#i couldn't have imagined it!

[deaderthandoubledead]

So we all agree that the reason AU Silco was late to the party (and arriving exactly just before Powder's big entrance) was because he was helping his daughter get ready for her date? There's a reason why she's dressed like young him

[egg-noodle]

Mark him up, lads!

[f0x-meets-w0lf]

horror movie twins or whatever

[to-be-a-dreamer]

The disproportionate hate towards Tommy Kinard and the refusal to accept that someone could have genuine, meaningful character development off-screen that is still valid and real is a symptom of cancel culture and the internet’s general refusal to allow a person to become more than their past failings but some of y'all aren't ready to hear that

[mellosdrawings]

How are Vil's fans (and Leona's fans, as I'm sure he have some) with the n2 team? Have they had a big reaction to the fact that it's a polyamorous relationship? How does Jamil deal with this attention?

Do the Asims know about their relationship? I mean, I think Vil as a public figure and Leona as a prince would draw attention.And how does Jamil's family react? I think they want Jamil to be happy, but they're afraid of what the Asims might do. And I think they expected Jamil to end up with a servant (I'm using the reasoning that Viper is Jamil's father's last name, but his mother also seems to be very used to being a servant, so she must be from a servant family of the Asims, less important than the Vipers) or at least a commoner and lower class person than Jamil's current boyfriends.

For now I'll only answer for Vil's fans. The Asim and the Viper reactions will be coming sometime soon.

Vil dropped the news little by little. Leona and Jamil in the background of more relax pics, a couple dance sessions with Jamil, inconspicuous things. Just to get his fans used to their sight.

The he dropped hints, bigger and bigger, until the reveal. Aside from the few fans who are far too into parasocial relationships and are salty about Vil dating coz that means they have no chance anymore (not that they had any), it went relatively fine. They took one look at Leona and went "Yup, our Queen deserves a prince, good for him good for him."

The thing that surprised Vil though is that his fans latched onto Jamil more than Leona. After all as you said Leona is a public figure. They know him. Jamil though doesn't even post pics of himself on Magicam. He's a total mystery. They know he's a dancer so they try to check music videos (useless), they try finding his magicam (they don't), and eventually someone finds out those two pics taken at the Tapis Rouge event (which doesn't help much coz they still don't know who he is lol)

The mystery actually helps fans ease into it. They're just so obsessed with finding who Jamil is that they forget to (maybe) be upset about their Queen's love life.

As for Jamil... he just doesn't deal with the attention. He's not much on socials so he doesn't care, and despite being eye candy he isn't all that charismatic so people don't pay much attention to him. He got cornered by a few hardcore fans who miraculously managed to recognise him and he just plastered his best customer service smile until they left him alone. He's dealt with worse than pushy fans before. He might not be used to being the center of attention, he's still good at dealing with stressful situations.

[beebopurr]

I was around when ppl were posting fanart of Raph in cute outfits/drawing Raph with princess Peach I just wasn't posting anything yet and I just got reminded of it so,,, Raph in silly outfit. Casey is here too they're team Cherry Bomb

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: Baby's First Commissioner Meeting :)

TL:DR This Post: Danny (orphan) gets poisoned with blood blossom extract by Vlad. He runs away from him and ends up under the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman! Starry is loudly pushing her batdad agenda.

(Also known as "Late At Night, When The Nightingale Sings" on my ao3!)

This was a fun rough idea I've been sitting on for weeks, thinking about how Commissioner Gordon and Nightingale's first meeting might go.

---------------

Commissioner Gordon likes to think that he's adjusting to the new normal of Gotham very well, -- the new normal being grown men running around dressed like bats, in military-grade strength body armor, committing acts of vigilantism, -- and slowly, little by little, he was no longer being surprised when this new normal pops up out of the shadows like the world's most terrifying daisy. His shaving lifespan thanks him for it.

....

The kid is a surprise though.

Granted, he seemed to be a surprise to the Bat too.

There's been a string of murders lately, -- which, in Gotham, is kind of like saying there's been another storm during monsoon season. And there's just been another; in some dilapidated building down in south Gotham, with the broken, boarded-up windows and mildew-crawling walls to match. The victim is a man in his thirties, multiple gunshot wounds to the chest, left in the center of the room for the blood to pool out around him.

The place is already secured when he arrives, the building swarmed with officers and the forensic detectives. The Bat emerges shortly after he does -- or, he might've been here the whole time, hiding someplace dark and shadowy. For his own sanity, Gordon doesn't think about it too hard.

The kid is a surprise, and he appears like a bolt of lightning.

He shows up in the middle of a conversation Gordon is having with the Bat.

A whistle, sharp and loud, slicing through the air, meant for open air rather than a confined space. Gordon's ears pierce and protest the sound, and the solemn, murmured chatter floating through the room abruptly cuts off like the swing of a gavel. As he turns towards the sound -- as they all do -- he swears, up and down, that he sees Batman's shoulders jump, just slightly.

At the source, perched on the window, is a boy. A boy in a gray-blue scarf and an oversized black hoodie, one that hangs off his frame and has ace bandages wrapped around the wrists in some attempt to cinch the sleeves. The hood is up, big like the rest of it, and threatens to swallow the upper half of the boy's face whole in the fabric. What upper half Gordon can see, is smeared with some kind of opaque, black face paint. He's holding onto the side of the frame with one hand, on his hip is a grappling hook. A familiar grappling hook.

