#he should have been vice pope or something

[pinkmoonmp3]

stanley tucci via instagram

[vainvenus]

⌲;꒰ Drunk words are just sober thoughts. ꒱

Pairing :: JJ Maybanks x Fem!Reader

Synopsis :: You and JJ are best friends. Nothing more, nothing less. At least, that's what you thought.

Includings :: CW for EMETOPHOBIA (puking and talk/mention of it), best friends to lovers, mutual pinning, jealous!JJ, drinking, almost violence, pogue!reader, drunken confessions, hangovers, mostly fluff, kisses.

An :: Finally got into Outerbanks so I'm obvi taking requests!

You and JJ had been best friends for as long as anybody could remember despite how the two of you were kind of opposites.

JJ was a wild card, there was no telling what he would do in any given moment. He was rambunctious and impulsive. It seemed that no matter where he went trouble liked to follow.

You were the perfect balance to that, you were careful and logical. If there ever was an issue you were quick to think of a way to get him out of trouble or to at least keep him out of it as long as you could.

The two of you were a perfect duo, balancing the other one out. And you weren't total opposites all the time. You sometimes gave in to his stupid ideas and he sometimes followed your advice when brewing up a particularly horrible idea.

The two of you were also the most well known duo in the OBX. You were almost always together. Wherever one of you were, the other one couldn't be too far away.

So everybody was a little, if not a lot confused when JJ arrived at the Boneyard for another party that John B was hosting and you weren't at his side or on his back.

Pope's brows furrowed as the blonde grabbed a beer from one of the coolers, popping it open as he took a seat next to him. "Where's [Y/n]? I thought she'd be trailing behind you as soon as you got here or vice versa."

"She had to take somebody's shift." He replied, his tone having a bit of bitterness to it before he took a couple of sips from the bottle.

"And why do you seemed more pissed than you should be about it?"

"It's with Chris."

Pope nodded, it seemed that almost everyone was aware of JJ's true feelings towards you except for you. It was ironic and honestly funny if it didn't seem to cause JJ so much distress.

"Chris again, huh?" And JJ had rolled his eyes, setting the now empty bottle aside. "Yeah, Chris again. It's like witchcraft how they always work the same shifts. Even surprise ones."

Pope shrugged his shoulders as he watched the boy grab another drink. "She's probably not into him man, I wouldn't stress it. And if she was, don't you think she would say something about now?"

JJ only shrugged as he downed the second bottle of beer.

When you finally did arrive to the party you had Chris attached at your hip and JJ was on his fifth bottle of beer. A mixture of events that was bound to end in disaster.

JJ's nose scrunched up as he looked at you and Chris exiting from your car, his lips turning into a scowl as he watched the ginger rush around the car to help you out from the driver's side.

"Great. She brought him with, he should know he's not wanted here." JJ murmured to Pope and John B who were trying to coax him out of grabbing another drink. Pope muttered. "Everyone's allowed to be here technically..."

JJ rolled his eyes again as Kie made her way over to the two. Kie grabbed a water bottle that was deep down in the cooler, buried under a couple of beers. She twisted the cap and looked over to the blonde. "What's wrong with him?"

"His girl came here with her coworker and now he's all jealous." John B said and JJ narrowed his eyes at him. "Not my girl." He muttered which caused the group to roll their eyes.

"Well you better fix your face because here they come."

JJ almost crushed the can in his hand as he saw you walking over with Chris, holding on to his arm as you brought him over to your four friends. And you were giggling, just what could be so damn funny?

"Look who finally decided to join us and with a plus one." John B hummed, holding out a bottle/can of [f/drink]. You smiled, humming out a 'thank you'.

"Oh right, this is Chris. Chris this is John B, Kie, Pope and JJ!" You introduced with a wide smile on your face, trying to ignore how JJ seemed to to be glaring into Chris's soul.

If looks could kill the ginger would be six feet under.

Nonetheless Chris gave a smile as he waved to everybody. "It's nice to finally put a face to all these stories [Y/n] tells. Especially you, she talks about you the most." He said, gesturing to JJ.

"Oh really?" JJ hummed, a smile on his face that seemed to mock the one that Chris had. "Good things, I hope."

"If having a killer right hook is a good thing, totally." The ginger chuckled and JJ got up and nodded his head with a small chuckle. "Yeah. That's me. You wanna see it in action?"

Chris's brows furrowed and before he could fully understand the question you had grabbed JJ's right hand which was balled in a fist and gave a strained smile to the boy.

"I'm gonna take JJ home, he's had a bit too much to drink tonight. He doesn't think straight and ends up making extremely dumb choices." Your tone grew harsh at the last two words, sending a glare to JJ as your grip tightened around the his wrist.

Chris nodded, brows furrowing a bit. "Oh, okay! Are you coming back?"

"Probably not..unless you need a ride back home?" You offered.

"No, it's fine. Stay safe and uh..it was really nice meeting you JJ!"

"A pleasure." The blonde hissed as you dragged him away to your car.

You opened the car door, pushing him into the car's passenger side as you reached over his chest to put on his seatbelt which he mumbled something under his breath about them being stupid.

You ignored his mumbling, sitting in the driver's side as you drove away from the Boneyard. You took your time, not wanting to drive fast and upset the boy's stomach but just in case you kept the window down.

"I don't like Chris."

JJ finally spoke after the entire ride of silence until you pulled up to your home and helped him get out of your car. You were lucky your parents had been out for the night so JJ could stay over just until he was sober and his soon to be hangover hit.

"And why is that? He hasn't done anything to you." You retorted as you helped him up the stairs, walking as slow as possible since he almost fell face first when you attempted to rush up them.

He was about to argue as he leaned against the banister but his breath was coming out in short huffs and he was holding his stomach. Your eyes widened as you rushed him to the bathroom.

You quickly flipped on the light he rushed to hang his head over the toilet bowl.

You grabbed the few strands of his sunkissed blonde locks, holding his hair back as he emptied most of what he had drank out into the toilet.

You would have cringed, wanting to puke yourself but since this wasn't first time you had taken care of JJ when he got drunk like this you had basically grown use to it.

You patted his back with your free hand as his head leaned back over the toilet to throw up again. "Mhm... there you go." You hummed.

When it seemed that he was finally finished you wiped his mouth with a warm face towel and got him a pair of clothes to change into, one of the many pairs he kept at your house since you insisted it would come in handy.

And per usual, you were right.

He had changed into a random graphic tee and a pair of sweatpants, tucked into your sheets with your soft covers thrown over him and the fan on it's highest setting since he complained about his skin burning.

You left, shortly coming back with a bucket next to the foot of the bed just in case he had anymore to puke out in the middle of the night.

You left the room again to grab him a cup of water and aspirin. JJ mumbled something incoherently as you handed him the aspirin and he quickly swallowed them then downed them with the water.

He pulled the cup away from his lips but you shot him a glare.

"The whole thing, JJ." He groaned again and reluctantly drank the rest. He set the empty cup by the counter, getting back comfy under the the covers.

"I hate him, y'know."

"Who?"

"Chris."

"Oh we're back to this." You hummed, moving a few strands of his hair from his face and he nodded as he leaned into your touch.

"Why don't you like him? Tonight was the first night you even met him." You questioned with a small frown and JJ didn't seem to care as he huffed.

"Don't care. He's trying to take you away from me. Did you see his hands all over you?"

"It's time to go to bed now." You said, ignoring his complaint. You could talk about this when he was in a much better headspace. As you tried to pull your hand away from his hair but he grabbed your wrist in attempts to keep you there.

"Wait! Please don't go.."

"I'll just be downstairs on the couch like any other night." You reassured, confused at his sudden clinginess. He shook his head again.

"Please. I don't wanna be alone right now. I..I love you. That's why I really hate Chris or any guy you talk about honestly." He continued.

"Jealousy is so gross, wish there was some sort of medicine for it..." Word vomit. Much more easier to stomach than actual vomit but you new it was just him drunkenly rambling although this was the first he confessed he loved you.

"JJ. You're drunk. You don't love me, you're just saying whatever right now. We'll talk about this in the morning, if you even remember." You pulled your hand from his, putting the covers back over his body.

"When I'm sober and say it, will you believe it?"

"Mhm. Sure. See you in the morning." You muttered, obviously not paying attention to anything else that was leaving his lips as you left your room.

|★|

JJ groaned as he woke up, rubbing his head before he ran his fingers through his hair to get the stands out of his face. His head was pounding as his eyes squinted from the sun peaking through the blinds.

The smell of something cooking filled his nostrils as he scratched the back of his head and tried to remember the events of last night.

Then everything hit him like a freight train as he sprinted to the kitchen.

He saw you standing in front of the oven and making pancakes, his favorite hangover remedy food. You looked over your shoulder and smiled.

"Well good morning, sleeping beauty! Asprin's on the table. You can take them after-"

"I love you."

There was a moment of silence as he got closer to you and he spoke a little louder.

"I love you, [Y/n]. I meant it last night and I really mean it now." He restated, only putting a few inches of space between the two of you.

"So you were serious?" You asked and he nodded his head so fast you were sure it could've fallen off.

"Yes! C'mon! You said you would believe when I'm sober! Do you not feel the same? Because if you don't I'd like for you to save me the em-"

You grabbed him by his shirt, pulling him closer to you as you pressed your lips against his and his eyes widened in slight surprise before he leaned into the kiss to reciprocate it. You smiled against his lips before pulling away.

"I love you too JJ." You placed another kiss on his cheek before muttering; "Now go take a shower, you smell like fucking a morgue."

"Yes, ma'am." He chirped, giving you a two finger salute as he walked back up the stairs towards the bathroom.

[nervoushottee]

IMPORTANT: This blog is 18+ MDNI!! If you don’t have age on your blog then I will block it.

*Inbox and messages are always open!*

Better to view in dark mode

Ao3

Joel Miller

Series:

Flaws and All: You and Joel get caught in a blizzard while traveling. Cooped up in a cabin that is a bit of a fixer upper, the two of you learn how to grow with one another. In the process of waiting out the blizzard, you both have no choice but to accept each other, flaws and all. And maybe, just maybe find more in each other than just a travel partner. Will be Explicit in future chapters

A Solemn Promise: Joel thought he had lost it all. That the cruel bitter world had taken away his heart and soul piece by piece until there was nothing left. Everything he cared so deeply for gone. Turning him into a complicated man with a complicated heart. But when he has to travel across the country with a young girl and his girlfriend that he thought was dead. Maybe, just maybe his broken heart and soul can mend.

Oneshot

A Shot of Whiskey: (Explicit) You didn't think Joel would take you up on your offer. But here you were getting fucked in the bathroom stall of the bar.

Lucien Flores

Oneshot:

Kill the Lights: (Explicit) Lucien Flores is your older brother's bestfriend and to you he was always off limits and vice versa. Until one night that changes... (insipred by the song "De Selby part 2 by Hozier")

Triple Frontier

Frankie "Catfish" Morales

Series:

Good Trouble: You and the Miller brothers have known each other since childhood. But the years go by and time moves on and the three of you are grown up. But what happens when they come home to visit and the two friends they bring along with them catch your eye?? (Frankie/Santiago/Reader)

Santiago "Pope" Garcia

Series:

Good Trouble: You and the Miller brothers have known each other since childhood. But the years go by and time moves on and the three of you are grown up. But what happens when they come home to visit and the two friends they bring along with them catch your eye?? (Frankie/Santiago/Reader)

Stranger Things

Steve Harrington

Series:

The Summer Before: (Discontinued) You and the gang decide to take a trip together before you all go your separate ways after summer is over. You’re excited for a reset away from Hawkins. Away from your problems and responsibilities. But one of the problems that you can’t seem to find the answer to went with you and it’s Steve Harrington. Conversations about old times and second chances wasn’t something you really planned on doing but here you are.  The days will be light and warm. Trips to the lake and burgers on the grill. The nights will feel long filled with laughter, beers, unwanted truths and tattoos you won’t remember getting the next day. Secrets will be spilled and tears will be shed.  A last hooray at the end of the summer while everyone was still together.  This should be fun. Right?

Oneshot:

Take Care: Steve wakes up from a nightmare that scares him a lot more than usual. The two of you frantically decide in the middle of night to get out of Hawkins. Even if it’s just for a little while.

Go For It: Steve has been your “movie guy” at Family Video for a while now. Little does he know that the main reason you’ve been buying these movies is to flirt with him and just maybe ask him out…

Illicit Affairs: You wish you were enough for Steve, but he will always want Nancy. (inspired by "Illicit Affairs by Taylor Swift")

My pretty girl: (Explicit) you can’t help but beg for more of steve

Eddie Munson

Oneshot:

• never like this: your house never feels like home, but Eddie does.

Steddie

Oneshot:

This or That: (Explicit) You can't seem to figure out what you like better between Steve and Eddie.

MISCELLANEOUS

Series

Folklore: In which nervoushottee creates a series of fanfics insipred by the songs from Folklore by Taylor Swift

Oneshot

Paul Atreides

With Want: (Explicit) Paul Atreides always had dreams. But from the very beginning, there was an invisible string pulling him to you.

COD MW11

Captain John Price:

More: (Explicit) You’re stressed out of your mind and John knows exactly what you need to relax

141:

Just thinking about you doing the “Sorry, I’m not into short guys” Tiktok trend with The 141 boys

House of the Dragon

Alicent Hightower

Series:

Queen Alicent’s Maid: In which Alicent gets a maid after becoming the new Queen of the Seven Kingdoms…

Daryl Dixon

Oneshot:

It Happened Quiet: What you and Daryl have is a soft quiet love

Night Shift: You keep Daryl company during a night watch

Masterlist header and dividers by @saradika

[ingek73]

Interview

Michael Moore on how Harris-Walz can defeat Trump: ‘Do weird and cringe until the debate, then nail him’

Edward Helmore

Progressive film-maker says he’s more optimistic than he’s ever been since Trump announced first run eight years ago

Thu 15 Aug 2024 11.00 BST

With Joe Biden looking for re-election Democrats feared they were looking at an electoral catastrophe. Now, with Biden dropping out and Vice-President Kamala Harris at the top of the ticket, it suddenly feels like it is Donald Trump who is staring at possible defeat.

The liberal film-maker and Democratic whisperer Michael Moore says he’s more optimistic than he has ever been since Trump stepped on to the escalator in Trump Tower to announce his first run for the presidency eight years ago.

“This isn’t just a sugar-high or what [recovering] heroin addicts call a pink cloud,” Moore says. “It was so depressing for so many weeks and then it was instantly not depressing. I am hopeful now but it’s ours to blow – and we have a history of blowing it.”

