#i kind of want to answer my own questions now

[lizziesangel]

can you do another one shot of introverted reader and extroverted qb Rafe and he just follows her around and still crushes on her and then he like asks her out or something you can make this in your own way

finally part two!! ⟢ part one

as the self-defense unit wraps up, you and lana grab your things and head toward the locker rooms. the air between you is lighter now, the drills and awkward encounters behind you—for the moment, at least. lana nudges you with her shoulder, her mischievous grin already in place.

“did you see what happened to jason in the middle of class?” she asks, barely containing her laughter. “i mean, secondhand embarrassment doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

you stifle a laugh, glancing over at her. “what did he think was going to happen? asking mia out in the middle of the drills? who even does that?”

lana throws her hands up dramatically. “exactly! like, dude, we’re learning how to escape a chokehold, and he’s over here trying to escape the friend zone. bad timing, jason. bad. timing.”

you snort, unable to hold back your amusement. “and then mia’s face? she looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole.”

“she didn’t even say anything! she just shook her head and walked away!” lana cackles, practically doubling over as she recalls the moment. “poor guy stood there for a solid ten seconds, looking like he’d just been hit by a bus.”

“it was funny,” you admit, “but also kind of sad. like, imagine building up all that courage just to get publicly rejected.”

lana shakes her head, still giggling. “i mean, yeah, i felt bad for him. for, like, half a second. but you have to admit, it was iconic. mia didn’t even blink.”

you laugh, the image replaying in your mind, but then lana’s smirk takes on a different edge. she gives you a sly look, and you immediately know you’re in trouble.

“speaking of moments,” she begins, dragging out the words, “what’s going on with you and rafe cameron?”

your laughter dies in your throat, replaced by a groan. “oh my gosh, lana. nothing is going on.”

“nothing?” she echoes, raising an eyebrow. “girl, he was staring at you like you were the answer to all of life’s questions. and don’t even try to deny it—i saw it.”

you roll your eyes, trying to play it cool. “he wasn’t staring. he was just… focused on the drill.”

“focused on you,” she corrects, wagging a finger at you. “i mean, i can’t blame him. you two looked like the cover of some YA romance novel over there, all wrist grabs and lingering eye contact.”

“lana, oh my gosh, stop.” you shove her lightly, your face burning. “it’s not like that.”

“oh, but you wish it was?” she teases, wiggling her eyebrows.

“no!” you insist, laughing despite yourself. “you’re so annoying.”

lana grins triumphantly, but before she can press further, you narrow your eyes and shift the spotlight. “okay, let’s talk about you and topper, then.”

her smug expression falters. “what about me and topper?” she asks, feigning innocence.

you mimic her earlier teasing tone. “oh, nothing. just that you were blushing a lot while you two were partnered up. and don’t even try to deny it—i saw it.”

“i was not blushing,” she huffs, but her face betrays her, turning pink at the accusation.

“you so were!” you shoot back, laughing. “and don’t think i didn’t notice how he kept leaning in to talk to you, all ‘are you okay? is my grip too tight?’”

“okay, first of all, he was just being polite,” lana retorts, crossing her arms. “second of all, you’re deflecting.”

“am i, though?” you challenge, raising an eyebrow. “because it sounds to me like someone has a little crush.”

lana groans, throwing her head back dramatically. “fine! whatever! he’s cute, okay? but he’s also topper thornton, which means he’s probably, like, ninety percent annoying and ten percent tolerable.”

you smirk. “sounds like someone’s trying to justify their feelings.”

“and it sounds like someone’s avoiding the fact that rafe cameron was basically undressing them with his eyes,” she fires back.

the two of you dissolve into laughter, your playful banter echoing down the hallway. for all the awkwardness of the class, you can’t help but feel grateful for moments like this—light, ridiculous, and completely you.

it’s been a week since the self-defense class, but you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about rafe cameron since then. not that you’d admit it to lana.

she’d never let you hear the end of it. right now, though, you’re trying to focus on your spanish class, scribbling notes as señor martinez drones on about verb conjugations. lana is sitting to your left, doodling absentmindedly in her notebook, while rafe is on your right, leaning back in his chair with a bored expression that says he’d rather be anywhere else.

you try not to notice how close he’s sitting. or how his cologne lingers faintly in the air. definitely not noticing.

“señor cameron,” señor martinez suddenly says, breaking through the hum of your thoughts. you glance up to see the older man staring pointedly at rafe, his thick-rimmed glasses slipping down his nose. “por favor, conteste esta pregunta. ¿cómo se dice, ‘i like to play football’ en español?”

rafe blinks, his posture straightening slightly. you can tell from the way his brow furrows that he has no idea what the answer is. he shifts in his seat, his gaze darting toward you briefly before landing back on the teacher.

“uh…” he starts, clearly stalling. “yo… gusta… uh…”

you glance at him out of the corner of your eye, trying not to laugh at his obvious struggle. he looks genuinely panicked now, scratching the back of his neck like it’ll somehow help him come up with the right words.

without thinking, you lean slightly toward him and scribble on the edge of your notebook: me gusta jugar al fútbol.

sliding the notebook closer to him with your left hand, you tap the words lightly with your pen before sitting back, acting like nothing happened. rafe’s eyes dart to the paper, and then to you. he catches on quickly, his lips twitching into a small, grateful smile.

“me gusta jugar al fútbol,” he repeats, his pronunciation a little off but passable. he looks up at señor martinez, who nods approvingly.

“muy bien, señor cameron,” the teacher says before moving on to the next victim in his line of questioning.

rafe exhales quietly, and you feel his shoulder brush yours as he leans closer, whispering just loud enough for you to hear. “thanks. i owe you one.”

you shrug, keeping your eyes on your notebook. “you’ll survive.”

“yeah, because of you,” he says, his tone teasing but sincere. you can feel his gaze lingering on you, and your cheeks warm involuntarily.

lana, who has been unusually quiet, suddenly clears her throat dramatically. “i see you two are getting along nicely,” she whispers, her voice dripping with mock innocence.

you nudge her under the desk with your foot, shooting her a warning look. “focus, lana.”

“oh, i am,” she replies with a grin, glancing pointedly between you and rafe.

you and lana walk out of spanish class, your bags slung over your shoulders as you weave through the bustling hallway. the faint smell of old textbooks and cleaning supplies lingers in the air, blending with the hum of chatter from other students.

“so,” lana says, adjusting the strap of her bag and glancing at you, “are we pretending that señor martinez’s lecture didn’t put the entire class to sleep?”

you snort. “you mean only you? i saw you zoning out halfway through.”

“hey, i was conserving my energy,” she defends, holding up her hands. “that conjugation nonsense was not giving what it needed to give.”

you laugh softly, shaking your head as the two of you make your way toward your lockers. the conversation shifts to weekend plans, lana animatedly describing some pop-up event she wants to drag you to, when someone passes by on your right.

it’s him.

“hey,” he says, his voice breaking through your conversation like a gentle ripple. he’s walking just slow enough to catch your attention without completely stopping. “thanks for earlier. you saved me with that spanish sentence.”

he flashes you a smile—not the usual cocky smirk you’ve seen him give other people, but something softer, genuine. the kind that makes your chest tighten unexpectedly.

“oh, uh, no problem,” you manage to say, your voice steady despite the warmth creeping up your neck.

he gives a small nod, the corners of his mouth tugging upward just a little more, and then continues walking past you, blending into the crowd.

lana waits until he’s out of earshot before turning to you, her eyebrows raised and her grin positively devious. “okay. what was that?”

you roll your eyes, trying to play it cool. “he was just saying thank you.”

“mmm, sure,” she says, drawing out the words. “because guys like rafe cameron totally go out of their way to say thank you for help in class.”

“it’s called being polite,” you counter, though your voice wavers slightly, betraying your attempt at indifference.

“polite?” lana mimics, her voice dripping with mockery. “girl, he smiled at you like you just solved all his problems. that was not polite; that was something else.”

you shake your head, biting back a smile. “you’re ridiculous.”

“am i?” she teases, bumping her shoulder into yours. “or am i just really good at spotting crush vibes when i see them?”

you groan, quickening your pace to escape her relentless teasing, but the fluttery feeling in your chest doesn’t go away.

a few days rolls by, and it’s time for PE again. the memory of last week’s self-defense unit still lingers in your mind, though you’ve done your best to push it aside. unfortunately, lana hasn’t let you live it down.

“back to the battlefield,” she says dramatically as you walk into the gym together, her water bottle swinging in her hand. “do you think coach davis will make us pair up the same way as last time?”

you glance at her, trying to gauge whether she’s genuinely curious or just looking for an opportunity to tease you again. “i don’t know,” you reply, keeping your tone casual. “probably. he seems like a ‘stick to the plan’ kind of guy.”

lana smirks, nudging you lightly. “good news for you, then.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, feigning innocence as you open your water bottle and take a sip.

“oh, nothing,” she replies with a sly grin. “just that a certain quarterback might be looking forward to this more than you think.”

“ooh, look,” lana adds in a whisper, nudging you with her elbow as you make your way toward your spot. “there’s your favorite partner.”

you glance over instinctively and spot rafe standing with the rest of the football team. he’s tossing a basketball between his hands, chatting with topper and a couple of others, looking relaxed and completely at ease.

you try not to linger too long, but as if sensing your gaze, he looks up and meets your eyes. his lips curve into a small, knowing smile, and you quickly look away, your heart doing an unintentional somersault.

“stop it,” you mutter to lana, who’s practically vibrating with excitement at your reaction.

“i’m not even doing anything,” she says innocently, though the smug look on her face says otherwise.

you roll your eyes, but before you can fire back, coach davis claps his hands together, gathering the class’s attention.

“alright, folks!” he booms. “we’re picking up where we left off last week. same pairs, same drills, new moves.”

lana shoots you a triumphant look, barely able to contain her laugh. “told you.”

“shut up,” you mutter under your breath, your cheeks already warming as you glance toward the corner of the gym. sure enough, there’s rafe, standing with the other football players, tossing a basketball between his hands and looking entirely unbothered by the world around him.

when your name is called, followed by rafe’s, you take a deep breath and start walking toward him, feeling Lana’s smug gaze on your back the entire way.

“guess it’s us again,” he says, stopping in front of you. his tone is casual, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“lucky me,” you reply, trying to sound neutral as you set your water bottle on the floor, though your voice comes out a little more sarcastic than you intended.

he chuckles, his hands resting lightly on his hips. “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

you roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

“ready for round two?” he asks, his tone teasing but warm. there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—maybe amusement, maybe anticipation—but you don’t dwell on it for long.

“i’m ready if you are,” you reply, trying to match his confidence.

this week’s drills involve more complex moves—blocking, evading, and redirecting. rafe listens to coach davis’s explanation but keeps sneaking glances at you, like he’s more interested in your reaction than the actual instructions. you catch him once, and he quickly looks away, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish grin.

when it’s time to practice, rafe takes his position in front of you, his hands raised slightly. “alright, let’s see what you’ve got.”

you narrow your eyes playfully. “don’t go easy on me.”

his grin widens. “wouldn’t dream of it.”

the first few attempts are clumsy, just like last week, but this time, there’s an unspoken ease between you. the tension feels lighter, replaced by a strange sort of rhythm. when you stumble on one of the blocks, rafe catches your arm instinctively, steadying you without a second thought.

“you okay?” he asks, his voice soft.

“yeah,” you reply quickly, brushing it off. “just lost my balance.”

“good thing i’m here, then,” he says, his grin returning. he’s teasing, but there’s a sincerity in his tone that makes your stomach flip.

as the drill continues, you notice how his confidence contrasts with the careful way he moves around you, never pushing too hard, always adjusting to your pace. it’s almost… considerate. by the end of the session, you’re both slightly out of breath, your cheeks flushed—not just from the exercise.

rafe is surprisingly focused, following coach’s instructions and helping you figure out the movements without making it awkward—well, mostly. he adjusts his stance a couple of times, his hands hovering near your arms to guide you, but he never oversteps, which you appreciate.

“alright, now try shifting your weight forward,” he says, watching as you attempt to push him off balance.

you give it your best shot, planting your feet and leaning into the motion, but he barely moves, his footing solid.

“okay, not bad,” he says, grinning. “but maybe try using a little more…” he pauses, clearly searching for the right word.

“force?” you supply, raising an eyebrow.

“yeah, that.” he nods, his grin widening. “don’t be afraid to go for it.”

you try again, this time putting more effort into the movement. to your surprise, he actually stumbles back a step, his expression shifting to mock surprise.

“whoa—okay,” he says, holding up his hands in surrender. “you’ve got some hidden strength there.”

you laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “yeah, sure. i’m terrifying.”

“hey, i’m just saying,” he replies, his tone teasing. “remind me not to mess with you.”

lana, paired with topper a few feet away, catches the exchange and immediately starts making faces at you behind rafe’s back. you shoot her a glare, mouthing stop while trying not to laugh.

“what’s so funny?” rafe asks, glancing between you and lana.

“nothing,” you say quickly, straightening up and avoiding his gaze.

laa smirks, her voice carrying just enough for you to hear. “oh, it’s definitely something.”

you groan inwardly, already dreading whatever teasing lana has planned for later. for now, though, you focus on the drill, pretending not to notice the way rafe’s smile lingers just a little

the end of class rolls around, and as everyone starts clearing up and heading toward the locker rooms, rafe lingers near you, casually adjusting the strap of his gym bag. lana notices, of course, and shoots you a knowing look before wandering off toward the door with topper trailing behind her.

you sling your water bottle over your shoulder, about to follow, when rafe steps a little closer. “hey,” he says, his tone casual but with just a hint of hesitation.

“hi,” you reply, glancing up at him curiously.

“so, uh…” he rubs the back of his neck, his usual confidence slipping for just a moment. “are you going to the game tonight?”

you blink, caught a little off guard. “the football game?”

“yeah,” he gives a short laugh, as if there’s any other game he could be talking about. “i mean, it’s kind of a big one. with a rival school and all that.”

you chew on your lip, considering. “ah, i don’t know. i haven’t really thought about it.”

“oh, come on,” he says, a teasing edge creeping into his tone. “i’m playing tonight.”

“i know,” you say with a faint laugh. “you’re the captain.”

there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—maybe amusement, maybe something else entirely. “right. so… you’ll come?”

before you can answer, lana reappears, practically materializing out of thin air. “we’ll be there!” she announces brightly, cutting off whatever excuse you were about to come up with.

your head snaps toward her, eyes wide. “we will?”

“yeah,” lana says, completely unbothered by your subtle glare. “wouldn’t miss it.”

rafe’s grin widens, his gaze flickering between you and lana. “great. see you tonight, then.”

just as you’re about to protest—or at least question why lana is suddenly speaking for you—topper walks by, overhearing the last bit of the conversation. he stops, turning to lana with a raised eyebrow.

“you’re going to the game?” he asks, his tone curious but laced with something else, something like amusement.

lana tilts her head at him, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. “why? you don’t want me there?”

topper stares at her for a second, then shakes his head, the corner of his mouth twitching into a half-smile. “no, i didn’t say that.”

“good,” lana replies breezily, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “because we’ll be there.”

topper blinks, momentarily at a loss for words, before recovering with a lopsided grin. “cool. yeah. that’s… cool.”

you glance between them, unsure whether to roll your eyes or laugh. meanwhile, rafe is still standing next to you, watching the whole exchange unfold with an amused look on his face.

“see you tonight,” rafe says again, this time directing it more toward you. his voice is quieter, as if it’s just for you, and there’s something in his tone that makes your stomach flip.

“yeah,” you manage, your voice a little softer than you intended. “see you.”

rafe’s grin widens, his eyes lighting up in a way that makes your chest tighten. “great. see you then.”

as he walks away with topper, lana nudges you with her elbow, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“you’re welcome,” she says, grinning.

“oh my gosh, did you see the way he was looking at you? you’re so going to that game.”

“lana,” you groan, but she’s already steering you toward the door, topper trailing behind like a lost puppy.

“oh, and topper?” lana calls over her shoulder. “you’d better actually play well tonight if i’m showing up.”

topper laughs, running a hand through his hair. “don’t worry, i’ll make it worth your while.”

“you’re welcome, by the way,” she says, grinning.

“for what?” you ask, even though you already know where this is going.

“getting us prime seats to watch your boy play tonight,” she teases.

you groan, shaking your head. “he’s not my—”

“oh, save it,” she interrupts, laughing. “i’m just saying, this is gonna be very entertaining.”

you shoot lana a look, but she just grins, completely unfazed. “you realize your boy is going to be there as well.”

“ahhh, this is going to be so much fun,” she says, and for some reason, you can’t help but smile too.

you and lana are in her room, sorting through her closet to find something suitable for the football game. clothes are strewn across her bed, some tossed on the floor, and lana is holding up a navy sweater against herself in the mirror.

“what about this? casual but cute, right?” she asks, turning to you.

“it’s cute,” you say, trying not to laugh at the chaos around you. “but are we really dressing up for a football game?”

lana shoots you a look. “first of all, yes. second of all, you need to look extra cute. for a special reason.”

lana holds up a cropped sweater, frowning. “do i go with this? or the green one with the little buttons?”

“the green one,” you say without hesitation. “it makes your eyes pop.”

she nods thoughtfully, tossing the sweater onto a growing pile of rejected options. “okay, green it is. what about you? you can’t just show up in your usual jeans and hoodie. this is a game. there’s a whole vibe.”

before you can respond, lana’s younger sister amalia bursts into the room, a bundle of energy as always. she’s clutching a bowl of popcorn, her hair in a loose braid. at fifteen, she has that untamed curiosity that makes her impossible to ignore.

