#it feels almost like a from of harassment

[lvl1l1]

LaDS men when you get flowers from someone else

pairings: Sylus, Rafayel, Xavier, Caleb, Zayne x F!Reader(separate)

content: jealousy, fluff, caleb and xavier are a teensy bit insane, charlie taking another L

Sylus

You two decided to spend the weekend at your apartment, he obviously wouldn’t be caught dead showing up empty handed.

As you open the door, the first thing you see is a beautifully arranged bouquet of camellias and carnations. The second is the smug grin on your boyfriend’s face, which is wiped right off as soon as he steps into your living room and notices the pathetically small bouquet you had already hosted in a vase.

“Kitten, was your budget for those flowers chump change and a dream? You should’ve known, I’d bring you a little something.”

Once you tell him, that those were a gift from a co-worker for helping him out, his demeanour shifts slightly, unnoticeable to the untrained eye. Luckily, you were the one person who could see right through him.

Not like that mattered, when he went to grab his phone before you could even say anything. You see him tap around a little before raising it to his ear, speaking into the device.

“Yeah, I want them all delivered.”

You look at him with furrowed brows and he finally went back to paying attention to you. A sharp smile makes its way to his face.

“I don’t mind you leaving these, to put it bluntly, sad flowers here. They’ll make all the bouquets i’m getting you stand out even more.”

The unimpressed stare you give him, clearly doesn’t phase him, as he just walks into your bedroom, pulling you along.

“You deserve only the best, the biggest and the grandest. For everything.”

“You’re almost winning me over, Sy. But shouldn’t we wait until those poor florists actually deliver whatever ridiculous amount of flowers you ordered?”

At that, Sylus pulled you closer, nuzzling his face into your hair,

“The flowers will be fine waiting outside of your door. It’ll also be a nice way to send a message to everyone living in this apartment complex. Now, how about a lesson in why you shouldn’t accept flowers from other men?”

You sigh first, suddenly going rigid as a realisation hits you,

“I don’t have enough vases. Or even space for more flowers!”

Being the last thing you mumbled before your bedroom door closed with a ‘click’.

Rafayel

You two were out running some errands together, grabbing art supplies for him, groceries and what-not.

Linkon City was as lively as ever, a melting pot for diverse people. You and Rafayel held hands, pushing through the crowd.

Rafayel was about to pull you into another store, when you’re stopped by a man.

He’s holding a small bouquet of red roses and smiles at you, not looking at Rafayel,

“Hi, miss. We’re giving out free flowers today, these are for you.”

You feel Rafayel squeeze your hand and you know he’s glaring without even looking at him,

“Oh, thank you but I don’t-“

The man practically shoves the flowers into your free hand,

“I insist. Have a good day!”

And with that, he turns and leaves you standing there holding the small bouquet.

A hum leaves your throat, shrugging and leaning in to smell the flowers, before you’re stopped by your boyfriend.

“Why would you accept these ugly flowers? There’s no artistic flair, just basic roses and their stems aren’t even cut evenly! Honestly, It’s like he’s trying to harass my girlfriend by making her look at something so hideous. Besides, you have a rich boyfriend capable of making you a wayyy better bouquet standing right here.”

You narrow your eyes at him, lips curling upwards, leaning closer to him,

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

Rafayel’s eyes widened at that, mouth falling open slightly,

“These are clearly just for a campaign, he’s just working. I wouldn’t have accepted them otherwise, don’t worry.”

Your boyfriend jutted out his lower lip, taking the bouquet out of your hand. He made the flowers go up in flames and before you could react he pulled you towards the nearest flower shop.

“Doesn’t matter. My girlfriend deserves flowers as pretty as her. I’m arranging this bouquet myself and it’ll be the prettiest you’ve ever seen!”

You playfully roll your eyes at his antics but you couldn’t help but appreciate his effort. So, you let him pull you along.

Xavier

It was date night and you and Xavier decided to go to your usual hotpot place. You were waiting outside of your apartment building for him, as he went to grab his wallet that he had forgotten at his place.

You were leaning against the gate, when a familiar voice suddenly called out to you,

“Oh, hey! I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Charlie walked up to you, you flashed him a little smile as you noticed the flowers he was holding.

“Someone brought me these at the bakery today! They look nice, don’t you think?”

You nodded curtly, not wanting to talk to him for too long, knowing Xavier might see.

Not taking the hint, Charlie’s face lit up, an idea flashing through his mind, not having learned anything from your last interaction.

“Hey, why don’t you take them? I don’t really have a place for them anyway.”

Not waiting for your reply, he pushed the bouquet towards you. Hesitantly, you take them,

“I don’t think this is a good idea-“

He waved you off and went to walk inside.

You stared at the flowers, biting your lips, thinking of what to do before Xavier returned.

You knew it was too late once you noticed the streetlights flickering and an ominous presence manifesting behind you.

“Throw them away.”

You quickly straightened your posture, turning around with a teasing smile,

“Hey there, Xav.”

“Throw them away.”

He repeated in a serious tone.

A sigh left you,

“I was planning on doing that anyway. Don’t you think it’d be a waste though?”

Xavier shook his head, a stern expression on his usually neutral face.

“Doesn’t matter, they’re ugly anyway. Besides, who gives away a gift they received? He’s got no shame.”

You raised an eyebrow at him,

“Why didn’t you come out earlier, if you were here already?”

He came closer, taking the flowers out of your grasp, not answering. He teleported over to the dumpsters, throwing the flowers in.

“I’ll get you prettier ones. Ones that actually mean something.”

You met him halfway and grabbed his hand,

“Alright. But let’s get going, before we miss our reservation.”

Xavier’s expression finally softened, a small smile making its way to his face as he looked at you.

You two started walking, you started talking to him about your day and he listened, nodding along.

Luckily, you didn’t notice how the entire buildings lights suddenly went out. He was gonna deal with that evil baker later.

Caleb

Caleb just got done cooking, when he finally heard a knock on his door.

You had finally gotten some days off after a gruelling week filled with missions back to back and you were staying with him in Skyhaven.

He was planning on helping you relax the entire time you were going to be with him. He would cook for you, take you wherever you wanted to go and monopolise your attention.

The brunet happily opened the door, immediately greeting you with a hug,

“Pipsqueak, I gave you the key to my place for a reason. You don’t have to knock.”

You giggled at him, walking inside and taking your shoes off with one hand.

That’s when he noticed the flowers you were holding, he cocked his head, not saying anything.

“Oh, a friend of mine gave these to me right before I left! Do you have a vase we could put them in?”

Caleb’s brows furrowed, his eyes darkening slightly.

“What was the occasion? These aren’t even your favourite flowers. Would expect them to be thoughtful, when pulling off a gesture like this.”

You looked at him, amused.

“Caleb, they’re just flowers. From someone who’s just a friend.”

He walked into the living room with you, looking at the bouquet like it personally offended him.

“Well, seems like we’ll have to take the bouquet apart, pipsqueak. Your friend put iris and chrysanthemums together. Vastly different vase life, would be bad if we put them together. Might as well throw them out, honestly. I’ll get you flowers that actually survive together.”

He didn’t miss the scepticism on your face as you put the bouquet on the coffee table. You walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Caleb, honey, you don’t need to let it out on the flowers, they’re innocent. My friend was just trying to be nice but if they bother you, we can throw them away.”

His hands found your waist, as he looked at you with those eyes, resembling a kicked puppy.

“But if you like them…”

You shook your head,

“They’re just flowers. You can just get me some. Or even better, I’ll bring you some next time!”

His face lit up again, pressing your foreheads together,

“You don’t need to bring me flowers, pips. That’s my job! Besides, I actually know which flowers you like, I’d never just carelessly put a bouquet together.”

You looked up at him through your lashes, realising what he was pulling,

“Caleb, you-“

He picked you up and brought you over to the kitchen, putting you down on the counter.

“Too late, you already agreed.”

He winked at you, and you noticed something fly out the window through your peripheral vision.

“Now, let’s eat and after that I’ll take you out shopping. We’ll pick up some flowers on the way.”

Zayne

Zayne was just finishing up the last of his work at the hospital, when he received a text from you,

“ahhh i just saw them, love the flowers zaynie! thank you so much”

He stared at his phone in confusion, trying to think of a response,

“What are you talking about, love?”

You sent him a picture of a bouquet of amaryllis, followed up by a text,

“they’re so pretty! they were just delivered, thank u<3”

His fingers twitched, as he left his office, making his way to his car.

“Leave them on the table. I’ll be home soon.”

With that, he put his phone away and got in his car.

-

You were slightly confused at Zayne’s last text but did as he said.

Once you heard keys turn in the lock, you quickly walked over to the door to welcome your boyfriend.

The door pushed open and your boyfriend walked inside, you noticed his bag wasn’t the only thing he was holding.

He presented you with a bouquet of your favourite flowers, before he even took off his coat.

“…welcome back, dear.”

The confusion in your voice evident, still accepting the flowers gratefully.

Zayne quietly took off his shoes and hung up his coat, pressing a kiss to your temple before walking into the kitchen.

“These flowers…”

He picked them off the table and glanced at them.

“They were delivered, yes? Did a note come with them?”

You went to stand next to him, holding the bouquet he just brought you,

“Nope. I’ll take it, those aren’t from you?”

He let out an affirmative hum,

“What do you say, we gift these to the elderly lady next door? And you find a vase for the ones I got you.”

“Sounds good! Just… who do you think sent these?”

His gaze met yours and his eyes lit up with affection for you.

“I’m not sure but I intent to find out. I can’t just stand by and watch as someone tries to make the woman I love swoon.”

You chuckled at that, switching to holding the bouquet he got you with one hand, caressing his face with your other,

“No one besides you could ever make me swoon, Zayne.”

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes,

“I know. Still, I won’t let this slide. I want you to be happy over things that are actually from me.”

At that, you press a sweet kiss to his lips. He was just so lovely.

[theobservatory]

i love the way you write about jason, especially in the confession post- can i request jason with a very very talkative SO??

Thank you pookie !! Hopefully I didn't make reader annoying, I kinda based her off myself when I start feeling manic lmaoo, it's the only time I really get talkative IRL so it was kinda all I had to base it on

｡⁠.ﾟ✧ ˎˊ˗

Talkative｡⁠.ﾟ★ ˎˊ˗

｡⁠☆Synopsis: a few snapshots of you talking Jason's ear off

｡⁠☆Cw: mention of harassment, inane conversation topics, mention of body horror

You're sitting on the couch. One of Jason's large hands is rubbing little circles on your thigh, the other is holding his phone as he gets as much work done as he can without his computer. He would go get it, but you've already gotten comfortable laying your head on his shoulder.