Moore, 70, has in recent years become something of an electoral sage. He predicted Donald Trump’s victory in 2016, in part because of the sense of political-cultural superiority Democrats emanated and because he had noticed that the campaign was fearful of inspiring Maga supporters. He predicted, too, that Democrats would buck the trend and be fine in the 2022 midterms.

In this election cycle he is in some ways in line with the pollster Nate Silver, who recently said that “the strategy of the Harris campaign should be to triangulate the strategy of Hillary 2016, the Harris 2020 primary campaign, and Biden 2024, and do the exact opposite.”

But Moore says he understands why Democrats are nervous that the Harris-Walz ticket could come apart, though it shows no current signs of doing so, particularly if Harris gets tarred with Biden’s unpopular “Bidenomics” or responsibility for his full-throated support of Israel’s war in Gaza.

“Biden, sadly, is going to be remembered for funding the war in Gaza and providing the armaments to Netanyahu, not arms for protecting Israel, but extra money to kill Palestinian civilians,” Moore says. He remains “saddened and surprised” that Biden, who had refused to meet Netanyahu last September, flew to Tel Aviv after the 7 October Hamas cross-border attack and hugged him.

“You can say what’s in a hug?” he says. “But ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce Neville Chamberlain to you. It doesn’t take much for history to see that in the moment you needed to display courage you did the opposite.”

But he’s cautiously optimistic that Harris is signaling a change of direction. She did not pick as expected the Pennsylvania governor, Josh Shapiro, who had harshly called out student protesters against the war in Gaza and settled a former employee’s claim that she was sexually harassed by a senior aide.

Harris, he applauds, went against the conventional wisdom, upending the predictions of many TV pundits, and chose “this guy from the midwest, a football coach who had offered to be adviser to the gay student group. It’s pretty stunning.”

And while as vice-president Harris has no power to speak against Biden on Israel, Harris has made her feelings plain. She declined to sit in on Netanyahu’s address to Congress, which echoed Pope Urban II’s 1095 call for the first crusade, instead traveling to a Zeta Phi Beta sorority meeting in Indianapolis.

“Couldn’t they have made up something that sounded important with foreign policy attached to it? No, She’s busy at a sorority meeting … and she refused the traditional diplomatic “grip-and-grin” after meeting with Netanyahu. It was very public.”

The first days of the Harris-Walz ticket have shown precisely the change of direction that Moore has argued for. The ominous but complicated “threat to democracy” anti-Trump platform has been dropped for “threat to freedom”. Trump’s folk story confabulations resist fact-checking, so that’s been refined to a kind of medieval textual charm, “weird”.

Jibes over JD Vance’s “couch capers” and eyeliner discussions work in much the same way. What Harris-Walz are doing is much as Moore advocated when he offered the Clinton campaign “satirical support” to come up with lines that would get under Trump’s thin skin, especially in a televised debate.

“I think I’m going to see what I was hoping for for eight years,” he says. “Once anybody gets under that thin skin anything can happen. On live TV? Trump could explode, start talking like a 12-year-old, though no offense to 12-year-olds, or get up and leave.”

But didn’t Democrats bet on the Biden-Trump debate being a success? And the Trump prosecution in New York? The Republican candidate’s polling and fundraising went up after both.

“It’s a holding pattern until she gets on that stage with him. I understand why people are nervous it might be a sugar high but Harris and Walz are people of substance. They’re being slow and cautious enough to get it together. It’s just been a couple of weeks. They are going to have to tell us what they’re going to do and hopefully come up with the right thing. And there will be mistakes.”

As the Harris-Walz campaign “humanize” the ticket it is clear that the November election represents, on the Democratic side, a generational shift.

“I’m so happy to hear Gen Z and X are over half the vote because it’s called facts and data,” Moore says, pointing out that the number of boomers over 65 who have died since 2016 is exceeded by Gen Z and millennials who have become eligible to vote. “How many of them do you think are going around in hats saying Make America Great Again”? They’ve never known it to be “great”, let alone “again”.

“It’s not just a cultural shift – it’s a generational shift. The boomers may not be the No 1 voters in this election. And that’s why Gaza is so important. Young people hate war and they’re totally against Biden and his support of the war.” Harris, he says, needs to tap into “affordable housing, student debt, peace and the dying planet”.

His prescription? “Do weird and cringe until the debate and then nail him,” Moore said. “But nail him with irony, satire and a simple way to point out the beyond weird absolute idiocy and insanity of what these two men are talking about. Reach them on a commonsense level so it doesn’t matter if you’re Democrat or Republican.”

“Once anybody gets under that thin skin anything can happen. On live TV? Trump could explode, start talking like a 12-year-old, though no offense to 12-year-olds, or get up and leave.”

[art-of-manliness]

The 15 Most Sobering Quotes About Getting Old

Over the life course, people’s happiness tends to follow a U-shaped curve; it begins to decline around the age of 18 and hits its lowest point around age 47 or 48, at which point it starts to go back up again. Researchers aren’t sure why happiness follows this trajectory. Our personal hypothesis is that after young adulthood, and especially in one’s thirties and forties, an individual can viscerally feel his vitality, his life juices, slowly draining away, and he grieves this loss. By the time he nears 50, he’s forgotten what the buoyancy of youth felt like, so he no longer mourns its memory. A depressing theory, I know. But it’s not a bad thing to view the aging process through a sobering lens. There are upsides of aging, and plenty of quotes out there that affirm its advantages. But around here, we find that reciting bleaker mantras to each other is actually a rather life-affirming thing to do.  A lot of people are fixated on how they plan to stay healthy and active into old age, and this is a great goal to which to aspire. But no matter how much stretching and green smoothie drinking you do, you’re never going to feel the same at 70 as you do at 30. Thinking about how vital you’re going to stay in elderhood, about how much good time you have left, after all, is a way of denying the inevitabilities of mortality — of escaping the responsibility of making the very most of the present moment.  The key to cultivating that carpe diem attitude is staying ever cognizant of the fact that old age comes for everyone, and always involves some loss. The following quotes can be a help in that.  This kind of reflection is worth regularly engaging in regardless of your age; after all, no matter how far advanced you are in years, you’ll never be as young as you are right now.  “After thirty a man wakes up sad every morning.” —Ralph Waldo Emerson “No snow falls lighter than the snow of age; but none lies heavier, for it never melts.” —L.N. Child “When we are young, we are slavishly employed in procuring something whereby we may live comfortably when we grow old; and when we are old, we perceive it is too late to live as we proposed.” —Alexander Pope “Every one desires to live long, but no one would be old.” —Jonathan Swift “Nothing is more disgraceful than that an old man should have nothing to show to prove that he has lived long, except his years.” —Seneca “A person is always startled when he hears himself seriously called old for the first time.” —O. W. Holmes “Age that lessens the enjoyment of life, increases our desire of living.” —Oliver Goldsmith “Men of age object too much, consult too long, adventure too little, repent too soon, and seldom drive business home to the full period, but content themselves with a mediocrity of success.” —Francis Bacon “Without fullness of experience, length of days is nothing. When fullness of life has been achieved, shortness of days is nothing. That is perhaps why the young . . . have usually so little fear of death; they live by intensities that the elderly have forgotten.” —Lewis Mumford “As we advance in life, the circle of our pains enlarges, while that of our pleasures contracts.” —Sophie Swetchine “Old age adds to the respect due to virtue, but it takes nothing from the contempt inspired by vice; it whitens only the hair.” —J. P. Senn “Old age is a tyrant, which forbids the pleasures of youth on pain of death.” —François de La Rochefoucauld “Forty is the old age of youth; fifty is the youth of old age.” —Victor Hugo “How many fancy they have experience simply because they have grown old.” —Stanislaus “Childhood sometimes does pay a second visit to a man; youth never.” —Anna Jameson The post The 15 Most Sobering Quotes About Getting Old appeared first on The Art of Manliness. http://dlvr.it/Swkb38

[jayjxmaybank]

was she apologizing? was he hearing that right? why the hell was she apologizing? she shouldn’t be—no, he should be the one apologizing. not vice versa. guilt was eating him away and he hated it. he wanted to just—god, he didn’t know what he wanted to do but, he couldn’t let her apologize for his stupid ass.

“what? no,” he shook his head fervently, his brows furrowing together as he instinctively placed a hand over her shoulder. “no, don’t—don’t take the blame for this shit, kie. i fucked up, i was the one who was being petty.” jesus christ, he hated this. did he make her believe that she was the reason for all of this? had he said something to make her believe that? of course she was going to carry the weight—his weight. she always tried to for the sake of his own sanity.

“look,” he dragged his hand down his face, wiping away the frustration. “i was an idiot, okay?” he turned his body toward her, his hand dropping from her shoulder to rest on the small of her back. “i shouldn’t have freaked like that, but don’t—don’t,” he couldn’t spit out the words fast enough. “don’t make this ‘bout you. cause it’s not you, it’s me, alright?”

shit, did that come out right? he wasn’t sure, but he only hoped she knew what he meant.

“i—i hurt you,” the words were bitter on his tongue, but he was finally admitting it. it was what john b and pope have been saying all along, but he refused to believe it. he never thought in a million years that he’d be the one for the frown on her pouted lips. “and i—i hate that i did.”

she turned her body to where she was facing him so she could look at him as he explained or well at least tried. she knew it was probably a lot on him, she knew jj like the back of her hand but she could say she was proud of him for coming to talk to her and at least own up to being mean. she couldn't help but still feel like it was her fault, maybe she jumped the gun and it scared him, she knew that was very possible and if that was the case then she for sure felt guilty. '' i know you're not used to people caring about you and all that but you know i mean every word i say to you when i say i.. i am sorry for saying it when i did or even how i did because i feel like i just scared you away.. we've had this happen to us our friendship so it was a new thing for me too.. '' she says softly, looking over at him. she honestly wanted to forget it all happened and just get her best friend back but she knew it wasn't that easy. she just wanted to make sure she hadn't chased him away and changed anything between them. if anything, she'd take it all back and say for them to erase that day as if it never happened. there's one person in this world that she'd never want to lose and it was him. " if i could take back that day, i would.. we wouldn't be in this place right now if i hadn't said anything. "

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

Whenever I post something like this, about how in direct opposition science and religion are, there’s always some fool who comes along to insist that they “believe” in both science and religion, so yes, they absolutely can coexist.

They pop out words like “metaphysics,” which is a form of philosophy, not a form of physics, and is therefore limited to mental exercises of what might be, not what is. Or they pop out “non-overlapping magisteria,” which is really just a phrase to pretend that things that don’t exist in the real world can be regarded as as a different type of “real,” other than real-in-reality, and therefore expect the same recognition as things that do. It’s a way to leverage Special Pleading (a fallacy) to insist they’re immune from the Burden of Proof everything else is subject to. They describe things as being beyond science, and outside human detection or experience. And then act like they don’t sound like complete clowns who’ve already negated their entire proposition.

They ramble about earlier scientists being religious. Ignoring the fact that religion held societal power, and thus anyone who expected to continue to retain their professional and academic standing needed to declare their religiosity, whether it was true or not. Ignoring that the church pursued science expecting to have its superstitions affirmed, and concealed results that were theologically inconvenient, and threatened those who discovered them (see: Galileo).

By then an old man of 69 who in his defense referred to his "pitiable state of bodily indisposition," Galileo was charged with "vehement suspicion of heresy." He had to renounce "with sincere heart and unfeigned faith" his belief that the sun, not Earth, was the center of the universe and that Earth moved around the sun and not vice versa, as ecclesiastical teaching dictated.

-- “Galileo vs the Pope” by Hal Hellman, The Washington Post (Sept 9, 1998)

Ignoring the overrepresentation of irreligious scientists in the modern day, compared to the general populace, as science has broken away from its primitive roots and outgrown its parent. And certainly ignoring that there isn’t a single one of these religious scientists who has been able to test and validate the superstitious claims of their religion, despite being the most qualified of all to do so -- and if they can’t, then what makes the garden variety religionist think they can, or that non-believers should accept what even an expert has not been able to justify?

They misrepresent Einstein, and name-drop or even quote other religious scientists, none of whom have ever used their religion to find new scientific discoveries, nor used science to justify the magical claims of own religion, or any of the others. Despite being the most qualified of all to do so. This appears to be aligned with the construction of their superstitious beliefs, which rely entirely on quotes and storytelling, and not on evidence or substantiation of any variety.

“It was, of course, a lie what you read about my religious convictions, a lie which is being systematically repeated. I do not believe in a personal God and I have never denied this but have expressed it clearly. If something is in me which can be called religious then it is the unbounded admiration for the structure of the world so far as our science can reveal it.”

-- Albert Einstein, ”Albert Einstein the Human Side” (1981) by Helen Dukas.

They say things like “can science explain X?” and when our knowledge about the everything of the universe inevitably comes up incomplete, then claim it is answered by their science-avoidant thing. Which is like saying that because I don’t currently own a car, I can never own a car, therefore an invisible, immaterial, undetectable flying Santa sleigh exists. Because their belief in Santa is not constrained by needing to be real in reality as as the limiting factor of mere science. But you can’t solve a mystery by invoking an even greater mystery.

This, of course, sometimes results in the claim that “you worship science!” or “science is your religion”. Science is, of course, simply a method for discovering, explaining and predicting reality with as little bias and error as possible. If there was a better, more accurate way, we would use it, but its present success is demonstrable by all the modern everything around even believers. What this means is that this is code for “you worship reality” or “reality is your religion.”

Or they may say that “you don’t understand science!” when the science you don’t uncritically accept is their bullshit strawman version that they think supports their superstitions, but is merely their attempt at a Middle Ground fallacy to prop up ideas they should have already discarded. Which means they are, by definition, not doing science.

Or accuse you of being “close minded.” Open mindedness enables an idea to be entertained, but does not obligate one to accept it. It’s not “open minded” to accept an idea as “true” uncritically, without good reason, good evidence, good justification. And it’s not “close minded” of anyone, or science, to reject an idea believers will not, and seemingly cannot, substantiate. It’s not the skeptic’s fault that the believer can’t justify their claim. Indeed, it’s inevitably the believer who is close minded, as they can’t and won’t entertain the notion that they’re wrong and that there could be another explanation.

“Faith” is close mindedness.

Science: If you don't make mistakes, you're doing it wrong. If you don't correct those mistakes, you're doing it really wrong. If you can't accept that you're mistaken, you're not doing it at all.

