion, but the officers held you steady. As you were helped onto the police boat, you turned back one last time, your heart breaking at the sight of Rafe lying on the deck, surrounded by officers and paramedics. You clutched the railing, your knuckles white, as the boat pulled away from the ship, the distance between you and Rafe growing with each passing second.

The journey back to shore was a blur of sirens, flashing lights, and the distant sound of helicopter blades cutting through the air. The police officers tried to reassure you, but their words were lost in the whirlwind of your thoughts.

When the boat finally docked, you were met by a flurry of activity. Paramedics rushed forward, checking you for injuries, while police officers asked you questions about what had happened. You answered them mechanically, your mind still focused on Rafe, praying that he would survive. Hours seemed to pass in a haze of questions, medical checks, and statements. You told them everything. Finally, you were allowed to sit down, your body heavy with exhaustion. A police officer approached you, his expression kind but serious.

"Rafe Cameron is being taken to the hospital," he said gently. "He's in critical condition, but the paramedics are doing everything they can."

You nodded numbly, the weight of his words pressing down on you. "Can I see him?"

“’No visitors will be allowed, kid. We checked your backgrounds. If he survives, he’ll be taken into custody, his father is Ward Cameron, the feds are going to need him.”

You nearly threw up at how easily he said, “if he survives”. There couldn’t be no fucking ifs, he wasn’t dying. Not like this. Not after everything. 

Your knees buckled, and you had to sit down, the reality of the situation pressing down on you like a ton of bricks. The officer helped you to a bench, his face sympathetic but firm. “I understand this is hard, but we need to follow protocol. He’s a key witness and suspect in multiple ongoing investigations.”

You nodded, your mind barely processing his words. The world felt distant, and surreal. “Can I at least know which hospital?”

The officer hesitated for a moment, then relented. “St. Michael’s. But you won’t be allowed to call until we clear things with the authorities.”

“Call? I want to visit.”

He sighed, taking a seat next to you, “Kid. I’m really sorry, but you won’t be here. You’re a kidnapping victim and there’s a direct order to take you back home, you’ve been reported missing for over a month now.”

Your mind reeled, struggling to process the officer's words. Missing? For over a month? It felt like a lifetime and no time at all had passed since you'd been caught up in this nightmare.

"I can't leave him," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Not like this."

The officer's expression softened. "I understand, but this is out of my hands. We need to get you back to your family. They'll be worried sick."

What family?

You wanted to shout in his face. JJ was still missing for all you knew and Luke hadn't stepped foot home in months. You felt a surge of helplessness.

“I can't just leave him."

The officer looked taken aback but remained resolute. "We're going to get you home safely. You'll be able to follow up on Rafe's condition, but right now, you need to come with us."

The officer stood up, motioning for you to follow. Reluctantly, you got to your feet, every step feeling like a betrayal to Rafe.

As you were led out of the police station and into a waiting car, your mind raced with thoughts of him , lying in a hospital bed, fighting for his life, by himself. You couldn't bear the thought of him waking up alone, without knowing that you were there for him.

If he ever woke up.

[jji-lee]

dreamies if they weren’t idols ~*

this is all imaginary stuff from my imagination , i went by some of the things they're mentioned irl but idk i kinda let my imagination run wild LMAO , requested here !

mark , by the age of 31 he's a children's book author with a happy family

being artistic in that way is just something that comes natural to mark. i specifically think he'd write children's books or those adventure novels cause his imagination is just so grand, he has so much material to just write hundreds of pages of whatever he's imagining. considering his age and religion as well i truly think he'd at least be married at this point, kids being a big thing he's planning on soon! his lockscreen is a pic of his partner and kid, he's so full of love in the life he's living. ~* didn't finish college but majored in english , living in canada

renjun , by the age of 30 he's a small business owner who is actively dating

i genuinely think renjun would own like a little art business selling art supplies and little pieces he's created. Whether it's clay, paint, or markers renjun is good at using and selling them. I think romantically he'd do a lot of dating I don't know why by I feel like men or woman he's likes the feeling of getting some loving, he'd settle down eventually but he likes to date all different types of people before landing on the one. renjun's life is full of color and that gives him peace. ~* got a masters in art for fun , living in china

jeno , by the age of 30 he's working on cars and thinking about marriage

anything that has to do with cars, whether it's auto repair, design, engineering he's just into cars. i feel like he'd enjoy learning all about cars so that he's able to work with them in every way. he's the guy they always call at the auto shop because he knows everything. lets be real... jeno is hot as fuck and there's no way he'd be single by 30. I think he's the type to wait for a deepened bond in order to consider marriage and by 30 i think he'll finally feel ready to give it his all. loves his girl and his cars and nothing makes him happier than when they're together. is the type to let his partner decorate their passenger side. ~* did trade school for auto engineering , living in korea

haechan , by 30 is a pretty house husband with kids

idc. haechan loves kids and he wants to get on that asap. it took him a while to find the one (i think he's super picky) but when he found them that was it for him. he'd find any possible way to get as many kids as he can in a short period of time, but because of his partner he stopped at 3 kids LMAO. i think he'd be content with the feeling of being a caregiver and he gives sugar baby vibes srry. but he always has dinner ready, the house cleaned, and the babies showered. he loves that he gets to show his love for his partner in that way and at the same time have free time i follow any hobby he chooses. is the designated parent to sing the lullabies ofc. ~* didn't finish college cause he had a kid , was majoring in music theory , living in korea

jaemin , by 30 he's dr. na the cat dad

i think that jaemin is super flirty and romantic but i don't think he's seriously considering a family yet. he's taken a lot of his youth studying for his career so he's built more bonds as friendships instead of romantic ones. he's literally dr. dreamy and all the nurses are in love with him, but he's more than happy going home to his baby kitties. he does have close friends though that keep an eye on him because he's the type to really get into his work and just lose himself and go MIA. it's a hard life but jaemin is content with the fruits of his labor. ~* got a medical degree and did his residency to be a surgeon , living in korea

chenle , by 29 he's a sports media manager in love with the game (ifykwim)

i think chenle loves basketball but going pro didn't really work out with him, so i feel like he'd turn to media management, loving the idea of being with the team and campaigning for his favorite team. he's bossy and he runs the place so the players take him seriously, maybe even sometimes more than their coach. romantically i genuinely think chenle is a little shit. everyone wants him (insane face card) but he likes the game, being with one or the another to have some fun, but by 29 i don't think he's looking to fully commit. ~* double majored in communications and management , lives in the states maybe somewhere hot

jisung, by 28 he's on his way to the moon !

he's finally gotten his astronaut certification and he's so ready to get to work. he literally cried every year studying late nights and training for his job but when he puts on his suit it is so worth it. he definitely needed a push to get through the 10 years of becoming an astronaut and he got that push from his very special partner. he met them at the start of college and it has just been a sweet romance since. every time he wanted to give up they were there to remind him everything he worked for. can he bring his partner to the moon to propose? ~* has a masters degree in a random science major and 2 years of an internship , went to d.c to be with NASA, misses his mom but is now known as andy.