Gordon has multiple questions, and his officers tense up.

Martinez puffs up, brows furrowing as his face shapes into a frown. Shoulders rolling back. "You can't be here, kid--"

The reaction is immediate, like a spark to gunpowder, the boy yanks his fingers from his mouth and his mouth twists into a scowl. Head snapping over to Officer Martinez, his hood manages to stay on but Gordon swears that as he bares his teeth, the glint makes them look sharper than they should be. His voice is rasp and quiet and harsh; snappish in its hissing; "Put a fuckin sock in it, Martinez. I'm not stayin."

Martinez reels back, and the boy immediately veers his attention off him. Like a switch, his demeanor drops. Despite half his face being covered, his mouth twists into a cringing, apologetic smile. Slanted and off-beat, embarrassed. It'd be disarming if this wasn't Gotham, and if he didn't just hiss at Martinez like he was about to bite his head off.

"Sorry." He whispers, voice deceptively polite and softer now. Gordon has to strain his ears to hear him. "I was looking for him."

He points his finger towards-- Gordon? No, Gordon follows the direction, and finds himself looking at -- the Bat.

The Bat, who always looks stiff as a pole, now looks even stiffer. Somehow. Well, the explains the grappling hook attached to the boy's waist.

"What are you doing here?" The Bat says, gruff and unable to completely smother the stumble of surprise in his tone.

The boy still holds a sheepish smile, and slips off the window ledge. His feet hit the creaky boards with a near-silent thud, the Batman finds his feet and rapidly begins crossing the room.

Gordon notes the slight tremble in the boy's legs as he straightens. He adjusts his scarf, which droops close to his knees now that he's standing, and slings a backpack -- how long has had that? -- off his shoulders. When the Bat reaches his side, he does as he always does, and looms over the boy like a spectre. A threatening mass of shadows cloaked in all-consuming black. Standing next to him, the boy looks teeny in comparison.

The Bat is a man who terrifies even the most hardened criminals, Gordon has seen grown men shiver in fear at the mention of his name. And yet when the boy looks up at him, he doesn't even flinch.

Instead, his sheepish smile melts away like ice under the sun, holding only traces of his previous embarrassment. It remains as a shadow on his face, a small upturn at the corners of his mouth. The boy pushes his hood back just enough to reveal glinting, ice-flint eyes surrounded in tar-black face paint. He holds the backpack up with one arm. "You forgot this."

[allastoredeer]

Ya'll want to know the funniest shit?

I'm researching the era when Alastor was alive right now to get a better idea of both his character, the life he lived before Hell, and to hash out a backstory for him.

And so, apparently, Alastor lived through the Prohibition (which was basically the United States government illegalizing the manufacture, transportation, and sale of alcohol because they thought it was the cause of a lot of domestic violence and child abandonment).

Alastor canonically died in 1933.

Do you know how long the Prohibition lasted?

From 1920-1933.

ALASTOR LITERALLY DIED THE SAME YEAR ALCOHOL BECAME LEGAL AGAIN. CAN YOU IMAGINE HOW BITTER HE MUST'VE BEEN?

The Prohibition officially ended on December 5, 1933, and now my headcanon is that Alastor died December 6, 1933. Literally the day after he could legally drink all the booze he wanted.

I am learning a LOT about New Orleans and the era Alastor lived through (including the gay community in the city at the time) which has been a lot of fun, and I just wanted to share that tidbit because it is so fucking funny to me.

[shadystranger]

dean looks at sam's neck where the vamps had killed him and next time we see them the blood on sam has been cleaned up and he changed into new undershirt with a collar and comfy jacket like

the subtlety of this scene with the obvious implication there was an even more private emotional moment between samdean we weren't exempt to

[imrllytootiredforthis]

your little office slut that gets used by you, the boss, whenever you want<3

under the desk while you do some frustrating paperwork, hoping to relieve some of that tension by sucking you off like a good little toy<3 and when you cum allllll over his face, he'll make sure to lick it all up like a good boy<3

bent over the table during meetings, all your workers trying not to make eye contact with either of you as your little toy moans like a shameless whore, spreading his legs further for you, hands helplessly grasping at the table as you fuck him within an inch of his life.

shivering at the cold glass pressed against his skin as you fuck him hard and fast against the window of your office. his face is stained pink even though he knows all those people down below can't see him, or he doesn't think so at least...

[calithso]

Real I’ve been hibernating these last couple days tbh— Anyways i stumbled across something— any thoughts feelings and opinions on muzzled Yae Miko? Or yukong?

I seem to have a strange affinity for old fox women—

—🪼

i was going to reply and say i agree like a normal person but then i remembered i'm an artist

i 100% agree.

[valentjin]

i just think it's crazy that there wasn't like. a cutscene or something that showed off raphael's cool magical girl transformation sequence cause his ascended fiend form looks sick as hell

[thefandomsfervent]

Victor x Artist!Reader Imagine

a lil angsty at the end, will definitely become a full separate fic later

edit: Fic has been started! First chapter here

Imagine Viktor falls in love with an artist designated to paint the HexTech creators for some new Progress Day Art Hall or something.