"So then Alyssa- you remember Alyssa, don't you?" No, he does not. "So Alyssa tells Jackson to go file the rest of the reports, right?"

"Mhm."

"Right, only for him to quit, right on the fucking spot. Like I don't like this job either, but I'm still giving my two weeks because some of us still have courtesy! It's not about the business, it's about our coworkers, our kinda friends who we'd rather not inconvenience because they're pleasant enough, but would never hangout with outside of work. God, he was an asshole anyway."

"I believe it."

"And then- wait oh my God, Jason! I completely forgot to tell you about Anna! The new girl! Turns out she's sleeping with our boss's son!" Oh, that guy he remembers.

"The guy who slapped your ass?" The same one who you said isn't bothering you anymore, and he's trying to trust you, but he doesn't really believe it.

"The one and only." You groan. "Must've moved onto fresh meat, poor Anna. She's a sweet girl y'know?"

"Mhm."

｡⁠.ﾟ✧ ˎˊ˗

"Jay."

He grunts, turning over in bed to look at you. Your eyes are wide in the moonlight, not a speck of the sleepiness that was there just a few minutes ago. Jason wishes he could share the sentiment. Frankly, he's exhausted, and he's been looking forward to sleeping all day.

"Do you ever think about the fact that we're all brains puppeting fleshy meat suits? How crazy is that?!"

Jason sighs. Half of his job in your life is to protect you from the horrors of the world, but sometimes he believes you are the horrors in question. Not that he minds. You can be a worm and he would love you all the same.

"Baby, go to sleep."

"But Jay, I can't stop thinking about it! We're just a bunch of nerves disguised by a vaguely animal flesh bag and-"

He presses a gentle kiss to your lips before pulling you into his chest.

"Sleep." He grunts again.

You laugh. "Okay."

The blissful silence doesn't last long.

"Jay?"

"Yes, nuisance who won't go to sleep?"

"Rude. I just wanted to tell you that you're my favorite meat puppet in the world, but maybe I take it back now."

"I'm okay with that."

"Jason!" You pinch his arm.

"If I tell you you're my favorite puppet will you go to sleep?"

"Yes."

"Then you're my favorite." Quieter he mumbles, "for some fucking reason."

｡⁠.ﾟ✧ ˎˊ˗

"Okay, now the recipe requires two eggs, a cup of water, and vegetable oil. Can you grab the eggs out the fridge for me."

"I got it."

"Thanks. Did you know my mom wanted to raise chickens when we were kids, even though I've never lived on a farm? Plus, I don't even like chickens, they're like tiny predators! If I had to-"

"Sweetheart, mix the eggs."

"Oh, right. If I had to choose between fighting one chicken sized horse, or one horse sized chicken, I would choose the horse every time!"

"Mhm."

"Well, I'm still biased because I like horses, but still! I don't know, maybe I should use the analogy with a wolf, because I'm still choosing the wolf every time."

"The next step?"

"Mix wet and dry ingredients together. Actually, while we're on the topic-"

New blog theme new me, y'all. Do we like it ? I made almost all the dividers myself (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

Not proofread as usual, posting this right before bed so I'll see y'all in the morning. I have a post about baby names ready for tomorrow, so look forward to that, and PLEASE give me your input I don't wanna give them dumb names 😔💔

｡⁠☆Requests Open...?

[theseinfernalangels]

Rumors - Garrick Tavis

Synopsis: After your cruel half-brother decides to start rumors about you that end in unsavory behavior, Garrick decides to take matters into his own hands.

A/N: Another Garrick and Cosette fic! Love my sillies.

Includes: mentions of harassment, slut-shaming, brief allusions to assault, and otherwise implications. Angst, Protective Garrick. Takes place before Fourth Wing.

“Look at that, boys. Is that who I think it is?”

“Who? Oh. You mean the pretty little bastard from the Third?”

“Yeah, her. Camden. Can’t believe no one’s tried to get a piece of that yet. How do you think she likes it, huh?”

“Probably the same way she’ll get through the ranks: Under a Wingleader.”

You shudder, gripping your arms in a bruising hold as you shift deeper into the chair closest to the windows in the commons. It was futile, really, but if the velvety fabric brushing forcefully against your skin could replace the whispers of unfamiliar skin, you’d take it. You’d take anything, really, to get away from the negative attention.

It just had to be you, didn’t it? You’d done such a good job at keeping yourself inconspicuous and hidden in plain sight, and then your stupid half-brother —the very one that had never liked you, never even claimed you as his sister, never even acknowledged you outside his cruelty — had to open his big, spoiled, hate-filled mouth and ruin everything you had going for you. Alic hadn’t even revealed much yet; as far as you could tell, he’d just spilled the fact that you were an illegitimate child, and not the fact that you were related.

That was the thing, though. In doing so, Alic had intentionally revealed that he knew things about you — because there was no way he didn’t know the implications of his actions. He wasn’t an idiot; your brother, as cold as he was, knew exactly what he’d signed you up for as soon as he opened his mouth. That leaves you to pick up the pieces in all the worst ways, if the forceful breaths leaving your lungs didn’t say anything.

You hadn’t felt like this since…You can’t even remember. Your nails dig into your skin as you force air into your system, trying to focus on anything but the sinking feeling in your stomach. You shouldn’t let those guys affect you like this, you know you shouldn’t; after all, if they attack you, you have the full right to hurt them as much as needed to get them away. It’s not like you can help the icky feeling that’s been sticking to you like a burr recently — especially not when everyone knows about a part of you that, while you weren’t ashamed of it, revealed more about you than you were willing to risk.

A little scream is choked out of you when you feel an actual, tangible hand ghost along your shoulder, and you lash out almost immediately, sliding out of the chair and throwing your elbow at an angle that you know will catch someone in the throat if they don’t expect it. Gentle hands clamp down on your wrists, and you’re just about to throw your head back in a headbutt when a familiar voice sounds from behind you.

“Woah there, princess. Easy, easy, easy. It’s just me.”

You still and then let out what feels like the world’s most exasperated exhale. Wrenching yourself out of the offending grip, you brush your hands over your arms as if wiping the touch off of you.

“That was entirely uncalled for, Tavis. Why the fuck would you do that?”

Garrick stares at you for a moment as if to study you. Sure, you had great reflexes, but you’d never reacted so…strongly like that. Your eyes had gone wide with fright in a way he’d never seen out of you once this year, even with the dragons on Conscription Day.

“I do that all the time,” he says, raising an eyebrow before putting a few inches of space between the two of you. He looks you up and down again, hazel eyes flickering with…something, before he crouches down a little so you can look him in the eye easier.

“You want me to give you some space, Camden?” He asks in a quiet voice — one that holds none of the usual teasing he keeps for you. Your head shakes vehemently, a little too quickly for his own comfort. You look down, suddenly a bit self-conscious for your sudden vulnerability, but your voice betrays you when you speak.

“Please don’t. The last thing I need from you is space.”

You groan a little, scrubbing a hand over your face while you drop back into your chair. Garrick, eyeing you concernedly, settles into the seat next to yours — not quite far from you, but far enough that you don’t feel trapped in any way. His fingers drum along the arm of the chair absentmindedly.

“I heard something earlier.”

Well, shit. He already knows, and he’s probably figured your whole life story out. Great.

“A group of guys…talking.”

Your response feels automated as you speak. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “I didn’t quite like what they had to say. Something about—“

“A pretty little bastard from the Third Wing who looks like she’d fuck her way to the general’s position, right? Use her ass to her advantage because that’s all a woman can do here?” You finish his sentence for him, half-expecting him to add on with his own personal addendum.

You don’t face him in the following silence, but you don’t let your gaze fall. It’s all you can do to keep your dignity intact, to take control of a narrative being painted for you in front of your very eyes.

You expect a laugh, maybe even  a sneer. What you don’t expect is Garrick’s voice to be quiet and tight.

“I…What?” He sputters in disbelief. Your eyes meet his, and you’re taken aback by the rage simmering in his gorgeous eyes; it’s not something you’ve ever seen — not directed towards you, anyway. “Who the fuck said that?”

You blink once, twice, three times before you catch on that what you said was not what he was going to say. Great. He didn’t have to hear about it at all, but you told him yourself.

“Oh,” is all you can manage. “Damn. Guess gossip runs differently in different Wings, huh?”

He leans a little closer, his dark curls falling closer to his eyelids as he murmurs, “Camden. Who the fuck said that to you?”

Camden. Not “princess,” not “beautiful.” Camden. That’s how you know he’s serious. You realize that you prefer either of the annoying nicknames to his newfound seriousness.

You hold each other’s eyes for a moment, yours considering and his searching. You beat him to speaking first. “What were you going to say?”

Garrick blinks and then swallows, like he’s about to argue with you before considering a better alternative. 

“I…” He stops. “I heard…someone say that another first-year had slept with a few commanding third-years—“

“And you thought of me?” You flinch back incredulously.

“No!” Garrick yelps, waving a hand. “No. And then I caught the words blonde and pretty and Third, and you were the first person I thought of.” He winces. “Unfortunately.”

There are so many implications to draw out of his words that you almost find it a little impressive. You choose the easiest one first.

“There are a lot of girls like that in my Wing,” you mutter. “Why’d you think of me first, Tavis?”

He scowls a little. “Because you’re on my mind half the time anyway,” he retorts, folding his arms. “Blonde and pretty and Third told me everything.”

You don’t even have the energy to think about that in full. “And do you think any of that is true?”

Garrick immediately shakes his head firmly. “No,” he replies. “I’d never think that of you. You’re beautiful, yeah, but you’re too dignified to do anything like that.”

Well, at least you have that going for you. It doesn’t put you at ease, but it does make your foot stop tapping nervously.

The two of you are both silent for a minute before you speak again, a little more nervous.

“You’re not going to ask…?”

You don’t even need to say it. You’ve heard it whispered behind your back so many times that it’s almost become your inner monologue.

Bastard. Bastard. Bastard.

Garrick doesn’t miss a beat. “Do you want me to ask?”

Relief fills you like a damned flood, settling your nerves. “No.”

“Then I won’t,” he promises. “It’s not like I have anything better being said about me.”

Straight to the truth, never missing a step or a beat or anything. That’s Garrick Tavis for you. Thank gods. He says your name quietly, delicately, and your head tilts to meet his gaze again. His eyes are no longer filled with anger, but pure concern.

“Can I touch you?” He asks gently, as if speaking to a scared child. At a glance, you guess, you probably look like that, anyway — curled in on yourself, hugging your arms to your chest like you were trying to lull your heart to sleep. 