“what’s going on in here?” amalia asks, plopping down on the floor and grabbing one of lana’s discarded sneakers.

“getting ready for the game,” lana says, tossing the sweater onto the bed and grabbing a scarf.

amalia plops onto the corner of the bed, narrowly avoiding a pile of jeans. “so, like… are you going because you actually care about football, like, someone specific?”

“amalia!” you gasp, laughing, while lana groans.

“obviously, we’re going for the game,” lana says, dragging out the last word like it’s painfully obvious.

“sure you are,” amalia says, smirking. she looks at you. “so, which is it? topper or rafe?”

both lana and you freeze mid-motion, slowly turning to look at her. “what?” you say in unison, your voices dripping with confusion and maybe a hint of panic.

“oh my god, it is true.” amalia’s eyes widen, her tone full of mock scandal. “i mean, i heard you talking on the phone,” she says nonchalantly, taking a bite of her granola bar.

lana’s face contorts into a mix of horror and disbelief. “you were eavesdropping?”

“no!” amalia says defensively, though her grin betrays her. “i just walked past your room, and i heard you say something about rafe. or was it topper? honestly, you were talking so fast, i couldn’t tell.”

“besides, we have thin walls. i can hear every conversation you have.”

you bury your face in your hands while lana groans loudly, tossing a sweatshirt at the younger sister. “you’re the absolute worst, you know that?”

she giggles, dodging the sweatshirt. “what? i’m just curious! so, which one is it? rafe or topper?”

“neither,” you say quickly, trying to sound as calm as possible. “we’re just going because… we have nothing better to do.”

amalia doesn’t look convinced, her eyes darting between the two of you like she’s trying to crack a code. “uh-huh. sure.”

you bury your face in your hands. “can we not do this right now?”

“oh, come on,” she says, grinning. “i have to live vicariously through you guys. my life is so boring.”

her older sister snickers. “you’re fifteen, amalia. you’re supposed to have a boring life.”

amalia rolls her eyes. “whatever. you’re lucky mom and dad aren’t here, or they’d totally make me go with you guys.”

lana points to the door, her tone firm. “okay, get out. now. before i tell mom you stole her granola bars again.”

amalia gasps dramatically, clutching the half-eaten bar to her chest. “you wouldn’t.”

with a huff, amalia stands and heads for the door, but not before throwing one last grin over her shoulder. “fine, but if you don’t tell me what happens tonight, i’m stealing your makeup.”

“go away, amalia!” lana yells, and the door slams shut behind her.

“you’re such a snitch,” could be heard from the other side of the door.

as the silence settles, you and lana exchange a look, and then burst into laughter.

“she’s impossible,” you say, shaking your head.

lana smirks, reaching for her eyeliner. “she’s also not wrong about you and rafe, though.”

you grab a pillow and throw it at her. “shut up!”

the stadium lights flood the field as you and lana make your way to the bleachers. the energy in the air is palpable, the crowd buzzing with excitement as the game is set to begin. the school colors are everywhere—navy and red banners, painted faces, and a sea of matching shirts.

lana’s decked out in navy, her outfit effortlessly stylish, while you’re in red, wearing your school hoodie with pride. she loops her arm through yours as you weave through the crowd.

“this is so chaotic,” lana says, laughing as you dodge a group of cheerleaders running toward the sidelines.

“you’re the one who wanted to come early,” you tease.

“early means we get good seats,” she replies, tugging you along.

as you near the edge of the bleachers, a familiar figure catches your eye. rafe is standing by the fence near the field, already in his uniform, looking every bit the golden boy quarterback he is. his helmet is tucked under one arm, and he’s talking to a teammate, but the moment he spots you, his face lights up.

he steps away, jogging over. “hey!”

“hi,” you reply, a little breathless from the crowd.

“i, uh, saved you and lana some seats,” he says, gesturing toward a spot near the middle of the bleachers, right in prime view of the field.

“oh, thanks!” you say, genuinely surprised and a little touched.

“of course,” he says casually, but there’s a flicker of something in his tone that makes your stomach flip.

meanwhile, lana has already found her focus—topper is lingering a few steps away, looking effortlessly cool in his jersey. she doesn’t waste any time sidling up to him, her voice light and playful as she says, “topper, is this your game face, or do you always look this serious?”

topper smirks, tilting his head at her. “you tell me. think it’s intimidating enough?”

“intimidating? not quite,” she teases, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

you glance at her, rolling your eyes slightly but smiling. she’s clearly in her element, and for a moment, you’re distracted by their banter.

“hey,” rafe says, drawing your attention back to him.

you look up at him, his expression softer now. “yeah?”

“so, i was thinking…” he starts, trailing off for just a second before giving you a teasing look.

you arch an eyebrow, leaning slightly closer. “really? you were thinking?”

his grin deepens, and he nudges your arm lightly with his elbow. “yeah, shut up. i was thinking…” he pauses again, this time looking a little nervous, though he hides it well. “if i win this game tonight, would you… wanna go out with me?”

you blink, caught completely off guard. his words hang in the air for a moment, and you can’t help the way your lips curve into a smile.

“seriously?” you ask, your voice soft but full of amusement.

“dead serious,” he replies, his eyes locked on yours, a mix of confidence and vulnerability in his expression.

your smile widens, warmth blooming in your chest. “well… i guess i’ll have to cheer extra loud, then.”

his grin stretches across his face, brighter than you’ve ever seen it. “i’ll hold you to that.”

before you can say anything else, lana suddenly appears at your side, her cheeks slightly pink from talking to topper. “come on, we need to grab those seats before someone else does.”

rafe nods, stepping back but keeping his eyes on you. “i’ll see you after the game?”

you nod, your heart still racing. “good luck, captain.”

“thanks,” he says, his voice warm, before jogging back toward his team.

as you and lana make your way to the bleachers, she nudges you with her elbow, her grin mischievous. “sooo… what was that about?”

you shrug, trying to play it cool, but the smile tugging at your lips gives you away.

“uh-huh,” she says, her tone dripping with satisfaction. “you’re so coming to every game from now on.”

you laugh, feeling a little giddy. maybe you just might.

the game has been intense, and the crowd is on edge. the scoreboard has been a back-and-forth battle, but now, as the clock winds down, rafe's team is trailing by just a few points. the stands are buzzing with nervous energy as the players huddle on the field.

you’re perched on the edge of your seat, your eyes glued to rafe, who is looking more focused than ever. he’s been carrying the weight of the game ever since their second best star player was taken out with an injury. it’s clear that he’s frustrated, his jaw clenched as he scans the field, but there’s something else in his eyes: determination.

topper stands beside him, clearly trying to keep up with the intensity, but it’s hard not to notice that rafe’s doing most of the work. he’s calling the plays, directing the team, and every move he makes looks calculated—almost like he’s pushing his limits, but you can see in the way he carries himself that he’s not going to give up.

the clock is ticking down, seconds slipping away like sand in an hourglass.

“come on, come on!” lana mutters beside you, her voice almost lost in the roar of the crowd. you glance at her, her eyes fixed on rafe and topper, and then at the field. the tension is so thick you could almost cut it with a knife.

rafe takes the ball, his eyes scanning for an opening. he’s got no choice now; it’s all on him. he fakes a pass to topper, sending the defenders rushing toward him, then in one swift motion, he dodges a tackle and charges down the field. the crowd rises to its feet, the energy growing with every step rafe takes.

you can’t help but hold your breath as you watch him break through the last line of defense, topper sprinting beside him, staying just close enough to act as backup. rafe’s legs move like they’re made of steel, his eyes locked on the end zone.

with seconds left on the clock, he passes the ball to topper, who’s just a few yards from the end zone. topper catches it and pivots, leaping into the air just as a defender tries to block him. time seems to slow as the ball arcs through the air and lands perfectly in topper’s hands. the crowd erupts as he crosses the goal line, securing the game-winning touchdown.

you can barely hear yourself think over the deafening roar of the crowd. you jump up with lana, both of you screaming and clapping in excitement. rafe’s face lights up as the team floods onto the field to congratulate topper, but he’s still scanning the crowd for someone.

you catch his eye, and for a split second, everything else fades away. his grin is wide, the exhaustion and tension melting off his face, replaced by sheer triumph.

“looks like you’ll be getting that date after all,” lana says, her voice full of teasing as she nudges you, but you barely hear her. all you can focus on is rafe’s smile, the way he’s looking at you from across the field.

you can feel your heart skip a beat as the final whistle blows. the game is over, and against all odds, rafe’s team pulled through.

lana cheers next to you, but you’re still staring at rafe, a grin tugging at the corner of your lips. he winks at you, the energy of the win still buzzing in his movements.

it’s official: rafe cameron just won the game—and, if you’re being honest, you think he just might’ve won a little bit of your heart too, especially when he was looking right at you after winning the game.

MASTERLIST

CURRENT TAGLIST⋆⭒˚｡⋆

@maybankslover ⟢ @honeyluvsatj ⟢ @zazidot ⟢ @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 ⟢ @lunaleah ⟢ @maybanksangel ⟢ @wtfdudesblog. ⟢ @niktwazny303. ⟢ @outerbanksloverp4l ⟢ @slut4you ⟢ @maybanksgirl69 ⟢ @hstbsl06 ⟢ @percysley

[verushkak70]

I understand what you're trying to do but in my experience it doesn't work

I've debunked literally hundreds of insane, factually & scientifically wrong crap a friend has been sending me off social media since the FIRST orange asshole campaign

It has not made a difference & I recently realized why (aside from, y'know, tens of thousands of Chinese & Russian social media bots gaming algorithms to inject false narratives into the mainstream to influence elections & democracy in multiple countries...)

It's because facts do not matter to him anymore

This is a belief system very much like religion - it might as well be religion

It is impervious to facts & science

Yet this is someone who I once considered highly intelligent & I still cannot understand how he's fallen for all of this except that, deep down, he must have either a hollow core, or a core of hate, that wants everyone else in the world to be as secretly miserable as he is (which I only know because I've known him for decades - since high school - casual observers would never say "this guy is miserable & self-loathing")

Objectively, on paper, he is intelligent or at least was intelligent & high scoring enough to get into Ivy League universities when we were graduating high school (he did not go to any tho; neither of us could afford such universities; we went to the state university that would take literally anyone, at the time, & from which you had to work at getting kicked out)

This was formerly a pro-choice, pro-porn, pro-drug guy who has drunk the Kool-aid - he's still pro-porn & pro-drug but suddenly in the past 2 years, as "throw it back to the states" became the propaganda on X (his favorite social media, ugh), he started saying it should be thrown back to the states

This from a guy who used to say - in his 20s, 30s, 40s - that abortion should be available on demand at drive thrus (which was hyperbole ofc; obvs you can't get one at an actual drive thru; it was the concept of fast & easy access he was championing)

As these right wing evangelical positions have trended on X, they have come up in his speech the past couple of years (really the past decade, but it accelerated like the speed of light once he moved from FB to the post-Musk Twitter/X)

Because I've known him for so long, I've been able to say, "Huh, you never used to say/believe that over the last 40 years... Why the change, & why now?"

& even that does not get him to realize his opinions are being deliberately shaped by propaganda

He will deny it or say "well I always kind of thought that way" & when I say "dude, you've never been shy of sharing your opinions, whether people wanted to hear them or not, especially if not! so why haven't you mentioned this change of opinion until after X became your main source of 'news'?"

That gets evasions & subject changes because the idea that he didn't come up with these ideas on his own is unacceptable

He will share literally fake news from X & when I ask, "OK, I get that you don't trust mainstream media, with good reason; or the government, with good reason; or the medical/scientific establishment, not without good reason; but you'll just believe anything some clown you don't know on the Internet - who could be anywhere in the world despite his "US Navy Vet" trucker hat - says, without question?"

& his response is always subject changes & attacks on mainstream media/government/politicians/parties but never an answer to the actual question because there is no rational explanation & he knows it

& if I call him on the subject changes, he just ratchets up the subject changes & attack rhetoric as if I'm one of those easily offended wilting liberal flowers he can steamroll, which I'm not & never have been, so it's interesting (if sad) that he thinks what works on other people will work on me

Or maybe he just doubles down because there IS no rational explanation, idk

This is seriously depressing me because this guy was my BFF for like the first 30 of our 40 year friendship - my older sisters would call him "our adopted little brother" - & I don't recognize him anymore

The only reason I continue to talk to him, really, is my oldest sister, who passed away a year ago in February, & was a big activist & organizer/coordinator of various (large) protests here, said "don't give up on him, don't fight or argue - just keep listening & questioning" because "he's a good egg"

& honestly he is, underneath all the sourball curmudgeon thorny exterior - the man has never not been there when I needed him & lots & lots of times when I didn't, just for fun

But this is becoming exhausting & I'm stressed out from not literally screaming "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!? WHERE IS MY FRIEND, YOU CRAZY POD PERSON WHO TOOK HIS PLACE??"

I'm sorry - I'm just venting, I guess

But please tell me how someone can maintain the cognitive dissonance of a high index of suspicion for the mainstream media, the government, & medicine/science, but not some Joe Blow clown on the Internet - as if somehow that guy (who's probably actually a Chinese or Russian bot) is telling the gospel truth & has a hidden mainline to the secrets of the universe

Because I can't understand it

I can understand it in people who've not had the privilege of university education (my friend has)

or international travel (my friend has, multiple times, with me & others)

or who never left the neighborhood or town where they grew up (my friend did as soon as he could)

I cannot understand it in my formerly skeptical & always shrewd friend

I honestly do not get it 😞

So many people do not understand the relationship between climate change and cold weather.

[zhelin-thames]

The night was calm—eerily so, by Amity Park’s usual standards. Danny Fenton, better known to the ghostly underworld as Danny Phantom, leaned against the brick wall of an alley, munching on a cold burger. His patrol had been uneventful for once, and he was planning to call it a night when the sound of footsteps echoed down the street.

Danny didn’t need ghost sense to know someone was watching him. The footsteps were light, precise, and purposeful—not the aimless shuffling of a drunk or the hesitant steps of a passerby. Whoever it was, they were skilled. His eyes flicked toward the shadows, but he kept his posture casual.

And then the kid stepped into the light.

“Train me,” the boy said, his voice even and steady, though his face betrayed a hint of nervousness.

Danny blinked at him. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen, dressed in black from head to toe with a hood shadowing most of his face. But it wasn’t just his age that gave Danny pause. It was the look in his eyes—sharp, cold, and determined. This kid was on a mission.

“No,” Danny replied flatly, taking another bite of his burger. He’d seen this kind of determination before—he’d been this kind of determination before—and he wasn’t about to let this kid follow in his footsteps. The vigilante life wasn’t just dangerous; it was a one-way ticket to pain, loss, and an early grave. Danny had survived by the skin of his teeth, but he wasn’t about to play Russian roulette with someone else’s life.

The kid didn’t flinch. “Train me.”

Danny sighed. “No.”

He turned and began walking away, hoping the kid would get the hint, but of course, he didn’t. The boy followed him like a shadow, his footsteps silent but deliberate.

“Train me.”

Danny stopped and turned to face him. “You’re really not gonna let this go, are you?”

The kid shook his head. Danny could respect that kind of persistence, even if it was annoying. Still, there was no way he was getting roped into this.

“Look, kid, I don’t know who you are or what you think you’re doing, but trust me, you don’t want this life.”

“Yes, I do,” the boy said firmly. “I’ve trained for years. I know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah?” Danny raised an eyebrow. “And what’s your plan when things go sideways? When you’re outnumbered, outgunned, and one mistake away from getting yourself killed? You think martial arts and stubbornness are gonna save you?”

The boy didn’t answer, but his jaw tightened, and Danny could see the frustration simmering beneath the surface. He sighed again, running a hand through his hair.

“Fine,” he said, crossing his arms. “But we’re doing it my way, got it? First rule: what’s your name?”

The boy straightened, his back rigid with pride. “I am Bruce Wayne.”

Danny froze. Wayne. As in the Wayne family. The rich, fancy folks who owned half the buildings in Gotham. He stared at the kid, suddenly understanding why he was so serious—and why he’d probably been trained in martial arts since he could walk.

“Alright, rule number one,” Danny said, recovering quickly. “When you’re in your vigilante identity, you don’t give people your real name. You need to keep your identities separate. Got it?”

Bruce frowned, clearly not understanding the importance of this, but he nodded.

“Good. Now again—what’s your name?”

The boy hesitated, his brows furrowing as he considered the question. Finally, he squared his shoulders and said, “Batman.”

Danny blinked. Then he blinked again. The kid’s tone was serious—so serious that Danny might have actually been intimidated if not for the fact that his voice cracked halfway through the word.

Danny bit his lip, struggling to hold back a laugh. “Alright, Batsy,” he said, the nickname slipping out before he could stop himself. “Rule number two: no vigilante-ing until you’re twenty. Teenage vigilantes get killed. They make dumb mistakes, and trust me, I know. I was a teenage vigilante, and let me tell you, it’s not worth the risk.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “What? No! I need to protect Gotham. I can’t wait four more years to do that!”

It was the first time Danny had heard any real emotion in his voice. The boy’s face softened, just for a moment, and Danny could see the weight of the world pressing down on his narrow shoulders. He wanted to argue, to convince Danny that he was ready, but Danny shook his head.