╔═*✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧-✦-✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧*═╗

You both stay up at all hours of the night over working yourselves to make deadlines. You both have a need to be remembered but in different ways. For Viktor, it's to improve lives. For you? It's to help capture history. It feeds his ego and he becomes your muse.

As Jayce spends more and more time on his councilor duties, there's more time for the two of you to get to know each other. What starts as shared quick dinners, late night coffees, and library trips; turns to forced naps, tidying of each other's spaces, and gentle massages.

Quiet moments of intimacy are shared during the early hours of golden light in the lab. Midday forays into a nearby studio result in evidence of your new romance as swathes of color beneath ruffled clothes.

He gets used to you tracing intricate patterns on his skin, you get used to falling asleep to his exhaustion honeyed voice going over notes. Many of your more passionate nights have ended with some paint on his body. Viktor loves the coolness of your brush, of your pigment soaked touch. It relaxes him on days where his leg is sore, or his shoulder from over-supporting on the crutch. He'll rub your neck when you've spent too long bent at a weird angle trying to get a line just right.

It's a tender and slow love. One that exponentially builds in your mutual affections, one that crashes down after the attack on Piltover's council.

This time it is him who leaves his mark on you, his slender fingers have lost their warmth when they grace your face. The weight is familiar, but the emotion is not. When he calls your name, the mirth and soft laughter is replaced with a metallic echo. You lean into him all the same. The multicolor chroma of his fingertips mimicking marks you've left long ago.

╚═*✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧-✦-✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧*═╝

---------.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ -Headcanon Master List·-*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .----------

------------‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙· Master Fic List *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊--------------

[egophiliac]

WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE KNIGHT OF DAWN SPIRIT IS STUCK IN A RING

Please where does it say that I must know!!!!!!!

calling him "stuck" was mostly a joke (and I don't think he's really a floating little ghostie or anything, more like...just some kind of remnant?) but when he showed up at the end of chapter 5, I read it as his spirit being in/attached somehow to the ring, and I think the implication was meant to be that he (or what was left of him) was the one guiding Silver through Lilia's memories. that may be leaning a little too hard into my personal interpretation, but that's what I thought we were supposed to get out of it! 🤷

(now watch as they turn directly to the camera in the next update to explain that I've misunderstood everything and the ring is really a tiny little robot that we all must shrink down into to pilot) (which would actually be amazing, can we have that please)

[bonefall]

a while ago you said that Starclan cats design kittens and customize them with patterns and colors from their parents genes. So, do the clan cats raise any eyebrows when it comes to people who know cat genetics? Is there a geneticist who is holding their head wondering how these two cats have this colored kit while their starclan designer was just playing around? Or do the Starclan designers still have to stay within the rules?

Basically, do the humans notice that some of these clan cats are sparkle cats lol

I try to not get too "lost in the weeds" since the humans aren't the focus of the story, just taking care that they DO have real motivations behind their actions rather than construction crews materializing out of nowhere to Do A Chaos, but...

First, the genetics of cats in Albion are different than humans in equivalent Great Britain.

Partially, this is because I honestly just don't really enjoy learning about in-depth genetics or applying them realistically. I like drawing anime characters and writing anime battles, so they have anime genetics. But more than that, off-screen, the intelligence of cats has altered the timeline of this world.

If cats really were capable of higher thinking, that totally would have had some butterfly effects. I like dropping crazy alt-history and then not elaborating on it, because it's funny. Archimedes' cat helped him invent a death ray, btw.

On that note of genetics though, you guessed right. StarClan designers DO have to work with what they have. Whatever the genetics of this alternate universe of cats are, every kit born still abides by the laws of nature.

Which brings me to...

Second, the researchers do notice that the Clan cats are special. In fact, there is a "study of magic" in this universe-- Thaumatology. "The science of wonder."

(There's no world where magic actually factually exists that science isn't all over it lmao)

Thaumatology facts I haven't shared so far since it's all offscreen and just Bonus Worldbuilding;

It is a "soft science," not a hard one.

It has a LOT of problems with replicability. Thaumatologists and Quantum Physicists have a lot of in-jokes.

The most well known (to the point of being a cliche) is "magic and quantum particles both hate being watched."

Magic is highly variable based on a bajillion very personal factors, like emotion, environment, culture, personal background, etc, so it's severely difficult to re-create it in controlled environments.

Thaumatology has a lot of overlap with sociology, archeology, and theology, so people from these fields work together a lot.

There was absolutely not a dedicated Thaumatologist working in the Research Team early on, sadly.

It was probably discovered when the Battle of the True Eclipse blew out a bunch of field cameras.

It's pretty common that photography equipment fritzes out a bit during "supernatural" times like eclipses, but the damage was extensive enough to be noteworty

The Clan cats were initially notable just for the fact they had advanced culture.

Cats are usually comparable to crows and monkeys, in this universe. So cats with fire and a crude writing system were enough to SHAKE the field of zoology.

The fact they're cats helped a lot. The public loves cats, enough that since their discovery after Speckletail attacked a bulldozer, massive outcry has secretly helped the Clans several times.

The discovery that the culture also has Thaumatological elements is more of a goldmine for a scientist than the public, though.

It's common knowledge that "animals are magic," because humanity projects traits onto them. "Of course they do, they're cats...?"