You look down, running your tongue along your teeth. “I’m surprised you asked.”

Garrick’s jaw works a little. “I’ve never—“

He pauses and then scowls. “Who.”

“No one.” You wave him off with one hand. “Not yet, anyway. I just…I’m being paranoid now, is all.”

He nods and mulls it over. He doesn’t touch you, but he scoots a little bit closer and asks again. “You never answered me before. Who said that shit to you?”

You shrug. “No one said it to me. My ears work perfectly fine. I can hear people whispering when they think I’m not listening. I knew someone might start a rumor about me out of spite, but I never thought it would be…that.”

“But who would do that to you?” He demands. “You barely talk to anyone outside your squad as is.”

The answer is obvious to you. Alic. Alic. It’s all Alic, but Garrick can’t know that without every other little secret unraveling itself from the outside in. So you settle for a shrug. “Not sure. Maybe someone got a little bitter over a lost challenge, or something like that.”

“…Something like that,” Garrick echoes. You can practically see the gears turning in his mind, trying to discern which cadet among hundreds could possibly hate you so much that they could pull a stunt like this. It’s an impossible task for someone who doesn’t know you — or, in this case, the actual you that’s not inhibited by lies.

“Garrick?” You prod him with your index finger.

He meets your eyes, clearly still wracking his brain trying to think.

“Don’t try to get to the bottom of it by yourself. That’s not your responsibility.”

He sighs, clearly frustrated. “I know it’s not,” he mutters. “But I want to help you. This isn’t fair to you. You haven’t done anything substantial to harm anyone, and this is what you get in return? That’s fucking bullshit.”

The mere idea that he would want to help you warms your heart a little — but the feeling quickly dies when you realize that he probably wouldn’t do the same if he knew what you were hiding.

“It’s okay, really,” you insist. “It’s just a bunch of rumors with no substance. Give it a week or two, and I’m sure they’ll die on their own.”

“And if they don’t?” Garrick challenges. “And if they don’t stop, and there are still echoes in the halls wherever you go, and — gods forbid it — someone tries something? What’ll you do then, princess? You like to break the rules, but could you really stomach killing someone for double-crossing you?”

The thought makes you freeze up. You like to talk big game sometimes, but could you actually kill someone and be able to function normally afterwards?

Your silence is all the answer Garrick needs. “I don’t like to call your bluff,” he amends gently, reaching to ghost a hesitant finger on your wrist. “You’re one of the most capable women I’ve ever met, Camden. But I don’t want to risk something happening like that to you. I can stomach killing, but never that.”

Your eyes dip down for a moment as you consider his words.

“Why do you care so much?” You ask softly, tracing the fabric of your chair with a singular nail. “We’re not even in the same Wing, Tavis. I should be the least of your concerns.”

He fixes a firm stare on you. “So what?” He dares. “Am I not allowed to care about someone outside of my circle? Believe it or not, Camden, I actually like being around you, and I’m not okay with ignoring a clear problem just because you hope it will go away.”

His eyes gleam with something a little softer. “Please,” he pleads. “Let me do something. You don’t want me to go to leadership? Fine. But let me watch your back for you, or walk you to your classes, or anything to make sure that you’re okay. I can’t promise that nothing else will happen, but it’ll lessen the risk. Please? I’m not above getting on my knees for you.”

In any other situation, you would have been blushing yourself silly. Honestly, Garrick’s protectiveness does send a little rush to your head — probably because this is he’s of the only people in your life, sans Cam and the Queen, who’s ever given you any indication that they want to protect you. You don’t want to let yourself get used to the feeling, but damn it — it feels good.

“…Fine,” you finally concede with a sigh. “I don’t quite understand you, Tavis, but if it’ll get you to stop begging me here, then fine. I just don’t want thing to circle back to you, you know? You already have your fair share of issues with people, and I really don’t want them to get worse.”

He scoffs. “People have issues with me,” he corrects. A wicked little smirk tugs at his pretty lips, the scar on his cheek moving with it. “Don’t worry about me. I think people fear what I’ll do more than spread gossip about it.”

You feel his index finger hook under your chin, pulling you to face him fully. He grins down at you. “And this? You’ve never even seen me beg before, princess. That is, unless you reallywant me to.”

Your eyes widen a little, and you flick his hand away without moving.

“Don’t even joke about that,” you warn. “You’ll get my hopes up, Tavis.”

The look he gives you is mischievous, but underlain with something else. Something softer, maybe a bit more than fond.

“I’d never keep you waiting, princess. That, I can promise you.”

[zepskies]

Yessss, diving back into one of my new favorite series!! 😍💛💛

Ooooh we're really heading into the lion's den on this one for real. 🤔

I still really love your description of pulling up to the mansion and the building itself:

The wrought-iron gates then swung open on creaking hinges, framed by soaring stone pillars at the entrance, and opened to a long, imposing driveway. The mansion itself was a monument to another era with its stately presence, every inch of the house whispering of wealth and distinction. The façade was a patchwork of sandstone and intricate brickwork, crowned with arched, ornate windows. Much like its inhabitants, the mansion stood like a silent sentinel – stoic, intimidating, and cold against the winter’s breath.

silent sentinel - so poetic and such an imposing image. I could do a whole page of literary analysis on just this opening. 😍 Such a rich visual, it almost feels like the beginning of a Gothic novel (loved the Frankenstein reference later on! lol). Though I also snorted at the mention of the Count of Monte Christo. That was actually the first classic lit. novel that I ever enjoyed reading in high school! 💜

Your worn sneakers were contrastingly planted on the sparkling marble floors as your eyes darted around the entrance, a grand staircase sweeping up to the second floor. You heard the soft crackle of fire on the hearth, the scents of wood polish and winter flowers in vases wafting through the air. The scene was one of old money, long-established class.

AGAINNN another rich visual - the contrast of her "worn sneakers" and the "sparking marble"?

And when Ben was leading her through the house? I was getting major Beauty & the Beast vibes. 😂 Her trepidation is so raw and real, and the way she's subtly trying to get a read on him, to play him, to guard herself, it is like so many chess pieces falling tentatively into place.

I also get that added layer of still getting whiplash from this young Ben's more human behavior vs. the crotchety sexual harassing asshole she knows. 😭

“I just need a minute to... adjust.”

*snorts* I'll say. Heavy on the subtext there! 🤣

Yes, a fucking simple, straightforward plan without any complications in sight. Time travel is so fucking easy…

Poor thing. 😅😅 She's gotta be like:

And what's so deliciously interesting is how much Ben is trying to figure her out, even as he's being so generous. It makes you wonder what his angle is in all of this (even though we can guess lol). Pardon the cliches, but if she's walking into the proverbial lion's den, then he's about to hook in a fish that's way more than he bargained for! 😆

“You don’t have to get it right for him,” you said without thinking, the talk with Butcher from that night trickling back into your mind. Ben’s eyes flickered with something close to surprise, but the smile never left his face. He swirled his glass absently, looking out the window as the wind howled outside. “Maybe not. But I keep trying anyway...”

Ughhh if that ain't a manifesto for Ben's entire conflict with his shitty dad. 😭😭 I love it when moments of dialogue like this symbolize the bigger picture!

That rewrite of the S3 scene between Ben and Butcher with the reader added in was so entertaining lol. Ben being amused at: “Why didn’t you just tell him to go fuck himself?” 😂😂 Probably remembering all the times she dropped some sailor language in front of him lolll! But also, I'd imagine he might've been remembering all the times she real talked to him about his relationship with his father (or lack thereof), then subsequently getting frustrated at the fact that she doesn't remember him/"know him" yet. 🥲

“Nah, you’d remember me,” you’d said, returning his little smirk.

“I think I did before you, sweetheart.” He’d smiled in amusement. “It’s not a competition,” you’d retorted playfully. “Anyways, just look at it this way, okay? You donated a... pinky finger to Frankenstein’s monster, but just because Dr. Frankenstein yelled, ‘It’s alive! It’s alive!’ doesn’t mean it should be. You wanna be a hero, right?” “I am a fucking hero,” he’d huffed, a bit offended. “Then slay the fucking dragon and save the panicked villagers,” you’d said with an astute grin.

Oooh I see some hints of his young!Ben flirting here. 😏 and lmfaooo again, the Frankenstein argument is totally accurate. 😂

And of course he thinks he's a hero. Villains are usually a hero in their own mind. 🙄 Although, an argument could be made that he’s more of an antagonist, rather than an outright villain. 🤔😅

“Leave her here, though,” Soldier Boy had said, which had surprised both you and Butcher. His voice had been casual, almost cold. He had then thrown you a dismissive look. “Her powers aren’t working. She’s useless, anyways. She’ll just be in the fucking way.”

Ahhh I see through you, Ben! You want to protect her, make sure she doesn't get hurt. 😏💚 (Even though he covers that up with his usual assholery. 🙄)

Now, getting back to young debonair Benjamin in the present/past. 🤣

In their conversation, you know I loved the Grace/Countess comparison, the Vought script vs. his father's legacy script. It's all so very well paralleled as well.

And then by the end of this chapter, she's already challenging his ideas of what a man should be, who he is, and how he doesn't have to try and achieve the impossible dream of making his father proud. What'll be interesting to see is how much of their interactions from the 1940s stick with present day Ben/SB, who I can imagine really wants her to remember him already. 😅

(And excited! 😜)

Time After Time – Chapter 3

Summary: Unable to control your abilities, you’re stuck in the present with Billy Butcher, his team, and America’s first asshole. At this point, you’ve become Soldier Boy’s personal punching bag. But when an accident leaves you stranded in 1942, you run into a familiar face and suddenly rely on your future tormentor’s help as your only hope.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language, angst, humor, reader is a supe with chronokinesis (time manipulation), 1942 says hi, fluffier, SB being a nice and kind human, rewrite of a S3 scene, drinking, lots of daddy issues to unpack here 😂

Word Count: 7.3k

Posted on Patreon March 14, 2025

A/N: This is where the word count slowly began to crawl upwards from this point on. I never had the patience for descriptions, but I tried challenging myself more with it recently. Hopefully, you'll get the feeling and vibe of the mansion I was going for. Might I have overdone it a little? Maybe. But I hope you still enjoy the picture I was trying to paint here ☺️

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 3: I'm Going To Be a Lady If It Kills Me

The thick, plush leather seats of the Cadillac provided you with warmth, the heater working on overdrive to fend off the chill outside. As you passed through the rolling countryside of fancy suburbs, your gaze drifted out the window, snow swirling around the vehicle. Streetlights with icicles cast a warm, yellow glow on the road, the snow piling up in drifts around the edges.