“Nope,” he said firmly. “You wait until you’re out of the ‘teen’ range, or I don’t train you. End of discussion. And rule number three, which is kind of an extension of rule number one: don’t give out personal information in your vigilante identity. I know you’re sixteen now, and I wasn’t even trying to get that info out of you.”

Bruce’s lips pressed into a thin line, and a low growl escaped his throat. Danny couldn’t help but think he sounded like a cranky puppy.

“Fine,” Bruce muttered, clearly realizing he wasn’t going to win this argument. But Danny could tell he was already filing everything away, committing the rules to memory. The kid was smart, no doubt about that.

“Good,” Danny said with a grin. “Training starts tomorrow, Baby Bat. Meet me at Nasty Burger. Civvies only.”

Years later, Bruce Wayne stood in the Batcave, his head pounding as he argued with a pint-sized acrobat perched on the Batcomputer.

Bruce opened his mouth to argue, but Danny was already walking away, his laughter echoing down the alley.

“Dick,” Bruce said, his voice low and measured, “you’re not going out there. You’re nine. You wait until you’re twenty, and that’s final.”

Dick Grayson crossed his arms, his small face twisted into a defiant scowl. “But you didn’t wait until you were twenty!”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s different.”

“No, it’s not!”

Bruce groaned. He was starting to understand how Danny must have felt all those years ago.

Meanwhile, in Amity Park, Danny Fenton paused mid-bite of his burger. A strange sensation washed over him—a tingling at the back of his mind that he hadn’t felt in years.

“I don’t know where or why,” Danny muttered, narrowing his eyes at the distance, “but I just know Baby Bat is doing something dumb again. And I don’t like it.”

It had been years since Danny Fenton had reluctantly taken on a certain sixteen-year-old Bruce Wayne as a trainee. The so-called Baby Bat had been stubborn, determined, and relentless in his pursuit of justice—even if Danny had been equally stubborn in making sure the kid didn’t get himself killed before he turned twenty.

Now, years later, Bruce Wayne had turned into Batman—the Batman. The name was spoken in hushed tones across the criminal underworld and was plastered on the news every other week. Danny couldn’t help but feel proud… and maybe a little exasperated.

He’d done his job. Bruce was alive, competent, and running Gotham like a pro. Danny had thought his days of worrying about Baby Bat were long behind him.

But that thought was obliterated the moment Bruce reached out through a very specific secure channel.

Danny leaned back on the couch in his apartment, half-listening to an old horror movie playing in the background while munching on chips. His ghostly senses were quiet, and for once, life was calm.

That’s when the Bat-symbol flashed on his computer screen.

He groaned loudly, almost spilling his chips. “I knew it. I freaking knew it. I should’ve ignored this brat the first time he said ‘Train me.’”

Reluctantly, Danny got up and opened the line. The face staring back at him was unmistakable—Bruce Wayne, older now, with sharper angles and a jawline that could probably cut glass. Despite the years, Danny immediately recognized the faint glint of determination (and maybe stubbornness) in his eyes. Some things never changed.

“Bruce,” Danny drawled, leaning against his desk. “What do you want now? Did you break something? Or someone? Or are you just here to tell me about how Gotham still sucks?”

“Danny,” Bruce said, his voice as grave as ever. “I need your help.”

Danny squinted at him, skeptical. “Help? With what? You’re literally Batman now. What could you possibly need from me?”

Bruce hesitated for a moment, and Danny almost laughed. He’s nervous. What the hell is going on?

Finally, Bruce spoke. “It’s my family.”

Danny blinked. “Your… family?”

“They’re... difficult,” Bruce admitted begrudgingly, and Danny couldn’t stop himself from laughing. He laughed so hard he had to clutch his sides, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

“You? You, the most difficult person I’ve ever met, are complaining about difficult family members?” Danny wheezed. “Oh, this is rich.”

Bruce didn’t look amused. “Danny.”

“Alright, alright,” Danny said, wiping his eyes. “What’s the deal? You’ve got Alfred, right? Let him handle it.”

“This is different,” Bruce said, and Danny could hear the faintest edge of discomfort in his voice. “You’ll see when you get here.”

And with that, the line cut out.

Danny stared at the blank screen for a moment before sighing. “I swear, if he’s gotten himself in over his head again…”

Danny arrived at Wayne Manor via ghost portal the next evening, stepping out of the swirling green vortex in his Phantom form. The grandeur of the place hit him immediately—it was just as ridiculous as he remembered.

He floated down into the Batcave, landing silently behind Bruce, who was reviewing a crime map on the massive Batcomputer.

“Alright, Batsy,” Danny said, his voice echoing in the cave. “What’s the big deal?”

Bruce didn’t even turn. “They’re here.”

Danny was about to ask who when he heard a series of rapid footsteps and loud voices approaching from the tunnels.

“—I told you to stop touching my stuff, Todd!”

“Like I care, Drake!”

“You’re both insufferable,” another voice cut in, colder and sharper.

“Guys, please!” someone else chimed in, clearly exasperated.

And then they were there—a collection of teenagers and young adults, each looking like they belonged in their own action movie.

Danny blinked. “Bruce,” he said slowly, turning to face him. “Why do you have an army of kids?”

Bruce sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose as his children assembled in front of Danny.

“Danny, meet my… family.”

The first to step forward was the oldest—a grinning man in his twenties with an acrobat’s grace and bright, mischievous blue eyes. “Dick Grayson,” he said, holding out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Danny shook it, eyeing him warily. “The original Robin, huh? Bruce talks about you sometimes. Says you’re the ‘good one.’”

Dick smirked. “Good to know I’m still the favorite.”

“Only because you don’t give me headaches,” Bruce muttered.

The next kid to step forward was a young man with a white streak in his dark hair, a leather jacket, and an air of barely-restrained chaos. He didn’t offer a handshake.

“Jason Todd,” he said, his voice rough. “And you’re the guy who taught Bruce how to nag, huh?”

Danny snorted. “And you’re the one who probably causes most of his headaches.”

Jason smirked. “Damn right.”

The third was a lanky teen with sharp eyes and a smartphone glued to his hand. “Tim Drake,” he said, not looking up from the screen.

“You’re the tech guy, I’m guessing?” Danny said.

Tim nodded distractedly. “You could say that.”

Next was a young boy, no older than ten, with a scowl that could probably scare grown men. He crossed his arms and glared at Danny.

“Damian Wayne,” he said. “Biological son.”

Danny raised an eyebrow. “Ah, the little terror Bruce never shut up about.”

Damian bristled. “I am no terror—”

“Yes, you are,” everyone said in unison.

Danny turned to Bruce, his arms crossed. “So… what do you need my help with? Because it looks like you’ve got your hands full.”

Bruce sighed heavily. “They don’t listen to me. Half the time, they’re arguing. The other half, they’re trying to outsmart each other—or me.”

“And?” Danny prompted.

“And,” Bruce said reluctantly, “I thought you could help… mediate.”

Danny blinked. Then he started laughing again. “You want me to babysit your army of vigilantes?”

“It’s not babysitting,” Bruce growled.

But it absolutely was.

Over the next few days, Danny found himself in the middle of Bat-family antics. Whether it was Jason and Tim bickering over whose tech was better, Dick trying to wrangle everyone for a “team-building exercise,” or Damian threatening to fight literally everyone, Danny was beginning to realize why Bruce looked so perpetually exhausted.

But for all the chaos, there was a sense of family here that Danny couldn’t help but admire. It reminded him of his own ragtag group back in Amity—Sam, Tucker, Jazz, even Vlad in a weird way.

Eventually, Danny pulled Bruce aside. “You know,” he said, “for all your complaining, you’ve built something pretty amazing here. They’re not just your team—they’re your family.”

Bruce looked at his kids, a rare flicker of softness crossing his face. “I know,” he said quietly.

Danny grinned. “Well, you’re still a pain in the ass, but I think you’ve done alright, Batsy.”

And so, Danny’s unexpected reunion with Bruce turned into a week-long crash course in dealing with the next generation of vigilantes. By the time he left, he was exhausted—but also a little proud.

As he stepped back through his portal, he shook his head with a smile.

“Baby Bat really did grow up, huh?”

Somewhere in the Batcave, Bruce smirked.

[marzshin]

thinking about having a secret relationship with Jamil…

•honestly it’s probably better for the both of you to have a secret relationship. his duties as kalim’s servant can go undisturbed by kalim’s excitement about him being in a relationship, he’d still be able to fly under the radar like he wants to, and you, as the kind prefect, can do without the teasing and probable odd looks from other students.

•something about having to be quiet about your affections in public can be cute at times; the knowing glances you guys exchange when denying someone’s suspicions, walking a bit too close together before realizing and making distance with a breathy laugh. it might not be ideal but it works for you guys.

•the fact that you all are limited in how you show pda, makes alone time all the more special for the two of you. when he’s alone in the kitchen of scarabia, while you’re there too, he’ll invite you over next to him and allow you to assist in his cooking and answer any questions while guiding you hands with his own. another precious time is when you two are alone in his room. now this is rare… as much as he wants to be with you more often, it just can’t be helped sometimes, which is why during the time he’s with you in his room, he spends it relishing in your touch.

•your limbs tangled together with your foreheads rested against one another, it’s a fleeting moment, as jamil’s duty calls yet again as kalim’s voice rings through the hall to their rooms. kalim calls for jamil and your both quick to get up and move to act like you’re studying instead of cuddling. and as if on

que, kalim barges in with a beaming smile. “Jamil! so i was wondering… oh! you guys are studying? i didn’t know there was a test coming up?” his voice rings through your ears and you glance at jamil before looking towards the white haired boy. “there’s no test. y/n just had a question about some homework. we’re done now if you need something.” jamil answers with an almost unnoticeable sigh. guess it’s time to say your goodbyes and try again tomorrow.

•just because you have to be careful in this relationship doesn’t mean jamil loves you any less. he’s glad he has somebody who wants him as much as he wants them.

woohoo! another little thing written, let’s go me! i actually like this one quite a bit, i hope you all like it too! thanks so much for the support on my kalim x goth reader headcannons, i really appreciate it as i’m not used to writing things like this. if you have any suggestions or critics, please feel free to share them!

[thediaryofaghost]

; NOT MY MAN

© gif credits to @daniel-bruehl.

Simon Riley aka GHOST x READER | masterlist.

Summary. the team is back in town after a mission but seems like you would have preferred to stay there than having to face the kind of feelings you're discovering now.

word count: 1.2k.

warnings/tags: none. maybe a little bit of jealousy, but nothing serious.

author notes: my stories don't contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

pd: hi, y'all! first time writing for Ghost, no judging, please. i hope you like it.

The mission couldn’t have gone more successful, and the whole team was back in town before expected. That’s why Soap has had the great idea of throwing a small party for you all, more like a teammates’ barbecue. But now that you’re there, staring at the scene happening right in front of your eyes and holding a beer almost empty, you’re starting to figure out how to leave the place without looking like an asshole.

All your friends are having fun, while you’re about to break the glass container between your fingers just by the burning angriness emerging inside your guts. Why? Simple question, simple answer. Ghost is there, of course, keeping his face covered by the balaclava he never takes off, not even while sleeping; standing arms crossed next to the new acquisition for the team. Rhaia. A former soldier who is brand new to your world. Flirting with him. Or better said, trying to flirt with him. But even if Ghost isn’t moving an inch of his body, he’s letting her touch his bicep, play with the badges sewed in his jacket, and grab his dog tags to read the information written down in them.

Who does she think she is?

And who do you think you are?

Clicking your tongue, as you turn around, you give the beer one last sip before placing it on the table next to you. Silent and keeping your gesture deadpanned, your feet take you to the inside. You’ve had enough shit to deal with for today and you’re pretty tired to pretend you aren't… jealous? Ghost and you are nothing but teammates. On-duty. Off-duty is hard to explain. He’s your guardian during the nights in town like a protector, that’s how you like to see the situation. For a cop, he’s a stalker, and probably a psychopath too. But he has some power over you that you can’t even explain or run away from.

And now, everything you’ve thought you’ve had till this moment looks like it’s been reduced to ashes since Rhaia is part of the equation.

“ Party is downstairs. ”

A shiver runs down your spine. It doesn't matter the amount of time you two spend together, accompanied or alone, you never hear him coming. But you can't help but ignore his words, looking for the keys to your bike inside the pockets of your leather jacket, about to wear the piece of clothing and leave the house.

“ You going mute scares me more than death. ”

His voice is neutral. There’s no confusion, or angriness, or surprise in it. Those emotions fill you up at the exact moment you turn around, ready to go, by finding him closer than expected. 

“ Oh, for fuck sake! ”  You grumble, moving a palm onto your chest and closing your eyes for a second.

“ Where are ya’ heading at, hm? ”

“ You all are occupied with your own business and I’m tired, I just want to sleep, Ghost. ”

Raising his eyebrows as an incredulous gesture, the man tilts his head slightly, trying to figure out what’s going on inside that mind of yours. It’s not the explanation, but the fact that you have called him by his undercover name, and not just by his name like whenever the two of you are alone.

“ I'll take you home, little bird. C’mon. ”

“ You’re not coming. ” The sentence slips through your mouth before you can even think about it, watching him turn back to face you as he is ready to accompany you.

“ I am your man, of course I’m leaving with you. ” He’s now aware of what’s going on, and can’t help but drag every single word by his tongue. Demanding. With that possessive tone of voice that, in another kind of situation, would take you to your more desired fantasies later that night.

“ If my man can be touched by any woman, then… he’s not my man. ”

Oh, there it is; the attitude that rarely comes out from you, taking a step closer at the point you're breathing in the air he spells — besides the height difference. You’re challenging him with no fear, with no doubt. Looking straight into his eyes, contemplating how they darken themselves. That man is angry for real, making a huge effort to not lose his mind, the control over his body. Not with you. Maybe with a poor devil that crosses paths with him tonight. But you’re hurt. And so it’s your ego. Gho— Simon is yours. Nobody else can't touch him with that kind of intention but you, even when you don’t touch him like that; because the two of you have a non-verbal arrangement that he’s your guard dog and you don’t make any complaints.

Your heart races at the moment he takes a step back, away from you, not uttering a single word, making you feel frustrated for preventing you from seeing his face at this moment. How much would you love to burn down the balaclava he’s wearing (...).  But, at least, it seems like he has understood that you need some time alone to put down the feelings and emotions blurring your head like stormy clouds covering the sun from nowhere.

( A few hours later. )

“ What… What are you doing here? ”

Even if it was quite a surprise to find your lieutenant, fully equipped, sitting in front of your bed in the middle of the night, you didn't feel like he was a menace, nor like you were in danger. You didn't even care to ask how he had sneaked inside your house outwitting the alarm.

“ Go back to sleep, little bird. ” The murmur left his covered lips as he bent over just a little, enough to rest his arms onto his lap, getting a better view of you obeying without complaining and laying down between the sheets.

For a reason you can’t understand, you wake up with your heart racing and a thin layer of sweat covering your whole body. The survivor mode has been turned on. It wasn’t a nightmare, but a memory haunting you. The room is submerged in darkness, only illuminated by a lamppost outside, but what leaves you with no words is the empty chair in front of your eyes. Ghost is not there. And he should be.

Turning on the light, you look for your phone. No calls. No texts. Nothing. Cleaning the sweat from your forehead with a tissue, you toss away the wet sheets and walk barefoot outside of your room, touring the small flat.

“ Simon…? ”

Maybe he has gone for a glass of water or something, but you don’t receive a word back, nor a hint that he’s there. It’s only you and the silence of the night.

A sharp pinch stabs your heart. But what is that? Pain, sorrow, regret? Sadness? For a moment, you think that calling him is a good idea, disappearing as you remember what you told him earlier this evening. Has he taken that really seriously? No. That’s not typical of him. He would fight. And, for you, he would go to hell and be back before the blink of an eye, after turning off the flames that consume the place.

But then, why is the first night in almost two years he is not there, watching over you while you sleep?

Where are you, Ghost…?

feedback is appreciated and needed. please, if you have read this shot, leave a comment and / or reblog. don’t forget we do it for free to contribute to your entertainment and interactions are what make us keep writing every day.

[legenbeery]

AITA for cheating on two different polycules, a family and a potential mystery fourth group at the same time?

Now hear me out, I, (Mystery Age M) am in what almost seems like a hunger games esque death game with many other players and have been for atleast 6 seasons now. This season we spawned in an unknown world with unknown ‘wild cards’ being constantly thrown at us and everything was uncertain. I ended up with B (42M) and T (also mystery age M). None of us were the strongest players I’ll admit, I’ve always brought a kind of washed up, pathetic wet cat energy to these death games. Early on I realised that with B and T as my teammates we may not be the strongest group. We were already messing up from the beginning, missing diamonds, falling behind in building (all because of B’s stupid golden rules with building and forcing me to build out of copper), me and B were also tense due to us going through a pseudo custody battle over a random horse, and overall I think we weren’t really feeling the love as much as we could. I tried bringing our team together a bit, tried to give us a tuff reputation by encouraging B and T to start messing with people and stealing but I wasn’t made for it, I always felt bad for stealing despite intending to be a tuff guy. I tried creating this plan so that no one would mess with us but it failed miserably, none of us are even remotely intimidating and it felt more like we were a joke than actual tuff guys, yet I tried to keep this to myself. Due to this insecurity I felt the need to also form an alliance with a random family (made up of J, 31M and G 28F) with a car that lived near us, the family were much stronger than both I and my supposed allies in my opinion and I was honestly kind of surprised that it was so easy to worm my way into their strong alliance but I wasn’t going to pass that opportunity so early on into this death game.