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Girl Next Door - XV

A Constantine x FemVampire!Reader (feat John Wick!) fic based on this imagine. all chapters gen. warnings: NSFW, blood, biting, violence divider by animatedglittergraphics-n-more

⚠Trigger warning: MORE graphic violence, beware!⚠

All the angels kneeling to the Northern Lights Feel their hearts they're cold as ice.....  -The Northern Star, Hole

15. a powerful psychic

An immovable grip holds you down under the water, unfathomable strength holding you down. You can’t actually drown–you don’t need to breathe–but something is happening to you. For some reason the world begins to waver and fade. A voice echoes inside your mind, clear and bright as a bell: 

“All I need is a powerful psychic, you little bitch. You’ll do just as well.” 

The thing whose neck you broke–a demon, you reckon–has resurrected as well, its fiery stare boring into you under the water as its hands clasp your face, and its mouth nearing inevitably towards yours. It doesn’t kiss you; it suctions upon you like a fish, and you try to struggle but it’s a losing battle. 

Something passes from it to you. Something horrible, and cold, and you feel it slide down your throat and into your belly like a frozen eel writhing and coiling inside you. You gag, trying to expel it, but to no avail. Inexplicably he and the other set of hands let you go, allowing you to surface. You spit water, retching and gasping, trying to cough up the thing in your belly. But you feel it spreading through you, into your veins, into your womb. 

What the fuck??

That is when Constantine and WIck–and Chas, sans hat, you are so glad to see, burst through the double doors. Constantine’s gaze sweeps from Angela laying prone on the side of the pool to you looking panicked in the water. “What’s wrong?” he asks immediately, striding to offer you a hand out. 

“It’s inside me,” is all you manage to say, before painful convulsions rack your body, and you double over in the water. 

It takes Wick and Constantine both to drag you out, thrashing in their grasp. “Get it out, get it out, get it out,” you hiss, your clawed hands scrambling to render your own flesh, anything to rid you of this seething, growing thing inside your body.

Wick holds your hands, preventing you from hurting yourself. Constantine crouches over you, pressing down on the writhing parasite inside your belly. He says a prayer over you, which only makes it worse, searing pain rocketing through your body. 

“Do something!” Wick snarls. 

“I can’t use holy objects on her or she’ll burn!” Constantine snaps back. 

“Please?” you sob desperately. “Just make it stop?” 

“Baby, I don’t know what to do!” he shouts, at the thing stretching your abdominal skin more than you. How do you exorcize someone who’s already essentially demonic?

That is when the invisible force strikes Wick, knocking him across the room so hard into the cinderblock wall it cracks. There is no time to even react before it seizes Chas, throwing him up into the ceiling, and smashing him down onto the hard concrete floor. Constantine wrenches up his sleeves, joining the occult tattoos upon his arms, fighting the ancient magic itself to bring them together. “Into the light I command thee!”

He gets what he asks for in the form of an angel materializing from the air, pinning him to the hard ground with their bare feet, their magnificent wings spread wide. 

“Gabriel…” he snarls, struggling to breathe with their foot on his neck. “Are you kidding me?”

The angel simply smiles beatifically, their blond ringlets bouncing as Constantine struggles beneath them. “I don’t appreciate you meddling in my plans, John.” 

“Why…the fuck…are you working with Mamon?”

“It’s very simple,” they say sweetly. “You are given this amazing gift as humans. God’s love. And all you do is squander it. I think it’s high time someone reminds you that it should be earned. I am going to give you all a world in which you must be at your best to escape it.”

Constantine just shakes his head at this logic, his eyes wide. It just goes to show how actually unfeeling the powers above are, he thinks. The idea of man suffering is much more important than what all that pain actually entails. Not for the first time, he just feels like a puppet on a string. 

“Gabriel…you’re…such…a bitch.”

Narrowing their eyes, they haul Constantine up by his collar. Throughout the excruciating pain that is pulsing through your body, the fucking Son of the Devil trying to burst through your womb into this plane, you are scared for John. All you can do is reach out with clawed fingers, digging your dagger-like nails into their calf. They glance down at you like you are only so bothersome as a fly, before blowing gently at the demon hunter in their grasp. They breathe out a divine wind that carries him with such force that he knocks through the first set of doors, and lands so hard that he breaks the glass of more in the far room. 

You can see him crumpled in the distance like a broken ragdoll on the ground, and in what you feel is a hopeless gesture you reach out for him. 

He’s not dead. 

You feel the spark of him through your bond, and perhaps with equal parts love and resignation you decide to send what little energy you have left down the line to him. His body is so fragile, compared to yours, and yet somehow, you doubt you are making it out of this alive. 

I love you. 

You see his eyes fly open at that moment, as though he heard you say it aloud. 

You don’t know what he does next, because there is a flash of electric blue light, and suddenly Wick is on Gabriel like an enraged bear. You think that only he would dare take on an angel in hand to hand combat, don Juan’s terrible sword in hand. He gives her hell too, until a shining bronze blade appears in her grip, and you scream as you watch her shove it into his guts and jerk upwards, digging for his heart. 

When she pushes him back into the pool the water blooms poppy red–and he does not resurface. 

No no no no no. 

You are shaking your head, writhing with the pain, pressing on your abdomen as this seething horrible thing inside you is trying to escape. Gabriel stands over you with that Roman spear tip clutched like a dagger, seemingly none the worse for wear, excepting a smear of blood that bisects her face like war paint. 

You are finally beginning to understand Constantine’s animosity for God and His Servants, as you see the indifferent way the Archangel Gabriel looks down upon you. Aren’t they supposed to be The Good Guys™? Aren’t you all supposed to be on the same side?

Not so much, you reckon, as she kneels down beside you, pinning you with a hand on your forehead, winding up to drive The Spear of Destiny into the creature squirming in your womb. 

♰♰♰

What John does, when he manages to drag himself into a sitting position, in no small part because of the energy you lent him, is a last ditch attempt to salvage the situation with the only divine entity he knows is interested in him. 

He slits his wrists with the broken glass, and he waits. 

And he waits. 

Time slows down to a crawl, his lifeblood slowly painting the floor crimson.

The relief he feels when Lucifer appears is a bittersweet balm. 

“John Constantine,” hisses Beelzebub himself, practically vibrating with excitement. “Who knew you would make the same mistake twice?”

John smirks up at him, and Lucifer already knows there must be some catch. 