-- Richard Feynman

What they demonstrate is that it is they who do not understand science. Science explores specific propositions, not vague, poetic ones. They must be testable. They must be defeasible. They must be falsifiable. They must be replicable. It uses evidence. The evidence must be tested to both confirm and disconfirm (falsify) the proposition (e.g. a control group). Although it may propose possible implications, it must not draw conclusions beyond its evidence, testing and results. Those conclusions are tentative and subject to testing, confirmation and refutation by others, and revision or withdrawal as a result.

Religion works the opposite way. You start with your conclusion and then try to find evidence that props it up, seeking only verification - through poetic interpretation or outright misrepresentation - and never seeks falsification. The scripture insists that the god claim is untestable - not only can you not test it, you’re forbidden from even trying. Falsification is not acknowledged or honestly addressed. What revision there is consists of the panicked look on a believer’s face when they discover what their scripture says that they didn’t know, and the hasty post-hoc rescue “it’s a metaphor!” When no evidence exists, the belief is supported by faith. When faith results in contradictory and incompatible conclusions, more faith is added to conclude that their faith is the right faith.

“Could anything convince you that your conclusion is wrong?” “Yes, evidence.” ← this is science. “No, nothing.” ← this is faith, and believers are proud of it.

It doesn’t matter if you can find a way to make the religious mythology fit the scientific reality. That’s not the point. The problem is that these are incompatible ways of determining truth.

In order to find truth, you must risk being wrong. The religionist does not accept this as an option, declares themselves to be “right” on no grounds whatsoever, and thus truth surrenders to comfort and the emotional satisfaction of “dearly held” belief.

The religionist who insists they “believe” in both science and religion is not evidence that science and religion are compatible. They’re evidence that cognitive dissonance is a real thing, and that people can rationalize their way through inconsistent skepticism, inconsistent standards and inconsistent beliefs.

[writefightandflightclub]

Trial by Fire (Part 1/3) Santiago “Pope” Garcia x GN reader

Summary: You’re finally introducing your new boyfriend to The Boys. It must be intimidating for your guy because, hello? Not only are they literally lethal, as well as infeasibly handsome, but they’re hella protective of you to boot. They want the best for you so, naturally, they make your guy run the gauntlet the whole evening. Santiago, though? Well. Given that he is secretly in love with you? Let’s just say he doesn’t handle the situation very well at all.

Genre / tropes: angst, friends to lovers, love confession.

Author’s note: I wasn’t planning on writing this (in fact I’m writing the opposite, where “Santi has a new girlfriend and you don’t take it well” as a series, loosely based around the 7 deadly sins); but, in the meatime, I wrote this to get back into the swing of things after a lil break. It’s just a quick one, but there will be a second and final part, if you want it! Let me know!

Word count: somehow, 4.4k.

Warnings: language, angst, best friends arguing, Santi being an asshole.

Rating: T

The boys aren’t being as awful as you had anticipated, at least. For the most part, they’re actually being pretty friendly, and although they’ve transitioned into grilling Dean about every aspect of his life, they are at least listening intently and smiling at his answers. All except for one fucker, of course; and, naturally, surprising no-one, the fucker misbehaving is one (1) Santiago “Pope” Garcia. 

The group - the boys, yourself, and Dean- are huddled comfortably around the blazing warmth of the fire pit in Frankie’s yard. The dancing, oranged flames cut through the dark and cold of the crisp night, as you sit upwind of the smoke on scattered, mis-matched camp chairs.

Whilst the others are evidently enjoying the evening -faces painted with smiles, body language open and leaning-in to chat to Dean- that fucker Santi is leaning back in his chair, his jaw twitching in seeming aggravation, his arms folded, and his intense eyes needling your beau. In this dim light, with the firelight licking over the sharp planes of his face, he looks every bit like a trained killer about to leap out of the shadows and garotte someone. Well… a very petulant trained killer. His call sign should have been Mr. Grumpy Pants, you think idly.

What’s up with him this time?! you wonder.

He gets these moods sometimes. And, when it strikes him, he can be a little bit hostile - despite the fact he’s a puppy underneath it all. You had hoped that for once, maybe he would suck it up, and yet, your hopes had been in vain, it seems.

Every time Dean speaks, or touches you, or even laughs at another of the guys’ stories, Santi’s expression sinks further and further through layers of distaste; and, by this point, he’s eyeing Dean as though he’s a war criminal the squad have been sent to take-out. You half expect him to leap up and take down Frankie any second for fraternizing with “the enemy”, if you’re honest.

Truth be told, you’ve had just about enough of this. Your friend had better buck his ideas up, sharpish, or he’d be reminded very swiftly that you were Delta Force too.  

For now, trying to ignore the bastard, you look back at Dean, and the sight of him in animated conversation with your buddies causes at least some of your aggravation to fall away. Things have been going well between you and Dean, even if you do say so yourself. Originally from Michigan, he now worked as a lecturer at a nearby music school. He was also a banjo musician in a bluegrass / synth power-pop mash-up of a band, which (sort of) explained his retro-inspired mop of brown hair and his thick dark moustache - majestic enough to rival Frankie’s. True, he wasn’t your usual type, but he was honest, and sweet and kind... Plus, he’d never killed anyone with his bare hands, which was rather refreshing too, if you were honest.

Safe to say, so far, things were working out. So well, in fact, that you’d recently met his parents for the first time while they were in town. So well, in fact, that -after keeping him purposefully away from the boys for as long as you feasibly could- you’d now brought him to meet your family. That’s what this squad was to you, after all. Your family.

Remembering sporadic moments from the past few months together, you smile gently as you listen to Dean talk. You watch him seamlessly integrate some tailored conversation starters you’d fed him ahead of time, and you gently squeeze his thigh in an act of reassurance and appreciation. He is feeling the pressure, you can tell, although he is handling it well. To be fair, you think, who wouldn’t feel the pressure? You’d been nervous enough to meet his parents, but this? A bunch of Delta Force guys and an MMA champion? This squad was lethal; literally -you’ve lost track of your combined kill count, though Will probably hasn’t, you are sure.

Aside from that though, most of all, they are your family. You need them to like Dean and vice versa, and you know that isn’t necessarily a given. You are a tight-knit group, with little hope of outsiders grasping the full extent of your decade’s old in-jokes, or the intense camaraderie instilled by facing a hail of bullets together. Plus, as the baby of the group, they were protective as all hell of you.

It came from a good place, you knew: they wanted what was best for you. But, there was a reason you’d delayed this meeting... It’s not as though they were threatening or anything. They didn’t do the whole “if you hurt our buddy, I’ll kill you” thing, for example (at least, not while you were present – you couldn’t vouch for what happened when you were out of earshot).  However, after introducing a succession of boyfriends to them over the years, the squad had developed a well-rehearsed system for sizing-up your new squeeze. In the past, not all of your squeezes had made it through the gauntlet. It was a trial by fire, to be sure, and you were pleased that Dean has not yet been burned.

Of course, whilst the boys’ approval didn’t mean everything to you, you couldn’t deny it was important; perhaps especially this time, with this guy. And, out of all of the group, Santi’s approval meant the most to you. Always had. Probably because Santi meant the most to you, full stop. You simply couldn’t imagine having someone in your life that didn’t get on with your best friend. And, so, you are not overly thrilled at the reception Santi is giving Dean right now. The reception he had been giving him all evening, in fact. And the more you dwell on it, the more an anger bubbles forth from you. Even though you try to push it down, and focus on Dean, that fucker in the corner of your eye sends you.

“What’s wrong with you tonight, Garcia?” you blurt out, a little louder than intended, causing the amiable chat and giggles to stall, all eyes turning to you - then, in turn, following the direction of your fiery gaze over to Santi, who shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Now, he leans forward. Looks back at you with a rare venom in his eyes. With a smug curl of his mouth, he dips to pick up his beer from the floor and takes a swig - buying himself some time. Trying to brush you off. Still, your gaze does not relent as he rests his elbows on his thighs, bridging his fingers together in the space between, thumbs sticking in the air.

Now, he engages, and he looks directly at Dean, his eyes sweeping dismissively over the entirety of his form. Now, he speaks, his voice filled with far more bitterness than the situation merits. “Nothing at all. I’m fucking peachy. So, Dean. You play the motherfuckin’ banjo?” he offers, and yet, it sounds far more like an accusation than a question.

What the fuck is up with him?

Wilting a little beneath Santi’s stare, as the ex-operative squints his eyes in his direction, Dean casts a helpless, sideward glance at you from his place in the circle, and yet, you are so stupefied by anger that you can do little to help.

“I think what my dear friend means to say -” Frankie dips in valiantly, smacking Santi pointedly on the thigh, likely hoping to smack some sense into him too “- is why don’t you tell us more about your music, Dean?”

Frankie’s eyes and smile are soft when he looks at you, surreptitiously exchanging a pointed look -what’s up with that pendejo?- and you are grateful that at least some of the evident tension is diffused when he picks up the slack in the conversation.

Santi and his mood swings be damned, and, feeling bolstered, Dean continues on.  

“Actually, it’s going pretty frickin’ well with the band. It’s a side-gig to my lecturing job, but we’re planning a tour during summer vacation. The States -east coast- and Western Europe for now. Maybe headlining a couple of small festivals, if that pans out, who knows.” Dean relates, humbly.

“That’s great, man,” Will chips in, helping Frankie get things back on track. “We’ll have to come down to a gig soon, hear you play.”

“Actually, we have something to tell you about the tour, don’t we, babe?” Dean says bashfully, and he looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to pick-up the thread. You’d talked about it before coming today, and it had seemed like a great idea at the time, but suddenly, now that the announcement is imminent, your mouth is dry - as if filled with cotton. Still, you force a smile, and you’re not sure why, but you look anywhere else but at Santi as your lips form the words. “Yeah – kinda big news, fellas. I’m going to join Dean on the Europe leg of the tour. I’ll be leaving you losers behind for a few months.”

Dean’s face cracks into a smile and he reaches for your hand, looking made-up at the prospect. Still, while you will yourself to be fully present in the moment, you find yourself focussed on looking anywhere but at Santi, sure that his stare must be boring into the side of your head. You hadn’t told him yet. Unfortunately, at Santi is where just about everyone else ends up looking, as the fucker abruptly pushes his camp chair back and stands, storming indoors before anyone can hope to fathom it.

You exchange glances with Frankie, Will, and Benny, with Benny thankfully stepping-in this time to distract Dean from the obvious, and asking him which stops you two will be making, and which sights you plan to see.

“Look, man, don’t mind that tool. Got any sightseeing plans?”

What is Santi’s problem? Why can’t he give Dean a chance? Yes, you’ve made some mistakes in the past- been hurt, and Santi had helped you pick up the pieces -every time- but you had a good feeling about Dean. A really good feeling. Can’t he see that too?

Frankie throws a concerned glance back towards the house and motions as if to stand, but you beat him to it, wanting to get to the bottom of this. “I’ll go,” you insist, motioning for Frankie to stay put, and with a quick promise to Dean that you’ll be back soon (and a silent plea to your boys to take care of him in your absence), you do just that, walk-jogging across the grass.

When you step inside to the kitchen, you find Santi stood, hunched over the counter, his palms clasping the surface tight enough that his knuckles pale, and his head hung low, his shoulders rising and falling as he takes in exaggerated breaths.

“Well?” you ask pointedly, with zero tolerance for his bullshit. “What’s going on with you? Wanna explain why you’re being an ass to my boyfriend?” you challenge to the back of him, and he instantly whips around at the sound of your voice. 

“I’m being an ass?” he asks indignantly, his eyebrows shooting towards the top of his head. 

“Yes. In a nutshell. Yes,” you hiss, any other interpretation feeling impossible. You fold your arms and purse your lips, making it plainly evident that you are waiting for some explanation. And, oh boy, it had better be good.

Instead of explaining though, Santi simply huffs out breath, gesturing angrily out of the window. “That guy, really? That’s the guy you’re gonna go all in for? Go to fucking Europe for?”

That guy, you mouth silently, completely stupefied for a moment. You’re not sure exactly what your so-called friend is insinuating, but you are clear that you don’t like it one bit.

“What is your fucking problem?” you ask, punctuating your words with motions of your hands, as if you are trying to strangle the air in-between you in lieu of his neck. “Dean’s a catch. He’s hot, he’s sweet, he’s a nice guy. He’s there for me. He takes care of me.”

“Like I don’t take care of you?!” Santi exclaims, his voice rising and abrasive; and then, immediately after the words tumble forth from his lips, he steps back imperceptibly, as if startled by his own outburst, his hand rasping over the stubble on his chin.

“What in the...? This isn’t about you, you ass!” you bite back, face scrunching up in confusion. Your fingers come to your temples as you grow increasingly lost-off and perplexed, and seemingly, your riposte only makes Santi double down on whatever the hell he is complaining about.

“Who’s the one who’s always been there for you, hmm? Who picks up the pieces every time you make yet another dumb shitty choice with another shitty guy?” he rambles, gesturing his hand towards you dismissively.

You step back from him this time, just a little, tears spiking instantaneously in your eyes at such an unnecessarily cruel blow. He’s right, in a sense: you had always relied on Santi to heal you, not to hurt you - and yet here he was dealing these painful, incoherent blows out of nowhere.

“Shit, Garcia. If it’s that much trouble to be there for me don’t bother next time,” you snap, your voice breaking as the swell of anger and hurt and adrenalin sends tears spilling over your cheeks. “Don’t worry though, I don’t think I’ll need you again. In fact, I have a feeling this guy might stick. So, maybe? Maybe you should think about the fact that the only shitty guy around here is you.” 

“You really think he’s good enough for you, hmm? He’s really who you want to end up with?”

You listen, aghast, as his tirade keeps coming. However, as Santi’s voice breaks with emotion part-way through his second question, you can’t explain it, but you feel an intolerable sadness in the pit of you. Even though you’re not sure what’s causing all this, what you’re barrelling toward, you want to thrust this sadness away from you. Push him away from you.  You want to push away the knot in your stomach for fear that if you tug at that thread, you might arrive at an answer to his question.

Exasperated, overwhelmed, you roughly paw tears from your cheeks, not knowing where all of these feelings are coming from, in either direction. “Fuck, I... I don’t understand what this is. I don’t get it!” you say, waving your hands, palms-up, through the air. “Is this some macho bullshit? Have I pissed you off somehow?”

At that, the wave of Santi’s anger crests and breaks; as you wonder if you annoyed him. Then, as suddenly as his anger came it is waning, his eyes pooling with rare tears now. With a huff of breath he tears off his damn cap, tossing it aside to run a hand through his grizzled hair. 