The car glided past grand stone homes with icy window panes and leafless trees stretching heavenward before the sight of the biggest mansion on the street came into view. You had a feeling this was the place and swallowed thickly.

Jesus fuck, were you going to the mansion of the fucking Count of Monte Christo?

The wrought-iron gates then swung open on creaking hinges, framed by soaring stone pillars at the entrance, and opened to a long, imposing driveway. The mansion itself was a monument to another era with its stately presence, every inch of the house whispering of wealth and distinction. The façade was a patchwork of sandstone and intricate brickwork, crowned with arched, ornate windows. Much like its inhabitants, the mansion stood like a silent sentinel – stoic, intimidating, and cold against the winter’s breath.

Ben had remained quiet the whole drive, letting you enjoy the view in peace. But as the Cadillac came to a stop, he rounded the front of the car and hopped to your side, the soft crunch of his boots mingling with the low hum of the wind as he opened the door for you.

The soft glow of antique lanterns by the mansion’s entrance flickered in the breeze and beckoned you to step closer as you followed him to the stunningly carved, mahogany front door with slightly tarnished brass handles.

Patiently, he held the door open for you, gauging your reaction as you stood frozen on the snowy ground of the stone porch and blinked inside the dark and looming foyer. A smile flashed on his lips at your hesitance. “You coming in or what?”

“Uh-huh, I think so…”

With that, you stepped inside, and as the solid front door closed behind you, you could feel the panic rise in your chest again. Oh God, what had you done? This felt like a big fucking mistake – like saying yes to a dinner invitation at Hannibal Lecter’s place.

I always thought if I were to kill you, I would have to do it in some dramatic fashion, but then I thought, no, I’ll simply tear your head off and bury it under the house.

Shit, you hoped you got to keep your head as an eerie shiver ran down your spine.

Your worn sneakers were contrastingly planted on the sparkling marble floors as your eyes darted around the entrance, a grand staircase sweeping up to the second floor. You heard the soft crackle of fire on the hearth, the scents of wood polish and winter flowers in vases wafting through the air.

The scene was one of old money, long-established class. There was nothing hasty or modern about it. Everything spoke of a life built not just on wealth, but on tradition – on the quiet, assured certainty that the past would never be forgotten, and the future, no matter how uncertain, would always be shaped by the grandness of what had come before.

And granted, it explained a few things about the grumpy fossil you’d come to know. Mostly why he felt so out of place all the time – because he fucking was.

You still stood rooted to the spot, your breath coming in shallow bursts as your mind raced. Ben – your future captor, the one you’d been trying to escape for what felt like forever – was now playing the gracious host in his historical mansion like nothing was wrong. The fire crackled behind you like a ticking bomb, its warmth a stark contrast to the icy tension running through your veins. You forced yourself to exhale, but the air felt thick, as though the house itself was holding its breath – watching you.

Ben’s footsteps echoed in the grand foyer as he moved to the fireplace, pushing logs into place. His broad back turned toward you as he crouched, adjusting the fire, the warmth from the flames briefly dispelling some of the chill that had settled in your bones. But you couldn’t shake the unease twisting in your gut.

He hadn’t spoken yet, but you knew he was watching you through the corner of his eye, waiting for something – waiting for you to either make a run for it, or for the mask to slip and show that you weren’t as calm as you seemed.

But you had to keep your secret. You couldn’t risk him knowing the truth. You were just a stranger to him, and as far as Ben knew, you’d stumbled out of thin air – no past, no future, no real identity.

“Well,” he said finally, breaking the quiet with that low, measured tone of his, “I’m assuming you’re here for more than just the weather. You’ve got a lot on your mind, sweetheart?”

His words, though polite, were edged with something you couldn’t quite place. Curiosity, maybe? You couldn’t tell, but you weren’t about to let him pry too much.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, your voice almost too sharp, betraying your nerves. “I just need a minute to... adjust.”

Ben gave you a long, considering look, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he could see past the walls you were building. It felt like he was evaluating you, weighing every tiny shift in your expression. You weren’t sure how much you were giving away, but you didn’t like it.

“Well, uhm, whatever you’re running from, you’re safe here,” he said softly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than was comfortable.

“Like I said, I’m not gonna stay long. I’ll leave by tomorrow morning. I don’t wanna be a burden,” you replied cordially. Admittedly, you could care less if you burdened him with your visit, but there were other, more important, variables in play you had to consider.

By now, you knew he’d remember you for sure. There was no way around it, but until you had figured out how to leave again, you were stuck with him. This wasn’t supposed to happen. The timeline was fragile – too fragile – and the longer you stayed, the more at risk it was.

However, you knew you could fix it somehow. Not only would you have to get your powers magically working again, but you’d also have to travel back to the starting point a few hours ago when you arrived in this era and stop yourself from running into Ben in the first place. The current version of you would cease to exist, but your other past version could easily return to her own time.

Yes, a fucking simple, straightforward plan without any complications in sight. Time travel is so fucking easy…

Ben’s lips then quirked upward in that faint, knowing smile again. “A burden? You’re hardly a burden, sweetheart. I know this might all seem a bit... overwhelming. That’s part of the charm, I suppose. You can’t come from something like this and not carry a little weight with you… But you’re welcome here. Make yourself comfortable, alright?”

You still didn’t trust the kindness in his voice. It sounded too practiced, like a well-rehearsed speech. It was hard to tell if he was being sincere or just trying to play the role of the gracious host.

“I-, uh, I appreciate that. Thank you,” you managed, still on edge, but unable to ignore the pull of the fire’s warmth – and his.

Ben’s eyes softened, just a little, but there was still that sharpness to them, like he could see straight through your act. He then waved toward the stairs with a calm gesture of his hand. “If you’d like, I’ll show you to your room. We can talk more once you’ve had a chance to settle. And maybe we can–” He paused, considering his next words carefully. Then, as if dismissing it, he finished, “Maybe we can talk about what brought you here.”

You knew what he meant. He was fucking fishing. Trying to draw you out. Trying to find out just who you were. But it was too dangerous. You couldn’t slip up – not when you still had no idea what kind of game he was playing.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure. “Yeah,” you said finally, your voice low as you forced a smile. Be like Grace, Betty and Sheila. “I think I’d like that.”

You hoped it didn’t sound too much like a lie because it was. And if you weren’t careful, it might just be your downfall.

Ben didn’t seem to notice the tension in your tone. With another smile, he turned and led you up the steps and down a long hallway, his footsteps steady and confident as they echoed in the hollow quiet, but there was an undercurrent to his pace – like he wanted to fill the silence but didn’t quite know how.

You followed reluctantly, already planning your next move in your head. You weren’t sure what this was yet. But you knew you had to stay one step ahead, or risk losing everything.

The sprawling mansion stretched out before you like a labyrinth, every hallway and every door telling a story of old wealth and expectations you had no interest in. The walls were lined with portraits, some regal, some faintly haunting, of men and women whose lives seemed to stretch back centuries, all looking down upon you with a silent, judgmental gaze.

The floor beneath your feet was cool as you moved deeper into the heart of the house. The atmosphere of the home – the heavy silence, the grand, dark walls – it was all too much. Too much for someone like you.

Someone who wasn’t supposed to belong here.

When you reached a door at the end of the corridor, Ben stopped and spun toward you, his face softening ever so slightly. “This is your room,” he said, his tone quieter now, more distant.

As he pushed open the door, the soft light from the hallway revealed a large, opulent space – dark wood furniture, a large bed covered in thick velvet curtains, a plush rug beneath your feet, and a tall bookshelf that looked like it hadn't been touched in years. It was a room designed for someone to feel both grand and small at once.

You nodded, stepping inside, and the weight of history seemed to settle on your shoulders the moment you crossed the threshold.

Ben kept his distance, not entering with you, but he waited in the doorway, watching you. “If you want to take a bath, there’s one through there,” he said, gesturing toward a door on the far wall.

You swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat. “Yeah, thanks. I’ll-... I’ll be fine.”

Ben’s gaze stayed on you a moment longer before he turned, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Take your time,” he said, his voice soft, almost tender. Then, without another word, he stepped back, leaving you alone in the vast silence of the room.

You watched him leave, the door falling into its lock behind him. The room felt suffocating now that you were finally alone. You walked over to the bed, running your hand over the fabric. This wasn’t your life. You didn’t belong here. And yet, for the first time in a while, you couldn’t ignore the tug of something real, the world you’d come from slowly starting to fade away.

It had happened before. The longer you had stayed in a time that wasn’t yours, the more twisted it had become, as if your brain was being reprogrammed by the universe itself.

Make yourself comfortable. 

You tried to shake it off. You weren’t supposed to get attached. Not now. Not ever.

You let out a slow breath, the tension of the day settling heavily on your shoulders. The bath sounded like a welcome escape, something to clear your mind.

It wasn’t just the layers of grime from the world you’d left behind that you wanted to wash off. No, it was the overwhelming weight of the timeline – of Ben – pressing down on you. You had to focus, think, plan. Your mission hadn’t changed, but the idea of him being so close, of having to act like this wasn’t a carefully calculated, life-or-death game of chess – it made your skin crawl.

After a few minutes, you made your way to the bathroom at last. The tub was a luxurious affair, deep and wide, its marble sides shimmering in the soft light of the room. You sank into it, the hot water enveloping you like a warm embrace. For a moment, you just allowed yourself to breathe, to let the noise in your mind quiet.

Home…

Still nothing. Your powers were refusing to entertain you. Sometimes, you thought they had a mind of their own – like the Time Lords themselves had possessed you and only used you as their tool whenever they pleased.

Your thoughts then drifted back to Ben – the guy you hated in your future, but who seemed like something altogether different now. Here, he wasn’t the monster you’d come to despise. He was kind, helpful, almost… charming. It unsettled you. How could someone be so different in two time periods?

When you finally rose from the bath, the water only lukewarm at this point, the weight of your decisions felt heavier than before. The towel around you, though soft, didn’t help. It only served to remind you that you had no real clothes here. Nothing was yours. You stared at yourself in the mirror, the reflection of a stranger in a foreign time. You didn’t want to put your old clothes back on after your refreshing and clean bath. They were wet, cold, and dirtied with mud.

Shit…

Reluctantly, you stepped into the hallway, unsure of how to ask, but the need to find something – anything – took over. It wasn’t like you could just wander around in a towel, although you were sure your host would probably appreciate the sight.

“Uhm, Ben?” you called softly, your tone a little shakier than you'd intended.

A few moments passed before his voice answered from down the hall, a bit too loud, as though he’d been waiting for this. “Yeah?”

“I-, uh, I don’t have... anything to wear,” you said quietly and swallowed, your gaze drifting to your bare feet on the floorboards.