“That son of yours is a chip off the old block,” says the demon hunter, his body slowly going cold with blood loss. 

“One does what one can.” Lucifer’s forked tongue slips out, licking his lips with anticipation as he looks down at this coveted morsel, already planning what delicious tortures he’ll put Constantine through.

“He’s plotting a little overthrow, with Gabriel in the other room.” This catches The Devil’s attention. His head swivels unnaturally towards the pool, slitted eyes narrowing. 

“What a naughty boy.” He rushes Constantine, just for the pleasure of seeing the tough man flinch. “So what do you want for dropping the dime? An extension?” He looks down hungrily at John’s bleeding wrists like the blood is a fine wine going to waste on the floor. 

The certainty of what John wants settles on him like a weighted blanket. If he can ask anything of a being with such awesome power, what he wants is for something to finally go right. “The girl in there. The vampire. She doesn’t deserve to be damned. She didn’t deserve any of this.” 

“You want her soul to go to Heaven?”

Closing his eyes, John nods. It is the most everlasting gift he can offer you–maybe the only good thing he’s ever done for you, the way he sees it. He wishes it could have been different. He wishes…a lot of things. 

“Who knew? John Constantine learns to love at the eleventh hour…”

John just stares defiantly up at The Beast, the strength of that feeling for you the only warmth left now in his body. It’s the purest thing he’s known in a long time. 

For some reason this brings the Fallen Angel a vicious delight, and he snaps his fingers. 

“Consider it done.” 

He stands to go inspect the frozen tableau at the poolside, time stood still in his terrible presence, Gabriel like a marble statue mid-thrust with the spear pointed at you. What a pretty little thing you are, Satan thinks to himself. How unfortunate, that you got yourself mixed up with a reprobate like John Constantine. 

Ah well. A deal’s a deal…

He tugs on your foot, arranging you just so, ensuring that the trajectory of the spear should pierce right through your undead heart.

♰♰♰

The sound of the bronze blade embedding in concrete is like a meteor strike. The whole building seems to shake, and Gabriel blinks as they look down on you, their aim not having struck true. Did you move? There is only a moment in which your mouth gapes with shock, breath you do not need exiting your body, before you go completely still. The Spear is a holy object, anointed with the blood of Christ–pierced through the heart, a creature such as you cannot stand against it. 

A moment later Gabriel senses the presence of their eternal enemy, their Fallen brother, the most Unclean. Their wings vibrating with fear, they retreat a step, glaring up at him. He is holding his son by the throat, the demon spawn struggling against the impossible strength of his unholy father.

“Lucifer,” Gabriel hisses. “Little Horn. The Wicked Beast.”  

Enjoying these accolades thoroughly, Lucifer shivers with pleasure. “I do enjoy the old names.”

“I will smite thee in my Father’s honor!”

Gabriel makes to strike The Devil–with something so ordinary as a fist. Usually, it is a formidable weapon for the angel–yet inexplicably, her blow cannot connect, blocked by an invisible wall. 

Chuckling with delight, Lucifer lifts his eyebrows at the angel, singsonging, “Looks like somebody’s in trou-ble!”

He delights in knocking her back with a breath of Hellfire, and tosses Mamon back to the fiery pit. “I’ll deal with you later, Spawn.” 

What a triumph this night has been! He practically dances on tiptoes back to John Constantine, a soul he has salivated for oh! so many years. But when he goes to drag the boy off, he hits his own impossible barrier. 

No!

He watches inexplicably as the demon hunter’s soul floats towards Heaven, cleansed by the execution of a selfless act. He should have known! 

The Sacrifice. 

As though in a last act of defiance, Constantine is even so cheeky as to extend Satan a middle fingered salute. 

But if anything, Lucifer is quick on his sometimes-cloven feet. 

“Not so fast,” he seethes, plunging his fists into Constantine’s lungs. “How about a second chance, John? I just know you’ll screw it up eventually.”

He rips the deadly cancer out, leaving John on the brink of death, but somehow, alive.

TBC...

[pervile]

( @ ) PERVILE IS NOW LIVE ! ⭑ 𓂃 wuwa various x afab reader. minors dni. subby wuwa men!!!, p in v, breeding, size difference, pet names, overstimulation, erogenous zones, oral sex (m! receiving), not proof-read

╭ tacet marks have always been a symbol of beauty and strength to you, but to them, they're a weakness under your feathery touch. JIYAN, CALCHARO, XIANGLI YAO.

( @ ) JIYAN

you don't need to see his tacet mark to know where to find it or how it feels under your fingers. it's there, clearly visible to everyone's prying eyes in his uniform outside the bedroom, but to you, it was something to tease him with. something to rile him up whenever the chaos took over his mind.

you couldn't quite describe the feel of jiyan's tacet against your skin―it wasn't rough, nor soft, but had a bit of a viscid consistency to it, like you were being dragged into his touch with no escape. like a supernova sucking everything in its wake.

it only felt like this when he was fucking you in spoon, usually occurring early in the morning; mainly as a way to not miss you throughout his long and exhausting work day.

it was something to hold onto and find sanction in as he sloppily grinded himself into your heat, and sooner or later, you found the mark starting at the top of his nape.

whenever you'd go to press into the edges of the tacet by accident as your body flinched against him, he'd hide his face into the crook of your neck while gripping your hips a smidge bit tighter.

"s-stop....that" he'd breathe out, emitting a deep rumble from his chest that was replaced with the spark of letting loose inside of you. those authoritative words didn't matter if they didn't match his tone.

he couldn't come in you so easily, though. that would be a punishment and not a reward as he plans to fuck you back to sleep, in hopes of finding you in the exact same spot after he comes home again.

that's also unlikely, as you love to make this moment last as long as his work days, sometimes. maybe....some other time, when he catches you off guard.

"stop, what?" you bite your bottom lip to suppress a moan, pushing your nails further into his tacet. a loud groan leaves his lips that transitions into a shaky whimper. his cock twitches inside of you and white paints your walls.

"f-fuck..." his hips twitch in a wonky rhythm, riding out his sudden high.

if all it took was playing with his mark, you'd do this more often. but with how much he was coming inside of you, that might not be an option you'd willingly pick.

"ngh- i-i'm not used to the general using such colourful language." you tease him, lifting some pressure off his nape and gliding the pad of your finger further down on the mark. "it's sexy."

it still felt like he was coming inside of you, spurts of his come filling you up, and you curl back into him, managing to push more of his cock inside of you, snug―something about this position made you feel paramount, even if he was the bigger spoon and even if he was five times larger than you.

jiyan had to have a lot of self-restraint as a general, but he couldn't do that when he worshiped the way your body fit in between his.