“No. No,” he backtracks a little, palms up in surrender. “You haven’t... I.... I just...” He pinches his lips in-between his teeth and looks up at the ceiling as his words trail off, perhaps trying to steady his voice before continuing. Or, perhaps he has nothing else to say to you. Perhaps he’s said enough.

You examine him. Still pissed as all hell, but worried now too, and ultimately, your love for your best friend slightly edging-out the anger. It’s rare that anything affects him like this, and you can’t help the sudden rush of concern.

Cresting too, you exhale a tightly held breath into the now silent, taut space between you, and your body sags - just a little. You chew over your words a moment, but when your voice comes back the volume is lower, your tone softer - and, although it cannot be considered friendly, by any stretch, it’s the best you can do right now.

“You know what,” you offer, generously, wrapping your arms around your own middle, stroking your forearms with your own fingertips. “I’m giving you a pass. You don’t even want to give Dean a chance? Then just leave, Santi. Just go. I’ll give the guys some bullshit excuse that doesn’t leave you looking like a total ass, because I’m not a dick to my friends. So just go, okay?” You pump your eyebrow at him indignantly and await a response, your manner stiff and unyielding.

Santi closes his eyes and knits his brow together, something like regret finally passing over his face and he shuffles guiltily from foot-to-foot.

You puff out air through your teeth and shake your head, as you observe this Delta Force hero; the bravest man you know in many ways, but still too cowardly to tell it like it is. To admit that he’s in the wrong. You are afraid to say that even as his gaze comes back to you, misty-eyed, you have little sympathy for his plight. You are sure it is of his own doing. You are almost as sure that he won’t open-up.

“You know,” you begin, breaking from your position and gathering up a fresh cooler of beers from the fridge, turned away from him as you speak. “I brought Dean to meet my family. Do you understand that? I didn’t have parents and siblings for him to meet. I have you guys. You’re my family.”

Still nothing. Nothing but silence greets you. Nothing but a pained expression on his face, his brows drown together and the artificial light of the kitchen highlighting the harsh planes of his face as you look over your shoulder at him, waiting for some reaction. Some admission of guilt. None comes. He simply slots his hands into his jean pockets, looking sheepish.

“So,” you continue, greeted with a brick wall, “fuck knows why you don’t want me to be happy, but I am. I’m happy with him. Thanks a ton for shitting all over that.”

You don’t even bother to look towards him this time, instead placing the last of the clinking, condensation-adorned bottles into the carrier, resigned to head back out without him, and without any apology.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, and your head whips towards him in surprise.

He looks it - sorry. He looks apologetic. Deeply so. He looks sorry for this, for every way he’s ever slighted you, for every time he’s hurt you, even in ways and moments you never knew about. He looks sorry down to the pit of him, and it catches you off-guard when you see it freely offered there in his eyes.

Even so, this is a stubborn man. There’s an apology, but there’s no explanation. Nothing to explain his behaviour. So, even though it seems genuine, it also doesn’t seem like enough.

It doesn’t appease you, and yet, all you can bring yourself to do is sigh deeply.

You know Santi better than anyone, but there’s always been a part of him that has seemed out of reach, even to you. You’re not sure -never have been- whether to be scared or excited by those unknown parts of him. Not sure whether the impasse hints at buried secrets too dark and deep to bear, or whether it hints of a possibility of something more. Something deeper or something better you could have together, if only he would let you in. You don’t know, and you never have, but all you are sure of is that you have constantly teetered on the edge of that abyss, too much left unknown to know all of him, however much you may have wished to. He’s entitled to his secrets, of course, but you hate how they hurt him. 

With a little sympathy now, you examine his watery eyes, and when your voice comes back this time, it is softer and slower than you intended. More tired than you expected.

“You know, Dean wants to be with me. And he tells me so.” You casually dip down to pick-up the cooler handle, eyes still fixed on your best friend. “He might not be Delta Force… he might be a banjo player from Michigan… but even he’s brave enough for that.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Santi says, bristling all over again, his hand rasping angrily over his stubbled jaw, and yet, you decline him an explanation. Instead, keeping your own secrets now, holding back, you head towards the door, beers in hand.

Still, you turn back to him. You might be angry, but you still care for him -more than you could say. 

“If you figure out what’s up with you, let me know, and I’ll be there for you. Whatever you’ve got going on, you know that, right? But this? This isn’t okay, Garcia. You might think that I make dumb choices -you ass, by the way- but I’ve watched you hit self-destruct so many times instead of dealing with your feelings. Maybe you should look at your own life, huh, instead of shitting all over me for trying to be happy? Shit, at least I fucking try.”

His eyes shift from side to side in the room, the muscles in his jaw twitching, chin jutting forward, and his thumbs locked in his belt loops. He can’t quite bring himself to meet your gaze; at least not until you are disappearing through the threshold; until it’s almost too late. Why can’t he ever manage anything unless it’s too late?

“Wait!” he pleads, but you cut him off, before he can speak. Even though, truth be told, you’re not sure he would muster anything to say at all, even if you gave him a chance. He’s so used to holding back.

“No,” you say firmly. “Forget it, I’m done. I still love you- you’re my best friend. But, fuck, just go home, and get out of my sight, Santiago. I’m so pissed with you right now.”

And so, you turn away, and when his words finally do come, they are spoken to the back of your head. They are spoken without you ever seeing his lips move, and you wonder if he ever said them at all, or if this might be some cruel trick of the night. Some witching hour spell. That is, until you turn towards him and you see the words painted clearly on his face too.

“Fuck it. I’m in love with you.”

I’m in love with you.

Why can’t he ever manage anything unless it’s too late?

You’re not sure what reaction he was expecting, but you almost choke on the sudden lump in your throat. You feel a taste of bile rising-up into your mouth. An intense, resurgent anger fills you, which near makes the room spin, and makes your hands and your legs tremble.

Even if a hidden, unconscious part of you has been waiting, hoping for these words all these years, when they finally come all you can feel is... royally pissed off.

“Oh. No. No. No,” you repeat, words gradually increasing in volume, looking at Santi as if he has mortally wounded you, rather than offered that confession. “You do not get to do this to me.”

You see a hard swallow bob down his throat, a near-instant regret on his face, and your heart pounds in your chest as you reel with the implications of his words.

The coward. The fucking asshole. He waited until now? All the times things had gone to shit, and he waited until you were happy?

“All the times...” you accuse, your tone as bitter as the taste in your mouth, the metallic tang of blood as you feel a rushing in your ears. “All the fucking times. All the chances, Santi, and you do this now?” you continue, your finger sawing through the air, wagging accusations at him, even as your voice wavers, as your hands notceably tremble. “No. Fuck you, Garcia. Fuck you.”

You want to cry, or scream, but you are too angry. So angry, that it eclipses anything else which might come to light. So angry that you almost come full circle again, beginning to stabilise out at eerily calm.

Santi looks down at the floor, and exhales air, chuckling disbelievingly to himself, then lightly nodding his head, lips pressed tightly together. His feet shift agitatedly below him as he brings his endlessly familiar eyes back up to meet yours. This time when he looks at you, it hurts. You remember bullet wounds, and you swear that was nothing compared to this.

“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say to me, hmm? Fuck you, Garcia?”

“What the fuck were you expecting?” you say, launching your words before you realise the implications of them. Yes, you know fine well that your boyfriend is sitting outside, likely wondering where you have got to. But, if you had the wherewithall to have thought about it, you would know exactly what Santi was expecting, despite all of that. You would know that a part of him must be expecting, hoping, that when he told you, you might reciprocate. That you might love him back.

And, would that be so outside of the realms of possibility? Would it be so hard to imagine that the deep, magnetic, and unshakeable friendship you shared could be something else? Something more? That you could tip over the edge you had long been teetering on? Maybe it could, or maybe it could have, but right now, you can’t see past the flashbang he has just dropped over your life, and it is clouding your vision.

You were happy. You are happy. Fuck him for doing this now.

Why would you fall into the unknown for him, if you never knew whether he would catch you? If you never knew whether ruin or safety awaited you if you let yourself tip? He always held back.

What the fuck were you expecting?

Your words linger in the space between you, and in lieu of any other lifeline, realisation dawns on Santi’s face. Realisation that, although he jumped, you are not intending to catch him either. But how could you catch him, with your arms already full?

And, so, he slowly nods his head once again, his eyes beading with glassy tears and his hand grazing over his chin in a self-soothing gesture. Wordlessly, he sets his jaw and he abruptly replaces his baseball cap on his head, padding a few steps forward to stand opposite you, sucking all of the breath from your lungs. This time, when he looks at you, you see all of your past, but you still can’t see beyond that. The abyss still scares you too much.

Like this, facing each other down, eye-to-eye, the silence in the room grows sharp as a knife, refined to a point. So, when Santi abruptly turns to leave in a sharp, determined trajectory, without so much as looking at you, it is as if he has dragged the blade across your skin in an equally swift motion. As if he has left you open and bleeding-out, having delivered a mortal wound with the act of his exit. You’ve felt like this on the battelfield before, and in life, yet he was always there for you. Always there to patch you. To pick up the pieces.

Instead of screaming open-mouthed for help, this time, you simply watch him go, and now you are the wordless one, mustering nothing but a gasped inhale of breath before your vision blurs with tears - as you watch his hazy form disappear along the hall and out of your sight.

“Santi,” you call pathetically, your voice small and weak and teary, barely making it past your throat, and he doesn’t hear you. He doesn’t hear you but even if he had, you’re not sure anymore if he would have stopped.

When Santi slams the front door behind him, you shudder with it in its frame, your hand coming to your chest as if to hold your heart inside your opened-up ribs, and you close your eyes against the jarring sound, tears spilling down your cheeks, your face screwing-up into a shined, contorted grimace.

Entirely lost, now alone, you bizarrely wish for the room to be filled with anger again, instead of the intolerable sadness - which all too suddenly takes hold of you as your emotions crest and break. It is all you can do to stumble forward a few paces and hunch over the countertop, finding yourself in the exact position you had discovered Santi in. You stand, bracing yourself with your arms, fingers clutching the edge of the worktop, and your head slumped forward, tears freely spilling out of you as your chest heaves.

You wonder whether he’d held himself in this same position because he had felt an intolerable sadness too. An intolerable sadness at seeing you happy.

Suddenly you could understand it.

That fucker. Santiago “Pope” Garcia.

I’m in love with you.

I’m in love with you.

The words echo in your mind, but this time, if you’re honest, you’re not wholly sure if they’re his, or yours.

PART TWO IS HERE

[mimichootings]

Money for Old Pope

A lovely day, Holiness, don’t you think? Here’s a nice cool cocktail for you to drink. Have a chocolate tart, or a juicy pear. Shall I fluff your cushion, adjust your chair? I’ve got this soothing oil here; let me anoint –

Stop crawling, boy. Get to the fucking point.

Holiness, Signor Berlusconi sends greeting.

Ach! I hope he doesn’t want a meeting. I cannot stand that tanned and toupee’d twat. Remind me to arrange a concordat With Iran; a fatwa should do the trick – Get some wild-eyed nutjob to waste the prick. His continued life, I cannot endure.

Such thoughts, your Holiness, are most impure.

You expect my mind to be without taint? I’m the goddamn Pope, dumbass, not a saint! Well, what does little Silvio want now? I doubt it’s something the Church should allow.

A petition, your Grace, to effect a change – Some doctrinal details to rearrange. The Prime Minister admits to his vice, But carnal misdeeds are so very nice. He’s not an easy man to satiate; His horde of harlots numbers eighty-eight, Yet even these can’t satisfy his lusts Or meet his burning appetite for busts. But, reflecting on his mortality, He’s been stirred by a strange morality. Terror of hell now makes him palpitate; He’s anxious to avoid a dismal fate. For his ease of conscience to be ensured, His adulterous past must be abjured. Signor wishes to lead a blameless life, Yet cannot rest content with just one wife. Might he be permitted a couple more? Monogamy, he claims, is such a bore. Polygamy’s the answer, so he says, But receives at present papal dispraise; To amend this dogma is his request, So that his many amours might be blessed. Declare each Catholic female his spouse, And all his conquests will be kept in-house.

Does he take me for a total duffer? Of all the bullshit I’ve had to suffer, This is the biggest pile of stinking crap That’s been excreted on my ageing lap. Why should I make this outrageous decree?

Signor offers a most substantial fee.

That puts the matter in a different light. I’m not convinced it’s altogether right, But sometimes intransigence must give way When affluent fools are prepared to pay.

Your Grace is quite astonishingly wise. But you’re looking tired; I’ll massage your thighs.

[I wrote this poem back in 2010; I am posting it now to mark Ratzinger’s death]

[ducavalentinos]

Hello, What were the opinions of the people who personally knew Cesare ? Thank you !

Hello ;) So, there were a lot of opinions made about Cesare by his contemporaries, but most of the opinions come from people who met him, not knew him intimately. The unfortunate thing here is that Cesare is mostly seen through the lenses of people outside his inner circle: ambassadors, orators, enemies who wrote daily dispatches, reports, letters to their employers and others. Some of this material has weight and it’s helpful, but still they all contain the unavoidable political element and focus towards Cesare as the political figure, not Cesare as a person. There are interesting glimpses of his personality and intimate life here and there, but never enough to make more than a sketch of it, and often much of it is distorted, with incorrect information and/or evaluations which were believed at the time to have been accurate. Cesare through the lenses of people inside his inner circle: people who knew him intimately, people he trusted and loved and vice-versa, are frustratingly limited, there’s almost nothing, which creates a big unbalance about his figure and his life. I believe the opinions of his beloved tutor Giovanni Vera, his most known secretary and adviser Agapito Geraldini di Amelia, or Miguel da Corella, or of his mother, his sister, his wife, would be incredibly valuable in order to have more precise knowledge, and a more rounded assessment about his person, in all of its facets, since we don’t have that, what fills up this gap are the words of one of his first secretaries, the alleged words of his father, Rodrigo, and the words of intellectuals and poets who interacted with him at his father’s court in Rome, some later following him at his own court in the Romagna, beneath the exaggerated flattery common in these writings, these men make some interesting observations, and express a genuine opinion about Cesare, aside from just the political man, which helps to shed a light into his personality, his qualities, and other aspects of his life. With this in mind, I gathered opinions that can be confirmed by Cesare’s own documented actions, and that I find are generally reliable: not entirely dominated by personal/political bias, and absent of the malice and gossip which became more common the more powerful Cesare and his family became. There are mix between the first group (ambassadors, orators, enemies, etc), the second group (people close to him, intellectuals and poets), and maybe there will be one or two which does not belong to either group, so I’ll leave them for last as a type of miscellaneous third group, in chronological order: 1488:

“What thanks can I give you, Cesare Borgia? May this auspicious day be celebrated as a festive day, in which this work comes to light only out of your love, and if our judgment is worth something, it will be most useful for general prosperity. In this book, we teach how to write a poem, exploring and manifesting all the secrets of metric art. Certainly a work that will please you very much. [...]Add to that your great and truly effective love for beautiful letters.You, Cesare, are truly worthy of much commendation, if at such a young age you act with the wisdom of an old man. Forward, then, O hope and ornament of the Borgia family, and accept with a good heart our Syllables, an offering of your devoted friend. So I believe that my name, joined to your eternal name and that of [your house], will have ornament and life."