There was a long pause before he appeared in the doorway, his face flushed. “Right. Well, I-... I can get you something,” he said. His eyes flicked to the floor for a moment before meeting yours again, the awkwardness hanging between you like a palpable thing that you could reach out and touch with your fingers. “I–” His voice dropped lower as he turned away for a second, his hand on the doorframe. He then gave a brief chuckle, almost self-conscious. “I don’t usually keep spare clothes for, uh, guests. But I’m sure I can find something that fits you. One second.”

You felt tethered to the ground as he disappeared down the hall, unsure whether to laugh or fucking scream. He came back a few moments later with a shirt and pants, an outfit clearly meant for a man, and you were pretty sure they were his own. The fit would be loose, but better than nothing.

“Here,” he said, offering it to you. His gaze lingered on you a second longer than was probably polite before he turned away again, his cheeks tinged pink.

Yeah, you had to get rid of the towel. You didn’t want to give him any ideas – or more, for that matter. He’d already seen you naked various times in the future. You knew privacy was an alien concept to that man.

“I’ll be in my father’s study downstairs if you need anything. If you want, you-, uh, you can meet me there.”

“Sure.” You nodded hesitantly and took the clothes, retreating into the guest room to change and debating whether or not to take him up on his invitation.

Did you really want to spend more time with this man?

But this particular timeline was already ruined. You’d have to fix it anyway, so why not take this opportunity to get to know the man behind the beast? You would finally know what made the monster tick like a bomb.

When you emerged, clad in Ben’s clothes – his white button-down shirt hanging loosely over your frame, the sleeves rolling up your arms as if you were drowning in it – you tried to ignore the strange flutter in your stomach. You couldn’t think about how the fabric smelled faintly of him – a new, alluring scent that didn’t reek of reefer and junk food.

The study was tucked into a quieter part of the house, one where the oppressive silence of the halls seemed to thin out a little. It was a warmly lit, intimate room filled with bookshelves that reached the ceiling, leather-bound volumes with forgotten stories. A fire burned quietly in the hearth, the crackling of the flames mixing with the soft ticking of a grandfather clock. Framed portraits lined the walls, and the weight of decades of family history hung like dust in the air.

Naturally, Ben was already behind the bar when you entered, mixing a drink with careful precision – a trait he shared with his older version.

Manhattan, you realized and remembered the story he had told Butcher once.

“Used to sneak my dad's Manhattans when I was a kid.” 

Ben didn’t look up when you entered. “I wasn’t sure you’d take me up on my offer,” he said, the deep baritone voice low and almost reflective, not quite like his earlier confidence. “I thought you might prefer to be alone.”

You shifted on your feet, unsure of how to approach him, but the pull of curiosity had led you here. The air smelled of whiskey, mahogany, and something more elusive – faded dreams, maybe?

The moment his piercingly green eyes met yours, his expression shifted – like something had clicked, but not in the way you expected. His gaze lingered on you again, wandering down your frame, his mouth slightly open, as if caught off guard. You’d seen a version of that look before many times, but this was… different.

“You-, uh, you look...” He cleared his throat, suddenly very aware of how close you were. “Different. But... good. It suits you.”

“Thanks,” you said, feeling exposed as you tugged nervously on your too-long sleeves. Had you just entered the fucking lion’s den?

Strangely, though, you began to feel more at ease, the longer you were around him.

“Maybe I should wear your clothes more often,” you quipped teasingly. If aggressive rudeness hadn’t worked to deter him, maybe forwardness would. A guy like him probably enjoyed the chase more than the prey.

Ben offered a tentative smile, his cheeks haunted by a blush. “Right, uhm... You want a drink? I can make you one, you know... to relax.”

And the eerie feeling is back…

You hid the goosebumps in the nape of your neck behind a polite smile. Relaxing wasn’t something you would ever do around this guy.

“I’m good.” You shook your head and cautiously strolled through the study, taking note of every framed picture and trinket in the room.

Ben shrugged, taking a sip from his tumbler before setting it down, the amber liquid catching in the light. “You sure? It’s not the best, but it’ll do. It’s a Manhattan. My father’s favorite. Thought I’d try to get it right for once.”

“You don’t have to get it right for him,” you said without thinking, the talk with Butcher from that night trickling back into your mind.

Ben’s eyes flickered with something close to surprise, but the smile never left his face. He swirled his glass absently, looking out the window as the wind howled outside. “Maybe not. But I keep trying anyway...”

“It's all bullshit,” Soldier Boy had scoffed after telling Butcher the plot line of the autobiographical movie Vought had produced for him – The Soldier Boy Story.

“Blimey, you don’t say?” Butcher hadn’t seemed the least bit interested in the ancient supe’s nostalgic trivia facts. You had been aware the Brit had only been entertaining him till he’d gotten what he wanted – Homelander served crispy on a stick.

You hadn’t cared much about the men’s chit-chatting either, just listening quietly in the corner as you’d sulked on Annie’s desk, wishing you could be with the others. But technically, you’d been Butcher’s personal pet, and he had threatened you rather quickly once you’d taken Hughie’s side. You’d been stuck with those two idiots since then, thinking how Homelander would probably kill you later that night because of them.

“Actually, my father owned half the steel mills in the state,” Soldier Boy had continued then, settling down on the worn, leather armrest of the couch. “I went to boarding school. Got kicked out of boarding school. Because I was a fuck-up. But he made sure I knew it.”

“Use the belt, did he?” Butcher had asked, certainty swinging in his voice. You knew he had a pretty fucked-up childhood, too. In fact, everyone on the team had one, including you.

“Never laid a hand on me,” Soldier Boy had replied, the ignorance seemingly tormenting him more. Emotional scars, you had guessed. “He couldn't be bothered. Said I was a disappointment. Not good enough to carry his name.”

“Why didn’t you just tell him to go fuck himself?”

It had slipped out of your mouth before you had realized what you’d said. Butcher had only smirked at you, probably agreeing, but Soldier Boy’s head had turned to you, blinking in surprise. His green eyes then had slightly narrowed at you in curiosity, a smile of amusement slowly rising on his lips

“Ha, I imagine that would’ve probably gone over well…” He had snorted into his drink. “I went to his golf buddies in the War Department instead, and they got me into Dr. Vought's Compound V trials. I became a superhero. Strongest man alive. Fucking ticker tape parades when I came home.”

“And what did the old man say then?” Butcher had asked, but you both had known where the story was headed.

“Ah.” The supe had chuckled lowly and raised his tumbler, but there had been resentment and pain brimming in his dark green eyes. “He said I took a shortcut. That a real man wouldn't have cheated.”

“Did you kill him?”

Again, Soldier Boy had seemed greatly amused by your question, a flicker of intrigue in his eyes. “No.” He shook his head, smacking his lips. “Would you kill your parents? You told me they were assholes.”

Before you could reply, Butcher had answered for you: “Our little Y/N here doesn’t kill people. She did, however, drop off her lovely parents in England of 1349.”

Soldier Boy had arched his brow at you. “What’s in England in 1349?”

You had shrugged coolly and snatched the drink from his hands, taking a sip. Your nose had scrunched in disgust as the liquor had burned down your throat, hearing Soldier Boy’s laugh at your reaction before you’d handed the drink back to him.

“The Bubonic Plague,” you had replied with a Machiavellian smile. “Sure, not as fun as Butcher’s ass cancer, but it’s been close to 700 years now. I’m guessing they’re dead.”

“You two have a funny way of dealing with family,” Soldier Boy had noted and taken another sip of his drink.

“Says the guy who’s been on a vengeful murder spree of everyone who’s ever wronged him for the past weeks,” you’d countered.

“Hmm, I suppose you do have a point there, sweetheart,” he’d said and sent you a sly smile. “Too bad your powers are gone. Could’ve dropped off my old man there, too.”

“Tell you what – if I ever get them back, I’ll put him on the list,” you’d said, smirking.

“Oy, look at you two becoming bloody friends,” Butcher had huffed in annoyance.

But Soldier Boy had only smiled, his green eyes never leaving you. “You’ve done a lot of these little adventures?”

“Yeah, kinda. Mostly, just the fun stuff, you know? 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s…” you’d shared.

“I do know.” He’d chuckled cheekily into his glass as he drank. You’d figured as much from his various stories. “Although, I missed the 90s and most of the 80s… Anything before the 60s? You ever met me, sweetheart?”

“Uh, no, never. Kinda stayed where the fun was,” you’d sassed and wiggled your eyebrows. “‘Sides, wouldn’t you remember me if I’d met you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve slept with a lot of fucking women over the decades, sweetheart. They kind of all blend together,” he had quipped, smirking.

“Nah, you’d remember me,” you’d said, returning his little smirk.

That had probably been the only time you’d ever flirted with him – and it had been solely out of fun, not that you’d actually been serious. You’d just figured he was about to have a showdown with his own offspring – better send him in with a winning mindset.

“Care to prove that cute little theory?” His smirk had then turned lopsided and teasing – hungry.

“I don’t,” you’d said and folded your arms, but the coquettish smile never disappeared from your lips. Then, something had popped into your mind. “Wait… You know, I think I did see you once, though.”

“Huh, really?”

“Yeah, caught half of the speech you gave at Woodstock. People really hated it.” You’d grinned. “Then I saw you fuck Grace Slick behind a tent. Was kinda jealous.”

A smug smirk had widened on his lips then. “Jealous, hm?”

You’d snorted a laugh, expecting he’d react that way. “Yeah, but of you, not of Grace Slick. Fucking someone from Jefferson Airplane? Pretty fucking cool, dude.”

“Meh, she was alright.” He’d shrugged and downed the last of his drink.

“Oy, are you lot about done now?” Butcher had sighed exhaustively, having made himself comfortable at his desk.

“What about you, asshole?” Soldier Boy had thrown the Brit a raised look at the interruption. “You got kids?”

“It's complicated,” Butcher had muttered into his whiskey glass.

“I always assumed I had a few out there,” Soldier Boy had then melancholically drifted off. “Somewhere. I always wanted ‘em. ‘Cause I thought I could do it better than my father did.”

“Homelander ain't yours. Not really.” Butcher had then proceeded to list all the ways Vought had essentially bred a fucking lab rat.

But when the Brit was finished, Soldier Boy’s eyes had found you instead. “What d’you think, sweetheart? You fucking agree?”

Granted, even if you had disagreed, one pointed look from Butcher had told you: You didn’t have much of a choice.

“Yeah, kinda…” you’d replied carefully, your brow knitting in thought. “I mean, I disagree with killing him–,” Butcher’s look was morphing to a glare, “–but I think you should… disable him, you know? Just turn him into a pathetically suffering human. For a guy like that, his own mind is probably worse than death.”