The Thaumatologist is freaking out because "THE CAT IS PROVABLY DOING ITS OWN THAUMATURGY"

Most people don't know the difference between Thaumaturgy (the functional work it does on the world) and Thaumology (the study of that as a whole), so this particular scientist is going to have a hard time explaining WHY this distinction is so special.

(And possibly even offensive to certain groups, who would insist only humans are capable of this)

In any case, eventually there would be Thaumatological interest in the Clan cats, but they weren't there in the mid to late 2010s when BB!ASC takes place.

[etherealily]

𝙴𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃𝙴𝙴𝙽 // 𝙉𝙁𝙅!

Nate Jacobs + Fem!reader. Warnings : Dark. SFW, but discretion advised. Drugs.

I don't know if this is milder or darker than the previous parts, but I do know that it is LONG.

Part 1 : Whiplash

Part 2 : 9 Lives

Part 3 : Blessed

Part 4 : Shards

Part 6 : Sin

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc. : You're fun and you're wild, but you don't know the half of the shit that you put me through

═════════════════════ 🧿 ════════════════════

TUESDAY, LIBRARY, 4 PM.

"We need to talk."

Suddenly, Carl Jung had never been more interesting, your eyes unable to rip away from the words on the paper in front of them, ignoring Nate as much as possible.

Your shoulder suddenly jerked, and a soft whisper followed. "Hey. We need to talk."

Frowning, your eyes darted between the two Jacobs brothers, the looks on their faces not strict, but the most infuriatingly stoic gazes mankind had ever known.

"You had quite a weekend, right? Anything crazy happen?"

The real question Aaron was asking was whether you were going to talk about it.

"Nope, just lots of psych homework."

"See, this is why I'm telling you to drop Psych. Unnecessary stress.", remarked Nate, his fingers rapping on the table in an almost musical pattern. Almost, because music is art, and there was nothing artistic about the false smile he was giving you.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"How are the rest of classes going?" Small talk?

"Great. Chem is pissing me off, though."

"Eh, well, only nerds are good at Chem, and I don't fuck with nerds. So you're lucky."

Oh, thanks, man. Such an honour.

"Are you good at Chem?"

"I pass."

"Where'd you get time to study? What with all the vapes and parties and quote-unquote 'dozens of bitches'?"

He let out a breathy laugh. "I got good work-life balance.", he replied, leaning on his arms closer to you. His head tilted and you knew something psychotic was about to happen. Well, it was Nate. You knew something psychotic was about to happen the second he walked in.

"I'll bet."

He smiled at that. "Are you my friend, Y/N? Are we friends?"

"I don't think so."

"Good. We're on the same page.", he hissed, moving in closer, glaring at you with the same eyes that had been acting as a dam to his true emotions two nights ago. "You can't tell anyone." His fingers deftly twirled your hair around before tucking it behind your ear.

"About?"

"Saturday."

"How you threw a lamp at me?"

"What you heard about my Dad. What he wanted to... what he said. What you learnt about our family."

"I won't."

"No, seriously, Y/N, don't fucking play with me right now. You'll regret it if you do."

"I'm not playing around, either. I'm not going to tell anyone."

"Good.", sniped Aaron. "'Cause we'll fucking ruin your life if you do."

"Aaron.", whispered Nate, shaking his head. "She already said she wouldn't."

"And you trust her?! She walked in with this polite girl attitude and then when shit got tough, she yelled at you with Mom just a room away. And you told me she wanted to fuck Da-"

"Aaron, shut the FUCK up, okay? She said she isn't going to, so she won't." The glares were back on you, an unwelcome blanket in the heat of tension.

"Yeah, we wouldn't want to have to say stuff about you , too."

"Aaron, I said fuckin' drop it."

"No, she gotta know what's at stake, or she's going to take this shit lightly."

You could almost see the vein pop in Nate's head.

"Nate, what... what stuff?"

"It's nothing. Just... we needed incentive.", he muttered, shrugging.

"What incentive?"

"You're buddy-buddy with a drug dealer, Y/N.", he continued, although, to his credit, it seemed with a little reluctance. "And he has access to a lot of shit, right? Who knows if he's ever slipped something into your drink and... y'know."

"What the FUCK? What the FUCK, NATE?"

His idea of incentive was making you a rape victim?!

Being shushed by the librarian solidified your thirst for homicide.

"I mean, you fucked Shane voluntarily, so you're already a fuckin' whore.", he declared, shrugging again as if he was just stating that the sky would be lit up by fireworks on the Fourth of July. "Maybe he just thought it would be easier, without all the playing-hard-to-get-shit. You're close enough that he trusts you to watch over his store."

"You can't FUCKING be serious! FEZCO WOULD NEVER FUCKING-"

"How sad, you're in denial.", tutted Aaron, pouting. "How would you know? He could have used shit stronger than Rohypnol, ya know? Shit that could knock you out cold for hours, and maybe he even called a couple of his trapper buddies-"

Aaron shut up quite quickly when your knuckles met his jaw, but started cussing you out when Nate pulled you off of him. "We're just saying, Y/N, you don't tell anyone the truth of that night, we won't tell them the lies about Fezco."

You pointed your finger at Nate's chest, hoping to god that that would distract him from the rage-induced tears pooling in your eyes.

"You're a fucking coward, Jacobs. With a pervert dad. A fucking coward who can't admit that he has no idea what the fuck he's doing."

"Big words coming from a girl that was raped by her dealer."