- Extracts from a dedication written to Cesare by Paolo Pompilio,h in his Syllabica, a literature text-book of verse composition, published in the same year. 1492:

“Cesare Borgia profited so much that, with ardent ingenuity, he discussed the questions posed to him both in Canon law and in Civil law.”

- Paolo Giovio, concerning the Disputation for the laurea at the University of Pisa, where Cesare studied from 1491 to 1492. 1493:

"On the day before yesterday I found Cesare at home in Trastevere. He was on the point of setting out to go hunting, and entirely in secular habit. that is to say, dressed in silk and armed. Riding together, we talked a while, I am among his most intimate acquaintances. He is a man of great talent and of an excellent nature; his manners are those of the son of a great prince; above everything, he is joyous and light-hearted. He is very modest**, much superior to, and of a much finer appearance than his brother the Duke of Gandia, who also is not short of natural gifts."

- Disp. written by Gianandrea Boccaccio to his employer, the Duke of Ferrara, Ercole d'Este. 1497:

"Nature has engendered in you not the seed of virtù, but virtù itself, and in occupying herself to form you, [she] has adorned your body with an excellent form, dignity, and every beauty, and provided the soul with moderation**, decorum, gravity, benevolence, and above all royal liberality**, which nature seemed to have surpassed herself. And this liberality of yours, is shown with writers and artists."

- Extract from a dedication written by one of Cesare's secretaries, Carlo Valgulio, in the first transl. of Cleomedes: De contemplatione orbium excelsorum. 1499:

“By his modesty, his readiness, his prudence, and his other virtues he has known how to earn the affections of every one.”

- Letter written by Giuliano Della Rovere, to pope Alexander VI, concerning Cesare's arrival in France.**

"The Pope's son was very gallant..."

- Baldassare Castiglione, in a letter after seeing the entrance of Cesare and his suite alongside King Louis XII of France in Milan. 1500:

“To-day, about the twenty-second hour (four in the afternoon), after he had dined, he had signor Ramiro fetch me to him; and with great frankness and amiability his Majesty first made his excuses for not granting me an audience the preceding day, owing to his having so much to do in the castle and also on account of the pain caused by his ulcer. Following this, and after I had stated that the sole object of my misson was to wait upon his Majesty to congratulate and thank thim, and to offer your services, he answered me in carefully chosen words, covering each point and very fluently. The gist of it was, that knowing your Excellency’s ability and goodness, he had always loved you and had hoped to enjoy personal relations with you. He had looked forward to this when you were in Milan, but events and circumstances then prevented it. But now that he had come to this country, he --determined to have his wish-- had written the letter announcing his successes, of his own free will and as proof of his love, and feeling certain that you Majesty would be pleased by it. He says he will continue to keep you informed of his doings**, as he desires to establish a firm friendship with your Majesty, and he proffers everything he owns and in his power should you ever have need.[...]When I take both the actual facts and his words into consideration, I see why he wishes to establish some sort of friendly alliance with your Majesty. I believe in his professions, and I can see nothing but good in them.”

Postscript: “The Duke’s daily life is as follows: he goes to bed at eight, nine, or ten o’clock at night (three to five o’clock in the morning). Consequently, the eighteenth hour is his dawn, the nineteenth his sunrise, and the twentieth his time for rising. Immediately on getting up he sits down to the table, and while there and afterwards he attends to his business affairs. He is considered brave, strong, and generous, and it is said he lays great store by straightforward men.[...]He is great of spirit and he seeks eminence and glory.”

- Extracts from a Disp. of Pandolfo Collenuccio to his employer, the Duke of Ferrara, Ercole d’Este, from Pesaro. 1501:

"This lord is very magnificent and splendid, and so spirited in feats of arms that there is nothing so great but that it must seem small to him. In the pursuit of glory and to acquire a State he never rests, and he knows neither danger nor fatigue. He moves so swiftly that he arrives at a place before it is known that he has set out for it. He knows how to make himself beloved of his soldiers, and he has in his service the best men of Italy. These things render him victorious and formidable, and to these is yet to be added his perpetual good fortune."

- Disp. written by Niccolò Machiavelli to the Signory of Florence. 1502:

"He [Cesare] argues with such sound reason that to dispute with him would be a long affair, for his wit and eloquence never fail him (dello ingegno e della lingua si vale quanto vuole...)

-Disp. written by Francesco Soderini, from Urbino, to the Signory of Florence.

"The duke[Cesare] is good-natured, but he cannot tolerate offenses."

- Rodrigo Borgia, to the Ferrarese ambassador B. Constabili.

Miscellaneous: A certain author named Camillo di Leonardo from Pesaro dedicates to Cesare, in the year of 1502, his famous work Speculum Lapidum, in which he 'commends the duke for his great love of letters, his courteous liberality towards the scholarly, the care he used when collecting the beautiful and numerous [works] of the library of Cesena, and even his sweetness and his gentleness.' Gaspare Torella, one of Cesare's personal physician and advisers also dedicated to him his Dialogus de Dolore, in which he says he is "...pleased that [Cesare's] virtù surpassed those of the great ones of Rome, such as the justice of Brutus, the constancy of Decius, the continence of Scipio, the loyalty of Marco Regolo, and the magnanimity of Paolo Emilio.” The French commanders used to say of Cesare: “At war he was a good companion and a brave man." The Spanish historian Zurita, atypically pays a compliment to Cesare when assessing the situation in Italy and of pope Julius' panic when hearing about Cesare's escape from the Spanish prison in 1506, he writes: "The duke was such that his very presence was enough to set all Italy agog; and he was greatly beloved, not only by men of war, but also by many people of Tuscany and of the States of the Church." Lastly, during the winter of 1500-1501, a scholar and poet named Francesco Uberti, native of Cesena, adressed to Cesare a volume of epigrams, all which show the Romagnese opinion about him. According to Uberti, Cesare's Romagnese subjects learned his temper was 'mitissima' (gentle), 'placidissima' (calm) and his 'crueltà' (cruelty) was the severity necessary to repress political disorders. There is also other epigrams where Tiberti praises Cesare's clemency, "pious and kind Cesare..." ** The terms modesty and moderation, according to Gregorovius, can be also taken to 'understand as part and manifestation of a liberal education,...’ and the term liberality means generous, which Cesare was particularly reputed as being, to such a degree his genorosity was called at the time after his own name as “liberalità cesarea”. ** I decided to add Della Rovere’s words about Cesare, because as writer and historian Anthony Everitt said in one of his books: “Praise from one’s worst enemy is the most annoying, but also the most credible, of compliments.” and because even if Della Rovere’s words are insincere, likely, these words can nevertheless be confirmed by the opinions of others about Cesare, esp. in the historical records about his soujour at France. **Cesare had sent long letters to Ercole d'Este while he was at the conquest of Imola and Forlì, telling him the details of the military campaign.

[cherryobx]

Caught//Rafe Cameron x reader

requested?:  yeah baby “a rafe x pouge!reader might be cute? just having everyone freak out when they catch you in bed w rafe lol”

summary: you’re secretly in a relationship with Rafe, one day you get caught cuddling with him on his bed

warnings: cursing, angst, fluff, arguing, mentions of drugs

WC: 1132

(not my gif, creds to the owner!!!)

“Hey!” you greeted your boyfriend Rafe, as you climbed into his room through the window in his room.

“Hi, baby!” he smiled and came over to you to give you a hug. 

He wrapped his muscular arms around you, making you melt into his touch.

He may seem like the biggest douchebag ever, but he wasn’t like that around you. He actually cared and listened to you, which no one rarely ever did. Not even your friends.

You were a pogue and you were dating a kook. When your friends would find out about this, they’d flip. 

Your friends had never liked kooks (even though they hung out with Sarah all the time) but you never really had anything against them. Somehow you hit it off with Rafe at a party and it went on from there. Both of you snuck around. Whether it was you sneaking to his house or vice versa.

“What did you tell your friends?” he asked, pressing a kiss onto your forehead.

“I told them that I’m sick.”

“And they believed you?” 

“Yeah. Can we cuddle now? My back is killing me right now.” You had been having some back pain recently. Probably from stress.

He smiled at you. “Sure.” 

You both climbed onto his bed and got under the covers. Immediately his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him so your back was now against his front.

“You’re so warm,” you mumbled, already half asleep.

 “Thanks, I guess?” he laughed.

And in a matter of seconds you both fell asleep.

What you didn’t know was that all of your friends were on their way to the Cameron household, wanting something important from Rafe’s room. 

“Are you sure he’s not home?” JJ asked, looking around the hallways, searching for any signs of Rafe. 

“Relax, JJ. He’s probably snorting coke somewhere with his friends. Don’t even worry about it,” Sarah said, walking towards Rafe’s room, everyone else following her.

She opened the door and almost screamed at the sight she was seeing.

“What the fuck is going on?” She yelled, waking both of you up from your peaceful nap.

Everyone’s mouths were open in shock. None of them expected to see you there, sleeping in the arms of a man they hated the most. 

“I-” you didn’t even have any words to say.

“You told us you were sick. So you fucking lied?” Kiara joined in, very angry at you.

“Well yeah, but-”

“Why the fuck would you do that? Have you lost your mind? Do you even know who this motherfucker is? Y/N, are you crazy?” Sarah was angry at you too. 

Seeing the looks on their faces, you started to cry. 

You had always been the emotional one of the group, crying when you saw a dead animal on the road or forgetting to do your homework.

The tears made your vision blurry. You tried to wipe them away but they kept coming back. 

“Can you just leave?” Rafe finally spoke.

“You shut the fuck up! This isn’t about you.” JJ was so pissed off at Rafe before, and now even more.

“This is very much about me when you’re literally attacking my girlfriend.” He stood up, an upset expression on his face.

“Girlfriend, huh? Something else you want to tell us about, Y/N? You have more secrets we should know about?” Kiara asked, making you sob and cry even harder.

“Why do you have to be so mean about it? You never care about how I feel. You never ask how I’m doing. But he does. Rafe fucking Cameron does and you, who are supposed to be my best friends, don’t. What kind of fuckery is this?” you burst out, standing up to face them.

They were all speechless at your outburst.

“You could’ve just told us,” Sarah said, her tone now so much quieter.

“I tried to. So many times. But you all are so fucking selfish, chasing after that gold.” You tried to keep in your sobs but failed miserably.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Kiara suddenly apologized. 

All of their faces were now softer, looking at you with empathy because you were crying your eyes out.

You knew they wouldn’t like that you and Rafe were together, but you also didn’t expect them to be so mean.

You pushed through them and ran out of the house.

“Stay here! And I fucking mean it, pogues!” Rafe yelled at them running after you. 

You stopped when you were outside and were finally able to breathe again.

“Y/N…” He came over to you and wrapped his arms around you to comfort you. He wasn’t doing so well either but he didn’t show it as much as you did.

You just cried into his chest, while he was caressing you back in a calming motion.

Little did you know that all of them were watching the interaction between you and Rafe through the window.

“Were we too mean?”

“I don’t know Sarah. I feel like you really hurt her feelings,” John B stated. 

“But she’s the one messing around with my brother. And she lied to us, so.” “That doesn’t matter. Look at us. You’re a kook, I’m a pogue. And we work. Why can’t we just let them have this?”

Pope nodded, agreeing with John B.

“Maybe we were a little too mean. I mean look at them.”

Meanwhile, Rafe asked you if you wanted to go back inside. You nodded as a response. 

So you both walked back inside, his arm around your waist.

“Y/N, we’re sorry. Like really sorry. We just freaked out and you know how we feel about Rafe,”

Rafe gritted his teeth, wanting to say something mean back to his sister, but held it together, not wanting to make your mood even worse than it was.

“I know. But I don’t care about that. He might not be perfect and he has a lot to work on, but I love him. And I know he’s the one for me.”

“Yeah, we kind of figured. Again, we’re really sorry.”

“I forgive you. I know it might’ve been shocking. I’m sorry too. We should’ve told you guys.”

“It’s okay, honey.” Sarah and Kie pulled you into a hug. Then the boys joined too. 

Rafe just stood there looking at the interaction you were having with your friends.

“But the fact that you’re dating our best friend, doesn’t make us like you. We still hate you,” JJ said, looking at Rafe straight into the eyes.

“That’s great because I don’t like you either.”

You ended up sleeping over at the Camerons. You were too tired to go home and all you wanted to do was sleep in the arms of the man you loved the most.

taglist: @teamnick​ @www-imbored-com @delightfullynlove @prejudic3 @afterglows7b-tch13 @tomhardybby @ad-infinitums @kindahavefeelingskindaheartless @ilovejjmaybank @drewsephsmiles @allycat449-blog​ @abbiesthings @teenwaywardasgardian

[yikesevenworse]

Pope’s most impressionable character traits are his intelligence, rationality, bluntness and wittiness.

These are obvious so I won’t go too much into it but one thing that stands out about Pope is his consciousness.

Pope keeps the pogues and check and act as the anchor to their scheming. He is a moral compass in terms of what the pogues should or should not pursue but he can be swayed for the right reason/ person. Even when he tried to put himself and his future above the pogues’ shenanigans during his scholarship interview, he ultimately chooses his friends which was a pivotal point in establishing his character.

Pope’s fatal flaw would have to be something like hubris, which would eventually cause his downfall or death. Hubris means excessive self confidence and this bleeds through with how witty Pope truly is. Climbing the church wall, confessing to Kiara even when she displayed no interest, etc. While I don’t think Pope is a selfish character, his confidence in his own intelligence could be a big breaking point for him.

Pope does use drugs to cope or celebrate but tends to avoid them when he’s trying to get something done. He does not often express his love through physical affection but does not seem adverse about receiving it. He also doesn’t share much about his issues with his friends and it seems hard for him to rely on people. When JJ takes the fall for him over Topper’s boat he is guilt-stricken as worried. This makes me think that Pope’s love language is acts of service- watching JJ take the blame for something he had done solidified their bond in the show. I think his secondary is probably quality time, as he is shown in s1 spending lots of time with JJ and Kiara.