( @ ) CALCHARO

it usually starts out as innocent teasing, sitting on his lap as food simmered over the campfire. the smell of roast always brightened your mood when you were around him; you didn't know why, but it felt like home.

however, what was also a necessity to ease the mood was peppering calcharo's face with an abundance of kisses. this usually happens after you playfully insult him for being grumpy-looking all the time, the growing furrow in his brow halting as you did.

but he couldn't help but be sensitive to the area you were giving attention to―the tacet mark across his forehead.

sure...you were sitting on top of his lap, that never usually bothered him because he could carry your weight. but, that, mixed with the back and forth motion of your hips, was doing his head in.

no matter how long you were with calcharo, it was always hard breaking that little “tough guy" façade.

he'd groan in irritation, moving you off his lap and plonking your butt on the stump next to him. he doesn’t say anything the whole time before and after doing this.

he knew what you were doing, sneaky little fox.

you glance up at him with doe eyes; he doesn't even need to look at you to know what sort of expression you were trying to make at him, a hand covering the red on his cheeks.

he was hard, once again, because of your little antics. you could clearly see the dent in his pants that wasn't even trying to hide behind the material of his other clothes.

clear as the night sky.

the only thing calcharo is paying attention to is rubbing his temples as a way to distract and calm himself. it does little to do that, though. he doesn't notice you crawling over in between his legs, gently separating them with his knees.

the contact makes him flinch and look down at you, and he bites his lip.

your cunt throbbed at that expression he tried holding back, and it compelled you to go under his clothes.

"w-what are you doing?!"

he grabs your hair but his body grows weak when he feels the wetness of your tongue seeping through it.

you begin to unzip his pants with nothing but your mouth, rubbing your cheek against his underwear after you do so. there's already a wet patch against him. you then pull them down by the front slightly, and his cock pops loose.

he shivers when you do this, despite the atmosphere around the two of you hot and humid. and the exact same moment you put his tip on your tongue between your lips, was when he subconsciously put his hand on his forehead, grazing his tacet mark.

calcharo forces that moan back into him, caving in on himself and falling forward. when he does this, more of his cock slips into your mouth and it gags you, compelling you to grab ahold of his thighs for support.

he doesn't ejaculate immediately, but a slither of salty precum falls from his urethral and onto your tongue. his cock twitches like crazy in your mouth and you let go of it momentarily before coming back up from under his clothes.

"did you just have a dry orgasm?"

calcharo's covering his face again, and you could only see one of his eyes looking at you. his mouth falls open to say something.

"i-..."

he's stuttering, how adorable.

you then move his clothes away to put your head back down between his thighs. putting his cock back into your mouth, where he finally releases a loud moan and comes from the sudden contact.

another orgasm.

"y-you...drive me insane." calcharo sighs, pulling you up by the shoulders and onto his lap.

you feel his hard length press against your clothed butt, and you swallow thickly when you look at the greedy expression on his face.

"if you tell me to stop, i'm afraid i won't be able to. you asked for this sweetheart."

( @ ) XIANGLI YAO

your wonders have always caught xiangli yao off guard, as if to fluster him. it was never on purpose and only by chance, you just needed answers to the questions you always asked yourself. even if that was in the middle of a nightly mating press, every inch of the room filled with sex and unbridled desire.

however, as you seek out his most sensitive spots, tracing them with the pads of your fingers, he has to slow his thrusts into you―it's actually harder not to come inside you this way, when you're sliding your fingers through his disheveled hair, and catching his tacet mark between your knuckles.

he slowly blinks down at you, mouth agape, and a contorted face of desperation making him look breathtaking.

"what do they mean?"

when you ask him that, he would tell you the romantic definition first, like a recited love poem just for your ears to hear alone.

he'd often compare them to sleeping beauty, musical movements flaking off between their sister notes; he'd tell you that you can't have a stunning orchestra without tacets.

but the real definition was something more dangerous.

they were hideous things to him―one individual can hold such terrifying power without a foresight of consequence, and just one wrong move could cause a resonator's demise.

he often thought about this in the most critical of times, but it was hard not to when most of his life was filled with pain he longed to forget.

then he found your light.

"do they have to mean something?"

is all xiangli yao can come out with, concentrating more on not coming inside you. he says this between sloppy movements, placing his forehead against your chest to look down at where the two of you are connected.

what is holding him back?

you run your fingers through his hair again to distract him, bringing his face up to look at you, and capturing his lips in a heated kiss. his eyebrows form a tight nit as he whimpers against you, and his thighs do this little shake.

there it is.

"good boy." you praise him with a sultry breath.

"ahh... ahhh- ahhh......" he chokes, and after a few seconds of recovering, he leans back, grabbing your hips and driving into you to ride out his overstimulation.

"w-wait?!" you squeal.

he throws his head back as his hips dip in for one last forceful thrust, and jaw grits and mouth swings open again. after he holds you there for a moment, he collapses onto you.

"next time i'm going to tie you up and take away your touching privileges."

[ananke-xiii]

Another thing about the lameness of Apocalypse World being the result of "Mary's choice" is that it gives too much weight to Azazel's deal. That demon spent a lot of energy finding his "special children" and had never even noticed Mary before Dean's interference.

Interference that happened because Castiel made Dean travel through time and told him he had to "stop it" just to show him that it wasn't possible. Of course Cas didn't know, back then, about angels basically acting as and for Chuck by manipulating people, time and events for their own benefit. Still, you have to wonder after "In the beginning" whether Cas actually realizes what he has done.

Whether Mary deals with Azazel or not doesn't matter because of the bloodlines. The only difference is that if she said no an angel would fly in, resurrect John and wipe out their memories. Just like Zachariah and Michael tell Dean in S5.

The whole thing about demon blood as necessary in order to be Lucifer's vessel is just there for effect, I think, because neither Dean nor Adam need to be "primed" to be Michael's true vessel who, apparently, is even more powerful than Lucifer. Or, I don't know, to me that doesn't track at all but I might be missing something. I mean, it kinda shows how Kripke was tired of the "special children" plotline but, yk, the awkward, giant elephant in the room is that the foundation of the show is Sam and demon blood so... they had to justify it in some way, I think. But, again, I might miss something here.

The real importance of Azazel's deal is that it highlights Mary's complete loneliness in the world: in an instant her parent and her fiancé are dead. She deals because she bargains her otherwise horrible present (which is still horrible, tbh) for an unspecified future (which she craves. a lot. we've been told. multiple times that she wants to "escape" her current life). The tragedy is precisely that she doesn't know that she's specifically damning Sam's future in the process.

The real, real tragedy, however, is that she has no choice, whatever she does, SHE will always end up there. Because Mary and John are just "placeholders". The angels are basically just waiting for the demons to do the hard and dirt work while, they think, they just have to manipulate low ranking angels and get Dean's consent. Precisely the two things that fuck them in the end because Castiel rebels and Dean doesn't consent.