“Admittedly, that does sound funnier,” Soldier Boy had (somewhat) agreed with you, but you’d considered psychological torture over death a win.

“Well, you do what you want there, guv. But I’m killing this cunt as soon as he’s bloody capeless,” Butcher had announced with a dark chuckle.

Sighing, you’d glanced back at Soldier Boy. “You like movies, right? You’ve seen Frankenstein?”

“I think I did before you, sweetheart.” He’d smiled in amusement.

“It’s not a competition,” you’d retorted playfully. “Anyways, just look at it this way, okay? You donated a... pinky finger to Frankenstein’s monster, but just because Dr. Frankenstein yelled, ‘It’s alive! It’s alive!’ doesn’t mean it should be. You wanna be a hero, right?”

“I am a fucking hero,” he’d huffed, a bit offended.

“Then slay the fucking dragon and save the panicked villagers,” you’d said with an astute grin.

Thoughtfully, the supe had pursed his lips, then nodded. Butcher had seemed pleased, too, judging by the devilish smirk he threw your way.

“‘Sides, I still look young. Guess I can always have more kids.” Soldier’s Boy’s eyes had then slowly raked over your body, his teeth tugging at the plush pad of his lower lip, hiding a suggestive smirk underneath.

“Barking up the wrong tree here, Romeo,” you had gently declined his silent proposal. “But yeah, generally speaking, I guess that’s the spirit…”

And God, you had hoped the guy would never procreate in the future.

“I’ll do it,” Soldier Boy had then told Butcher, getting up from his seat.

“Alright, let’s pack up, lads.” Butcher had keenly rubbed his palms together. He’d been antsy all day, waiting for this.

“Leave her here, though,” Soldier Boy had said, which had surprised both you and Butcher. His voice had been casual, almost cold. He had then thrown you a dismissive look. “Her powers aren’t working. She’s useless, anyways. She’ll just be in the fucking way.”

Butcher had seemed suspicious by this, lifting a brow at the supe. “And since when do you care about collateral, mate?”

A quick beat of hesitance had passed before Soldier Boy’s signature smirk reappeared. “Well, maybe I’d still like to fuck her after I win.”

Butcher had only rolled his eyes at that and given a nod before eagerly thundering ahead, leaving you alone with the supe. As Soldier Boy’s shoulder had brushed yours, he’d used the opportunity to lean closer.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he’d whispered devilishly into your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin, a ripple of chill sweeping over you. “You can show me how much you wanna thank me when I get back.”

He’d winked at you and then disappeared after Butcher. 

As your mind drifted back from the past to the… well, past, you watched Ben by the window and wondered again what had happened to him. Soldier Boy had shown you traces of the kindness you’d witnessed in the younger version in front of you – at least in the beginning.

But maybe that was just the fucking Stockholm syndrome talking…

After all, as time went by, Soldier Boy had become crueler, rougher, and more vile toward you. It even seemed like the more he got to know you, the more he started to hate you.

Would that happen with his younger counterpart as well?

“So, uh, you said you enlisted today? Are you going to fight on the frontlines?” you asked and masked your curiosity with slight worry for his wellbeing as you finally broke the silence.

Ben’s head turned to you with raised brows as though you had just ripped him from deep thought. “Uh, we’ll see. I went to my father’s golf buddies in the War Department. They said they’d find something for me. Maybe an officer position.”

“Huh.” Your brow creased slightly, tongue poking your cheek. “Well, uh, good luck.”

“Yeah, uhm, thanks. Hope it makes the old man finally proud, you know?” he said, his voice low and raspy, as if testing the waters of what he could share with you.

“Why do you wanna make your father proud so badly you’re willing to risk your life?” you asked as you settled into the leather armchair by the bookshelves.

“Well, that’s what a man does, right?” he replied with a hint of amusement.

“Being stupid?”

Ben tilted his head at you, a smile playing across his lips. He scoffed a chuckle. “You’re different, you know? Not like the girls I meet… not like anyone I’ve met, really.” His tone shifted, curiosity mingling with something more personal. The playboy mask was slipping slightly. He seemed interested, not just in you, but in the enigma you were presenting.

By that, you figured that wasn’t what Grace, Betty, and Sheila would’ve said. Being a lady was fucking hard.

“Well, maybe it’s just me," he continued, his voice carrying a subtle edge now. "Guess I’m used to people being… a little easier to figure out. But you–,” he paused, frowning slightly, “–you’re not like that. It’s almost like... you don’t care what I think.”

You leaned back in the chair, legs crossed, trying to read the change in his tone, the way his posture had shifted subtly. “Maybe that’s because I don’t,” you said with a puckish twinkle in your eyes. “Or maybe it’s because you’re so predictable, I already know what you think.”

You didn’t, though. You knew what Soldier Boy thought, but his younger version was harder to read, your own bias of the man you knew well from the future fighting against your present judgment.

His brows shot up at that, the surprise flickering in his eyes again, but he quickly masked it with a short, dry laugh. “Predictable? Oh, I’m full of surprises, sweetheart.”

“Are you?” you challenged, your gaze steady. “Then why the same old routine? The drink, the smile, the way you try to act like you don’t care but it’s clear you do.”

There was a long moment of silence between you two, broken only by the wind that howled louder outside, as if urging him to respond, but Ben seemed to hesitate, looking at you like you’d just shown him a piece of himself he didn’t quite know how to handle.

You shifted in your seat, the leather creaking under you as you scanned the room again. The portraits on the walls, the old books, the reminders of everything he was supposed to live up to – it all felt a little suffocating. For a brief second, you almost felt a pang of empathy.

Finally, he let out a low breath, leaning his hip against the bar with a sigh as he picked up his tumbler and swirled it in his hand again. “Maybe I just wanted to get you to loosen up,” he said and took a sip from his drink, deflecting, masking. “Doesn’t seem to be working, though.”

“You really think making your dad proud will fix something?” you asked instead of taking his bait, keeping your tone casual, even though you weren’t sure why you were poking at that particular wound. Maybe you were just trying to see if he’d crack.

Ben’s green eyes darkened, a flicker of something almost painful crossing his face before he quickly concealed it with a shrug. “It’s all I know how to do. People like me... we don’t get to decide how things go. We just follow the script.”

Ah. No wonder he’d been Vought’s perfect superhero puppet for so long. He’d been used to the theatrics from the start.

“And if the script’s broken?” You raised an eyebrow, studying him. The honesty of the conversation strangely kept you going. “You’re just gonna keep following it blindly?”

He leaned forward slightly, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. “What else am I supposed to do?” he asked, the words coming out rougher than he'd intended. “I don’t get to choose what’s in my blood, what I’m born into. I don’t have the luxury of throwing it all away. My father wants me to be this… perfect son. The dutiful heir.”

“And you’re not?” Arching an eyebrow, you rose from your seat and sauntered to the bar. You snatched the half-empty tumbler in front of him and drank from it. The moment the glass touched your lips, you could taste the sharp burn of alcohol, but there was a sweetness to it too. You didn’t drink often, but tonight seemed like a necessary exception.

Besides, you’d already seen him drink from it, so you were sure the Bill Cosby fanboy wasn’t trying to drug you.

Slightly amused, he lifted an eyebrow at you. “You know, if you want a drink, my offer still stands. I can make you one.”

You shrugged with a mischievous smile. “I’m good with yours. Thank you.”

A subtle smile crossed his lips at your response, his cheeks warming in the glow of the fire. “You know, my father thinks I’m a disappointment – the black sheep. He thinks I’m not good enough for his legacy. He-, uh, he wants me to marry someone from a prestigious family. Thinks it’s good for business.”

“Grace,” you realized quietly. “So, this is like an arranged thing?”

“Yeah,” he said and poured himself another drink since you had stolen his. “You’d be surprised how well you can tolerate a person when it’s part of the plan.”

You thought about Crimson Countess and the highly publicized relationship they’d led. You knew he’d cheated on her multiple times, too. You recognized a pattern. His father, Vought… Had he ever known a different life?

“Why do you keep going along with it?” you asked, leaning forward slightly, the warmth of the drink making you bolder. “I mean, you already cheated on her, right? Doesn’t seem like you care that much what your father wants, after all.”

He chuckled lightly, scratching his throat. “Well, I don’t remember actually proposing, so I don’t see the issue. I mean, hell, I barely can stand her,” he replied, his lips quirking into a dry smile. “Guess I’m not really the marrying type.” His gaze then lifted from his glass on the bar to you. “What about you, sweetheart? You got a husband? Fiancé? Someone you’re running away from?”

“Uh, no, nothing like that. I’m kinda on my own. Lone wolf, you know?” you replied and hoped it was enough.

Ben let out a soft laugh at that, shaking his head as if the idea of a woman all on her own was utterly ridiculous. You knew you were a mystery to him, one he seemed too eager to unravel. You didn’t like it, but you couldn’t deny how it tempted you.

“Alright, you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to,” he relented, smiling assuringly. His tongue swiped over his plump upper lip. “Just tell me something. One true, personal thing about you.”

You paused for a while, considering your options. Your lips briefly flashed with a smile, then you met his eyes. “Today’s my birthday.”

Technically, it was in June in your own time, but to you, it was still true. Loophole.

“Huh.” He seemed pleased with the information, giving you a soft smile. “Well, happy birthday, sweetheart.”

Ben left it at that. He didn’t ask more questions. Didn’t ask who you were exactly, where you came from, what you were doing here, or why you were running around lost on your birthday.

“So, uhm, if you don’t want any of this, why not walk away?” You couldn’t help but press a little, steering him away from his own curiosity about you. The tension between you two was thick enough that it almost felt like a game now – tit for tat. “Why are you doing all of this for a guy who never saw you as more than a name on a list?”

Ben’s forest green eyes darkened again, his jaw clenching. “I’m not like you,” he snapped, more harshly than you expected. “I don’t get to make choices like that.”

The sudden defensiveness was raw, and you could feel it in the air, in the way the light from the fire cast long shadows across his freckled face. For a moment, the version of Ben you saw felt less like the charming man you’d met and more like the soldier he was becoming – the one you knew. Someone trapped in a cycle they couldn’t escape, no matter how hard they tried.

Or in Soldier Boy’s case, not trying at all.

There was an uncomfortable pause after that, the kind of silence that felt like a bridge too far to cross. Ben glanced out the window again, the wind howling louder, rattling the glass. You could feel the distance he was trying to keep – he was trying to be strong, to act like he wasn’t letting the high expectations weigh him down. But it was there, in everything he said – and everything he didn’t say.