Pope is very outward about his level of comfort. If he doesn’t feel safe or comfortable he makes it very clear but does not seek out comfort.

It’s no doubt that Pope is the brains of the operation/ the conscious of the group. He constantly questions the safety and rationality of the pogue’s plans and tries to prevent them from doing anything too unfortunate. In s2 in John B’s absence, he also goes into the role of the group leader as he is the one calling the shots and working out the schematics of their plans. He keeps everyone, especially JJ, in check throughout both seasons.

Pope & John B- their relationship throughout the show deepened in season 2 and it’s nice to see them mutually care about one another. John B is always checking on Pope and I think it’s really sweet to see on screen.

Pope & Kiara- I don’t think these two are compatible based on the fact that they both serve as moral compasses, but their ideas of right and wrong are very different. They’re very awkward together romantically and seem much better as best friends. There’s no doubt that they care about one another, but I don’t think they pair well.

Pope & JJ- once again I think that these two have the most interesting relationship. When they reunite at midsummers and Pope hugged JJ and told him how worried he’d been, it gave off a very intimate kind of vibe. JJ is very protective of Pope in both seasons and vice versa, they just express it differently. JJ is more impulsive while Pope is more dread from afar. They very openly love each other.

Hope you guys enjoyed! If there’s anything you want me to go into more detail about let me know and I’d love to!

(JJPope analysis coming tomorrow)

[ilovefandoms102]

Do Re Mi

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Reader

Summary: After breaking things off with Kelce, he wants you back after finding out you’ve been hanging out more with JJ....

Taglist:

@jeyramarie @drewswannabegirl @teamnick @jiaraendgame @agirlwholovescoffee @outerbongs @jaxandcomet @velyssaraptor @baby-pogue @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @must-be-a-weasley-92 @kaitieskidmore1 @ma10427 @ifilwtmfc @lasnaro @justcallmesams @judayyyw @lonely-kermit @gviosca @iamaunicorn4704 @jellyfishbeansontoast @fernweh-fangirl @runway-to-my-aid @eb15​ @hurricane-abigail​ @tangledinsparkles​ 

Note: This is for the lovely @maybebanks , thank you for giving me an amazing request so that I could use this gif(look at those biceps)! I hope this was ok! As always let me know what you guys think, and don’t forget to check out my new Rudy Pankow series here! 

PSA IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED BY ABUSE DO NOT READ THIS!

=====================================

What Kelce and I had from the beginning was toxic...

I was too blind to see how manipulative and abusive he was. The constant threats of leaving me, cheating on me, and of course me begging him not to. I fell into his trap. He would fill my head with negative thoughts, doing anything and everything to make me feel horrid about myself. All of my friends could notice the change in me, saying how I looked mentally drained all the time. 

Well, they weren’t wrong.....

======================================

“You’re such a fucking slut! Hanging out with those Pogues?! Really y/n?!” he shouted.

“They’re my friends! I don’t give a shit about your stupid rivalry against them K, they are good people!” I shouted back, running a hand through my hair. 

“Trash derseves to hang out with a slut like you then. You’ll fit right in.” he snarled.

“I’m so done with your bullshit Kelce! Fuck you!” I screamed, storming out of his house. 

“Don’t you dare walk away from me!” he yelled, coming after me. 

“I can’t take this anymore, I’ve been done for a long time now! You and your constant mental and physical abuse, I will not let you hurt me anymore!” I screeched, slamming my car door shut.

He banged on my window, demanding I open the door. He pulled as hard as he could on my door handle, no doubt almost breaking it. I sped off, going to the only place I knew I could find comfort.

=====================================

I pulled into the chateau, tears still streaming down my face. A sob wretched from my chest, my head falling to the steering wheel as I cried. It was pouring the rain as I got out of my car, slowly treading to the front door. My chest felt like it was caving in from how hard I was sobbing, my whole body convulsing inwards. The door opened and I saw a familiar looking blonde coming on the porch. His eyes widened, taking off to me. I ran into his arms, colliding with him.

“What happened? Are you hurt?” JJ asked, pulling back to look at my face.

“I couldn’t take him anymore JJ, I had to leave.” I sobbed, clinging on to his shirt. He pulled my head back to his chest, leaning his head on top of mine. 

“I won’t let him hurt you ever again y/n, you’re safe now.” he said softly, his fingers combing through my soaked hair. 

“I’m so sorry J,” I blubbered.

“What are you sorry for?” he chuckled.

“That they hurt you, and the others. They always hurt you.” I cried, thinking back to the times I had seen Kelce and the others beat JJ to a pulp.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle sweetheart, I know you did everything you could.” he whispered, kissing my hair. 

“I should have done more...I should have left a long time ago.” I mumbled.

“Hey why don’t you guys come in before you get sick!” Pope yelled, both of us laughing. 

JJ led me inside, John B. bringing both of us towels to dry off. I left my shoes on the porch, starting to shiver from the slight chill in the air. I was glad I had left some of my stuff here so I could change into some comfier clothes. John B. was kind enough to let me take a warm shower, even threw my clothes in his beat up washing machine. The boys hovered over me in their protective fashion. JJ made me a sandwich, arguing with Pope about what goes on the bread first, and John B. got me every blanket he owned as I sat on the pull out bed. 

“The cheese is supposed to go on the bread first JJ.” Pope insisted, hovering over JJ’s shoulder.

“Dude can you please just let me make her the fucking sandwich for god’s sake!” JJ shouted, chuckling as he slapped it together and threw it on a plate.

JJ brought me my favorite sandwich with the chips I left here, and of course a beer. I smiled widely at my best friend. He sat in front of me while the other boys sat on the opposite sides. 

“What happened?” JJ demanded, Pope and John B. tuning in. 

“We were just fighting, I honestly don’t even remember how it started...Then we got to talking about how he doesn’t like me hanging out with you guys, and I told him that you all were my friends and that I didn’t care what he said. He said some other mean stuff and then I just left.” I recalled, my eyes staying down as I ate.

“What mean stuff?” JJ inquired, raising a brow. I looked up at him, then to JB and Pope.

“Pope, let’s go get Kie and Sarah. I think y/n needs some girl talk.” John B. said, patting my shoulder.

“What did he say?” JJ demanded, his hard eyes staring intently.

“He...he called me a slut and said that I would fit in with you all since Pogues are trash.” I croaked, feeling the tears begin to rise again. 

JJ let out an angry huff, throwing his hat off. 

“I should kill that motherfucker.” he griped.

“He’s not worth it J. I wish I would have learned that a long time ago.” I sighed, setting my finished food to the side with my beer. 

JJ came beside me, his arm falling around my waist. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t cause my heart to flutter. Since things with Kelce and I started declining, I had began to develop feelings for JJ. Both of us coming from similar home lives made our bond stronger. When I started dating Kelce, I thought I’d finally get away from the bad things that haunted me from my home. Turns out I ran into another abusive situation, but I always had JJ. He was my constant light that I needed when things went dark. I knew I could trust him with my life.

“You’re my best friend y/n, and I’ll be dammed if I ever let that fucker hurt you again. If you even think about going back to him I will drag your ass back here and chain you to this couch, you hear me?” he affirmed, his blue eyes burning with rage.

“Trust me that won’t happen, I’m done with him. You’re the best J.” I said softly, hugging him.

JJ squeezed me tight to him, silent tears flowing down my face again. I was so lucky to have friends like the Pogues, all of them had hearts of gold. I pulled back, smiling as I wiped some of my tears. JJ’s thumb came up to my other eye, gently wiping some away as well. We stared into each other’s eyes for a long time, a sudden change in the air. Both of us unconsciously moving our heads closer together. 

Then the door slammed open, causing us to jump apart from each other. 

“We brought movies!” Kie said cheerfully.

“And chocolate!” Sarah exclaimed.

“Yeah, too much chocolate.” John B. groaned as he and Pope lugged in some grocery bags.

I got up to hug my two girl best friends, all of us grouping together. They rubbed my back as I again started to cry, this time very loudly. Then I felt even more surrounded as the guys joined in our group hug. 

We baked, and watched comedy movies all night. I laughed until my belly hurt, the pure joy of being with my friends making my sadness go away even if it only would be for a moment. The sun was beginning to rise as we all fell asleep out in the living room. John B. and Sarah sharing a small air mattress that Sarah had brought, Pope got up to crash on the outside couch, Kie fell asleep in the floor, and JJ and I shared the pull out couch. 

=========================================

After that night, JJ and I had become a lot closer. We began spending a lot more time together, even doing odd jobs together. Weeks had gone by and people of The Cut and in Figure Eight began discovering that where JJ was I would be found and vice versa. Word got to Kelce that I looked cozy with JJ, and he was not happy. 

I was home alone, my dad was with JJ’s at Barry’s. A loud banging heard on my door. I crept to it, peeking out of the window to see Kelce. I dreaded opening the door, debating on just letting him sit out there. 

“Y/N! Open the fucking door right now!” he barked, his fist coming down on the door again. I waited another second, seeing if maybe he would go away. He barged in, my eyes wide at how angry he looked.

“Kelce,” I gasped.

“Who the fuck do you think you are embarrassing me by being seen with Maybank!” he sneered, coming closer to me. I backed away, cutting around my house so I couldn’t be cornered. 

“It’s none of your business who I’m with Kelce, we aren’t dating anymore!” I shouted.

“We had a fight y/n, we’re not over until I say we are.” he claimed, snatching my wrist. I tried to wretch my hand away, but he was too strong. 

“I told you I was done! I don’t want to be with you ever again!” I screeched. I felt pain on the side of my cheek as Kelce slapped me, falling to the ground. 

“You listen to me you little bitch. I don’t ever want you hanging with that piece of trash ever again, is that clear?” he hissed, using his hold on my wrist to yank me up.

“Fuck you,” I spat. 

In the next second, I was being pinned against the wall. Kelce’s hand grabbing my throat as he slammed me into the hard wood. He squeezed my pulse point, my breathing halted. I scratched at his hand as he lifted me higher, my air supply being cut off even more. My vision started to become hazy, black spots appearing in my eyes. I kicked my legs as hard as I could until they connected with something. Kelce dropped me to the ground, air whooshing back into my lungs. He looked at me with hard, angry eyes. As if I was the one in the wrong.

“This isn’t over,” he sneered, storming out of my house.

I coughed and gagged until I finally started to breathe normally again. I crawled to my room, dragging myself on to my bed. I curled up in my covers and sobbed. I wished so hard that I had never been stupid enough to date a Kook. I realized now that I was desperate to get away from my dad, snatching any opportunity to get out of this hellhole. I cried myself to sleep that night, not even harvesting enough energy to call JJ. He was all I wanted right now, but I couldn’t move....everything hurt.

===================================

The next day, I got a text from JJ saying everyone wanted to hang out. I groaned, hauling myself out of bed. My eyes almost bulged out of my head at the sight of the deep bruises on my neck. How was I supposed to keep this from them? From JJ? I couldn’t tell them, JJ more than likely would end up in real jail this time if he went after Kelce. 

I did my best to cover it up, even opting for one of JJ’s hoodies I stole that covered more of my neck. My cheek thankfully didn’t look as bad and I was able to cover it completely. I heard JJ’s bike pull up, nerves creeping in my chest as I went outside. He smiled when he saw me, and it was like all my worries melted away. He opened his arms when I got closer, pulling me into a hug. I inhaled his scent...smoke, weed, and an earthy tone that was just JJ. His scent calmed my raging nerves. I jumped on the back of his bike, holding on to him as we sped off to the chateau.

==================================

I was doing a good job of hiding until I stupidly pulled my hair to one side.

“What’s on your neck?” Pope asked, inspecting me as I flinched from his prodding fingers. 

“Nothing,” I mumbled, flipping my hair back over. JJ’s eyes narrowed at me, my heart sinking. 

“Ooohh, did you get some last night y/n?” Kie raised her brows suggestively. 

“No,” I scoffed, my cheeks reddening. 

“You so did! Spill!” Sarah squealed. 

“Yeah y/n, spill.” JJ clipped, his arms crossing his chest. 

“I didn’t get any guys, swear.” I insisted, my eyes mainly on JJ. He nodded, but he didn’t look like he believed me.

“Then what is that?” John B. asked, joining in on the interrogation. 

“I tripped getting out of the shower last night,” I said, unconvincingly by the accusing look JJ was still giving me. He stormed back into the chateau, of couse I followed after him.

“JJ please, I-” I started.

“No, you-....I thought-I, I thought we had something building here. Guess I was wrong, I mean how could I ever think you would go from a Kook to me. I feel so stupid!” he ranted, throwing his hat on the ground. He sat on the couch, elbows going to his knees. 

“JJ please believe me, it’s not what you think!” I pleaded.

“Then what is it y/n! Because I know damn well that ain’t from falling, you can’t get bruises like that from a fall.” he fumed.

“JJ I did fall!” I exclaimed, partially telling the truth.

“I’ve wanted you, for so long now....and I thought I finally had you. Then you go back to Kelce, after everything he did.” he said in disbelief. 

“Stop JJ please!” I yelled, choking as I felt tears come to the surface.

“Guess trash like me doesn’t deserve a girl like you huh y/n?” he questioned mockingly. 

“He hit me!” I screamed, both of us freezing.

“What?” JJ asked, his voice barely a whisper. 

“Last night, Kelce came over...he found out about us being together more. Let’s just say he didn’t like it.” I stated, marching to my bag. I yanked out a makeup wipe, dragging it over the sensitive skin. 

“Oh-my-god,” JJ whispered.

“So yeah, I didn’t fall. He slammed me against the wall and choked me after smacking me for telling him to fuck off.” I sniffed.

We were both silent after that, I stared at the floor. I could feel his gaze burning into my skin, analyzing every detail. He got up suddenly, throwing his hat on. JJ marched out the door, a look of pure rage in his eyes. I ran after him, knowing exactly what was in his mind. 

“JJ!” I shouted.

“That motherfucker has some nerve,” JJ raged, the other getting up to see what was going on. 

“JJ please don’t go!” I cried, reaching to grab his arm.

“Oh no, no. The Kooks are not getting away with it this time, not after laying a hand on my girl.” he stated, shaking free of my hold. 

I was too worried at the moment to think about what he had said, everyone looking between us confused.

“What the hell is going on?” John B. asked.

“Dude her neck, Kelce did that.” JJ said, pointing at the now very prominent bruises. The others gasped, staring in horror.

JJ didn’t wait for anyone as he jumped in the van, all of us following after him. 