The other thing about Azazel's deal is that he doesn't need permission to enter Mary's house, that's just an excuse because of the "red tape". He has to bend the rules of the natural order and, in order to do so, he needs to make a deal. His deals are basically asking people to sign and date a blank sheet which is, obvs, a super manipulation, but, because people accept that, the deals "respect" the rules. It's absolutely unfair considering that this seems to apply only to humans while angels bend even the rules of time as they please with no consequences (well... actually, "what goes around comes around" and they will almost all be wiped out, lol).

The tragedy in the tragedy of the tragedy is that Dean understands that's about the souls. "In the beginning" makes a point of telling us that's not about that but I don't think it's true. Yes, Azazel won't come knocking in ten years with his hellhounds but he's bargaining a soul for a soul. Liddy's husband, if Azazel had managed to deal, wouldn't have died; Charlie's father would have lived; John would have died etc. So, in this episode at least because I don't remember the parents of the other special children tbh, Azazel is exchanging the life or death of 1 parent with the future of 1 of their children. At the end of the day, this is what the deal is about: it's a 1 for 1. This is also why he can't resurrect Mary's parents. Well, because he doesn't care, obviously, but because he doesn't have to: John's resurrection for Sam's future (which Mary has no idea about and neither does Azazel, he's also signing a blank sheet).

And this is so interesting because demons must follow the rules but angels don't because they are SO certain that they will end Time. They think they will put an end to everything and finally have their "paradise". When it doesn't come to pass, when the end doesn't arrive as promised, everybody has to face the consequences of their actions.

[shygirl4991]

Faker

Im going through a hard time this month with my cats health so thought i do a random vent fic enjoy.

Summary: They fake to make it, they both are lonely losers that manage to make the best of it. Sometimes a vent fight helps them find some peace from their trauma. Tag: Trauma bonding, crush hinted, SMG34, the gays are fighting

SMG4 yawns as he gets out of bed, the morning light shines hitting the man in the eyes. He squints as he closes the curtains, for once SMG4 got to bed at a decent time. With a proud smile the guardian leaves his room to get breakfast together, that's when he notices a purple blur pass by his window. He turns and sees a depressed looking SMG3, concerned for his partner he runs to his bedroom to put on his iconic overalls before heading to Three’s coffee n bombs. As he approaches the cafe, he catches SMG3 sitting at a table outside. With a bright smile Four greets the man “Hey three! How is everything going?” Three sighs as he glares at SMG4 “What do you want SMG4?” he spat out making SMG4 take a step back. It was clear as day that Three was not having a good day, he looked around and noticed not a single customer showed up. Frowning, Four nervously points it out “Still not having luck?” Three growls getting up from his seat “WHY DO YOU CARE?” The anger and hatred that came out made Four’s eyes go wide. 

He then lets out a sigh as he keeps talking to Three with a cheerful tone “We are friends Three, of course i would worry. Is there any way I can help you?” Three rolls his eyes walking to his cafe door “Why? To show you're better than me?”  Four shakes his head “No! Come on Three, we make a great team don't we…there is no need to push me away.” Three’s grip on the door handle tightens, every night since the usb garbage incident he has been haunted by an image of SMG4. He grins down at Three calling him pathetic, that he is nothing but a faker acting tough when he is nothing but a softy at heart. His grip lightens as he wonders if that version of Four had a point, shaking his head he pulls the door open. Seeing this Four runs after him, he grabs Three’s hand in concern “Three what is going on with you?”

Three turns smacking Four’s hand away “What's wrong?  Everything I do fails! No matter how hard I try to entertain people, everyone sees my content as cringe. I make the cafe of my dreams and no one comes due to…the owner being unlikable.” Four reaches out to comfort Three only for the other man to walk away from it, Four looks down thinking before giving the man a small smile “You have done successful things, you're super smart and figured out how to out smart so many of the villains we fight! Remember zero, how you pointed out how to save Mario!” Three lets out a bitter laugh “You mean the same monster that killed Terrence, yeah i really got a victory for us there.” 

Four starts to get upset at how the guardian kept brushing aside his attempts to comfort him, Three walks behind the counter looking at Four with annoyance. SMG4 walks up to the counter giving SMG3 a desperate “Let me help you out Three,” that got SMG3 to laugh “Help me? How fake can you be, ah yes help with my trauma as you ignore yours!” Four stare’s confused at his partner, Three places a cup in front of Four “You were an asshole to your best friend on his day, you got a keyboard that almost killed us all. Oh yeah, how about using my past against me to get everyone to come to your fucking Christmas party!” SMG4 stares, mouth agape at SMG3 words, slowly he smacks the table causing the cup to jump slightly “oh yeah? YOU ALMOST SHOT ME BECAUSE YOUR OLD VILLAIN FRIEND TOLD YOU TO!” SMG3 growls climbing the counter to be taller than the other man “YOU ALMOST DROP ME FOR THE PERFECT VIDEO!” Four grabs Three’s leg throwing him to the floor causing the cup to fall, shattering, Four was done playing nice with the man that clearly just wanted to fight “YOU THINK NO ONE CAN TELL BUT WE ALL KNOW YOUR THE FAKE!” Hearing those words angered the man, Three kicked Four’s leg causing him to lose balance and join him on the floor. SMG3 pins the man down growling “FAKE! AT LEAST I DON'T PRETEND IM A NICE PERSON THAT CAN DO NOT WRONG!” 

They both stay silent staring at each other, breathing heavily after all their yelling. Three lets go of Four as his eyes water “And yet…i still think you're my best friend..” Four sits up surprised to hear Three’s words, thinking over the pair’s past he lets out a small chuckle “Guess in the end, we both suck huh?” Three wipes his eyes giving a small smile “At least you can admit you suck, been telling you for years.” Four playfully smacks Three as they both giggle feeling better after their small fight. Three grabs Four’s hand shyly looking off to the side, hiding his blush “I’m frustrated that things don't go my way, I hate being second place…so I took my anger out on you.”  Four smiles and scoots closer to his partner resting his head on the man's shoulder as their fingers intertwine “I forgive you, plus your right…I fake being okay cause it's hard to face all I have done.”  Three hums as he turns looking Four in his eyes “Yeah well…we have our ways to cope just remember im always here for you.” They both smile softly at each other forgetting that the cafe was open, Meggy giggles seeing the sight. Meggy and Tari walk away from the cafe with a big smile “I think it's best if we let those to talk out their feelings Tari.” 