This next part is where I may start to sound a bit like the AH to some but the family just didn’t feel like enough and I had other wants for my death game experience. It all started when one day we were faced with these weird boys that made us answer trivia questions, we got rewards for correct answers in these trivia and I really wanted a trident. I however did not get a trident despite being so good at the trivia, I didn’t get a single question wrong and gave it my all to appease those silly bots but they didn’t want to give me what I wanted, it was if they knew and were purposely not giving me a trident. I then came across S (29M) who did have a trident and I was so jealous of him, so I started following him around, pestering him, sucking up to him and quite literally begging on my knees for him to give me a trident. Eventually S decided to try and make a deal, whether it be out of pity, affection or some other mystery intention I have no idea, but S started talking with his own alliance and despite the doubts of S’s alliance at the time, S managed to convince them to let me join their alliance and S would give me a trident (what a nice guy!). It was at this point that I realised that I was in too deep It was then that I realised that I now had a third cheating situation on my conscience, which also meant another sneaky link to hide, this caused me to constantly rush around to different team meetings in order to not arouse suspicion. I think quite a few of them were growing quite suspicious but I didn’t stop, I was in too deep to living life as a cheater. At one point later on in the death game I even ended up trying to insert myself into a fourth group! (Though they didn’t properly welcome me I tried - another cheating attempt, this one for no reason), I later found out that one of the guys in that fourth group, J (28M) genuinely thought I wanted a loyal involvement with them and didn’t even know I was already cheating with three different groups, apparently I was decently convincing? I do think atleast a few people suspected that I was cheating on them but didn’t speak up either way, or if they did it alludes me now.

So AITA for cheating on perhaps atleast 7 different people in total?

Edit: In the end none of these worked out for me as I ended up dying by my own hands ironically, and I accidentally killed both S and G and ruined my chances of maintaining these alliances much to my dismay. Just thought you guys would wanna know that cheating apparently isn’t a good survival strategy.

[novascharms]

MY STRANGE ADDICTION - RAFE CAMERON

dealer! rafe cameron x maddy perez

Maddy Perez has never been addicted to drugs—nor will she ever be. Her only addiction is the campus dealer she just can't seem to shake off and no matter how hard she tries to break free, she keeps getting pulled back into his orbit.

masterlist w.c — 4.0 c.w — smut, p in v a.n — choosing to continue this cause i got two free weeks and like lots of ideas abt these two for someee reason. lets ignore that rafe would actually off himself if he had to deal with maddy hihi :)

maddy goes to a party with nate and guess who's there? our very own campus dealer

Maddy’s gaze was fixed on Nate, though her attention was split in too many directions to keep track of. SZA’s smooth voice floated through the speakers, the music blending with the background chatter of the party. Nate was talking—something about football or his job—but his words felt like static. Her mind wandered, her eyes constantly flicking around, scanning the crowd. She hated how automatic it was, this ridiculous, involuntary search her brain always seemed to conduct.

She forced herself to focus, blinking hard as if to clear the fog clouding her thoughts. Nate’s voice filtered back in. “—think I’ll be moving up in ranks pretty soon,” he finished, his tone proud.

Maddy nodded, plastering on a polite smile, though she had no idea what “ranks” he was even referring to. “That’s great. I’m happy for you. Sounds like things are going well.”

Her tone was effortless, practiced, and Nate seemed satisfied with her response. He leaned in, adjusting the strap of her slightly crumpled bikini top with the kind of familiarity she used to find endearing. Once, his boldness might have been attractive, thrilling even. Now, it was just…irritating. Her instincts told her to pull back, but she stopped herself. She’d come here with him, after all. His “date.”

“Are the others here yet?” Nate asked, scanning the crowd.

The answer hovered on her tongue, ready to be spoken, but she faltered. That chill along her spine was unmistakable, a sensation that set her on edge in an entirely different way. She didn’t have to look to know. It was him.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the blurred outlines of people entering the party. She couldn’t make out faces, only the edges of dark clothing and purposeful movements. Her body recognized him before her brain did.

Her gaze darted briefly to her outfit—a black bikini paired with an oversized white button-up for a pretense of modesty. She let out a shaky breath, willing herself to refocus. “They’re on their way,” she said lightly. “They wanted to pregame.”

Nate raised a brow, his expression curious. “Since when do you skip out on pregaming?”

Her pulse quickened, not from Nate’s question but from the pull she felt across the space between her and him. The boy who made her feel utterly insane. The one she wanted to shove down a flight of stairs whenever caught him with someone else.

“I don’t like drinking when I don’t know the host,” she said, her tone even. It wasn’t entirely untrue, though it wasn’t the real reason either.

Nate gave her a reassuring smile, leaning closer. “I’m here. You know I’d never let anything happen to you.”

She forced another smile. “I know. But still…better safe than sorry.” She tilted her cup slightly, letting the drink spill silently into the grass behind her before handing it to him. “Could you get me a refill?”

He nodded, his smile warm and easy, before disappearing toward the drink table.

The moment he was gone, Maddy turned on her pool chair, angling herself to face the water. A few people were swimming, but most lingered on the edges, laughing and chatting in tight groups.

Her phone buzzed against her leg, the vibration pulling her attention. Leaning back, she reached for it and opened the message.

Her eyes scanned the words briefly before instinctively looking up, searching for him. He had to be watching. He always was.

It didn’t take long to find him. He sat directly across from her on the far side of the pool, surrounded by his friends. And, as if drawn by some invisible force, his eyes were already on her.

That electric jolt hit her again, the same one it always did when their gazes locked. It was sharp, unmistakable, and it made her feel more alive than she cared to admit.

Not wanting to stare like an idiot, Maddy dropped her gaze back to her phone and began typing her reply.

Across the pool, he watched her with a faint smile tugging at his lips. He found this amusing, he'd always liked it when she was being bitchy. At least she was responding now—it was better than the stony silence she’d given him for weeks.

And that was true. She probably wouldn't fuck Nate. That was kinda gross.

“Here’s your refill. Sorry that took a minute,” Nate said as he sat down near her feet, holding out a plastic cup filled with something bright red.

Maddy clicked off her phone, tucking it between her thighs before reaching for the drink. “That’s okay, thank you.” She took a small sip, letting the artificial sweetness settle on her tongue.

For the first time all evening, Nate was quiet. Too quiet. Maddy glanced over, her brows knitting together when she noticed he wasn’t even looking at her. His gaze was fixed somewhere else.

“What?” she asked, her tone laced with impatience.

Nate didn’t answer right away. Instead, he gave a subtle nod toward something—or someone—in the distance. “He’s coming over here.”

Maddy didn’t need clarification. She already knew.

“He looks pissed,” Nate added, shifting uncomfortably.

Maddy narrowed her eyes, leaning back in her chair like she had all the time in the world. “He is,” she said casually, taking another sip of her drink. “I told him you called him a dog.”

Nate’s eyes went wide with panic. “What? Why would you do that?”

She smirked, savoring his reaction for just a moment too long. “I’m joking. Jesus, relax. He’s not a murderer.” She wasn’t entirely sure about that last part.

Before Nate could say anything else, Rafe’s looming presence was suddenly upon them. His large hands landed on Nate’s shoulders with enough force to make Nate flinch.

“Jacobs,” Rafe said, his voice low and heavy with unspoken authority.

Maddy rolled her eyes, leaning back further into the pool chair, feigning indifference as though she could actually ignore the scene unfolding in front of her.

Rafe didn’t say another word. He simply nodded his head to the side, a silent command for Nate to leave.

Nate didn’t even hesitate. He was gone in seconds, a move so predictable it almost made her laugh.

“You could’ve picked someone who made it feel a little like a competition,” Rafe said, lowering himself into the spot Nate had vacated.

Maddy let out a mock-hurt hum. “Your homeboys weren’t free, but I’ll definitely keep them in mind for next time.”

Rafe tilted his head, eyes narrowing at her before he chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s good. That’s really good.”

He shifted closer, his tone taking on a serious edge. “Are you done, though? Can we put an end to this, or do you want to keep stretching it out?”

Maddy tilted her head, playing dumb. “Clarify,” she said, her voice dripping with faux sweetness.

Rafe’s jaw tightened, irritation flashing in his eyes. “I’m going to ask you the same thing I asked you a month ago, yeah?” He leaned forward, his gaze pinning her in place. “What do you want? Because I’ve apologized—every damn day for the past three weeks—and I’ve spoiled you rotten. Even though you can’t even answer the fucking phone when I call.”

He leaned back, spreading his arms wide in a gesture of exasperation. “So what is it? You want me to get on my knees?”

The corner of Maddy’s mouth twitched, and she could feel the playful glint in her eyes betraying her. The idea didn’t sound bad at all.

Rafe caught her expression immediately and shook his head. “Don’t do the most, Maddy.”

She straightened up, sitting forward so that they were nearly nose-to-nose. “I’m going to tell you the same thing I told you a month ago, yeah?” she echoed back at him, mimicking his tone.

He waited, his gaze sharp and unyielding.

“I don’t want shit from you,” she said with a shrug, her voice light. “The gifts have been nice, though.”

She reached out and tapped the tip of his nose with her finger, the move so childish it bordered on petty. Then, without another word, she stood up and walked away.

Rafe stayed seated, watching her disappear into the crowd, his jaw tight with frustration. Maddy didn’t bother looking back. She had ten minutes to find Nate before her friends showed up—and she wasn’t about to waste them.

“Nate, let’s dance,” Maddy said, grabbing his hand and tugging him away from his friends. He hesitated for only a second, his gaze darting to the group he’d just left.

“I don’t want to get in the middle of shit, you know that,” he muttered, his voice low and uncertain.

Maddy sighed, rolling her eyes in visible irritation. “There isn’t shit to get in the middle of. Don’t worry about him.” Her tone was firm, dismissive, as if the mere mention of Rafe was beneath her.

Nate didn’t look entirely convinced, but when Maddy began to sway her hips to the pulsing beat of the music, his resistance faltered. Almost instinctively, his hands found her waist, his touch tentative at first but growing bolder as she moved against him.

The crowd around them thickened, bodies pressing together as the bass of the music thumped louder, rattling the walls. The heat in the room was almost stifling, a mix of sweat and cologne hanging heavy in the air. She pulled Nate closer, leaning up to brush her lips along the shell of his ear in a way that made him shiver.

Her eyes, however, were elsewhere.

Through the chaotic swirl of bodies, her gaze found him. Rafe sat with his friends, a pretty brunette perched on his lap, laughing at something he’d said. A joint dangled lazily between his fingers, though he seemed utterly uninterested in the girl giggling in his ear or the conversation happening around him.

His attention was fixed entirely on Maddy.

She felt the sharp thrill of his gaze, like electricity crackling along her skin. The corner of her mouth twitched upward in the faintest smirk.

Nate was speaking—something about how hot she looked, maybe—but Maddy barely registered his words. Instead, she cut him off mid-sentence, tugging him down to crash her lips against his.

Nate responded eagerly, his arms wrapping tighter around her as if he couldn’t get enough. He wasn’t the most compelling person she’d ever been with—far from it, actually. Everything about him was a stark contrast to Rafe: where Rafe was sharp and commanding, Nate was soft and accommodating. But he served his purpose.

Maddy let her hands trail up his chest, pulling him deeper into the moment. His hands slid lower, grazing her hips before resting on her ass. She let out a soft moan when he gave her a light squeeze, tilting her head just enough to draw him further in.

When she finally pulled back, her lips were slick and swollen, her breath mingling with his. Nate’s lips chased hers instantly, desperate and clumsy in his eagerness.

She giggled softly, brushing her fingers along his jaw. “Let’s go upstairs,” she murmured, her voice dripping with suggestion.

Nate didn’t need to be told twice. Grabbing her hand, he began weaving through the sea of bodies, his grip firm as he led her toward the stairs.

Nate had her pinned against the wall before they even made it to a room. His hands roamed her waist, gripping like he was afraid to lose his chance. The hallway was dimly lit, the muffled bass from downstairs vibrating through the walls. Maddy’s breath hitched—not from excitement, but from the sharp pang of regret she was trying to suppress.

It was a blur. One moment, Nate was in front of her, his lips brushing her neck. The next, he was ripped away with a force that made her stumble. Her eyes flew open, her back still pressed to the cool plaster, and there was Rafe.

He stood between her and Nate, broad-shouldered and seething, his jaw tight and his chest heaving. Nate, caught off guard, staggered before regaining his footing.

“You—” Rafe began, his voice low and dangerous, but he paused as Nate straightened and, to Maddy’s surprise, stepped forward with a spark of defiance.

“Don’t get any ideas, Jacobs,” Rafe warned, his tone dripping with disdain. His sharp blue eyes cut into Nate, daring him to react.

When he didn't leave, Rafe turned to Nate in surprise. "You need something?"

Nate didn’t flinch. His gaze flicked between Rafe and Maddy before he squared his shoulders. “If you don’t feel safe with him,” he said, his voice steady but charged, “I’m not leaving.”

Maddy didn’t need to look at Rafe to know that Nate had just lit the match.

“Do you want me to—” Rafe’s voice exploded, his body lurching forward like a coiled spring released. Maddy moved faster, her hand shooting out to grab his arm, halting him before he could make contact.

“Nate, go!” she barked, her voice slicing through the tension like a whip.

For a moment, Nate hesitated. His concern for her was evident, but so was his understanding of the situation. One second longer, and he turned, retreating down the hallway.

As soon as he was gone, Maddy spun on Rafe, shoving him hard in the chest. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” she demanded, her voice trembling with anger.

Rafe barely moved under her shove, his stance unyielding, his lips curling into a smirk that was as infuriating as it was amused. “What’s wrong with me?” he shot back, his voice loud enough to echo. “Isn't this exactly why the fuck you do this dumb shit? Don't act like you have any interest in that poor boy.”

“The only poor boy is the one I'm looking at right now,” Maddy snapped, her voice rising to meet his. “I don't see what the fuck the issue is since last I checked, you were nice and cosied up with your little friend by the pool."

Rafe’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing. “I’m not the one who showed up with someone on my arm,” he retorted, his words sharp. “You think that shits funny, grinding your ass all over him like a slut?”

The slap came before she could stop herself. The sound was deafening in the narrow hallway, sharp and precise like the crack of a whip. Rafe’s head jerked slightly, and for a fleeting moment, she saw the sting in his eyes before he masked it with that infuriating nonchalance.

“Did I cross a line?” he asked, his voice smooth but laced with mockery. His smirk returned, daring her to do it again.

“You’re a piece of shit, you know that?” Maddy spat, her voice trembling with fury. She stepped closer, invading his space and he nods slowly like he knows something she doesn't, "You say the same shit when your pussy is creaming on my dick."

Maddy didn't want to think about it, had been avoiding the image, the memory of sex with Rafe. But he'd brought it up now, rubbed it right in her face and she was faced with the undeniable truth that he was the best she'd ever had and he knew it. He was rubbing it in her face right now, he was always rubbing it in her face that no matter what he said and how he acted, she'd never say no.

Maddy’s mind betrayed her, conjuring memories she had buried deep. She could see it clearly now—the way he moved, the way he touched her, the way he made her lose herself entirely.

She must have let it show on her face because his smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

Maddy grabs him by the back of his neck before he can say something even more stupid and crushes her lips to his in a kiss that is somewhere between angry and desperate.

Rafe's got her legs wrapped around him in a flash, hands firmly on her ass as he walks them into the first room he can blindly find. Maddy's lips are coaxed open by the slide of his tongue as he slams the door closed behind them and shoves her back against the wall. She huffs at the force of his shove, "Be fucking gentle."

"Stop talking so fucking much." He grunted, mouth moving from her lips to her neck and Maddy couldn't surpress the moan that forced her way past her lips. She felt Rafe's eager fingers on the thin strap of her bikini bottom, "Don't you fucking dare rip those," She knew him all too well and these bottoms were the only clothing she had on her.

"Why? You seem to love the attention you've been getting lately." Rafe murmurs as his hand slides down to unzip his pants swiftly. She's pleased when he doesn't completely ignore her polite request and pushes her bikini to the side. Maddy whimpers, nails digging into his shoulder and back when she feels him press against her aching folds.

"Is this what you wanted, baby? This what you needed?" he whispered in a mocking voice as his tip tentatively pushes inside of Maddy's seeping cunt and her legs involuntarily tighten around him. "Now you wanna shut up, huh?" Rafe groans as he pushes inside of her and Maddy feels the air escape her lungs.

"God," Maddy whined, head falling back against the door as his stupidly big cock nestled itself deep inside her and the pleasure and pain takes her breath away. For a moment, she's not sure if breathing is still an option until he starts steadily moving and as with everything, Rafe does—it's rough and she can barely contain the moans that tumble out of her mouth.

His grip on her thighs is bruising and with every harsh thrust, her back is slamming back onto that door but she can't even find it in her to care. Her eyes flutter for a moment and she tries to keep them on him, tries to keep her focus because she can't deny that he looks so fucking good right now—all focused with groans and grunts escaping his lips as he hammers into her walls.

But it doesn't last, it can't when he's being this rough, fucking her into the door and making it impossible for her to focus on anything but the way he was pounding into her. "Fuck, baby. It's been too long, too fucking long.." He groans through gritted teeth, "Think anyone can fuck you like this? Think Jacobs can fuck you like this?" And Maddy's pathetic moans filling the room do little to keep him from trying to pick a fight with her like usual.