================================

We arrived at the Boneyard, I knew Kelce would be here more than likely with Rafe and Topper. JJ stormed out of the van, walking quickly to find them. My heart dropped when we spotted them, JJ stalking over to where they were. I raced after him, the others following behind me. 

“Well if it isn’t the happy couple everyone has been talking about.” Kelce taunted, a smug grin on his face.

“You piece of shit!” JJ yelled, punching Kelce in the face.

“JJ!” I gasped, Kie grabbing my arm before I could go to him. 

“You-no-good-motherfucker! You dare lay a hand on my girl!” JJ sneered between punches.

“She’ll never be yours Maybank, I always win.” Kelce laughed as blood spewed from his nose. 

“If I see you within 100 feet of her, I’ll kill you.” JJ said darkly.

“That slut will never be satisfied.” Kelce said, igniting another surge from JJ as he hit Kelce again and again. 

“You abused her asshole, what kind of man treats a woman like that?” JJ scoffed.

“She asked for it.” Kelce said, throwing me an accusing look. JJ wrapped his hands around his throat, John B. and Pope jumping in to pull JJ off.

“If you EVER come near her again, I’ll fucking kill you!” JJ screamed as the boys dragged him away.

==================================

Once we got to the chateau, everyone headed inside except JJ and I. He pulled me into a hug, his head going into the crook of my neck. He kissed the skin there, tingles shooting through me. 

“So I’m your girl now?” I teased, smiling as JJ chuckled. 

“Hell yeah,” he said, pulling his head back to look at me. 

“Thank you for everything J,” I said softly, my hand going to caress his cheek. 

“Anything for you sweetheart.” he whispered, his forehead coming to rest on mine. 

I got on my toes and kissed him, grasping on to him tighter. His hand went to the back of my head, holding me there as our lips moved. I felt as if I were on top of the world, JJ pulled me closer as we fell deeper into the kiss. I pulled away when I felt dizzy from the lack of oxygen, our chests both rising erratically. We were both smiling like idiots, basking in the after glow of doing what we both wanted for so long. 

That night, I fell asleep cuddled next to JJ...the boy who I had longed for and was finally mine.

[prozach27]

If the metaphors in the bible were useful at helping people be good, there would be good catholics. Instead, there arent. If you join a group that is outright destructively hostile to queer people, you dont get to complain when people are wary of you. You've chosen to identify with a political structure that wants to do harm to them - you DO identify as a threat.

Saying something broadly like “there are no good Catholics in the world” immediately shows me that this isn’t meant to be a rational discussion but one that’s likely stemming from past pain, and for that I’m really sorry. I would’ve agreed with you once. Reality, like any topic, is more complicated.

Like I’ve mentioned before, organized religion can and should be critiqued - especially Catholicism. Blind faith or dogmatic worship raises a million red flags for me. I was treated horribly by the church as a young queer kid growing up in catholic school due to religious zealotry, and it led to a long period of atheism and lashing out at religion. In my specific case though, I slowly realized this was because of how religion as a whole made me feel about myself and my community rather than it being because I didn’t believe in God, and so I was reacting in anger. While in an LGBTQ organization, I ended up working with a Lutheran pastor on several events she was hosting - specifically one called the shower of stoles, showing the stoles (those fancy-looking and colorful shoulder wrappings priests have) of LGBTQ people in faith who’ve been silenced or removed from the church in order to highlight the enormity of the issue and to “bear witness to the huge loss of leadership that the church has brought upon itself because of its own unjust policies.” Things like this made me slowly start to realize I’d been treating Christianity as a one-sided villain, and with time and repeated programming from this Lutheran pastor that was embracing LGBTQ life, I began to feel as though there were some religious people I could let my guard down with (warily).

Once I felt comfortable with who I am and around religion, I ended up switching to the best university in my town, which was a private catholic one. I expected hatred and repeated bigotry. Instead, what I found was a community genuinely eager for my presence and excited for what I had to say. Younger millennials and gen z in the Catholic Church, in my experience, overwhelmingly abhor homophobia (and often transphobia) and are vocal against it in the church. Within a year in that environment, it became crystal clear that everyone just… didn’t have a problem. There was still the administration though, right? Well, the administration went out of their way to spend hundreds of thousands on building an LGBTQ center while I was there, and leading priests on campus actively sought out queer voices and uplifted them. I eventually became president of the LGBTQ group on campus, and priests would once in a blue moon come to meetings just so they could stay informed on what issues need their support - and our faculty advisor was a lesbian faith leader in the community. For my senior event, I even got this catholic university to use its money to put on a raging drag show in the center of campus, and had the pleasure of seeing the Vice President of student affairs along with a priest slip drag queens some dollars during business hours lol. My commencement speaker, Fr. James Martin, has written EXTENSIVELY on how unfairly the LGBTQ community is treated by the church, and meets with bishops (and even the pope) about how the church needs to modernize and embrace queer and trans members of the congregation. He went from being an influential catholic in the church to dedicating his entire career solely to embracing the LGBTQ community, and is repeatedly attending speaking gigs throughout the country to spread this message.

I used to earnestly believe all Catholics - and all Christians generally - were horrible people because of how I was initially treated by the church. As I was re-exposed to religion as an adult, however, it became clear to me that like any organization, judging the people for the leadership lacks nuance. Ever since warily re-entering Catholicism, I’ve been radically embraced by my churches and congregations, and have been exposed to countless fellow members and leaders who are just as concerned about homophobia and transphobia in the church as I am and are actively working to try and change it. Rather than maintain distance and write off Catholicism outright, I feel glad to have a chance to use my experiences to make the world a little brighter for kids growing up queer - by being a part of the church once more, I can serve as a representation that being queer doesn’t contradict believing God loves you, and I can also lend my support to any events or issues I come across that seek to further counter harmful stances the church takes since hurtful messaging no longer hits me the same. By all means, there will always be sects of Christianity and Catholicism that are focused more on hatred and causing pain, but there are so many more that really do take the metaphors in the Bible to heart and genuinely try to do their best to achieve it, and by painting in such a broad stroke, you run the risk of not getting to see that little touch of beauty in the world.

[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

Rafe Cameron x reader (pt 1)

Summary: You, a pogue and Rafe Cameron, a kook are friends of benefits, secretly of course. But what happens when you get pregnant?

A/N: Soooo I may or may not make this into a series??? I started writing and couldn’t stop and actually wrote out 2 more parts to this if you guys are interested :) 

OBX Tag list is at the end. Let me know if you want to be added xx

**MASTERLIST**

Requests: {OPEN} CLOSED

I am currently taking requests for:

The Vampire Diaries/The Originals

Elijah Mikaelson

Damon Salvatore

Criminal Minds:

Spencer Reid

Derek Morgan

Supernatural (I’m only up to season 2, so please don’t request something with spoilers)**

Sam Winchester

Dean Winchester

Outer Banks (Netflix):

John B Routledge

JJ Maybank

Rafe Cameron

********************************************************************************************

NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS

You and Rafe never meant to hook up in the first place. You two were supposed to hate each other, being from opposites sides of the island and raised different ways but alcohol will make you not care who you’re with if you’ve had enough of it. It was a late night at the Boneyard. You ventured out to the beach, away from the party, when Rafe had followed you. He plopped down next to you in the sand, equally as drunk as you. A few glances at each other and you two were tongue tied, laying in the sand. You two found a quiet and secret spot on the beach and hooked up, then passed out in each other’s arms. You woke up the next morning still wrapped in his arms. You had quickly moved away from him and pulled on your clothes, cursing yourself for letting yourself fall into bed or in this case, the sand, with a kook, the biggest kook asshole of all. He found himself thinking the same thing about you. So, you two decided to never speak of it again. It was all just a drunken mistake. 

~

However, a week later at the next party, you two found yourselves in the same place. Then the next week, and the week after that. Eventually you began sneaking around, you at his house when his family was gone or vice versa. It was just sex at first, but then something out of the blue happened.

“Do you want to go out to dinner tomorrow? You know… like a date?” Rafe had asked one evening. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously as he stared at you.

You were taken back, but you surprised yourself by agreeing, “Sure.”

The next day the two of you took the ferry off the island, away from anyone who could see the two of you together, into Greenville, NC, a short two hour drive and spent the day walking around shops, getting ice cream and later dinner. It was a nice day to the two of you. There was no kook or pogue talk. It was just you and Rafe.

After that, the two of you made it a weekly occurrence. Every Saturday was spent in Greenville, sometimes you ventured to other cities around there. Both of you lied to your family or friends if asked about Saturday’s. Rafe would tell Kelce and Topper that his dad had business on the mainland he had to attend to. You would tell the pogues, you were working or spending time with family. They never second guessed you.

~

Everything was great until you and Rafe were strolling down the main street in Greenville, passing a small boutique that baby clothes in a window caught your eye. You opened your phone and checked the date. You had been so busy with Rafe you hadn’t even noticed; you were 3 weeks late.

“Hey, you okay?” Rafe had asked, giving a small squeeze to your hand.

You nodded, “Yeah, I’m great.” You faked a smile and put your phone back in your pocket. The next day you went to the store and bought a pregnancy test. 3 minutes later your life changed.

~

You waited a few days before you headed to Rafe’s. You knew you shouldn’t have stopped by but you couldn’t wait until Saturday, you needed to talk about it now. That was your first mistake.

When you arrived, it was too late. Rafe and other kooks, including Topper, Kelce and some other kook girls were hanging outside, sitting around a bonfire. They had already seen you.

“Rafe, what the hell is a pogue doing here?” Topper asked.

Rafe had looked up and saw you walking this way. His heart skipped a beat when he saw you, but he kept his face serious, “I’m not sure. Maybe I left something at the restaurant?” He asks, standing. The girl that was all over him, falling back on the couch.

Your heart dropped when you saw them, but there was no turning back now. Your heart broke when you saw Rafe and some girl cuddled on the couch.

“Pogue, what the hell are you doing here?” Topper shouted as you walked closer.

“I need to talk to Rafe.”

“Why would your pogue ass need to-” Topper started, but Rafe put his hand on Topper’s shoulder, interrupting him, “It’s fine, Topper.” He walked past Topper and roughly grabbed your arm, tugging you away from the group and back to your car.

“What the hell are you doing here, y/n?” Rafe snapped.

“Rafe let go of my arm.” You whimpered, trying to pull your arm away, but his grip only tightened, and he put you between him and your car.

“It was agreed we wouldn’t show up at each other’s houses.” He finally let go of your arm. When you got a good look at him, his eyes were red and dilated, white powder on his nose.

“Oh my god, are you high right now?” you asked, going up to rub the stuff off his nose, but he smacks your hand away, “What does it matter to you? You’re not the boss of me.”

“You’re high right now.” You breath out in disbelief, shaking your head, “What the fuck, Rafe?!”

“Oh, shut the fuck up. Stop bitching, it’s annoying.” He huffed, his hands going to his hips.

You were taken back by his tone. The Rafe you had come to know and love, gone and replaced with stranger. “Rafe… This isn’t you. You aren’t the one to get high and snort cocaine!”

His hand slapped your car right next to your head and you flinched. His face got close to yours, “You don’t know a damn thing about me. We had a few good fucks and that’s it.”  

Your eyes filled with tears, “Rafe, come on you’re scaring me.”

He rolled his eyes, “Get the fuck out of here. I don’t want to see you again. You’re just a dirty pogue. a good fuck. That’s it. That’s all you were to me. Nothing more.” He seethed through his teeth before pulling from you and storming off back to his house.

The second mistake was thinking Rafe and you were more than fuck buddies or could be more than just a pogue and a kook.

~

You knew you couldn’t go home. Your parents were at home and you were a mess. Tears blinded your vision and your body raked with sobs as you drove. You knew where you needed to go. You needed your best friends.

~

You pulled up to the Chateau and was thankful to see the van, JJ’s bike and Kie’s car. You pulled yourself out of the car and trudged your way up to the door. You never knocked but you did anyways. You were probably a stranger to them, and you didn’t want to just walk right in. You had blown them off multiple times to see Rafe and you knew they probably didn’t even want to see you. When the door opened it was John B, “Well look who decided-” he begins but then takes in your appearance, “What’s wrong? What happened?” He quickly let out.

You let out a sob, hanging your head. He quickly pulled you into his arms, looking back at the other pogues who stood from their place on the chairs and couch.

“Shh… It’s okay.” He sooths, walking you inside and closing the door.

“What happened?” Kie asked, her hand going to your back.

“Who do we have to fuck up?” JJ pipes up, cracking his knuckles, “I’ll fuck them up.”

“We’ll take out whoever caused this.” Pope says.

You let out another sob, “You’re going to hate me.”

John B shook his head, “No we won’t. You’re our friend… tell us what happened.” He led you to the couch and sat you down, sitting next to you, his arm still wrapped around you. Kie sat on the other side and handed you a tissue.

JJ and Pope stood in front of you, arms crossed over their chests.

“It’s okay, y/n. You can tell us what happened.” Kie said softly.

You sniffled and wiped your tears, looking down at your hands, “I made a mistake. A big mistake…”

“It can’t be that bad. Unless you hooked up with a kook.” JJ laughed, but his laughter quickly dying down when he saw the look on your face.

“Oh shit.” Pope whispers.

You let out another sob, “I fucked up.”

John B slowly rubbed your back, “Tell us what happened.”

You sniffled and blew your nose before telling them the story about how you and Rafe hooked up, became friends with benefits then began dating. “……. And to top the cake I found out I was pregnant.” You then told them the story about how you went to Rafe and what happened.

The pogues listened to you tell your story, holding back any anger they had and never once interrupted you.

“So yeah. I fucked up.” You sniffled, glancing up at the pogues.

“I’m going to kill him.” John B stands from his seat.

“I’ll get the gun.” JJ says, standing from the floor.

“I’m with you guys.” Pope announces.

“Let’s kick some kook’s ass.” Kie says standing.

You quickly shook your head and stood, grabbing John B’s arm, “Please don’t start anything. Please.” Your eyes are pleading, “It’ll only make it worse for you guys.”

John B’s tense with anger and he softens to your touch, “Fine, I won’t leave now, but I’m not making any promises that I won’t kick his ass if I see him.” He wraps you in a hug and kisses your head, “You’re not alone in this.”

“Never.” JJ says, wrapping you in a hug.

“We’re family and we’ll always have your back.” Kie says, following suit.

“Pogues forever.” Pope says, wrapping his arms around Kie and JJ. It’s a pogue sandwich and you’re right in the middle. You telling the pogues what happened; that was not one of your mistakes. It was one of the best things you could have done for yourself.

PART 2

*****************************************************************************************************

A/N: Do I see something there with John B and reader?? Hmmm. Well, what do you guys think?? Should I do a part two? 