OH, someone needs to euthanize this motherfucker.

FUCK. NATE. JACOBS.

TUESDAY, 9PM

Nate had no fucking clue why he was doing this.

He was just drunk, he supposed. Drunk and horny. Average teenage experience.

But it's like.. he could've done anything. ANYTHING else. He could've actually gone to the party, picked up some girl, screwed her into the bed.

But no.

He sat there, scrolling through the fucking SlutPages. For who?Shane's sister, maybe, because of the inexplicable hatred he'd been feeling for him for about a month that he couldn't really think of a reason for? You would think, wouldn't you?

He looked for you.

There was no way you were a virgin. But he should've known there was also no way you were a slut. Or at least, that you were smart enough not to end up there.

He almost fucking threw the phone onto the wall. Fuck.

And you'd blocked him. That was the problem. He couldn't even text you. And he didn't have your fucking phone number, Jesus fucking Christ, he should've gotten it! Relying on something as flimsy as social fucking media was stupid. Idiot.

Wait. Social media.

He quickly slid his chair over to his computer, his hands moving with a pace and mind of their own.

No fucking way would he admit this, but his brother... had some good ideas, once in a while.

When he was fourteen, he'd been wide-eyed, watching through the crack through a door as his older brother -17 at the time- created an account, some random username, some girly bullshit, and then gone Incognito, finding a picture to add.

And then he watched as his brother spent hours poring through pictures of girls - at the time, Nate's seniors- and then suddenly sigh.

"You know, you breathe like fucking Darth Vader?" "What's that?", he'd asked, ignoring that comment and padding over to sit next to him. "This account? I'll tell you, but it- it's like... private brother shit, ok?"

"Shit". What a novel word that was at the time.

"Okay." "Spit-swear it, runt."

He spit-swore. A thing he never fucking did again.

"You can use it. Whenever you're down bad for a chick but you're blocked." "Why would a chick I'm down bad for block me?" "You're so obviously fourteen."

And god fucking damnit, was he.

Not that he was down bad for you. But all he'd say is if this wasn't love, it was pretty fucking close. Why you enthralled him, no clue. You were so easy to rile up, but hard to push too far. You always seemed to be limitless.

He logged in.

Good, the loser, Crestin, posted a story.

Good, you were there in the background.

Great, you were hot.

Bad, you were drinking. Tequila. Wasn't that you and Nate's thing?

Of course, he wouldn't presume to have taken your tequila-V-Card, but he most definitely would have assumed that you'd associate tequila with him. With that night. He'd assumed you'd stay away from it, metaphorically forsaking him in the process.

But no.

Shane's tequila was non-traumatic, and apparently delicious. Ugh.

This simply would not do.

TUESDAY, SHANE'S PARTY, 11PM

"No, NO, GET the FUCK away from me!", you warned, pointing a finger at him. You should've taken his advice and learnt to shoot. "I'm warning you, Jacobs!"

Shane's party was meant to be the one place you could be to avoid Nate, seeing as the host was some sort of Nate-repellent, but NO, you'd just apparently underestimated Nate Jacobs once again.

And here he was, his hand gripping your wrist - just like the rope you wanted to grip his neck - and glaring down at you as if you'd just killed his entire family but he was mildly turned on by it.

"Y/N, just fucking listen! Just- stop causing a scene! Fuckin' LISTEN!", he ordered, grabbing your shoulder with one palm and pointing at you with the other hand, to stop you from writhing away from him.

"You can't just do what you did last week and then expec-"

He kissed you. What did he think this was, fucking Disney Channel?

"NO! NO!", you shouted, shoving him away and secretly hoping for a car to hit him as he stumbled back.

No such luck.

It really was the world according to Nate, wasn't it?

"You know it's okay, right? It's alright."

"What?"

"It's okay to want me.", he informed you, as if he was telling you it was okay to sing in the shower.

Everyone does it. It's like, a thing, relax.

"It's okay.", he continued, "People want what's bad for them all the time.", he murmured, his thumb tracing your lip like he was tracing out a line he wanted so desperately to cross. "It's human nature."

"You think I'm bad for you?"

He took a deep breath, as if he was about to tell you you were terminal. "I think you're good for my soul. Like a baptism without the water." His thumb moved further into your mouth, just barely grazing your teeth.

"Even you have no clue what that meant, admit it."

"It's called effect, Y/N. Drama. Intrigue. Doesn't have to make sense."

You stared up at him, waiting for elaboration, and that earned a huff from him as he looked around at the other people in the front yard - doing lines, making out, throwing up - before turning back to you. "No, honey, I don't think you're bad for me. In fact, I think you're unnecessarily good for me."

"Unnecessarily?"

"As in, I don't need your energy."

"Then why are you so insistent on being around it? 'Cause you want to fuck me?"

"No! Jesus. It's in the name, Y/N. GOOD luck charm. You help me do GOOD in my games. You're good energy."

"What's next? You gonna tell me my birthstone?"

"Oh, shut up.", he chuckled, shaking his head as he moved your jaw from side-to-side in what seemed to be a playful gesture, but at this point, could very well have been him trying to ascertain which cheek to shoot into or something. "You got your licks in. We good?"

"Good? No. NO. We're not good! You threatened someone I love, so no fuckin' way are we good!"

"I know, I know. Aaron wanted me to-"

"BULLSHIT!"