"Shut t-the f—"

"This is my fucking pussy," Rafe continues and each words is followed by a harsh thrust that pressed Maddy against the door over and over and Maddy's hands are trembling, scrambling to hold onto him, to assure she doesn't lose her grip with how weak her legs are starting to feel. "Mine. You're all mine, Maddy."

"Fuck you. I h-hate you.." Maddy cries out, legs tightening around Rafe because she doesn't belong to him or anyone but also because his dick is splitting her open and she can't decide wether she wants him to stop or keep going.

"Yeah, I know. You hate me so much you letting me pound your cunt. That's how much you hate me, huh?" Rafe laughs, his hands holding her up like he can feel she's about give out completely. Maddy's brain feels like it's short circuiting as Rafe goes at a pace too brutal to keep up with.

A couple of nasty words sit at the tip of her tongue for Rafe but they won't come out, a sentence refuses to form in her mind. "F-Fuck..fuck!" Maddy can't—won't ever get past how mindblowingly good the sex was.

"Mm, y-you..you're.." Maddy starts mumbling despite how her eyes are rolling back and she's seeing spots in her vision, "You're j-just some half-decent sex," Maddy chokes out and Rafe cocks his head at that, amused smirk on his lips. "Half decent?" he breathes out as Maddy clenches around his fat cock.

Maddy's about to make it worse, seconds away from telling him Nate has fucked her ten times better when he brutally pounds into her, "Rafe!" she screams as he repeatedly hits that sweet spot and she knows it's retaliation for calling their sex decent. It only makes Maddy want to say something worse.

She's gone though, whatever curse words she's throwing at him are coming out in blubbers and moans and with the way he's pounding into her, Maddy's surprised the door is still holding. "Mm..mmm..y-you you..y.." Maddy rambles absentmindedly, her words lost between the moans that are escaping her lips as Rafe's thrust only get sloppier and faster.

"Can barely get through your sentences, baby. You sure the sex is only half-decent?" He teases and Maddy knows that somewhere deep inside, that comment irritates her but right now, with his cock hammering into her, there is absolutely nothing that she cares about apart from the pit she can feel in her stomach right now.

Maddy whines, high and soft because the exhaustion is starting to catch up to her. She needs to come. "God, you look so fucking good right now, can't believe I lasted a month.." Rafe almost growls as his hips stutter and his own orgasm draws closer and closer. "Need it..n-need you.." Maddy moans before she feels herself being pushed over the edge and her blissful orgasm spills out of her. Rafe has a couple more thrusts in him before he's following suit and with a deep low groan, he's creaming inside of her.

For a few seconds, there was only silence between them, accompanied by the sound of their heavy breathing. Rafe’s forehead pressed against hers, a rare moment of calm between them both. It was a rare occurence in their particular situation—an interlude between their constant fighting or fucking. This moment, existing somewhere in the space between, might have been the closest they ever came to being normal.

The muffled roar of cheers and music swelled from downstairs, snapping the quiet like a rubber band. Rafe eased her back to the ground, and Maddy stepped away, her legs shaky but her resolve intact. She caught her reflection in the mirror, her makeup slightly smudged, hair tousled. Sighing, she adjusted herself as best she could.

A towel landed unceremoniously on her head, startling her. She turned, glaring at Rafe, who stood there with a half-smirk like he’d done her a favor.

“You expect me to wipe with this?” she asked, holding the towel up with a grimace. “Where did you even find it?”

“Too good for a towel now?” he mumbled, shaking his head as he reached for something else. He handed her a clean napkin with a smile.

She snatched it from him without a word, cleaning herself quickly before tossing it into the small trash bin by the dresser. When she straightened, he was behind her, his arm slipping loosely around her neck, his lips brushing her ear as he murmured, “Wanna get out of here?”

She did. God, she did. But instead of saying so, she turned, her expression hardening. “You can’t act like that toward Nate again. Or anyone,” she said firmly, her tone daring him to argue.

Rafe’s eyes rolled, the dismissive motion igniting her frustration. “Go fuck Jacobs if you think he’s such a saint,” he shot back mockingly, leaning against the wall like he owned the place.

Maddy raised a brow, the edge of her lips curling into a challenging smirk. “I don’t want to fuck Nate. But I can fuck him if I want to. That’s what I’m trying to make clear to you.”

His jaw tightened, his blue eyes flashing with something dark and unreadable. “I don’t need you to make shit clear to me,” he bit out, his voice low and rough.

Her own temper flared, her voice sharp enough to cut through the tension. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

And just like that, the delicate peace shattered.

Here they went again.

masterlist

[thydungeongal]

Hi thydungeongal! Your last post about Mercer and Mulligan left me a bit confused, cause I couldn't apply the wisdom found there to my own table I am cis-f. What should or can I do? Also we have a queer organized community in my hometown and they asked the rpg-club to run some games for them.

Do you have any pointers what a person like me should look into, for preparing a game for that community? (I am FULLY AWARE that I should talk and ask them questions, etc.) I want to avoid bringing up unsensible topics and unneccessary hurt and I feel like you can help me with that. Kind regards

Oh yeah, while my advice was targeted at cis male GMs, the same principle also applies to any tables with any cis men involved (for now). So, if your table has any cis men players you could have them draw straws on it. Or for the sake of solidarity I think it's better if they all agree to transition so no one feels left out. It's only fair.

Also I might not be the best equipped to answer that second question because while most of the games I'm involved in these days are majority queer in some way or another, I feel it's mostly just happened as a matter of "like attracts like" (and this was already happening before I realized that I was, in fact, trans) and not because I've actively sought it out if that makes sense? So it's hard for me to draw any general advice for queer tables from my experiences, besides the following:

Rolemaster is really good

Dungeon-crawling is really good

It's cool when you as a group collaborate to come up with a anime opening for your party

But specifically on the question of avoiding insensitive content and unnecessary hurt, I think to pre-empt those issues you can and should have a discussion on what sorts of topics the players would like to avoid, what the desired tone of the game is (so, like, you don't end up running Berserk when the players were expecting Slayers). But also you kind of need to be ready to accept the fact that you might accidentally and unknowingly stumble onto an uncomfortable topic with no ill intent and often the best way forward is to just address it, take it as a learning experience, and then move on.

Anyway you clearly have your heart in the right place so I'm pretty sure you'll do fine. :)

[typhoonvash]

"Hmm-hmm, I could gawk harder if you'd like," Vash hums, noticing the way Wolfwood seemingly doesn't want to talk about something so sensitive and delicate as his heart. They don't need to talk about it right now—honestly, all Vash wants to talk about is Wolfwood. He wants to hear about his years awake, the sights he's seen, the people he's met.

He supposes that, now that he's thinking about it, he wants to know what Wolfwood thinks of this world that they both had a part in saving. The future of humanity is here and bustling, and the world is ever-changing. Before Vash slept, he heard that the next big project would be an ocean. With water and life and maybe even an island or two...

... However, Wolfwood definitely won't like the answer to his inquiry. Vash hides a tense frown by dipping his head beneath the water one more time and allowing both of them to scrub at his full head of inky hair. Once again, it's not nearly enough time to think of a softer way to answer his question, and it's definitely not worth his time to sugarcoat it while speaking to the man who can see through his bullshit the most.

Vash takes in a deep breath after he finishes rinsing, then turns on his knees to face Wolfwood in all of his glistening glory. He can't help but run his greedy hand to cup the man's jaw, slide down his neck, shift over his heart, and he finishes by, of course, gently squeezing that left pec fondly. Yep, despite the internal changes, he's still the same Wolfwood. Vash's fingers slowly comb through the hair on his chest as if lost in a warm memory.

Still thinking, the Independent leans forward to give Wolfwood a soft, tender kiss—so unlike the one in the cave that had been full of tears and fear and depravity... This one is calm, quiet as he gently takes the ex-priest's bottom lip between both of his. Vash separates from him, though he doesn't want to, then searches Wolfwood's gaze as if reading a book, chuckling quietly to himself as he slumps onto his hip at the bottom of the tub and finally rests his head on the man's collarbone, lips to his neck with more soft kisses.

"Yeah, uh," the timeless Plant sighs, sounding nothing but concerned as he continues, "After... Meryl and Milly passed, I had enough of the bounty hunters, so I turned myself in. Earth and Gunsmoke fought over who got to dole out my punishment, but it was eventually decided that they... both would?"

He slides further down into the soapy water, gripping Wolfwood's thigh to keep himself stable. His mouth is nearly fully submerged, but he, after a heavy pause, lifts his chin up to continue.

"It took the Earth colonists a while, but they made sure I couldn't ever communicate or rejoin with my sisters again. They had enough Independents and Plant engineers to keep Gunsmoke running, so there was no need for me to have that ability anyway. Then they... made sure that when I enter my own Last Run, it won't cause 'catastrophic damage'—their words."

Now comes the part that Wolfwood really wouldn't like to hear... maybe he can just... temper it a little, avoid giving great detail...

"That took twenty years, I think. I dunno, it was all kind of a blur," Vash dips partially underwater again and sighs bubbles to the surface. "Gunsmoke, um... Well they didn't really have laws regarding capital punishment for Plants. They wanted to kill me at first, for all of the... the disasters that I..."

He swallows a hiccup, willing himself not to cry—never to cry. Not about himself, not when Wolfwood is here and he doesn't need anything else...

"They locked me up someplace secure and gave me a life sentence in solitary confinement."

“...Yeah.” 

He doesn’t like admitting the fact out loud. He doesn’t like thinking about it to begin with, but with Vash that is unavoidable one way or another. Despite steadily beating behind his sternum for four years now, Nicholas still has not come around to thinking of the heart in his chest as his. Other than a few…hiccups…here and there, it’s served him well. Kept him going. That’s as much as anyone can ask for, given how far and how hard he pushed the limits of his body.

A new heart, a product of a new century, placed in the chest cavity of a man who should have died over a hundred years ago. Ironically, it’s the only part of him that fucking belongs here. 

“Thought hadn’t even crossed my mind,” Wolfwood responds wryly. Leave it to Vash to leave an impossibly well-timed comment...probably without even being aware of it. Out of place, not out of time. He can’t further pursue the darkening line of thought even if he tried. Not with Vash watching him so intently. Not with those eyes, mercurial, shifting somewhere between bottle glass blue and nightglow iris depending on how the light hits them, the angle of Vash’s face. Not when they finally have time. 

Wolfwood follows the faint, crackling lines in the corner of Vash’s left eye, right above his little mole, with the pad of his thumb. Both hands travel upward from there, gently rubbing circles about Vash’s temples, kneading his scalp and lathering the dark strands of hair further. 

“Quit squirmin’, ya missed a spot. ‘s what happens when ya only got one arm to work with, huh. Too busy gawkin’ at me with yer big saucer eyes, maybe…”

There’s hardly anything he can think of that Vash can’t do just as well with one arm that he can with two, but Wolfwood likes having the excuse all the same…And no one ever said it had to be a good one. 

Hair, shoulders, upper arm, sides, back. Wolfwood takes his time going from shampooing to soaping skin without accepting any ifs, ands, or buts. He’s earned that much, damn it, and Vash will not dissuade nor distract him. So what if he finds himself cataloguing every new scar, ones both recognizable and not? On the grand scale of things, finding Vash sooner would not have changed anything. There are more years to account for than the length of his own natural lifespan.

Somehow, Nicholas feels responsible anyway.

At the very least, he can keep his hands busy while he answers the rest of Vash’s questions. “The way I had it explained to me…My heart was cooked. A regular human heart wasn’t gonna cut it between all the shit Conrad and Chapel put me through. So they got a little creative. Recovered my file out of his archives, found some old notes the good doctor left behind.”

Wolfwood had expressly asked not to see that particular document despite Luida’s suggestions. He didn’t want to know. Didn’t need to know or relive any single part of that life.

The words do not come easy. Wolfwood’s voice becomes halting and tense as he tries to keep it steady, “It’s artificial, more or less. Infused with Plant ‘n Plant energy…Wasn’t real clear on the distinction at the time, if I’m bein’ honest. There’s still a chance that my body might randomly decide to reject the damn thing, but so far so good.”

In hindsight, Luida’s deadpan delivery of all the things that could go wrong with his new heart seems almost comical. It might also randomly explode, stop working altogether, or suddenly run out of power, but Vash doesn’t need to live with that knowledge right now.

Damn it. 

He’s lost track of how many times he’s scrubbed at this part of Vash’s back. Change of subject, then.

“Anyway, what the hell is this about you goin’ to jail? Everyone on Home was bein’ all tight-lipped about it whenever I tried to ask.”

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s5 episode 17 thoughts

omg!! after complaining of lack a of scully last time, this episode’s description specifically mentions her by name- and with a priest, too! is it time for scully catholic lore?! i am so excited! i fear i should lower my expectations, but it sounds promising!

it’s been a solid week since i’ve watched an episode, so i’m ready to dive in. 

post episode thoughts: idk, this one didn't really do it for me. and i don't know exactly what "it" is. despite checking many of the boxes that i think personally make a great episode (solo scully time and catholic guilt to name a few) this one felt just... too dark and convoluted for me. i literally had no idea what was going on, and then when i started to pick up on it, we circled back to the emily story, which still makes me feel very frustrated and i feel they could have handled it so much better. it also, once again, denies scully any autonomy, which is very frustrating.

surprisingly, in this scully-centric episode, the MVP for me was... mulder? yes, i'm genuinely shocked. he was so protective and caring even while being very grumpy. the way he leaned in to grab her shoulder... calling her back in the rain... gently teasing her and then realizing it wasn't a teasing sort of situation... wow.

and also, as i mentioned before, he looked really good. arguably at his best here.

(this might be my longest post so far LMAO)

very dramatic music is playing as this priest arrives at a house to baptize a young girl. i actually know very little about the whole baptismal process, so maybe this is accurate and maybe it’s not.

this girl, dara, has been baptized, and now the thunder is going wild, which seems spooky. 

also, she either has 6 toes or i cannot count.

did she get out of bed on her own despite not being able to walk before??? and now she’s walking towards a scary man while hearing evil voices. 

she’s on her knees praying to this guy who her father cannot see…. and HER EYEBALLS ARE BURNT OUT OF HER HEAD????????

huh. hey. a lot of things just happened very quickly. 

did the holy water burn her eyes? is she supposed to be a demon? i thought they were going to go with the “holy water healed her” route, which has its own problematic implications, but whatever these implications are, i’m lost. 

(author's note: and i was going to stay lost <3)

shortened intro, i clock you each and every time

scully is entering a church!!! she has on a blouse and not a suit, which feels strange. OHHH, SHE PULLS OUT THE BABY PICTURE OF MELISSA :(

god. she keeps it on her. i'm emotional.

it’s confession time. she’s talking to the confessor about her FBI work coming in conflict with her beliefs. it was father mccue who we saw before baptizing dara, and he said this family needed scully's help. hmm... what for?

scully is crying. OH MY GOD “father, i had a daughter who died” <- WHAT?? ARE THEY ACTUALLY GOING TO ACKNOWLEDGE THIS?????

i'm shook. i thought we were simply never going to speak of emily again.

so father mccue thought that helping this family would help scully process her grief… 

SHE’S SAYING SHE DOESN’T KNOW IF HE CAN OFFER FORGIVENESS? SHE LET A GIRL DIE??

woah, woah, woah, woah, woah, let’s go back a few steps……. oh my god. did scully need more grief to wear like an iron backpack? NO. WHAT HAPPENED HERE???

let a girl die. what. i just cannot imagine scully "letting" this happen??

a week earlier she had gone to easter mass. and she looks so beautiful in white and cream :,)

father mccue wants to speak to her in private. this church seems like it’s hopping, so it must be pretty important.

she’s been coming more often!!! :,) aww i'm happy for her. don't tease her too much father mccue, i'm watching...

but he needs her help. the kernofs lost their daughter dara in a very strange situation. and he thinks that her words might help them.

she looks so pained at this moment. but she goes anyway. god. god. scully. feeling obligated to help despite visibly not wanting to. knowing it will tear her open again. and doing it anyway.

frankly, it seems a bit cruel of father mccue to send her on this mission, but maybe he sees things with a lens i, a mere layperson, cannot

she’s chatting with the couple and they’re explaining how they adopted dara. lance (the father) is angry at god. 

they’re saying she might have been struck by lightning??? she was wheelchair bound and somehow got up, walked out, and was praying. struck by lighting... that would be so weird

the mother says something about god letting this happen to an innocent girl and god. emily. i am still mad at your plot line for feminist reasons, but grief. new grief and old grief and inexplicable screaming at the sky.

back in the confessional booth, scully says she felt drawn to the couple. they were angry at god, and so was she, although she refuses to say that.