When he turned back to you, an apologetic smile tugged at his lips. He cleared his throat, slipping back into his designated role. “I-, uh, I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

Swallowing, you shook your head and met his gaze. “No, I-, uh, I crossed a line. I’m sorry,” you said. “You’re right. It’s not my place.”

Contemplatively, he bit his lips, the study falling back into the night’s silence. “You know, I guess I do it because I’m supposed to,” he suddenly answered your question, his green eyes avoiding yours like they were the midday sun. “It’s easier to pretend that I don’t care, you know? I mean, what else can I do?”

You found his eyes, your own heart strangely heavy with understanding. “Maybe you don’t have to be what he wants. Maybe you just have to be yourself,” you said, keeping your voice soft.

Perhaps, you weren’t in a position to offer advice – or give him any, for that matter, the protection of the timeline still in the back of your mind. But you couldn’t control it, your own curiosity getting in the way. You had begun to play the dangerous game every woman on this earth, no matter what time, liked to play: What if he could change? What if you could fix him?

“Maybe you could try something else. Something that’s just... yours.”

Ben looked at you for a long moment, the weight of your words hanging between you like a challenge he wasn’t sure he could accept. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he seemed to consider it, before he let out a breath through his nose, a small, almost bitter smile on his lips.

“Yeah, maybe…” For a fleeting moment, his brick façade cracked, and you saw something softer, more vulnerable. He looked at you, an unreadable expression in his piercing green eyes – something between exhaustion and the remnants of defiance. “I’m not sure who that even is anymore,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “I’m too far gone for that.”

You didn’t know what to say, but you could see he was fighting to be someone he wasn’t, and it made you want to reach across the distance.

Your hand tentatively clasped his forearm that rested upon the mahogany bar top. You could feel him tense under your unexpected touch, his lips parting, confused green eyes flickering to the spot where your fingers brushed his skin before they landed back on your face.

“I don’t think you are,” you said, your voice only a soft whisper that was almost drowned out by the crackling fire and the ticking of the grandfather clock.

The moment was fragile, suspended in the air between you. Your heart hammered against your ribs. But it was gone in an instant, as Ben pulled his hand away like he’d been burnt and downed the last of his drink, clearing his throat.

“You should get some rest, sweetheart,” he said, his voice suddenly distant again – guarded. “Tomorrow’s another day.”

You nodded, not sure what to say as you held your breath. You didn’t want to leave, but the tension in the room was too much to ignore. There was a line you couldn’t and wouldn’t cross.

As you reached the door, he gave you a half-smile, almost apologetically. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

“Goodnight, Ben,” you said, and for a heartbeat, it felt like you were saying goodbye to something you didn’t quite understand yet. 

▶️ Chapter 4: After All, Tomorrow's Another Day – APRIL 18

Something tells me there's something else burning and not just the fires on the infinite hearths 👀🔥 (And yes, there's a fireplace in almost every room lmao)

Coming Up:

The door to his father’s study stood ajar, Ben sitting at the large oak desk as you carefully peeked your head inside and halted in the doorway. He was hunched over documents in concentration, scribbling something on paper with murmuring lips and a tensely knitted brow.

You took a deep breath and stepped inside, and the moment his eyes lifted and found you, he froze, the pen in his hand faltering midair. His gaze swept over you, not just disbelief but hunger creeping into the lush, green moss of his eyes.

Well, this was even worse than the Zeppelin shirt, the towel, or his clothes. You hadn’t expected the dress to be so noticeable. Maybe you should’ve gone with the pastel green one that made you look like a minted cupcake?

Ben’s mouth parted, but no words came out at first. He blinked, slowly, as if trying to make sense of what he was seeing. “You look, uhm…” he trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.

Uh-oh…

“Weird, right?” you offered in an attempt to deflect.

Ben snorted a chuckle then, breaking out a bit of his stupor. “Uh, that wouldn’t have been the exact adjective I would’ve used.” The laughing crinkles around his eyes then softened to something warmer, the heat of his lingering stare rushing straight into your veins. “You look… I guess ‘breathtaking’ is the right word for it.”

Yup, that melted your heart right down to your core.

🚀 Read up to 4 chapters ahead on Patreon now

Tag List Pt 1.:

@alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@lori19 @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @yoobusgoobus @jessjad @dayhsdreaming

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith

@nesnejwritings @samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @fromcaintodean @barewithme02

@impala67rollingthroughtown @star-yawnznn @spnaquakindgdom @thej2report @americanvenom13

@lamentationsofalonelypotato @supernotnatural2005 @stoneyggirl2 @kr804573 @m0e0v0v

[uncanny-tranny]

A lot of people may scoff at the notion, but when you truly start learning more and more, you realize the binary between "you are disabled and I can recognize you as such" and "you are barely disabled, if that, and I can tell" are false dichotomies.

You will never completely understand the intricacies of somebody's disability, and even the most simple of disabilities ("simple" in the ableist way) can easily become life-threatening to a person, and vice versa. There's this glorification of the self for so many people that's done in such a way that their word feels like law, even if it robs others their own words.

[wolfertinger999]

Seeing how Wis just mentioned this blog and the wolfertinger one, I want the people coming in here to realize that Salem weaponizes the fact that he's a "lolcow" (his words, not mine) to deflect any sort've criticism, past and current. He wants to believe that we are from KiwiFarms, despite the fact that we are not and don't even use that website as a source. I can confirm that I don't, at least. He also wants to be a perpetual victim who does no wrong, using his status as a black trans autistic man as a shield for almost everything, even if it has absolutely nothing to do with any situation. What I'm trying to say is that, while being a marginalized person, I understand he does get harassed for the fact. But that is NOT what we do here. Many of the anons on the wolfertinger blog are queer poc, disabled, autistic, etc. It only seems to matter to him though, when those people defend him and aren't criticizing him. I'm not trying to use that as a sheild myself, I'm just trying to show how hypocritical that sounds when it comes from either way.

The worst thing we do that is seen as harsh, is talking about his art! But that's the only thing he will respond to, or focus on! He doesn't care that his girlfriend Wis is harassing an intersex Latino DAILY! He allows it to happen, and says nothing, even saying that he understands Wis defending a RAPIST, he knows it happens on the daily as they are dating, mutuals, and talk on Discord. She even admitted she enjoys making Sawyer feel like shit.

You need to understand why this account exists. They lie on the daily and are actively trying to get Sawyer to kill themselves.

I want to know what is wrong with the people following and defending Salem and Wis without even attempting to ask questions or challenge their claims. Instead, falling for obvious lies and not even attempting to get stories from the actual affected parties.

Why are you listening to Wis, who wasn't even involved in the situation, but posts about it on the daily publicly to shit talk an intersex latino person that she personally dislikes and already has a bias towards? Calling them a dog, calling them a groomer when dating a 19 year old Salem as a 22 year old, yet she isn't a groomer for dating 20 year old Salem at 23? Calling them white for some reason, as if that's a negative (Sawyer is not white, they are latino), yet gets mad when you call her a "cracker". She's ACTIVELY DEFENDING A RAPIST AS OF TODAY, EVEN AFTER ADMITTING SHE WAS IN THE WRONG. Even though the rapist Mari/MeggieBun admitted she raped Sawyer. And the rapist THAT WIS DEFENDS calling Wis "ugly", a "gooner", and that she "should kill herself". She will use ANY terms or lies to downplay Sawyer. Using TME as if that fucking matters in a situation like this.

Salem says nothing at all now, because he knows if he gets involved, his audience will keep digging. He's a part of it, whether or not he speaks up. Just as he didn't want to speak up about his shared groomer ex with Sawyer, Torin. He allows his girlfriend to speak lies on his exes name because he dislikes them. He is AWARE this is happening, and will not interact with Wis' posts about Sawyer. No intervention is still bad. Centrist bullshit. He's also interacting with a 16 year old minor a few days after the wolfertinger account pointed it out, when this happened in the past already. He ONLY responds to art criticisms or "hate", nothing else. That's the only way to prove he sees this account. He responds to almost every art criticism posted here, almost out of pettiness, through a vague post or a new drawing. Notice how his art almost always mirrors posts here, a day or a few after it's posted? It's fucking embarrassing. His pettiness runs deeper, trying his hardest to piss Sawyer off by making ripoffs of an oc he gifted them in 2022, Pepper.

They both claim to despise "pedojacketing", but will happily do it to Sawyer constantly, just to get away with it constantly because their fans blindly support them.

You have all of the evidence hand-fed to you, and you choose to side with terrible people because you cannot FATHOM losing access to mid furry porn. Use your resources. You literally don't need to use KiwiFarms for this. These accounts are full of evidence if you need them. PLEASE fucking try. Many screenshots are submitted and taken by me, or very rarely, from Twitter accounts I've nabbed them from who have been around for past issues, such as the Kungfurevvv/Kung Fu Revvy anti Asian racism situation, which only one person ever got a screenshot of.

Type keywords. It's so easy. I am begging. I will type some for you.

"racist" "racism" "nazi" "groomer" "grooming" "rape" "rapist" "lying" "liar" "admitted"

There are more. Think of some, and type it in. You can also view the archive if you'd like an overall view.

Use these blogs. If you don't trust screenshots, I don't know what you want me to say? You can talk to Wis or Salem directly and try to get a story from them if you'd like. Screenshots, a solid timeline, something. I doubt they'll have anything for you but a wall of text, snarky replies, or getting upset at you because you don't trust them. You will get blocked, though. You will also get blocked if you interact with this post, so be careful. You will also be on their radar forever.

I also never condone harassment, death threats, or anything of the sort. Be civil, be normal. Be upset, because these people are lying to you and many sit there and allow it to happen.

Evidence blogs:

@wolfertinger

@bunnyhazedayz

[galindaarduennaa]

Galinda watched as Elphaba went back to eating her dinner. How was it that the other girl now seemed so confident? Only the day before she’d had so many students harassing her, and now she was sitting at the same table as Galinda acting like everything was sunshine and rainbows. Where were Pfannee and ShenShen? How hard could it possibly be to find some tea in the cafeteria? She looked down at her plate again, pushing her food from one side of the plate to the other.

After several minutes had passed, Elphaba stood up and collected her tray. Was she finally leaving? She nodded and smirked condescendingly at Galinda as she left, and Galinda felt like she had their first day, when she had watched Madame Morrible lead Elphaba away talking about the seminar. She frowned at her plate, really disliking the feeling of not having everything go right in her life.

“Galinda? What was that all about?” Pfannee asked as he and ShenShen finally returned with their tea. They both sat down next to her, looking at Elphaba’s now vacated seat. “What did she want?”