He sighed, as if you were his deranged relative who was climbing up some telephone pole.

"YOU just can't handle the fact that I saw you almost fucking cry! I caught you weak, and that's a power shift, and you don't FUCKING like it, do you?!"

His jaw ticked for a moment, but he managed to let out a mix between a scoff and a chuckle. And then, as if what you said wasn't quite literally exactly what he was feeling, he asked, "Are you done?"

"NO, I'm not fucking done! I still haven't got to the part where you threatened to accuse him of rape, which is a fucking terrible thing to joke about in the first pla-"

"Look, man, I don't have time for this shit, okay? I'm not hurting Fezco! I came here so I could tell you something."

"My GOD, Nate, you made your point! I won't tell anyone!", you groaned, snatching a drink from some already-tipsy guy's hand and downing it.

"That's totally hygienic.", he remarked, eyes finally tearing away from you as you both watched the drunkard stumble over a girl who was getting rid of her lunch and breakfast in the bushes.

"I got new incentive.", he murmured, his forehead against yours, and his thumb rubbing your cheek as if it owned land there.

"What, now you're going make Shane out to be a rapist, too?"

Not a bad idea, actually. The corners of his mouth curled down, and he scanned your face as if he were actually thinking about it, eliciting a tsk from you.

He hid a chortle as he continued. "I'm offering you a deal. You were right, back at the bleachers about the control thing."

He was about to ask you to sell your soul, you could fucking feel it.

"So... you get to control me. For however long you need. Like, a month, a week, whatever. Just don't tell anyone about my family."

Whoa. Plot twist. You did not expect him to sell his soul.

"Oh, yeah, I'm sure. So if I asked you to show up to school naked?"

"Yes, I'd show up to school naked for you. But it's funny seeing me naked is your first instinct."

His trust issues were suddenly working out in your favour- he was essentially offering himself up as collateral.

"If I ask you to announce a formal apology to me on a bullhorn before your game?"

"I just want you to leave my family alone, Y/N."

So that's where Nate Jacobs' humanity began. At his family. Noted.

"I promise. I'll do anything." The urge to say 'then die' was strong, but not invincible.

You wracked your brain looking for something you could make this psychopath do that would not cause him immense pleasure.

"Ah, see? Being the one in control isn't all it's cracked up to be. Too much power, and you don't even know what to do with it.", he taunted, pouting as he closed his eyes, pressing his forehead harder against yours. "Think. What is it you want from me?"

What the fuck did you want him to do?

"Do you want an apology? No, 'cause I've already given you plenty and you don't want meaningless things, do you?" His lips lightly touched yours and you could swear he smirked when you flinched on reflex.

But no. That wasn't what you wanted. He was spot-on.

"You want... do you want money? I'm a trust fund baby, essentially, right? My father basically owns the town. Sure, I could hook you up. Royal Enfield, BMW. Or, if you want, Chanel? But that won't cost me anything, at least not emotionally, yeah? So no. That's not it, either."

Why did you suddenly feel like your thoughts were transferring into his head?

"You want me? You want to cut me up, just like I forced you to watch me do to myself? You want to hold a gun to my throat like I did to you? No, because I'd low-key like it."

Yes, he would. So no, you didn't want it.

"C'mon, think. I'm at your mercy, I'm all yours. There's definitely one thing you want and you're just too much of a pussy to say it."

Why were you letting him do this? Why did you just accept that it was the world according to Nate?

"You wanna know what I think, huh? Huh? I'll tell you what I think.", he murmured. "I think you want me to care."

That got your attention. "Care?"

"I think you actually want me to give a shit about you, so you can justify to yourself why you keep lettin' this happen, don'tcha?", he asked, thumb rubbing your jawline. "You want me to stop acting like this whole thing between us is a game. You want me to acknowledge what I'm doing to you."

You hated this. You hated when men were right - it was ridiculous. And you absolutely despised when Nate was right, because it was dangerous.

"Look, I just want you out of my life, Nate.", you lied.

That had come out way too fast. That was the easiest thing he could do. That was the kindest thing you could have ordered him to do. That was mercy.

So why was he acting like you'd just asked him to jump into a fire?

"That's it?"

He didn't buy it. And neither did you. Because yes, you'd technically be very reasonable to want him out of your life. But no, the danger, the unnecessarily sexy amount of mortal peril you'd be in every second that you were around him- it was your fucked up version of heroin.

"I don't think you understand just what you're asking. You're going to miss me."

You scoffed and he shrugged, in a gesture that only seemed pitiful, as though he were allowing you to believe that for the time being.

'Denial isn't just a river in Egypt, baby', you could almost hear him snark.

"What if I miss you?"

You shrugged, downing another shot - one you'd stolen from a drunk girl this time. "I dunno. Just don't."

"You'll still come to games? Fist-bump me?"

"Still come to games? I guess, maybe? I'll high-five you, or something."

"I'll think it over." Wait, wasn't he the one who was making an offer?

═════════════════════ 🧿 ════════════════════

He found you almost fifteen minutes later, probably after mulling it over with a drink.

"I accept your terms. I'll go out of your life, starting Monday. However, I've got a little som'n som'n to show you.".

An AK-47? An atom-bomb? A grave he dug specially for you?

"It's a surprise. Only an hour. That's all I'm asking."