[nukacoola]

I know the Fallout TV show wanted to have a cool bombs dropping moment/scene but in all likelihood the West Coast would’ve had advanced warning before the bombs dropped or they would’ve dropped around 6 am bc on the East Coast they dropped at 9:40 something.

The people at the birthday party in the show are watching the news on tv and listening to it on the radio so it’s not like everyone at the birthday party was just tuned out and they didn’t realize they were getting advanced warning, there was no warning at all even though we know the bombs dropped on the East Coast first. Plus, there’s sirens all over the city that would have gone off even if the ppl weren’t listening to the news. I feel like that’s one inconsistency that the show had with the games that is not talked about as much.

We know that the bombs hit the East Coast first around 9:40 which would have been 5:40 West Coast time so why would they drop during this party which seems to be taking place in the middle of the day or at least late morning and why would the news station and the radio which were both talking about national news not have been warning people about the bombs actively dropping on the other side of the country? It’s a total lore dismissal of the games.

Also Vault Tec received an early warning before the citizens of America knew about the bombs dropping. It’s mentioned in the Vault 111 terminal they got less of a warning than they thought they would but wouldn’t Barbara Howard, one of the higher-ups at Vault Tec, get that warning and be blowing up the phone of the person whose kid’s birthday party it was? There’s a possibility that she didn’t have time but I don’t know, she tried so fucking hard for years to get her family together in a “management” vault. It doesn’t seem like she’d give up right at the last moment. We still don’t know what happened to her or Janey so I guess we’ll see in season 2. 

[inkedaway]

Hot and Cold (Dandadan)

Title: Hot and Cold

Notes: I don't often post fanfiction but man, something about this show grabbed me, so here I go. This is just me having a lot of speculative thoughts about Okarun's Turbo form and me just wanting to put them down on paper. This is a what if scenario - what if it took time for him to calm down instead of returning back to normal immediately?

Pairing: Momo/Okarun romantic undertones, this is fluff

Rating: G

Summary:  But the one thing she did remember from her several few ordeals with him so far in his new form, was the strange attitude shift, and the fact that he curiously, ran cold. Temperature wise. Temperament wise… everything, really, but specifically, to the touch. She clearly recalled the first time she'd gripped his hand, and he'd closed it around hers, and how the surprise had been only just glazing the shallow parts of her brain that oh, he was quite a few degrees colder than he'd been just a few moments ago, and wasn't that interesting? Ao3 link: Here Can also be read under the read more here.

Momo hadn't really realized that she hadn't spent a lot of time observing Okarun's newer form. Every single time he'd used it, she'd had, metaphorically speaking, much bigger fish to fry, and hadn't managed more than the cursory surprise the first time, and just plain acceptance that this was, indeed, just a thing now.

Not once had events slowed down enough for her to actually pause and process what she was seeing, or what he was really doing beyond the surface level. In her defense, it was quite hard to think on her feet, while running away from potentially life and death situations, and also take a moment to appreciate the changes her new friend had gone through. She could not be blamed for it, really, but the one thing she did remember from her several few ordeals with him so far, was the strange attitude shift, and the fact that he curiously, ran cold.

Temperature wise. Temperament wise... everything, really, but specifically, to the touch. She clearly recalled the first time she'd gripped his hand, and he'd closed it around hers, and how the surprise had been only just glazing the shallow parts of her brain that oh, he was quite a few degrees colder than he'd been just a few moments ago, and wasn't that interesting?

Still, like with everything in those situations, it had been swiftly and efficiently shoved to the back part of her brain, in favor of focusing on figuring out how they were both going to get the fuck out of their current situation with at least (most) of their parts still firmly attached.

This wasn't to say she hadn't thought of his form, or the boy in general. She had.

Unfortunately, it had become a common occurrence for her thoughts to stray to him throughout the day. Sometimes, she wouldn't even begin the moment by thinking about him, and then her train of thought would veer right and into a mountain side, as she got entirely distracted by some stray notion, landing back on Okarun.

Despite this, she hadn't really given that form... much thought outside the obvious. Which was, perhaps, why she was so surprised when the door to exit the school roof opened, and rather than the hunched over, geek boy she'd been expecting to join her for lunch, it was the other form that practically dragged itself over.

He looked tired.

But then, he always looked tired like this, and for a moment, she remain quiet as the boy walked over and then, just... allowed himself to flop on the ground near her feet, like a marionette whose strings had been cut, boneless, lifeless, "What happened to you, anyways?" she asked between bites of food as she angled her head to look down at him, "What's with all... this?" she gestured vaguely at him, from head to toe, waving the food she'd been holding on one hand at him.

For a moment, all she got was a grunt, or perhaps a sigh, it was hard to tell like this. His position remain flopped on the ground, both eyes having closed, before one opened and settled on her. Red, unblinking and strangely reminding her of a large cat, "Got mad," this explained absolutely nothing to her, and must have been obvious from the way she stared at him, because he let out a long, soul wrenching sigh as he closed his one eye again, "Can't change. No idea why. Not that it matters."

Granted, he wasn't entirely wrong; most students couldn't see the difference like she could. There was little danger in him being in that form at the current moment in time, "Uh...huh," she said as she ate, "You still mad?"

She got no response this time, just a small flick of a large hand that she interpreted as a vague negative, but otherwise he remain stretched on the floor, near her legs.

It was then the notion came to her; he reminded her of a sunning lion, too lazy to move in the heat of the day, but still dangerous enough that he could spring into action at any given moment, "Cool," another bite of food and soon enough, her sandwich was finished, and Momo scrunched the paper it'd come in within her hands, "So, just a thought but... every time to use your powers, you tend to go back to normal. That likely hasn't changed. Give it a go maybe?"

A whine exited his mouth, or... his mask, without it moving. Heavy, mournful, like she'd just asked him to give up his first born or something equally ridiculous, "I don't wanna move, Momo... I don't wanna do anything, just leave me here."

"For the love of-" Momo rolled her eyes and swiftly decided this just would not do, "Get up. C'mon, up, up, up!" her hand reached out and began to move him, pushing his shoulder several times, to no avail, "If we tire you out, you'll stop this downer bs thing you got going."

Despite her best efforts, the most she got out of him was another small sound, the one eye reopening to fix back on her, "Nooo... what if I need to use those full bursts later? I ain't gonna do that," and, well, he did have a point, not that she wanted to concede that to him. As such she continue shoving on his shoulder, until one of his hands shot out, lightning fast, grabbed her arm, destabilized her, and forced her to crash half on top of him awkwardly.

"Okarun!!" her first reaction was mild panic, swiftly followed by severe annoyance as she hovered over him. He was still looking at her, almost languidly, from that one open eye. And perhaps Momo had misrepresented him; less of a lion, more of an overgrown, lazy dog, flopped over, refusing to move. She lifted a hand, and gave his shoulder one last smack before she righted herself back so she was sitting beside him once more, instead of partially over him. A huff of breath escaped her lips before she looked at him out the corner of an eye, "Were you aware you run cold in this form?"