“as much as i have my faith, father, i am a scientist. trained to weight evidence. but science only teaches us how… not why” <- OHHHHHHH toss that in the bucket of quotes i will use to psychoanalyze dana scully forever and ever

now she’s chatting with the doctor, who also says that maybe dara was struck by lightning. she asks if scully is religious, and scully replies with “why do you ask?”, which i think is very interesting as a character choice for her to put that space between directly answering. especially since they're in a lab setting. it's less of a pause of making a purposeful separation between faith and science, imo, and more of a cautiousness that comes from thinking her faith will somehow be taken advantage of. but it’s also funny because her cross necklace is very visible. so. you can guess the answer to that question.

dara was found genuflecting??? even in death. and there’s a scar on her hand from where an extra finger was removed. but i def saw an extra toe earlier.

no other signs of trauma… “it’s as if god himself struck her down” oh…

this is going to be a very un-fun time for scully.

who is this man with an upside down cross in his car, entering a psychiatric hospital?

there’s another girl in the hospital, who also has extra fingers. it seems this new father gregory character has come to adopt this paula! but there was a mix-up. there was no approval from the social worker, and he cannot take her home until the paperwork is in order.

but social worker seems like he is lying… based on that zoom in shot…. i know this show and its narrative tricks...

scully is at home looking at the photos of dara, then pulling out the photo of melissa :( oh god :( she really has lost so much :(

she’s biting back tears as she answers the phone. she must be really out of it, because she answered with “hello” and not “scully” like always :(

it’s mulder, somewhere in a phone booth in the pouring rain! oh god bless that man, finding a phone booth to call her back from even while out and about. 

he’s tailing a potential suspect but still makes time for the call, even though he's in a hurry… then he runs into an x rated film showing. now, what is going on with that? hope you catch the guy, buddy.

he wants to know more, but she cannot tell him anything until he gets the birth records on dara :(

back to paula at the hospital. someone is approaching…. and when he approaches, she also hears the scary voices and genuflects like the other girl did!!! and there is a huge flash!!!

what is going on.

scully is at the scene, and finds the cross in her room hung upside down. is satan afoot.....?

MULDER ENTERS!!! “aren’t you the secret squirrel” <- LMAOOOO WHAT A WEIRD THING TO SAY!!! let the record show that this man is my baby girl.

ohhhh, she quietly explains she’s doing this as a favor :( i think he gets the idea not to press or make any other rodent comparisons

but he starts nerding out over the implications of the flipped cross. maybe the guy he was tailing last night is the same guy who did this?

(author's note: there was actually no relation whatsoever, and i think the writers just meant him watching the scandalous film as a weird gag, but for a brief moment there, i thought the narrative stars were going to align. alas!)

anyway, paula and dara were sisters!! they were quadruplets!! so there must be 2 more out there, and they must be in danger!!

(mulder has this five o clock shadow thing going on, and it’s kinda intoxicating)

“look scully, i know you don’t really want my help on this, but can i offer you my professional opinion?” (she nods, almost smiling) “you got a bona fide, super-crazy religious wacko on your hands”

average mulder sentence. he points out the prevalence of eye imagery in the bible, of gouging and smiting and other such cases. and in walks the social worker, who is sure there was not a cross on the wall there before!!

i’m overcome by something pulling at my heart strings while looking at mulder and scully standing together.

paula was about to be adopted, so they journey to church of st. peter the sinner, which has the upside down cross iconography outside and a sign that reads “the darkness is upon us” oh boy! i feel very welcomed /s

mulder is coming too because he is a nice guy in his leather jacket and jeans :)

he really has no life, huh…. god bless him

(i feel like he is in some sort of league basketball every other weekend, and probably goes to the library very often, but this is likely the extent of his social life. aside from sleepovers with the gunmen, of course. and that can be so beautiful)

they find a book of st. peter the sinner, and he immediately identifies it as full of apocrypha!!! which is hot. while someone seems to be watching them from a corner. less hot.

“i’m surprised there’s nothing here from jesus christ superstar” <- A MAN OF CULTURE???????

(i know this man is singing showtunes in his car. oh, i just KNOW it. and i bet he WOULD love jcs. and he was at oxford when some big west end shows were playing: phantom, les mis, evita, cats. a 2 hour bus ride from oxford to london is nothing for a massachusetts boy. just keep these facts in mind while making headcanons)

((and i do feel like he grew up watching musicals, too. just seems like something that happened in that household. they had the money to go see live theatre, but he also grew up in a golden age of movie musicals. idk, just try and tell me he didn't hear songs from west side story and the music man in his house growing up. i bet he thought it was annoying as a kid that his mother was always playing them, but now he looks back at it with fondness. whatever))

they break the news to father gregory that paula has died, which he didn’t know, and he seems to be overcome with emotion as he says he was trying to adopt her. yeah. this is unfortunate.

mulder asks why he wanted to adopt her and he is NOT messing around

“why adopt her?”, he asks. “what, you think i was interested in harming her?” “why. adopt. her” <- OHHH he is NOT going to be going easy on this case when scully’s heart’s on the line!!! everyone say thank you to protective mulder!!

father gregory says he knew the girl’s mother and was trying to protect her, but when they ask who the mother is, he says she died. hmm. yeah. i think having 4 babies at once is pretty unsafe. i can imagine this happening.

but still... he said he knows where she is… and then says she died. which is suspicious. like, why not just say she’s dead? i feel like he's lying.

father gregory says that he used to be in the roman catholic church and he was her confessor before he started his own church, and divulging her name would violate his code of faith. okay, that is great and all. but her kids are being murdered, so maybe pray on it and ask god if you can make a special exception.

this dude is very strange. 

“and yours, i see” he says, glancing at scully’s necklace

ohh…. allow mulder to stride in angrily. “you said you wanted to protect paula. from what?” yeah that is right. you don't let him mess with her.

what the fuck? this dude is so off putting. “whatever your intentions, your secular prejudices blind you from seeing what’s really happening here. two girls are dead- not by the hand of man. unless you accept the truth of god’s teachings that there is a struggle between good and evil for all souls, and that we are losing that struggle, you’re but fools rushing in. you put your own lives in danger. as well as the lives of the messengers”

(deeply pensive scully as father gregory walks away and someone continues to pant from the corner of his church)

wow. so i guess he thinks god just kills poor kids sometime for fun. sounds like a great god. i sure do want to join your church and worship him now. /s

(i'm still so baffled after watching the episode. so he thought the demons were killing the kids? it wasn't god doing the killing? but god lets demons kill kids sometimes unless people like him intervene? but actually it was the seraphim killing the kids and bringing them home to good? which would be a good thing, right? i just don't know what this episode was trying to sayyyyyy)

back to scully in confession. she brought mulder on the case “to help temper my feelings… to keep them from clouding my judgement. i wouldn’t admit it to him, but… as well stood there, i felt as if father gregory were speaking directly to me. in a language only i could understand”

well. i don’t understand it either, so i can’t analyze it. i'm sorry, queen, because i love to analyze you. but i'm glad she brought him along for the ride.

mulder holds the door open for her as they leave, and remarks on how gregory seems deeply suspicious (“he thinks he’s doing god’s laundry” is an exquisite line)

he’s definitely hiding something. 

“but, basically, you’re ruling out any element of the supernatural?” (careful mulder pause) “what do you mean?” 

ohhh, are they going to have this fight again? he seems to be holding something back. like he's trying to carefully measure his words despite being pissed off.

she points out that dara was baptized before she died

“and why would god allow this to happen, and why do bad things happen to good people? religion has masqueraded as the paranormal since the dawn of time to justify some of the most horrible acts in history” (heavy massachusetts accent when he says "horrible", btw, just noting that)

“i was raised to believe that god has his reasons, however mysterious” 

“he may well have his reasons, but he seems to use a lot of psychotics to carry out his job orders”

wow. there’s so much to analyze there.

well, it's not outright denial of her beliefs, which is an improvement from before. he can clearly pick up on how much this case is impacting her, which i commend, especially for a guy whose ahab tendencies in the past have caused him to be oblivious to all things emotional. i will never be over that time he was like "i'm sorry your dog died :( btw i think we are dealing with the loch ness monster who somehow made his way to america. here are a bunch of dinosaur facts-"

mulder says she should autopsy paula before whoever it is has a chance to find her sisters. i think this is a fair judgement.

he is cranky. but he was trying to hold back. and i do appreciate that. cranky man who needs to shave. has he ever looked better??

i get the sense that this is one of those episodes i’ll have to rewatch to analyze more stuff in later. if i can bring myself around to it.

autopsy time. she finds something on both of paula's shoulders.

OH MY GOD, SHE LOOKS OVER AND SEES EMILY ON THE TABLE??!!

SHE STARTS CRYING??? AND SHE HEARS EMILY SAY “MOMMY PLEASE”???

BUT SHE TURNS BACK AND THE BODY WAS JUST PAULA??!!

hey. what. hey. emily jumpscare. what does this mean? she knew that alien child for like 2 weeks. please do not spiritually torment her.

back in the confessional booth, she says she wrote off what she saw as a hallucination based on her emotional connection to the case, but she clarified that is not what it was

damn. little did this confessor know he was in for a WILD story time when she sat down.

she says she was meant to see emily for a purpose. so she could save them. taking on the need to save others... this is such a scully thing to do.

mulder on da phone. he has a lead on the third sister!! 

(dramatic sunglasses removal as they stake out the area)

why does he look so good?? it’s making it hard to focus on the tragic plot at hand. 

he says the third sister wandered into a teen crisis center, which is odd because the other two could not walk at all. and scully points out that there’s some sort of degenerative bone disease in paula.

“and uh, i know you’re going to think that i’m crazy… but i swear i found evidence of something winglike”

DOES SHE THINK THESE GIRLS ARE ANGELS BEING BROUGHT BEFORE GOD FOR CRIMES?? THE REBELLIOUS ONES LIKE LUCIFER?

“well then, maybe she flew here, scully” <- lmao. not totally appropriate for him to say, but lmao.

uh oh… he finds another upside down cross outside the joint. she has more to say, but he has to go.

someone is chasing another girl… LEAVE HER ALONE!!!!!!

mulder approaches...

and this girl, too, hears more of those horrible overlapping voices, there’s a dude with the face of an alien (angel? devil?) and the blinding light?? and she’s doing the same pose as the others!! the genuflection!!

MULDER HAS HIS GUN…. who is here?! it’s father gregory!!! he says it’s too late!!! and that the girl is dead!!!!

and sure enough, her eyes are burned out as well, as a dove flies to the light. i see what you did there, souls ascending and all that.

(but i thought she was taken by the devil, so the soul going to the light seems contradictory... you know what? never mind ❤️)

now they have father gregory brought in for questioning, and mulder has a casual shirt on, which looks strange. “you know, they say when you talk to god it’s prayer, but when god talks to you, it’s, uh, schizophrenia” (he smiles at his own joke)

“you’re not interested in the truth” “i am ONLY interested in the truth!!” <- do not get between this man and his Truth. rest assured, that is his God

all jokes and jests have been forgotten at this point. he’s screaming at father gregory, asking what could possess him to burn those poor girls’ eyes out, with scully watching in the back. 

father gregory makes scully explain the upside down cross… st. peter would only be crucified upside down. out of reverence for christ. sure. okay. seems weird he makes her explain it. feels manipulative somehow.

(very interesting how the upside down cross represents both st. peter and the devil... makes following the plot of this episode even harder)

he says he has risked his life to protect their souls because the devil wants them. well, idk if you’re doing a very good job, tbh. you're 0/3. 

(mulder glares at him before leaving the room) 

but father gregory taunts scully, saying she knows what they are, and if the devil finds her, his victory will be complete. 

man, idk what they’re talking about :(

they think they found the fourth girl, and father gregory asks to be let go or else no one can save her. scully explains in confession that she knew she was meant to save her.

she says the devil didn’t take their souls, but the threat was real, and he gave his life to protect them.

anyone wanna tell me what’s going on?

back to the case. mulder's talking to her and then he asks what’s wrong. ohhh, he bends down to look in her eyes. “scully? scully. don’t let this guy get in your head. that’s the last thing you want” <- oh my god, he’s worried :((((

"you’re not going to find her. i think you’re being misled", she says

“by who?" (heavy pause) "scully, i think you’re the one who’s being misled. and not just willingly, but willfully. i’ve never seen you more vulnerable or susceptible or more easily manipulated. and it scares me because i don’t know why”

he is at once doing his very best and still manages to be a bit condescending, but he is also doing a very good job, at least for him, of saying what he means. so i’m proud

“i saw emily” OHHH she says it. i thought she would keep it to herself “she came to me in a vision”

he grabs her shoulder and pulls her in close: “i think you should step away” ohhh :( ohhh no :(

she tells him to go find the girl and let her finish up with father gregory, and he takes the case file from her hand, lingering over it, holding onto the image of the last girl 

the case worker made his way into father gregory’s room!! asking where she is!! “the others were taken from me” hey, who are you? 

oh my god, he starts burning father gregory????? “tell me father. save yourself” is he the devil?? a demon??

scully goes to talk to him again and the door is locked. father gregory is dead on the floor!! all burnt up!!!

mulder is arriving at the house of the fourth girl.  he is NOT playing around. her father says she’s at school, and he points out she hasn’t been at school for a week. he won’t unlock the basement door, so mulder is going to kick it open. 

her father is saying a priest would take her off his hands!! father gregory said he would take her and let him keep the disability checks!!

huh.......

scully is getting to her car, but she gets a call. “yeah, hi scully, it’s me” aww

(she drops her keys and hears the horrible demon voices as mulder yells at her on the phone to answer him)

before her is a bird alien lion thing???????? the CGI goes crazy!!!

poor mulder is yelling to her while she is witnessing the plot of revelations irl. he's gotta be so worried.

back to talking to father mccue. she says she has seen things. visions. a man with four faces. 

this is troubling to father mccue, who fetches his bible. he’s showing her a page. it has an angel with four faces, which he calls a seraphim. the seraphim fathers four children with a mortal woman, whose babies are the nephelim, the fallen ones. souls of angels, but weren’t meant to be, they’re deformed and tormented. so the seraphim smites them with his glory and they go back to god?

i do not remember this story from sunday school.

“you think that’s what i saw?” “no” <- oh, i didn’t think he would say that… i thought he would be supportive. actually pretty gagged here.

“no. i think what you saw is a figment of your imagination, a half-remembered story from your childhood that surfaced because of this case” <- is he trying to be helpful here?? reassuring?? dismissive??? 

she insists that she saw it. and i cannot get a read on father mccue.

“the text in which it appears isn’t even recognized by the church” <- okaaay, that makes me feel better for not knowing the story.

he is certain god has his reasons. it is how he rewards our fate. which is a nice thing to think about.

the case worker is here, claiming mulder has been trying to reach her. there is latin chanting as they go to father gregory’s church. everything is quiet and the footsteps are clear. 

ohhhh she sees devil horns in his reflection… and he says he knows the last girl here. 

and she finds the girl!!! she was who was watching them earlier!! he’s yelling out to her…. 

she says she won’t hurt the girl, that she’ll get her out of there, take her someplace safe.

she’s trying to guide her out and the demon is saying to bring her the girl. but she’s trying to go forward to him!! 

emily is here?? “mommy, let me go” HUH?? let her go to the DEVIL??? she lets emily go and she walks into the light???

scully is crying. the demon is gone, leaving behind only the dead girl. 

(author's note: i'm pretty sure i actually misunderstood this scene, and the seraphim came and intercepted the girl from the devil- at least, that is what wikipedia says happened. but this was not very clear, and you can imagine my shock at the thought of scully releasing her dead child to the devil. which will make my confusion in the following paragraphs make more sense)

back to the confession… she was sure she was releasing the last girl's soul to heaven. but she cannot reconcile this with the physical fact of her death.

“has it occurred to you that maybe this, too,  is part of what you were meant to understand?”

”you mean, accepting my loss

“can you accept it?”

“maybe that’s what faith is”, she says, crying 

the end.

hmm. hmm.

so scully couldn’t reconcile bringing that girl to heaven with her actual death. 

but i was so confused, i swear the caseworker had horns, like he was the devil!! but then i guess the seraphim swooped in?

so she can only understand the loss of emily through faith, which makes sense, but the emily plot line still makes me frustrated, so idk how i feel. 

you ever get so confused you go to wikipedia?

so the devil took their souls? the devil being the social worker? but then at the last minute the seraphim took the last girl and brought her to heaven even though she died.

so the devil actually got the first three girls? but the bird went up to the light, and scully said she was confident they went to a better place? so must be the bright light guy was the seraphim and he saved them from the caseworker?

listen. listen. i’m going to throw my hands up in the air and admit defeat on this one. i don’t know what the hell went on. but i do believe it was important to scully.

i also believe it was an attempt to wrap up the emily plot line and that it probably won’t ever be addressed again in a meaningful manner because woohoo! we did it! we wrapped it up! /s

hmm. hmm. mulder did endear me today. he was cranky, but he genuinely wanted what was best for her. i think. even if he was lying about tailing a suspect to go watch some illicit films. and i don’t want to think about that. it’s far funnier to imagine him actually tailing someone and having to watch that as a result. 

after watching this episode, i feel very strange. i mentioned before it just didn't do "it" for me, and again, whatever "it" is, i couldn't tell you. but i can tell you this: i am desperate for scully to reclaim agency in her life. and i find that subjecting her to divine will is not agency. maybe you could interpret what happened here as god testing her, or offering her a way to understand her pain, or perhaps even taking god out of the equation, because of the unconfirmed nature of all supernatural elements of this show, she is imagining all of this as a way to deal with her pain. but it doesn't really allow her any freedom or autonomy.

i don't think i can fully articulate my qualms with this episode without diving into the murky waters of if god allows for free will, which is above my pay grade. but i will say this: it felt like scully was thrust into this situation, and her own free will was once again denied, whether you think it is due to father mccue getting her involved or god using her to save these girls and wrestle with the nature of faith versus reality.

and i want to see scully make her own choices. this is a critique of the writers, and not of the fictional character of scully. why is she consistently denied her ability to make choices about her own life? why is she put into these situations that deny her the ability to make choices? why does this happen to the woman in the show and not the man? why does it focus heavily on her ability to bear children? you see what i'm saying? why is the plot happening TO scully but being driven forward BY mulder?

i feel like it is hard for me to analyze what happened in this episode because so little of it involved scully making her own choices. she did choose to get involved with father mccue's request, and she chose to find meaning in her experiences, and even chose to communicate the distress she was in with mulder, but plot wise it was "god is torturing scully again. does he have no one else to torture?"

the emily thing is still always going to rub me the wrong way. it was always clear from the start of the abduction arc that the plot was going in this direction, but that doesn't make me like it any better.

in conclusion: i didn't like this one because i feel it, once again, relied on removing scully's agency and autonomy, and after 5 seasons this is growing old. also, i didn't know the seraphim lore, so i had no idea what was going on.

what did you think? specifically my scully fans: do you agree with my critiques? am i being a hater? did you know what was going on? did you like this episode? i'm always down to listen to someone try and convince me to like an episode! i need to know everything in brutal detail.