Only your sanity. That's all he was asking.

You'd promised yourself you'd never take anything from Nate Jacobs again, and you'd stuck to it.

I mean.

That was until he'd offered you molly.

Molly made you happy.

Molly made you forget stuff, like college apps, the loss of your internship and the fact that you'd basically been lying to your family the entirety of last week about the scar on your forehead.

But how he'd found that out was a question for the ages. And he seemed to know exactly what molly did to you.

And you best believe he was milking it.

"I want to get a tattoo."

"Okay...?"

"Correction : I want us to get a tattoo.", he whispered, before tsk-ing at your derisive snort. "C'mon, you get to draw whatever you want on me and I'll get it tattooed, I promise!"

"Tattoos are permanent, Nate."

"And you know what? So am I. In your life. In your head. On your lips.", he reminded, grinning mischievously, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth.

You barely fought against him - the ecstasy sprinting through your blood vessels - and you found yourself lying back on the grass, his hands bracketing your hair.

"Just fucking draw something on me, Y/N. Come on. And I'll draw something on you. Yeah? Sound good?", he asked, his hand creeping up your shirt with surprising reverence.

He chuckled breathily against your lips, shaking his head as he rolled off you, lying next to you.

"I'll draw something nice and meaningful. And you get to, as well. Nothing cheesy, though. Like a fucking arrow-heart or an anchor or some shit."

"How about a star?"

"What, a star is not cheesy? That's the cheesiest thing ever. That's the pussy tattoo.", he muttered, before looking up at your eyes, sighing magnanimously. "What kind of star?"

"The ones that are hard to draw. With all the lines."

"Really, Y/N? I give you the chance to mark my body up and you want the hardest thing to draw from second grade?"

"Where'd you want it?"

"Where will you be willing to touch me?"

That was a million dollar question. Willing is a very subjective term.

"Neck. Under my ear."

You nodded, taking the pen he'd brought and gently tracing out a couple stars under his neck. He played with some of your hair that had fallen in front of his face, with terrifying dedication, as you did so. "Yeah. Done. You actually getting this tattooed?"

"Now you.", he ordered, grabbing your wrist, not answering the question. Red flag number eleven thousand. The pen lid in his mouth and a focused furrow to his brow, he began drawing.

"Infinity symbol.", he informed you, before you could even ask.

"Why?"

"I dunno. It's meaningful. 'To infinity and beyond'. Favourite Disney Movie, right?"

"That is not my favourite-"

"Yeah, well, it's mine. Buzz Lightyear is like, my hero.", he muttered, rubbing his thumb over the drawing and then kissing it softly, all while looking at you.

"Really? You seem like a Big Hero 6 guy to me."

He laughed deeper. "You always take me so seriously."

"Fuuuck, I know I'm not supposed to say this..."

He lolled his head over to you. "You could tell me you're Ted Bundy reincarnate and I'd still smash."

You decided to ignore that comment. "I'm not supposed to say this, but... but I get why Rue did it. Like Jesus fucking Christ."

He nodded in understanding, looking at the tiny packet that still had a couple pills in it. "She was just too weak to limit herself. But we got no limits. You got infinity on your wrist."

"Look, Nate, I can't tattoo that shit. My family would kill themselves."

"Same."

"Then why did you-"

"We're gonna do something that could go either way. It could either freak you out or turn you on. On the off chance that it's both, then we're more similar than you realize.", he slurred, lazily brushing hair behind your ear. "'Kay?"

"What are we gonna do?", you asked, trying your hardest to pull away, but the ecstasy made you genuinely defenceless against human touch. And it didn't help that Nate was holding your arms tightly down on the ground, as if he were trying to plant roots.

"We're going to carve the tattoos."

He said it so conspiratorially. As though this was your secret to surviving the zombie apocalypse. And his fucking eyes. Glowing like fireworks. Glowing like a child finally being told he could get what he wanted for Christmas.

"WHAT?!"

He licked his lips with an almost roll of his eyes as he looked up at you, because you were so clearly overreacting, right? Slitting your own skin in the shape of an infinity on it was a perfectly normal teenage activity. Of course. Drinking, smoking, fucking, slicing.

"I'll do it. I'm experienced, as you know.", he scoffed, his lips at your shoulder now. "We only have about fifteen minutes left of your curfew, Y/N, please. Please? Play nice."

The molly was clouding your senses, clearly. You could tell because a) you were still having this conversation and b) you didn't even question how he knew what time your curfew was, and c) you hadn't punched him yet.

"Think about it, it's less permanent than a tattoo, baby, please."

And then he placed another one of those little pink pills on your tongue, pressing down and forcing you to swallow.

MONDAY.

The scream came too late to your liking.

You'd tried to scream faster, but everything had come rushing back to you. The fever dream was not a dream. It's always relieving when terrible 'realities' end up only being dreams. It's a different kind of terror when you realize that the nightmare was real.

The number eighteen was etched on your wrist like a pathetic mark, like... like a brand.

You couldn't even begin to figure out just what the fuck that was supposed to be. Eighteen? How was that meaningful? The year it becomes legal to have sex? Freedom, maybe? Joy?

He wanted this aneurysm in your head. He'd placed it there.

FUCK !

FRIDAY.

"What? What is it you want?!"