"Is that why you won't lay down with me, Momo?"

There was zero innuendo in the question, no sort of implication to the words, just curiosity, and perhaps, melancholy there. She turned her head fully to watch him then, "No, you idiot, of course not," rather than actually responding to his question and following that very dangerous train of thought to its inevitable conclusion, instead she frowned down at him, "You're cold, but not uncomfortable. Also, why do you only call me Momo while you're like this, anyways?"

Both his eyes opened then, and strangely enough did a full on blink, "Momo is Momo," as if this were any sort of explanation. When all the response he got out of her was a clearly confused look, he apparently gave up explaining himself and closed his eyes again, "I'm tired..."

"You've literally done nothing today, it's noon, Okarun. You can not be tired," The small huff of sound he made, like an upset, annoyed dog seemed to contradict her, but since he didn't really use his words, Momo let out a sigh and rolled her eyes at him, "You plan on returning to class like that?" another sound, this one sad almost melancholic, like he couldn't be arsed to even begin thinking about class at the current moment, nor any moment in the near future.

Lifting her phone out of her pocket, she looked at the time; there was a bit more than half hour before they'd have to leave, which gave them, hopefully, enough time to fix their current predicament, though Momo guessed it couldn't be that bad. Worst case he'd just flop on his desk and no one would pay him any mind.

Given her previous thoughts, she turned her head and simply watched him for a while, taking note of the way his spiritual energy merged with his hair and his clothes, specifically, making both look almost engulfed in flames. From her own experience when she'd held onto him, neither hair nor clothes were heated whatsoever, though then again, she hadn't really paid it that much mind, what with the killer crab chasing them at the time.

Before she even knew what she was doing, her hand had lifted and reached out towards his hair, curiosity taking her. Her own movement didn't register until he apparently sensed the hand and both eyes opened to settle on it, before they slowly moved to fix on her own, languid and unblinking, but a clear question there, "Oh, sorry, just..." there was zero judgement in his gaze, if anything, a vague curiosity there, "Your hair," his expression did not change, not even an eyebrow twitch, though he did offer her a very slow, once again, almost feline like blink, and given he did absolutely nothing to stop her, she moved her hand in the direction of his hair.

Momo wasn't someone that kept herself from doing or saying the things she wanted to often, and besides, she was more than well aware that had he wanted no contact, she would have never even been able to get close to him. He may have been still at the present moment, but he'd demonstrated twice already that he was more than cognizant of the world around him, "It looks like fire, Okarun. I was wondering why it also runs cold, is all. Do you mind?" her hand had stopped only a few scant inches away from his strands, and she waited for him to make a noncommittal sound before she lowered it into the white mass, sweeping her fingers like they were a brush.

She watched him close his eyes against her ministrations, and once again, the animal like comparison returned in her mind, "C'mere," she said after a few moments, and slowly moved herself and him, fully aware that the only reason she was managing to move him, was because he was allowing it. He remain mostly dead weight but he did nothing more than make a vaguely whine like sound at losing contact with her hand in his hair.

"Momoooooooo..."

She grabbed at his shoulders and he offered no resistance to her when she pulled his head on her lap, "Maybe if you fall asleep, you'll change back," no response other than a small huff, but his eyes didn't close again until one hand returned to sink in his hair, moving carefully through it. It felt, to the touch, much like normal hair would, and if she closed her eyes, and blocked out his looks, she was certain she would not have noticed the difference.

Idly, it made her wonder if she would ever manage to get the boy to lay down like this while not in this form, and would the texture of his hair be any different. She focused her attention on the phone she had clutched in her free hand, and as she petted him, her mind drifted, her thoughts discombobulated while she scrolled through her phone. On instinct, she knew it was still a while before the bell rung and they'd be forced to move anyways.

Her attention only returned back to him when she heard a soft snuffle like sound, her eyes tracking down to see her hand now moving through black, unruly hair, which interestingly enough, did indeed feel the same, the boy having actually managed to fall into a light sleep in place, his form having returned to normal.

Less of a dangerous predator in this form, more of a lap dog, cute and vulnerable, she thought, but her hand did not stop its movement.

She still had five or ten minutes left after all.

[madrone33]

I have been CHILLING this week post-Vengeance saga release! I managed to avoid debilitating stress and anxiety from the onslaught of fan stuff by simply avoiding all social media for the first two days, so it's been good!

However, I am now BACK, dumping my immediate reaction of the saga from a week ago. I thought I was ready. I was not ready. 600 Strike blew my mind. I was left staring blankly at my ceiling. Jorge please rest sometime, I'm begging you. The amount of talent beaming through my screen is exhausting even me.

Also, to every cast member and collaborator and behind the scenes person: y'all are amazing. Like seriously. I hope you all get a yummy drink and a cozy blanket and just. Bask in the satisfaction of a job well done. Hats off to y'all fr.

Anyways! I keysmashed the following at around midnight, 14 hours before the livestream ('cause australia is the superior timezone /j). Be warned there's LOTS of swearing 'cause sleep deprivation + incoherent excitement lol

AHHH IT'S GO TIME

Ok it's starting the same as the Goodspeed festival showed. Tho, the first lead in sound thing reminds me of Lucids.

Gorgeous vocals. Hate Calypso, love Wangui fr

"Let me speak!" She really doesn't care about his feelings huh. I noticed in LIP as well, she always makes it about her, which is absolutely in character.

Those ensemble harmonies tho!!

"... You do?" Girl you literally told him to lie smh

"Why in the world won't you love me too?" 'Cause he has a WIFE

IT'S HERMES TIME

FSA melody? YO??

"Cause I had one goal in mind..." the silence where the crew's chorus would come in is PAINFUL

BAG?? HERMES!!

"Hello old friend!" Grinning so hard rn

"Well it's a little bit ✨dangerous✨" AHHH IT'S HAPPENING

Fingertapping and headbopping to this chorus

"Put your whole braiin in it!" I love how he says that sm

"And lastly the wind bag" NEW STUFF

WINIONS

Wow ok I did not expect the wind bag to show up again. Tho it makes sense; this is probs the storm that Ody told Sirenelope kept blocking the way home

ODY SINGING THE CHORUS!!!!

RUTHLESSNESS MENTION

"Hermes! Thank you" AHHH THE CALLBACK! He sounds so tired and like down to his bones grateful this time 🥺

"I'm not the one who fought for you!" MY EYES WIDENED SO FAR. WE ALMOST GOT AN ATHENA NAMEDROP. I'll settle for the reference to her

Okeee. Charybdis!!