[moinsbienquekaworu]

If I didn't already have multiple drawings I want to finish I'd start a series of Constant interacting with their companions. I already have ideas and everything!!

[julijbee]

playing pathologic 2 as a disconnected ndn hitting harder than local man expected, more at 8

[galilea-naerie]

His features softened in the dim light as Rhys lay before her on the cot. He looked utterly exhausted, the kind of weariness that reached far beyond sleepless nights, gnawing at his very soul. Yet, when he picked up the bowl of soup and began eating, his expression shifted. Warmth flickered across his face, surprising her with its quiet intensity. “You are too kind,” she said softly, a laugh escaping her as a blush rose to her cheeks. He ate with such earnestness that she couldn’t help but be endeared. Pulling up a chair beside him, she added, “It’s just soup, Rhys, but I’m glad you like it. I’ll have to make you something fresh once this is all over.” She caught herself, faltering. Once this is over. The thought lingered, heavy with knowing she would return to her. Her mind drifted despite herself, considering what she might prepare for him. “I’ve always preferred spring and summer foods,” she murmured, a gentle smile playing on her lips as she clasped her hands in her lap. “Pomegranates bloom in spring. Maybe that’s why it’s my favorite season. Being surrounded by sickness so often, spring feels like a promise. A time when nature comes back to life. Even the food feels alive, and vibrant.” She paused, her smile deepening as she imagined the meals she loved to make. “There’s this dish I learned from Efaja, a small kingdom by the ocean. You marinate shrimp or fish in lime juice and mix in fresh vegetables. It’s bright, clean, and just a little spicy, very refreshing. Or saffron rice, simmered in broth with golden spices. The fragrance fills an entire room. Oh! And I make a summer drink. It is lime, mint, and honey. Simple, but perfect on a hot day. I think you’d love it.” Realizing how much she’d let herself ramble, she stopped abruptly, feeling foolish. The thought of sharing these meals with him struck her unexpectedly, sharp as an arrow. Irritated at her own indulgence, she shoved the thought aside and turned her attention back to him. “I’m fine, really,” she said when he questioned her. Her smile returned, softer now. “I’ve slept enough for now, and I’ll rest when we find the cure. There’s no time for sleep yet.” As Rhys began to confide in her, Galilea listened intently, her dark eyes unwavering as they locked on his. She didn’t interrupt, letting him spill his concerns,his niece, his people, his kingdom. It was clear these burdens weighed on him, filling his mind with questions that had no easy answers. Reaching out, she brushed his wrist gently in a comforting gesture. “I’m not well-versed in politics, Rhys,” she admitted, her voice steady, “but I’ve seen what happens when leaders fail their people. I’ve seen war and famine tear communities apart. Your king,” she hesitated, carefully choosing her words. “He’s no king at all, not if he’s allowed his people to suffer like this. A true leader protects and nurtures, even in the hardest times. That’s what your people need.” She paused, studying him. “Rhys,” she said softly, her voice carrying weight. “You’ve already shown you are a man of character. You care deeply, and you’re willing to fight for what’s right. When the time comes, I believe you’ll know what to do. You’ll lead them, not because you want to, but because they’ll need you to. That’s the kind of leader people follow.” Before he could respond, she reached out again, this time feeling for his pulse. The steady rhythm brought her a moment of reassurance. As she focused, a knock came at the door. She hesitated but smiled warmly at Rhys. “You’re healthy,” she said, though the check had been more for her peace of mind than his. “Just tired. Try to rest more if you can.” October entered, his knock light as he spoke. “Mrs. Lindly is back,” he announced, his tone unreadable. “And she has a guest.” Galilea rose and followed him into the other room, where Mrs. Lindly stood with a younger woman beside her. The girl’s auburn curls, mossy green eyes, and freckles made her strikingly pretty, and her face lit up when Rhys entered behind Galilea.

The warmth in her expression and the way she greeted him didn’t go unnoticed. So, they knew each other. A tightness coiled in Galilea’s chest, but she quickly cast aside the feeling, irritated at her own foolishness. The resemblance between the girl and Mrs. Lindly was unmistakable; she had to be her daughter. October, ever perceptive, gave Galilea’s arm a light, reassuring squeeze. Swallowing the bitter taste in her throat, Galilea extended her condolences for the loss of the Lindlys’ patriarch. The mother and daughter were curt but polite, thanking her nonetheless. Still, it was clear the two nymphs were outsiders. “We’ll leave you to it,” Galilea said, offering a small nod before excusing herself and October. Back in the kitchen, she leaned against the counter, her voice low. “Let’s give them some privacy. We need to work on finding the cure.” October grinned, his usual playful self. “We can work peacefully at Aimon’s. Don’t say no, I know you’re just trying to avoid being an afterthought in there.” She shot him a playful glare but eventually relented. “You are not wrong.” Leaving a note for Rhys, they gathered their supplies and headed to Aimon’s quiet home near the cemetery. Aimon greeted them warmly, his presence soothing. Galilea felt a flicker of embarrassment when October kissed Aimon in greeting, whispering promises of “later,” but seeing her cousin happy warmed her heart. Aimon provided everything they needed. Space, lanterns, and peace. The two nymphs quickly got to work, carefully separating the tinctures from Rhys’s blood with the aid of a rare healing crystal known only to the world’s most skilled healers. The crystal glowed faintly, resonating with the blood as it separated cells and antibodies with precision. Galilea and October worked tirelessly, experimenting with different combinations of natural elements and documenting every step. Hours slipped by, the night stretching into dawn, until finally, they reached a breakthrough. As sunlight streamed through the window, Galilea stared at their work, a sense of awe filling her chest. “We did it,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. October grinned, pulling her into a celebratory hug. “We found it. This is it. The cure.” The cure lay before them, the culmination of their tireless efforts. Rhys’s antibodies, combined with the crystal’s magic, had created something powerful. They exchanged a look of shared relief and pride. What had seemed impossible was now real. All that remained was to share the cure with Rhys and his people.

Rhys nodded, inclined to observe the situation before he up and moved all they had been working on. But he would have to be mindful to not wait too long should his feeling that they would need to move grew. He would need to observe just how often the army men were making their rounds and what else people had heard them talking about. Rhys had an obligation to keep the two nymphs safe, feeling it all too important to him to do so especially when it came to Galilea. His need and desire to protect her now seeming to run through him as strongly as his need to protect his family did. The ridiculous things he yearned for with her ever present in the back of his mind and giving him something to hope for for himself. Selfishly. Even if it was just a fantasy. “Thank you.” Rhys said quietly as she commented that his parents would be proud. His grief over their loss as still great. Though he felt as though he didn’t know his parents as well as he would have liked there was still great pain in losing them. He hoped they would be proud. It was a comforting thought that they might, but it was unfortunately only a thought he could have to comfort himself. He tried not to think of it too much. Rhys looked to her as she described where she came from. Compared to his home it sounded like a Utopia. Absolutely ideal. The idea that everyone could be provided for and comfortable seemed so strange and unattainable for his people and he wondered why humans could not seem to make such a society work. He had heard that the elves lived similarly to the nymphs in this regard and he could not deny the pang of jealousy that crept up. That the leaders of man seemed to be content and ready to keep their people down in order to have more for themselves. Why did the species of man seem so selfish as that? What had men done tk cause the gods to burden them with such natures? “Be grateful you don’t know such struggles.” He told her softly, no bitterness in his tone. He felt grateful she did not have to know the life he did even if he wished it for himself and his people. It was no fault of hers that their lives were as they were. That fault lay with the king. Rhys nodded to her, “Thank you.” He told her softly inclined to accept the bit of rest that she offered him and he parted from her. Rhys lay on the makeshift cot that was beside Carina’s bed, the girl fast asleep and curled beneath her blanket. He worried about his niece and this world she was coming up in. First and foremost he worried for her health, but if she made it past all of this what would the future hold for her? A future of poverty and struggle just as they had all always known? Except now made worse by the dwindling numbers of their community and the loss of so much of her family. It felt bleak and Rhys felt he needed to make it better if he could. His thoughts were interrupted by Galilea stepping into the room some time later. He realized his racing mind had no allowed him to actually sleep, but the time laying down was enough for now. It was more a break than he had allowed himself in some time. And for a moment all those anxieties and worries seemed to melt away when she entered. Her presence alone so comforting. He smelled the bowl of soup she set before him, the scent more flavorful than anything he had ever eaten before. He did not even need to taste it to know. “Thank you. I can tell already that it’s delicious.” He said and picked up the bowl in one hand and began to eat from it, the flavors seeming to awaken him to the knowledge that food could be so flavorful. Food was growing scarce and eating was meant only to keep one alive and satiated. It was rare when they got the chance to taste things other than a blank soup or stew meant only to keep them going. “You’re going to spoil me with this.” He told her and chuckled softly. It was not to put down his mother’s cooking, but her cooking had been meant only to keep her family fed and as healthy as they could be, not to delight them with its wonderful flavor. It had been enough to have a meal at all.

Rhys knew larger families who’s parents went without eating or the eldest siblings would miss meals so the youngest could eat. It was all just to say that poverty was a thing that deeply impacted them all who did not live within castle walls. “Have you gotten enough rest?” He questioned her, “Both you and October have been hard at work. Do you need some time to sleep and rest?” He asked her as he continued to spoon the soup into his mouth, unable to hide just how much he enjoyed the flavor of it and how comfortably filling it was. And it did little to quell those emotions he had for her. She seemed a near perfect being to him so kind, smart, talented, and beautiful. Any man would have a difficult time nit admiring her. “If and when the time should come that my people are healed of this I do not think it does us much good to remain under the control of a man like our king.” He paused and sighed softly, “Please keep this between us. I do not fancy myself a leader, I do not want to be, but I see how everyone comes to me and I see them wanted my help. It makes me feel as though maybe I could do more. But I worry about what that looks like. I worry about letting them down myself, but things cannot continue on as they always have. Not when I know there are better ways to live.” Rhys stopped and wondered why he was rambling to her about this, he supposed he just felt a great sense of ease with her. He shook his head at himself, “I’m sorry. I suppose I’m just trying to sort out how I’m feeling about all of this.” He said softly. “It’s no small thing to propose a revolt. But I feel we’re at that point.” He confessed quietly to her. “I don’t expect you or October to stick around for any of that. I just need to talk it out with an uninvolved party before bringing it up to anyone I know.” Rhys ran the risk of being found out and his life being at stake. It was no small proposal and he still had Sandrina and Carina to consider. He could not just leave them behind so easily. It all carried danger, but sitting idly by and allowing things to happen as they were just felt so wrong.

[firendgold]

If you're still doing the choose violence ask game: 2 (👀), 9, 10, 22 ?

I got such a rush from finally answering the first ask that I'm doing this for as long as people send me questions. So here we go again!

2. a compelling argument for why your fave would never top or bottom

anon, I'm at work. I'm seeing this at work. :'D

Okay, serious face. Albus Dumbledore is probably my fave if I have to choose between him and Harry on this blog. I just have to figure out why he would never...

Bottom. Albus would never, I'm sorry. He won't. He can't. Like, maybe when he was having his whirlwind summer romance with Gellert, he bottomed every single time they fucked because he was so in love and this was his equal and his partner and so what if he was a little rough and distant sometimes in the bedroom, and always wanted to top and tug his hair and hiss out orders? This was The Man The Universe Had Crafted For Him, and he would absolutely bottom for him every time... and then the summer of 1899 ends. And Ariana dies. And Aberforth breaks Albus' nose. And Gellert fucks off to go be a fascist.

And Albus, alone and heartbroken, resolves to never trust someone that completely again, never love someone that same way, and never let anyone get into a position of power over him where they might be able to use his knowledge and talents for ill. That means physically, emotionally, spiritually, psychologically... carnally. So he has sex with plenty of other people, and even falls in love with a few of them, but he is in control at all times. He never bottoms again.

That's all I've got for that one.

9. worst part of canon

So the first answer that came to mind is posted here, but for fairness' sake I'll try to come up with another worst thing. (That's not related to ships, because I'm trying really hard not to be THAT violent on the violence ask game.)

I think... that if That Woman was going to introduce international schools, students and characters in the middle book of the series, she should have done more with them than having them vanish after Goblet of Fire, only to come back for either fake romantic tension and one line of exposition about the Hitler allegory Dark Lord of the Before-Times (Krum, Deathly Hallows) or to be married off to a Weasley for an aesop of It's Not About His Looks Now That They're Jacked Up (Fleur, Half-Blood Prince). I'm not saying Fleur and Viktor HAD to be best buddies forever with Harry, but it is weird that they have this unique bond that no other young students have had with each other in hundreds of years, they even lost one of their fellow champions, Dumbledore gives this very moving speech about remaining connected and not letting darkness and prejudice sever new ties, and then... nothing. No side adventures in France or wherever Durmstrang is, no communication from either side, nothing.

Feels like a huge letdown in hindsight.

10. worst part of fanon

Oh, no. That's not fair. There's just so many.

If I had to consolidate what I currently don't like about the HP fandom/fanon into a few lines, I think I would say that I hate the pureblood/Dark side apologism. I do believe in nuance in characters. I do believe redemption and/or walking different paths is an important theme in Harry Potter, and I think it's fascinating to explore that with any and every character you can think of, even characters I may not personally like. But I really, really hate the way the fandom has taken that and twisted it into this idea that we were sold a lie at the start: that the British magical government was fine the way it was, and so was the society around it; that Dark magic Isn't All That Bad, Really, and there are actually Good and non-prejudiced things about a few rich bitches passing down their knowledge and secrets and slurs for generations within the Family, and keeping the Family "Pure" is cool actually, and none of this has any relation to real life ideas about miscegenation and classism and racism and eugenics, what are you talking about?

It's just so worrying. As a minority, when I see people on tumblr/twitter/AO3 gleefully agreeing that we need to eat the rich and fix society and eradicate all the horrid -isms and -archys ruining all our lives, then watch them turn around and write a 200k epic where Dumbledore was the evil one for locking the Horcrux books away and championing marginalized members of society, Hermione is just uppity for wanting to make necessary changes to the darker parts of magical society that That Woman was literally pointing out for a reason, and Tom Riddle is only bad because he took the good segregationist pureblood ideas and added murder to them... and when that fic gets thousands of comments agreeing with them full stop with no examination of any of that... it makes me anxious, at a minimum. The same thing is happening now with Grindelwald now that he's actually a figure on the screen and not just some dude mentioned a few times in the book series: same apologism, same justification of atrocities, same good-guy-blame-games, same blorbofication even.

On the one hand... fiction doesn't always directly reflect or affect reality. On the other... this unironic pro-pureblood meta is a pervasive concept that has popped up in thousands of fics written by thousands of fanfic writers. It's happened for years, and it keeps happening, and I see very few fans speaking out against it or even acknowledging it as a problem. So that makes me ask myself, who actually is willing and able to examine the injustices of our society and build a better imaginary society through the lens of HP fanfiction, and who's okay with the prejudice in the HP world as long as it's coming from the faves they're attracted to?

22. your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

Happily, this is a harder question to answer because I've been finding so many like minds in the past 5 years who go feral over the same 20 HP scenes as I do. ^^ But give me a sec, I'll think of something.

...

Okay. Got it.

In order to answer this question, I have to go back to the first time I, young teenager, avid reader, recent reader of the HP series once book 5 was out, realized that Harry and Dumbledore had a much deeper relationship than just headmaster and student. The thing that made me latch on to them and project like crazy, basically.

It's the scene in Goblet of Fire chapter 36 where Harry has been rescued from Fake Moody and he's in Dumbledore's office with Dumbledore and Sirius. Dumbledore asks Harry to relay everything that happened to him once he touched the Portkey in the maze—and immediately Sirius tries to protect Harry from having to relive it now, so soon after it's happened. And then this scene happens.