He frowned, his face softening out of genuine confusion, making him look almost comically harmless in the harsh stadium lighting. "You said you'd still fist-bump me."

"What does 18 mean?"

He shrugged, holding out his fist. You rolled your eyes, bumping it with your own. And then, after telling yourself you were imagining the ghost of a smirk on his lips, you froze. Because he'd turned, running off to the middle of the field. You saw his back.

His jersey. 18. FUCK. He blew you a kiss about two seconds before the ball was passed to him. 18. FUCK.

"Did you just fist-bump Nate?"

"Yeah."

"Why?", asked Maddy, scoffing softly.

"He was talking to me about the project and then he said he had to go, so I wished him luck and... I guess I fist-bumped him."

"Oh, yeah, ew, the project. How's that going?"

"I scrapped it."

"Why?", she questioned, after shaking her pom-poms and screaming out some over-enthusiastic cheer.

"I don't fucking like him. At all. He's a DICK."

"What? No way. I had no idea.", she muttered sardonically, slinging an arm around your shoulder. "But was it, like, really bad?"

You nodded.

"After the game, you wanna do molly?"

"No." The reply was almost immediate.

"You don't wanna do molly? Don't bullshit me. Shut up. You're doing it with me."

You'd have hugged Maddy for knowing you so well if you weren't so focused on the big, blue, number 18 running on the field, matching the big, red one staying still on your wrist.

FRIDAY, 9PM

Staying over at Maddy's was an offer you shouldn't have declined, because it was getting genuinely infuriating how Nate found out things.

You were still extremely lacking in sobriety when he'd crawled into your bed that night, covering your mouth to make sure you didn't scream. How? Million dollar question.

"You want me to tell you a secret?"

"A secret? Wait, not some bullshit about my lips that you came up with?"

"I listened to Queen."

You sat up. "WHAT?"

He chuckled, sitting up as well and tilting his head while resting it on his knees. "What? Elvis, too. I even watched Blue Hawaii. I low-key liked it. Why? Would it have changed your mind?"

You frowned for a moment, before shaking your head. "Still would've been nice to know."

"Okay, how about you just kiss me now, Rue 2.0?", he asked, tracing out the number eighteen on your wrist before looking up at you through slightly furrowed brows. That was a challenge, of sorts, that gaze.

"You have something to ask me." Didn't take a genius to figure it out. Insinuation was painted all over his face. He had an accusation and he needed you to defend it.

"When Shane fucked you, where'd he come?"

You frowned, staring at him for a moment. "Yo, I- what? Where is this coming from?"

"At practice he was saying he fucked you."

"He's a dickwad, of course he did."

"It doesn't bother you that he's spreading that shit?"

"If I paid attention to every rumour some butthurt, fragile-ego jock spread about me, I wouldn't have time to fucking study."

"Your reputation's gone, though. That's fine for you?"

You sucked on your teeth for a moment before exhaling. "You're here to find out if I'm easy?"

He looked at you for a moment, his expression unreadable.

"If I did this, Y/N, would you stop me?", he asked, shifting to his knees at the foot of the bed. "Hm? If I just...", he trailed off, kissing up your knee to your thigh.

"Nate. Stop."

"That's not stopping me.", he murmured, gripping your back and yanking you closer.

You kicked him away, grimacing. "Get out."

He gazed up at you, and for a moment there, it seemed like he was rooting for you, for the rumours to just be cruel rumours and not true.

"Get OUT!"

"You can't let me kiss you and then just... it doesn't work like that."

The world looked glittery and he looked godly kneeling down there.

His tongue licked slowly up your inner thigh. "C'mon. Take it off. It's just me."

"Get out."

He rolled his eyes, yanking your shorts down himself. "I fucking...", he murmured, voice muffled against your skin. "Love you."

"You don't fucking love me!" You were struggling but it was fruitless.

"I could."

"Get out, I'm not bullshitting."

"C'mon.", he murmured, reaching up to unhook your bra before pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. "C'mon."

"No! Get off!" His hand held you down.

"Just let me-", he muttered, his fingers finally removing your underwear as he pressed a chaste kiss higher up your thigh. Your breath hitched and his smirk widened, albeit, with a bit of disappointment. "There we go."

Kicking him away, you finally snapped. Maybe it was the molly. Maybe it was his tongue. Maybe it was the fact that he'd somehow found out that molly made you make extremely bad decisions. Maybe it was the fact that he knew you wanted nothing more than to fuck him that night.

"GET THE FUCK OUT, NATE! YOU SAID YOU'D LEAVE ME ALONE MONDAY, IT'S FRIDAY! GET THE FUCK OUT, PLEASE!" He took every kick and every punch like a total champ, you'd give him that.

The disappointment left, and he smiled, softly, caringly, like a mother hanging up her child's drawing on the fridge, as he wiped your tears away.

Standing up, he grabbed your hair, staring into your eyes so deeply you were half-wondering if they'd changed colour, before patting your shoulder. "I'm proud of you."

Proud for disproving a rumour?

You watched his shadow on your wall as it climbed down the window behind you.

Look, one thing could be said. Nate Jacobs was a man of his word. He did not speak to you. He did not text you. He did not acknowledge you.

You'd blocked him online and he'd blocked you in real life.

However, his other account still kept tabs on you.

Average social media interaction.

Shane Crestin ended up in the ER later that night.

Average Nate Jacobs interaction.