Oooh it's just like in the reference vid. No lyrics for this start part!

The 5/4 is amazing. And the electric guitar!!

God this song is SO BADASS

LETS GOOOO ODY!!!

ahhh I KNEW there'd be some sort of soft KYFC esque "I can't wait to make some new memories" type verse AND I WAS RIGHT

he sees ithaca!! Oh god poseidon's gonna show up isn't he

my heart's beating so fast i'm scared

PENELOPEEE

the ELECTRONIC DISTORTION OH NO IT'S HIM

RIGHT INTO GET IN THE WATER AHHH

"Coward" AHHHH I CAN'T BELIEVE WE'RE FINALY HEARING THIS FOR REAL

"That's when our paths collide!" THE RASP

"Now get in the water" Oh shiiiit here we go

the choir is so eerie

"GET IN THE WATER" THE GROWL

"aren't you tired poseidon" ooh it's this part!!

ha he changed it to ten years instead of eight like the demo had XD

"maybe you can learn to forgive" the line from that one snippet!

"No" oop

"DIE" DAMN that deep echo!!

*underwater sounds* oh shit ody's fucking dying

NO! FUCKING POLITES

EURY

ANTICLEA

FUCK YOU JORGE

THE CREW

WAITING??? EXCUSE ME WTF

AHHHHHH WHY TF DOES JAY LOVE HURTING US SO

HUH? HUH??? WHAT WAS THAT! AND THERE'S A FUCKING AD. Probs good, I need the break but WAHT. I KNEW he'd do another fucking polites reference gods damnit jorge WHEN I CATCH YOU

Ok time to hear 600 strike. Holy shit we're here

ELECTRIC GUITAR LETS GOOO

Aeolus theme. IS HE GONNA OPEN THE WIND BAG AGAIN??

600 MEN MOTIF HOLY SHIT

ANIME SCREAM

HOly shit there's magic sounds happening. I'm really curious about whatever Jorge's cooking up for the animatic in the livestream, 'cause I have no clue what's happening rn 👀

"For every comrade!" FSA melody!

"all those _ who were slaughtered by your hand" hmm I can't quite hear what he's saying there?

wait wait wait he's ACTUALLY using the power of his 600 men!!

"You idiot" damn lol

DIFFERENT BEAST ODY HOLY SHIT

is that a blade sound effect?

WAIT DID HE JUST STAB HIM WITH HIS OWN TRIDENT

HOLY SHIT ODY

HOLY FUCK

POP OFF ODY

OMG "MONSTER" AND THEN "RUTHLESSNESS"

BRO HE'S BEGGING??

*trident drops* hot damn ody

"Next to my wife." OHHHHHHH MIC DROP

Holy FUCK that was crazy

I'm gonna listen to it again.

Ok but holy shit Odysseus literally just tortured a god until he gave in?? Daym ody

Tho I like how he tries using open arms first, and then ruthlessness. He's kinda found a balance? I say kinda, 'cause he went hard on the ruthlessness, but since he sincerely tried to ask Poseidon to just drop the whole thing already, his later actions in 600 Strike feel more warranted.

I honestly don't know how Jorge keeps doing it. He just keeps topping himself! Like! Thunder Bringer? And then God Games?? And now Six Hundred Strike??? They just keep getting better! Banger after banger, like!! How.

Wait I just wanna. Sit with it. Imma lie down and stare at the ceiling for a bit, aight?

... I am shooketh.

But BRO THAT WAS INSANE! ODY FUCKED HIM UPPP

AMAZING BRAVO EXTRODINARY INCREDIBLE SHOWSTOPPING GORGEOUS WONDERFUL HOW DARE YOU

[cyb3r-st4rz]

I love yapping about Alpha and Pebble being a little bit toxic for fun but I created a relationship analysis on accident while yelling at a friend about them (said friend has no fucking clue who I was talking about) so anyway, have 500 words of me rambling about Alpha and Pebble and why they are the way that they are:

edit: tagging @wrathofrats because they are like one of the biggest reasons I went down this rabbit hole

Alpha looks down on most of his packmates but not out of malice. He has a certain natural authority, being one of the oldest ghouls still topside. His mind works on the concept of strength and dominance. He’s not entirely just mean to his packmates, he simply sees his natural authority as something that elevates him. Again there is no bad intention whatsoever, he loves his pack more than anything. That arguably makes his “superiority” even more prominent. He has to watch out for them. When he was summoned the ghouls were treated like shit. Much like back in the pits, they had to fight for their right to exist everyday. Proving their value to the clergy over and over again because if they weren’t useful, what was stopping them from sending them back? Alpha loved Secondo but subconsciously never forgave him for letting his pack be ripped to shreds over and over again. Logically he knew Secondo tried, it cost him not only his status as papa but eventually his life. 

Maybe knowing all that explains Alpha and Pebbles relationship.

When Pebble was summoned he looked haggard and frail, not unlike any previously summoned ghouls but something was different. Alpha didn’t quite understand why but he felt the natural impulse to take a stand between the vulnerable earth ghoul and the members of the ministry present. He wouldn’t let them get close, he couldn’t let them hurt him. Eventually Omega managed to take Pebble to the infirmary. Still, Alpha wouldn’t leave his side, growling at siblings and only letting Omega get close enough to provide the needed care.

Pebble was recovering quickly but he stayed rather small. Earth wasn’t around anymore to assess his magical capabilities and the infirmary was too far from any form of nature for Pebble to make it known. So to Alpha that meant he needed to teach the ghoul how to stand his ground against the clergy. If he couldn't defend himself with his fists or his element he should at least have his words. After a few weeks of Alpha essentially bullying the poor ghoul, he started to shoot back. He unknowingly created a monster, as Omega liked to say. 

That's how their complicated relationship started. Alpha giving him shit to try and help him survive in the long run but Pebble not really needing that because, as it turns out Pebble was strong and confident in his magic, quickly proving to be one of the strongest earth ghouls the abbey had ever seen. 

Long after the last ghoul was banished, Alpha still had a hard time letting go of his past compulsions. It got easier over time. Seeing the pack he loved so much develop without the fear and apprehension he had grown used to. Despite everything, his tough-love-act almost turned into a coping mechanism. A pattern he’d fall back into every now and then. The only ghouls who’d put up with him then were Omega, who would just talk him out of it with his therapy bullshit, and Pebble. Pebble, who knows how to handle it, who knows that Alpha loved him not despite but because of the way he’d act and Pebble who understood.

[anaalnathrakhs]

WHY ARE SLEEP AND FOOD NECESSARY I WANT TO BE A WALKING TALKING RUBE GOLDBERG MACHINE

[forcebookish]

had to stop taking the new adhd medication but the good news is i can drink coffee and iced tea again