Dumbledore stopped talking. He sat down opposite Harry, behind his desk. He was looking at Harry, who avoided his eyes. Dumbledore was going to question him. He was going to make Harry relive everything. “I need to know what happened after you touched the Portkey in the maze, Harry,” said Dumbledore. “We can leave that till morning, can’t we, Dumbledore?” said Sirius harshly. He had put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Let him have a sleep. Let him rest.” Harry felt a rush of gratitude toward Sirius, but Dumbledore took no notice of Sirius’s words. He leaned forward toward Harry. Very unwillingly, Harry raised his head and looked into those blue eyes. “If I thought I could help you,” Dumbledore said gently, “by putting you into an enchanted sleep and allowing you to postpone the moment when you would have to think about what has happened tonight, I would do it. But I know better. Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it. You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you. I ask you to demonstrate your courage one more time. I ask you to tell us what happened.” The phoenix let out one soft, quavering note. It shivered in the air, and Harry felt as though a drop of hot liquid had slipped down his throat into his stomach, warming him, and strengthening him. He took a deep breath and began to tell them. As he spoke, visions of everything that had passed that night seemed to rise before his eyes; he saw the sparkling surface of the potion that had revived Voldemort; he saw the Death Eaters Apparating between the graves around them; he saw Cedric’s body, lying on the ground beside the cup. Once or twice, Sirius made a noise as though about to say something, his hand still tight on Harry’s shoulder, but Dumbledore raised his hand to stop him, and Harry was glad of this, because it was easier to keep going now he had started. It was even a relief; he felt almost as though something poisonous were being extracted from him. It was costing him every bit of determination he had to keep talking, yet he sensed that once he had finished, he would feel better.

This is one of the best scenes in the entire book, the entire series. It completely refutes the fanon Dumbledore who is often cold, cruel, inflexible and unrelenting in his quest for whatever the author wants him to be inflexible and cruel about at the time. It shows that Dumbledore, the real Albus Dumbledore, is one of the few people who understands what Harry needs and is able to provide it to him, even when others who also care for Harry would rather protect him or shield him from what he needs.

Kid me was particularly taken by how gentle Dumbledore is with Harry here. It made me look back and see how in some ways this scene, this closeness, is the culmination of all the times they've met and spoken before.

(You can imagine how painful it was reading Order of the Phoenix right after this.)

But yeah, that's probably one of my favorite scenes that other people ignore or haven't talked about/drawn/written about much. Which is ironic, because the scene right after that where Harry talks about Voldemort taking his blood and Dumbledore's eyes do the triumphant "lol Voldemort just fucked up" gleam is probably one of THE most talked-about scenes in the fandom (even though to this fucking day in 2023 people still don't realize what the gleam meant, when even That Woman has clarified what it meant in INTERVIEWS).

...And for me, safely at the end of the questions, that's all she wrote.

[soupacool]

congrats on taking T and experiencing voice changes, that's so exciting!! 🥳🥳✨✨

thank you!!! it's been a period of intense learning of myself and my place in the world and I wouldn't trade it for anything

[sttoru]

pls pls pls 🥹 older bf! gojo fucking the attitude out of his gf

 𝝑𝑒 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. satoru picks you up after your lecture to spend quality time with you, only to realise you got an attitude that needs some fixing.

tags. dom older bf!gojo x female reader. smut, pwp but also with plot. age gap (reader early 20’s, satoru early 30’s). rough. hints of degradation. p in v -> unprotected. standing doggy. semi-public. spanking. hair pulling. name calling. creampīe. nicknames ‘princess, baby’. wc: 3.2k

“mind telling me who that was, baby?” satoru asks while he fixes his sunglasses. he pushes his hair back a little, walking beside you through campus. you had just finished your study session with a boy who’s in your statistics class. your lovely boyfriend offered to pick you up and take you back home after that.

though, despite the kind gesture, you’re still visibly stressed after revising the material. your mind is occupied with all sorts of stuff you need to know before your exam on thursday.

“just a classmate,” you respond curtly, not even looking at satoru. you’re speeding ahead of him, wanting to rush home already. you nibble on your bottom lip and your brows are furrowed due to the distress, “why do you care?”

that sentence came out harsher than you had expected it to. you don’t mean to be bitchy, but you’re under too much stress at the moment. your body reacts before you can withstand it.

satoru is silent for a few seconds. he’s surprised by the tone of voice you used. he keeps on following you, however, not letting your little comment ruin the conversation. he’s there to help you, not to make you even more upset.

which is why he tries to lighten the mood.

“oh?” satoru chuckles, his dimples showing. he easily keeps up with you, his long legs carrying him around quite fast. the white haired man pushes a strand of your hair behind your ear ever so gently, “did someone upset my little princess today?”

you don’t answer him. you’re focused on your phone, hurriedly texting your friend back while speeding past all the other students. you don’t even notice how the girls are gawking at your man—whispering about how handsome he is and who he might be.

satoru doesn’t pay them any mind. his sole goal is to gain your attention back. he frowns after his question is met with silence. the clicking of his dress shoes increases as he tries to get you to stop and face him.

“c’mon,” your boyfriend sighs and stands in front of you, stopping you to an abrupt halt. he holds your wrist tenderly yet firmly, letting you know that he wants to properly communicate with you, “y’ can’t ignore me.”

you yank your hand back, your irritated attitude visible in your actions. you look up at satoru, not caring about what he thinks or wants at the moment. you just want to go home and relax. everything is overstimulating you.

“i can and i will,” you huff before stepping aside to continue your journey out of the university’s terrain. your boyfriend’s frown only deepens. you’re not the only one who’s currently getting agitated. you push past a group of students who stood in your way, “let’s just go home.”

satoru’s eyes narrow. he doesn’t get upset fast—he rarely feels any kind of anger—but right now he can feel something itching inside of his chest. he’s tried not to let the jealousy get the best of him at first, but now with all the other emotions coming into play, it’s nearly impossible to hold himself back.

satoru considers himself a fairly mature man. he’s always been one, yet when it comes to you he can’t help but feel like he doesn’t have any control over his emotions. his body and mind act on their own.

“aht aht. not so fast, little lady.”

you suddenly feel yourself being dragged to the side. satoru’s grip around your arm isn’t harsh, but it sure is enough to make you stumble along with him. you click your teeth in slight annoyance after the initial shock settles in. you know there’s no fighting it; you don’t want others to witness your little squabble.

“hey, where are we going?” you ask, a slight whine leaving your throat. you simply want to go lay in your bed and avoid everything and everyone else. your eyes are focused on the back of satoru’s head as he guides you along. he doesn’t bother to face nor answer you.

you sigh and simply allow yourself to be dragged away. if you’re going to get a scolding, you don’t mind. you’re just going to hear him out and nod along so you can go back home faster.

you raise an eyebrow when satoru arrives at the bathroom on the second floor. “what the—” you’re confused as to what your boyfriend is trying to achieve. you quickly look around to see if anyone has seen you.

no one seems to be close. this part of the building has always been empty around this time frame anyway.

you’re pulled into the men’s bathroom after satoru made sure that the coast was clear. he gently pushes you into an empty stall and locks the door. “satoru, what’s up with you?” you sigh as you stumble back against the bathroom wall. it’s a hypocritical comment considering your own nasty attitude.

you try to push him aside, only for your boyfriend to force your arms around his neck, pulling you flush against him. your eyes lock into his and that’s when you notice how . . dark they are. the usual playful look is nowhere to be found.

“i’m just thinkin’ that y’r attitude needs some fixing, hm?” satoru whispers. a ghost of a smirk appears on his face—it’s a twisted one. wicked, with the thoughts of what he’ll do to punish you for your actions. he rarely has that expression when he’s with you.

he tips your chin up with quite some force, “i can help with that.”

everything else happens at a blink of an eye. one of satoru’s large hands slithers up your back to tangle in your hair and yank it back, exposing the column of your throat for his hickeys to take shape on. his other hand swiftly makes work of your pants and undergarments.

his jaw is clenched—the usual hint of gentle love in his eyes is replaced by lust fuelled by jealousy and frustration. satoru is not playing around either. instead of taking his time like he usually does when it comes to intimacy, he’s quick to discard both your clothing.

“fuckin’ tease,” the white-haired man mutters under his breath, panting with desire. he zips down his pants and frees his big cock from his boxers. “always pushing my buttons. isn’t that right, baby?”

satoru lets out a breathy, mocking chuckle. he fists the shaft slowly while his blue eyes roam over your body caged against him and the wall, “but i guess tha’s part of the reason why i love you—hah.”

you’re basically in shock at the sudden switch. your jaw is slack and your eyes are wide, but there’s an undeniable feeling in your chest that tells you you’re loving this change. you can’t deny the fact that you’re turned on. extremely turned on.

“‘toru, i don’t think it’s smart to do this here,” you murmur in a small voice. you’re trying to have some dignity, even now, when your panties are soaked and the scent of your obvious arousal is driving your man crazy.

“don’t care,” satoru shakes his head with a smug grin. his long fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear before flimsily tugging them down to your ankles. his eyes darken the second he sees the webs of sticky, translucent slick clinging from your panties to your puffy folds.

he grunts, his cock twitching painfully in his hand. he’s thinking of simply jerking off to the sight of you in front of him, but he decided otherwise. satoru smacks your clit with his fat tip, “should’ve thought about that before catchin’ an attitude with me.”

suddenly, he turns you around so you’re facing the wall. your nails dig into the flat surface of the tiles, catching onto nothing. you’re hoping that no one will walk into the bathroom. last thing you need is everyone knowing that you were getting your back blown out by your boyfriend on campus.

not that satoru would mind those rumors. it’d only fuel his (already) huge ego.

“oh, yeah— shit. you need this ‘s much as i do,” satoru groans as sinks his cock into your pussy, agonisingly slow, inch by inch. you shudder and hold in your moans as your velvety walls make part for him.

his hands spread your pert asscheeks, smacking the full globes before kneading them to soothe the pain. he continues in a low, dangerous voice, “you wouldn’t be so stuck up if y’ didn’t need this fuckin’ dick to shut you up.”

satoru doesn’t stop pushing in until his heavy balls are resting snugly against your bottom, warming his sack full of cum that’s aching to be released in your dripping cunt.

“ngh, ‘toru,” you bite your lip and try not to orgasm just from the feeling of being full— so full of cock that it makes you see stars, “just like that.”

the white-haired man responds with a satisfied grunt, sweat forming on his forehead from how hot and wet it is inside of you.

“oh, there she is,” satoru coos once he hears your whiny voice, that sweet voice he cherishes and loves. it isn’t cold nor avoidant anymore like before and that’s really all he wanted to acquire. he licks a stripe from the tip of your ear to the lobe, voice husky, “there’s the girlfriend i know. moan some more f’ me.”

you shiver as satoru’s lips connect with the back of your neck. after wetting the skin with his saliva, he bites. not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to leave a mark. you clamp around his dick in response and he curses under his breath.

“please, fuck me,” you breathe. you need more stimulation, need him to absolutely ruin you. the shallow and slow thrusts he’s giving are nothing but torturous.

satoru grins and rests his chin on top of your shoulder, large hands rubbing around your hips and lower abdomen, teasing your clit every now and then to get you even more pent up.

“fuck you?” he tilts his head, as if contemplating. he clicks his tongue and gives your ass a firm slap that nearly sends you over the edge. “hah, you should be grateful for what i’m givin’ you.”

but satoru’s weak for you. even if he’s trying to be the ‘mean’ and ‘cold’ dominant guy. his cock is aching to plunge in and out of your wet hole, to see you come undone and feel your juices coat his balls and thighs.

“fine. i’ll fuck you,” satoru relents with a roll of his eyes, acting like he isn’t desperate for you too. he grips your hips in a bruising manner and bites your shoulder, “—fuck you like the brat you are.”

your hands save your face from making contact with the wall as your body suddenly jostles back and forth in a speed you can’t even process.

“satoru!” you nearly scream his name out of pure surprise. the pleasure comes crashing down in waves, your pussy uncontrollably spasming around his girthy cock.

satoru grumbles something incoherent as he pistons his hips, ramming in your sloppy cunt while his eyes are fixated on your bouncing ass. white locks of hair stick to his forehead as he splits you open on his dick.

“so pretty,” the older man sighs. he turns your head sideways so you can look him in the eyes while he fucks you silly. he caresses your cheek gently, a contrast to the mocking grin on his lips and the rough thrusts against your ass, “too bad y’ got such a potty mouth on you.”

satoru pushes his index and middle finger between your lips to muffle your noises, “…but don’t worry, i’ll fix that for you. gladly.”

you eagerly suck on them between quick gasps of air, saliva trickling down his hand. your boyfriend redoubles his efforts, the fat tip of his dick hitting that special spot deep inside you.

his free hand reaches down to circle your clit. the double stimulation sends you into a state of pure bliss. your pupils are dilated as you struggle to find satoru’s gaze, head lolling back and forth with each powerful stroke.

perhaps this really was all you needed to help destress and forget all about your responsibilities. it feels good to not think about anything at all— your head empty except for the feeling of your cunt being filled.

satoru’s cock twitches inside of you with the urge to release a load in your womb. “give me it, please,” your voice is muffled as you plead with him. your hand sneaks downwards, trying to find his balls, “w-want your cum.”

your fingers toy with his sack once you find it. his pre-cum and your own juices now coat your skin as well, your hand enclosing around his balls, massaging them. it’s like you’re trying to coax his potent semen out of them and that alone makes satoru throw his head back in ecstasy.

“little cumslut. . .” satoru growls, brows furrowing as he tries not to shoot his cum inside of your greedy cunt right that second. the hand that was keeping you quiet quickly snatches your wrist and pins it against the bathroom wall.

“are you that desperate to get filled? yeah?” your boyfriend huffs, not stopping to catch his breath at all. his hips pound faster against your ass with renewed passion.

your lips are parted and they move, but not a single answer comes out of your mouth. you’re unable to think or talk because of the pleasure.

satoru takes that as a yes. the erotic sight of you being so lost in sin is enough to fuel his desire to fuck you harder. his hips never falter as he scoffs at your pathetic self, “tch, so addicted to my cock y’ can’t even answer me.”

you shake your head and search for your words. however, you fail, and all that you’re capable of communicating is what you need, “fuuuuck, yes i am—‘toru, need your cock ‘n cum— more.”

satoru lets go of your wrist to grab your jaw. he forces your head back again before he captures your lips in a bruising kiss. his tongue plunders inside your mouth, exploring every inch.

he pulls back to gasp for air and releases your jaw with a slight shove to grab your hips again. “more? hah,” the white-haired man lets out a haughty chuckle. he gives a particular hard thrust against your butt, tip kissing your cervix painfully yet deliciously, “y’ think you deserve more after that shit you pulled?”

satoru yanks your head back by your hair. the stinging sensation makes your scalp itchy, but it also increases your pleasure. he lowers his lips to your ear, his voice dangerously low, “nah, you gotta make this work.”

you could. you can make it work and that’s the truth. he could fuck you with just his tip and you’d be able to cum a couple times in a row.

jolts of pleasure run down your spine as satoru drives into you harder, the force of his thrusts rocking your entire body. you’re seeing stars and the words roll off your tongue, “please, mhh, almost there!”

satoru groans. he can feel the delicious fluttering of your cunt around his cock, the telltale signs of an orgasm building. he has half a mind to pull out completely and let you writhe and beg him some more.

he contemplates it for a few seconds. the second your eyes start to roll back, signaling your impending climax, his cock slips out of your pussy. you whine and push your hips back in search for his dick- to fill the void he left.

satoru jerks himself off at the pitiful sight. he rubs his veiny shaft between your slick folds before slapping the tip against your cunt, letting it catch onto your entrance for a few times.

“begging like that isn’t going to get you anywhere. y’ can do better,” your boyfriend encourages in a sultry tone. one of his hands rest on your tummy, fingers splaying over your clothed skin. another filthy smack of his tip against your slit makes you shiver, “come on.”

you bite your lip out of frustration. you arch your back each time the fat head of his cock catches onto your gaping hole, hoping to slip it in, but you can't. you tilt your head back and lock eyes with satoru close up behind you.

“please let me cum, 'toru. i'll be good, i promise,” you beg with a lewd pleading expression. one that make satoru's balls tighten with the urge to cum as well.

with a low groan, satoru snaps his hips forward, burying his dick inside of you once more, “there ya go. good girl, knew y’ had it in you.”

the praise and familiar feeling of his dick stretching you open is enough to push you over the edge. you nearly black out as your cunt spasms around him, your juices gushing out to coat his length and balls.

satoru grits his teeth once he feels your tight cunt clench viciously around his throbbing cock. your orgasm has a domino effect on your lover, causing him to hastily chase his own release. “shit! take it, princess. take it all inside this greedy fuckin' cunt,” he hisses and grinds his pelvis against the fat of your ass.

satoru buries himself to the hilt before his cock jerks and pulses, emptying his balls deep inside of you. his fingers dig into the meat of your butt, holding you in place as he grinds against you, making sure every last drop of his seed is nestled into your waiting womb.

“there y’ go, mhm—taking my load so deep,” your lover sighs and lowers his head, resting against your back. he hugs you tightly to his chest while you both catch your breath. he rides out his orgasm slowly, still grinding against you while he leaves lazy kisses on your nape.

a minute passes before you've regained your composure, somewhat. you smile as satoru kisses your temple lovingly, praising you for taking him so well. the switch back to his usual gentleman personality is much needed after such an intense moment.

“thank you, babe. i needed that,” you giggle as you rest back against his chest. thick, pearly globs of cum escape your pussy, dripping around his cock and onto your thighs, but neither of you could care less. the clean up is a problem for later.

satoru chuckles back at you as he leaves another loving kiss against your cheek. “i knew you did,” he murmurs and pets your head, “my poor girl has been working so hard on her assignments, hm? poor, poor baby.”

you playfully roll your eyes at the overexaggerated concern in your lover's voice, however you appreciate it.

satoru doesn't bother to pull out. first things first; he needs to get you all comfortable again and give you the aftercare you deserve. his hands massage your hips as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, acting all lovey-dovey like he hasn't just shown you a more dominant side of him.

“how ‘bout we go home and order some food? we can cuddle and watch a movie together, ‘kay? i’ll take care of you, princess.”