OBX tag list: @emmalvei-blog​ , @tregua-oca​ , @weirdbiwitch​ , @losers-club6​

[pettyprocrastination]

Panty & Bambi

Francisco “Catfish” Morales x Roller Derby!Reader

Summary: Helena Morales celebrates her 12th birthday at the roller rink, where she plays cupid for her kind father who’s attention has been captured by a confident skater that danced about the rink. 

Warnings: profanity, uhhh mention of alcohol?? Frankie being a fucking BOTTOM about buff thick women lmao. 

Word Count:2.9k

Perm Taglist: @honestlystop​

authors note:Wrote this because I’m sad about not being able to do derby this season and i’ve been watching lots of bouts to comfort myself in it lmao. Big inspiration to @qveenbvtch​ who wrote a fucking MAGICAL javi rollerskating fic called Ring My Bell!! It’s so fucking good read it here !!!!!! Big thank you to my boo @captainsamwlsn​ for reading this for me ILY Thais so fkin much <3

“For her next birthday could your daughter pick something that isn’t fucking murder on my knees?”

Frankie stared at his friend and god father to his now twelve year old daughter under the flashing fluorescent lights of the roller rink before taking a sip of the cheap beer in his hand. “Don’t whine Santi.” Frankie laughed.  “We both know you’d do anything for her.”

Which was true. 

Helena had only been a baby when the group went to Columbia to take down Lorea. They had always been a close-knit group of friends, but what happened on that trip, that shit-show of a mission, made them appreciate having each other even more. They visited Tom’s family when they were able to, the first few months after his death his ex-wife wouldn’t even let them on the front lawn. She took to screaming and cursing at them for his death, they didn’t tell her about the teenage boy that took her ex-husband’s life to avenge his brother. 

Tess did in fact get into Harvard. She sent Pope letters from time to time. She didn’t blame him or the others for her father’s death like her mother did. The boys couldn’t say the same for themselves. 

But the family they did have, the sweet chunky cheeked little infant girl Frankie was proud to call his daughter? Oh they all worshiped her. Little Helena had them all wrapped around her finger from the moment they set eyes on her. 

The men had been there for every tea party, fairy tale, and birthday. They watched her go from mashing cake into her mouth at one years old to laughing at a skate rink with her friends at twelve. 

Frankie had been there for everything and his boys were there to help him. 

He couldn’t say the same for Liana. 

“Twelve years brother.” Pope remarked. Frankie groaned and let his head fall forward. 

“You don’t have to tell me man. Where did it all go?” He looked out on the rink with a smile, watching his daughter skate with ease on the polished wood floors while Ben wobbled along next to her, looking more like a baby taking its first steps than a grown man. 

“It feels like just yesterday I was changing her diapers, now she’s in eighth grade.” Frankie sighed, released the vice like grip he had on the neck of his bottle. “Fuck man, I’m not ready for her to go to high school, I don’t know what I’ll do with myself.”

“You’ll do what you’ve always done for her, ‘Fish.” Frankie looked up to see Will standing at his side, setting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be there for her. Which is more than I can say about half of the dead beat dads out there now.”

“Dad!” She called out, her pigtails swaying as she turned to him, hands held out with a big grin. “Come on!”

Frankie ignored the pop of his knees as he stood up with a groan. 

“I’ll pray for your back hermano!” Santi called out with a barking laugh as his friend slowly stepped onto the rink with shaking legs

Frankie couldn’t give his little girl the world no matter how much he wanted to, he was just one man. But damn if he wouldn’t skate with her at her birthday party. 

Helena took his hand in hers as they skated, which he knew was more for his safety than hers. But he still felt his heart clench at seeing just how small his daughter’s hand was compared to his.

“How are you so bad at this!” She giggled upon seeing his knees buckle for the third time in two minutes. While Helena had taken to roller skates with ease, the same could not be said for her father, who clutched onto her hand like a lifeline. 

“Mija, the last time I was on wheels like this was before I broke my ankle skateboarding.” A woman skated by them, the wheels on her skated lighting up a bright pink each time they made contact with the floor. You turned, skating backwards for a moment with a carefree smile before turning forward again. 

Frankie’s knees buckled when Helena’s hip bumped against his.

“God-” His daughter snorted. “Maybe if you stopped staring at that lady and focused more on skating you wouldn’t be wobbling like an old man on a walker!”

His head snapped to his daughter like a whip, for a moment uncaring how he nearly lost his balance. “I am not-I wasn’t-did you just call me an old man?”

His daughter simply stared up at him with that smug little grin that he swore Santi taught her. 

“She’s pretty.” His daughter noted, he spared another glance up, feet sliding across the floor as he did. 

You skated around another couple, hips swaying to the song playing over the speaker and hands raised high over your head. You brought one foot in front of the other in a sashay along the rink, gliding over the floor with grace that Frankie couldn’t even try to get as he gripped his daughter’s hand for dear life while they skated along the inner rim of the rink. 

His daughter tugged at his hand, which had gotten arguably more sweaty when he realized that you would be passing them once more. “You should say hi.”

Frankie shook his head and offered his daughter a smile. “It’s your birthday ‘lena.” He reminded her. “You should be having fun with your friends instead of worrying about your old man’s dating life.”

Helena tilted her head in thought before smiling and letting go of her father’s hand. “Okay!”

“Wait-wait!” Frankie shot his hands out to balance himself, without the help of his daughter he felt even more off-kilter and out of his element. “Where are you going!?”

His daughter laughed before joining her friends that had skated ahead of them. “You told me to have fun with my friends! So I’m going to!” She looked behind him and smiled so wide he felt his heart drop. “Have fun dad! You got this!”

“Helena Maria Morales if you don’t-” Frankie’s threat was cut off when his legs wobbled against, one foot shooting out to steady him, except he was on fucking roller skates, which only caused his foot to slide out from beneath him and send him tumbling onto the hard floor beneath him. 

Had it not been for his skating savior that is. 

You shot forward, one hand gripping the collar of his shirt meanwhile the other grabbed the waistband of his trousers to steady him. On instinct his hands gripped your hips like you were a life preserver and he was a man lost at sea. 

“You alright there buddy?” Frankie simply stared at you, throat tight and mouth wide open as his bright wracked for a single thought, a single word to say to you. 

“Jesus Christ.” Santi groaned from the other side of the rink. He and the other boys sat watching in equal parts awe and dismay at their friend being caught like damsel and then absolutely flounder in front of you. “Say something you idiot!”

“Oh this is painful.” Ben snorted. “I don’t want to look away!”

“I’m uh, yeah I’m good.” Frankie realized as you pulled him upright how fucking strong you were, and it made his knees knock together for a whole different reason. His hands tensed and he realized he was still holding onto your hips. “Oh fuck, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine, really.” You held up a hand to silence him, his mouth snapped shut as if it were a trained command. “I know you aren’t some creep trying to cop a feel, I’ve been watching you skate for a while now.”

Frankie looked down at the floor. “Yeah well, the last time I was on wheels was when I was sixteen and tried to impress a girl at the mall by grinding on a rail with my skateboard.”

You slowly took his hand in yours and began to skate forward, slow smooth steps that he did his best to mimic. He was so focused on not falling he hadn’t realized that the pair of you were skating like a couple. “Did it work?”

“Fuck no!” He laughed. “I broke my ankle, lost a tooth, then she and her friends all laughed at me.”

You smiled at his story, noting the way the multi-colored lights bounced off his profile. “Well, I’ll do my best to make sure you don’t break an ankle or lose any teeth tonight, alright Bambi?”

Frankie’s feet wobbled again and tightened his grip on your hands, marveled for a moment at how soft they felt against his. “Bambi?”

“Yeah.” You offered him a slight shrug, he still wasn’t sure how you could skate around others with such ease while also maintaining a conversation, but was thankful for it either way. “You both have brown hair, both have shit balance-”

“Gee thanks.”

You giggled and flicked the tip of his cap. “Let me finish.” You scolded. “You both have shit balance, and you're both pretty fuckin’ cute.”

Frankie felt his heart race and his lips curl into a shy smile. He watched the colors that danced over your form like a kaleidoscope. “Well my actual name is Frankie-” The tip of his skate dipped forward, catching on the floor and sending him careening right into your arms. You kept your feet together at an angle to keep from falling, hands grabbing onto him as he barreled forward, arms thrown around you and nose pressed against yours. “-but I guess Bambi is pretty fitting too.”

“Well Bambi-” Frankie felt a tingle down his spine every time you called him that. A nickname so sweet and innocent had no business making him feel so hot under the collar. “How about we take a break from trying to keep you from falling flat on your ass and go sit down for a bit? If your daughter doesn’t mind that is.”

He looked over your shoulder, where Helena stood with two of her friends, smiling wide and flashing her dad two thumbs up. 

“I don’t think she'll mind.”

```

“A pilot?” You whistled, leaning back in his chair. “Damn, you’ve got me beat. I’m just a high school English teacher!”

Frankie shook his head, toe tapping on the linoleum floor of the little snack corner of the rink that pair of you were sitting at. “Now I wouldn’t say all that. I mean, spending your entire day dealing with teenagers who definitely don’t want to be there? You must have the patience of a saint.”

You bumped your knee against his. “We’ll now you’re just trying to flatter me.”

Frankie held one hand up and the other over his heart, as if he were taking an oath. “All truth here, coming from a former AP English kid.” You gasped and held one hand over your chest and pretended to swoon. 

“An honor student of my subject? Be still my beating heart!” Frankie snorted into his drink, which caused you to in turn laugh loud enough for the people in front of them to turn and glare. 

He had always hated dating. It felt so forced, so uncomfortable. The icebreakers were only met with bland replies of women who clearly weren’t interested in him, and only became less interested when they learned he was a father. That or they would praise him for being so “brave” to raise his daughter on his own. What, as if he was supposed to walk out on her just like her mother did? It turned him off to the whole situation. 

But this? Sitting in the tiny snack corner at a roller rink, sipping overpriced sodas and laughing loud enough to annoy people while staring at the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen? Oh it was better than any date at a four star restaurant he’s been on. 

“Trust me.” He told you. “You would’ve hated me as a student.”

“I could never!”

“Oh yes you could!” He laughed. “I fell asleep in class all the time, never answered questions and uh honestly?” He pulled his hat low over his face with a shy smile. “If I had you as a teacher? I’d never get anything done.”

His eyes flicked to the sleeve of your shirt, seeing your biceps strain against it as you leaned over for your drink. The shorts you wore hugged the thick muscle of your legs and he felt his throat tighten up at the thought. 

You smiled and pushed his cap up so you could see his brown doe eyes. “I’m gonna take that as a compliment, Bambi.”

 Santi watched the pair of you, nearly nose to nose when you leaned in close to toy with his hat. He smiled and bumped Will’s shoulder. “Look at ‘em go. ‘Fish still has it.”

“That’s our boy.”

They had all gotten the call when Liana left, she had simply packed her bags in the middle of the night and vanished. Leaving Francisco and their six month old baby alone. They knew how much it hurt him to see her leave, how much he blamed himself and wracked his brain for how to fix it, how many times he called her and pleaded for her to come home. If not for him, for their daughter. Their little baby girl who wouldn’t stop crying because she was hungry and mommy was gone. 

But to see him now, blushing like a school boy while talking with a woman who his daughter practically pushed him into, they all felt a swell of pride. 

If any of them deserved a happy ending, it was Catfish. 

“If he doesn’t ask her out-” Ben sighed. “I’ll kill him. Just fucking murder him.”

Sadly, just as Frankie was about to ask that dreaded question, if he could get your number or hell, if you’d like to get a drink sometime, a woman with bright pink hair poked her head over your table. 

“Hey panty!” She called out and Frankie damn near got whiplash at that nickname. “Can you give me a ride home? My car is busted and my boyfriend can’t pick me up.”

Your shoulders deflated at her response and Frankie couldn’t help but feel a little prideful that you felt dejected to leave his side. “Yeah no problem Jammie.”

“Thanks!” The girl chirped. “I’ll meet you outside!”

When she left, Frankie turned to you with a slow smile, his eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Panty?”

“Ughh I know!” You groaned into your hands. “It’s not some weird nickname or anything it’s just my derby name I swear!”

Frank leaned back, eyes wide in admiration. “You play roller derby?”

You grinned, shoulders back and confidence oozing off of you at the mention of your sport. You tucked your hands behind your head and Frankie took that moment to marvel at the muscle that strained against your shirt. “Damn right I do. Not to brag but I’ve been the MVP for the last three seasons.”

It was absolutely a brag and he loved it. 

“You know-” Your eyes flicked to his, shy and skittish. “-we have a bout, a game, this Saturday if you want to come. It’ll be here, at eight. You don’t have to-”

“I’ll be there.” He promised. The thought of you in those spandex shorts on skates, being positively brutal to other women on the track with that confident grin? Christ, he wouldn’t miss it for the world. “I’ve never watched roller derby before but, it’s recently piqued my interest.”

You smiled, raising your foot to knock it against his. “Well I hope it keeps you interested Frankie, because you’ve piqued mine too.”

Frankie felt a swell of pride in his chest at your shy smile and sweet words. He felt like a kid back in high school, trying his best to woo the girl in his biology class with passing notes in hopes of getting a date. 

Only this time he had more experience and a lot less acne. 

“Panty!” The woman shouted. “Lets gooo! I work the morning shift tomorrow!”

Your face fell. “Looks like that’s my que to head out. I’ll see you Friday though?”

“Fuck yes.” Frankie breathed out, before regaining his composure. “I mean uh yeah, yeah I’ll uh, see if I can make it.” You laughed and stood up from the table, turning on your heel at the final moment to press a quick kiss to his cheek. 

“I’ll see you then, Bambi.” You purred, before walking out of the door and past His daughter and three grown ass men, who stood in a circle nearby like a bunch of gossiping old women.

Frankie didn’t even have a moment to realize you kissed him before his daughter bounded over to him asking eighty questions within two seconds.

“What's her name? Is she cool? She seems cool! Are you guys dating now? Did you ask her out? Did you get her number?”

He brought this daughter in for a hug, bringing his hand down on the crown of her head in a playful nuzzle. 

“Alright speedy gonzales.” She laughed into his side and tried to wriggle out of his bear hug. “No more matchmaking, you hear me?”

“But it worked! Didn’t it?” His stern facade melted away at the excited grin on Helena’s face.He sighed, letting his chin fall onto the top of her head. 

“We’ll just have to wait and see mija.”

His daughter whooped in victory, throwing her hands high in the air in celebration. 

“That means it worked!”