Galinda frowned and almost snapped at him. “Where were both of you? I kept wondering where everyone was!”

She saw her friends look at each other before Pfannee responded, “Well, everyone saw her sit down and we were all kind of curious about what might happen.”

Galinda actually thought she might scream. Not wanting to go back to the room too early she stayed in the cafeteria, but she couldn’t believe no one had come to the table to try and help her during whatever that interaction had been.

Classes and University Life pt2

Elphaba was still so confused as to what was going on as she watched Galinda look around and then just simply get up and go get her food like nothing happened. So she was telling people what happened?! Why would she do that? Elphaba agreed to let her look at her sorcery text books, she figured that would get her roommate off her back for a little bit. But this was just insane. The audacity of her to go behind Elphaba’s back and just tell the story to everyone anyways.

She wasn’t even slick, all her little followers were being so outwardly aggressive towards Elphaba. Had Galinda told them to do that? To call her names and glare at her? She had to have right? Otherwise she would have told them to stop. It was so simple to end this and she just wasn’t doing it.

When Galinda looked at her then put her head down to eat, Elphaba knew the truth. She’d lied to her to get access to her class materials. She was mad at herself for thinking maybe she and her roommate had maybe turned a new leaf and could potentially be friends. That clearly wasn’t going to happen.

Elphaba stood up to throw her tray away and was surprised when someone stepping into her path “Galinda is just so good for dealing with you” he told her harshly and Elphaba stepped back to avoid being run into. So now she was sending people to attack her? Elphaba slammed her tray down and headed for the exit. She can’t believe she believed Galinda earlier!

[canisvesperus]

Are we going to talk about the thinly veiled ableism towards high support needs autistic adults who frequent websites like deviantart for their hyperspecific non-fandomizable special interests, infrequent hygiene practices, “weird fetishes”, that are all clearly shaped by an experience with neurodiversity that is foreign to all y’all rebranded Asperger’s supremacists

[notquitecanon]

Search History // Poly!141 x Reader

A continuation of this thought

Summary: Reader (based loosely on Penelope Garcia from Criminal Minds) has to be face-to-face with the boys for the first time since they started including her in their late-night fantasies. They've decided it's time to take it off-screen and move in IRL.

I'm taggin the peeps who replied to the last part bc I'm desperate for attention lol (in all actuality y'all really encouraged me to actually write thank you!!)

CW: allusions to porn, allusions to female genitalia, they're all horny in the workplace, this is basically workplace harassment but we're excusing it because they're hot and fictional and I say so, no outright smut

Still nsfw though so MDNI pls and thanks

“The 141 just touched down. ETA twenty minutes.” 

Your eyes flicked up from the muted video on your monitor, cheeks flushed red but masked by the light radiating off your screen in your dark office. Thank God, your monitor faced away from the door. A young private was standing in the doorway with a tablet, looking at you for an acknowledgment, probably running about starting preparations for their arrival back on home base. 

“Thank you, private.” You murmured, teeth toying at your thumbnail, chipping the polish. The young soldier gave a short nod at the quiet dismissal and disappeared once again. Your eyes, with embarrassingly blown pupils, flicked back to the video. 

After your discovery two weeks ago, the sites and links you had to review furthered down the rabbit hole. And this video you were currently watching had been one that all the men had been visiting, and revisiting, and revisiting… 

By god, they’d done it. 

Similar build, skin tone only a shade or two different - you could probably share foundation and it wouldn’t look too bad. Hair and eye color so close it was uncanny. And when the woman looked over her shoulder at the mountain of a man hitting it from the back, the angle made the resemblance almost scarily uncanny.  The Had you had a porn career and simply forgotten?- kind of uncanny. 

Sure there were differences- she was a little taller, maybe a bit leaner, with boobs that had definitely had some work done. Tattoos where your skin was bare and vice versa, different piercings. Her voice was pitched different, and her accent was completely different from yours but within three minutes of the video she’d stopped speaking words, so accent didn’t matter much.  But as far as porn actresses went- she might as well be your twin. 

It seemed the 141 had perused her entire.. filmography. Different videos, different scenarios, different partners. They all had videos they seemed to like better than others. Soap seemed to particularly like the POV video where the man had a thick Scottish accent. Gaz had bookmarked a soft-core bondage and forced orgasm scene. Price, a shorter video of an unseen man pushing the actress under a desk for oral, and Ghost… the only link he’d visited was your instagram. It was hard not to let it stroke your ego a little bit. 

God, if you told anyone about this… They’d tell you to file a workplace harassment suit, and maybe a police report.  To start job hunting, and therapist hunting. Distance yourself. You should have been embarrassed or uncomfortable- you knew you should be. That you should feel objectified or disrespected, disgusted. 

But hell, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t send yourself the links and watched them in your free time at home. It was hot- turned you on in an almost concerning way that would set feminism back twenty years if you told anyone. 

The video kept playing on your monitor, one of the videos that Soap had visited more than once (little did you know it was one that Ghost had picked out). A gloved hand smoothly glided down the actress's spine before curving around her throat and pulling her upright on the man’s lap, filthy praises in a British accent playing through your single AirPod. 

“Holy shit…”  You muttered, thighs clenching because if you squinted it really did look like you, even some of her mannerisms. And the rough accent was like a mix of Ghost's and Price’s. 

Abruptly, you shut down the entire monitor completely, ripping out the AirPod and tossing it on the desk. Pressing slightly shaking hands to your too hot face. You needed to get it together, because Price was your boss and the others were your superiors. They’d been gone for a month and a half, and it’d been your voice in their ears guiding them through missions, and you knew you had a flirty disposition, especially from the private safety of your dark little office half way across the world. 

It made sense that their wires got a little crossed, but your wires- like those off all your monitors and hardware- needed to stay neatly organized and separate. Focus. Focus. 

Your nails were bitten to the quick, the bitter taste of old nail polish on the back of your tongue. The skin around your nails was raw from your teeth toying with it as your so intensely focussed on the videos. You needed to get out of this too small, too hot room.  Which is how you found yourself, twenty minutes later, in the communal break room fighting with the vending machine. It was withholding the ice cold water you were desperate for, despite your curses and attempts to jostle the machine. Right as you delivered a frustrated kick to the machine-

“Just the bird we were looking for!” 

It was Kyle’s voice first, that tipped you off to the herd of men entering the space. You almost jumped out of your skin- brain flitting through several scandalous snippets of the videos he’d replayed. His smile was dazzling as always as he came into view, tapping the yellow warning stickers that instructed people not to jostle the machine, with the little illustration of the stick man getting crushed, “What’d the machine ever do to you? It might start fighting back.” 

A gloved hand reached between the two of you, skeleton fingers curled into a fist that delivered a blunt strike, and, like magic, the water bottle fell in to the receptacle. You peeked over your shoulder at Ghost, standing just slightly too close and looking down at you intensely, but not meanly. An easy to miss bit of mirth that was usually reserved for Soap. Thank god you’d bitten your nails to stubs or they would’ve drawn blood from how they were digging into your palms to distract you from the gloved hands and the brutish display of strength. 

Kyle put the drink sweetly in your hands after cracking it for you, like he would do when bringing Ghost or Price something, eyes twinkling like he knew something you didn’t.  Another hand, warm and large clapped gently on your shoulder, pulling you back a step, almost directly into Captain Price’s chest. 

The men shared a look over your head before focussing back on you. 

“Your intel was good.” It was a simple statement, but delivered in a warm, proud tone that felt so much like praise that your stomach flipped a bit, with that warm smile that made him look soft despite the fact he was still in full tac-gear, “They didn’t even see us coming.” 

“They never see you coming, that’s kind of your whole thing.” You tried a joke, your voice a touch strained. His hand was lingering, right on the curve where your shoulder became your neck, fingers flexing into the flesh just so. Just like it did on the boys when he thought others wouldn’t noticed. focus, focus, focus. 

Fortunately, or unfortunately, it was Soap that interrupted the kneading of Price’s fingers. 

“Don’t be so modest, bonnie!” He was laughing as large arms caught you around the waist, lifting and spinning you slightly. His voice so similar to that one Scottish co-star that had done such filthy things to your lookalike, it made your head spin.  Despite your startled yelp and squirming, his grip didn’t waver, “Couldn’t of done it without our lass in the chair.” 

“ ’nough, Johnny,” Ghost called firmly, leaning against the vending machine that they’d all but cornered you against, “Put ‘er down.” 

Soap’s laugh was still good natured as he set you on your feet again, a little roughly for the heels you had on to match your skirt, you wobbled only for Ghost himself to steady you, giving you another intense look, that you had trouble meeting, “ 'e’s right though. Intel was good.” 

They were all staring at you, varying degrees of smirks, eyes a spectrum of mischief and something that was dizzyingly close to hunger.  Unable to keep still, you were squirming, shifting your weigh from foot to foot, fiddling with the wrapper on the bottle. You found your eyes flitting around settling anywhere but their own gaze, cheeks feeling hot, mind full of vile images that you knew they’d seen and enjoyed- ceiling, the exit sign, Johnny’s tac-vest, the floor, the water bottle in your hands. You gulped, eyebrows raising as you puffed a breath, trying desperately to reign yourself in.

“Glad to be of service.” You smiled tightly, nodding meeting each set of eyes briefly and hoping your foundation masked your blush (it didn’t). Jesus Christ, you couldn’t do this.  You couldn’t tell if you felt turned on or awkward or both, but you needed to go. Preferably before you did something that would cost you your job. Your voice was rushed as you squeezed between Gaz and Price, double timing it to the exit, “Enjoy your leave, boys, you deserve it.” 

As you all but fled the building, you typed out a mass base-wide memo email, language formal as you professionally reminded every soldier, specifically four of them, that any website visited by government devices was subject to internal review. 

You swore you could hear them laughing as the memo went out. But maybe that was just your overactive imagination. 

____

You’d gone home for the evening, and then clocked back in the following morning. Surprised to find all of the 141 was still there, debriefing must have ran long. 

“Morning, love.” It was Kyle that greeted you, pressing a cup of coffee into your hands. He looked tired but happy to see you. Soap was with him, eyes bright and grin wide as he whistled lowly, fingers tugging at the hem of your skirt as you passed his seat. 

“Looking good, bonnie,” He smiled devilishly, rubbing the fabric between his fingers before letting go, “Tired of all the green, black, and beige tac gear. Missed seeing something a little… softer.”  

You somewhat doubted that. He seemed to appreciate military khaki when it hugged Gaz’s ass, and he sure didn’t seem to mind an all black tactical ensemble when it was on Ghost. But the compliment still brought heat up your neck, which you coupled with a sip of the hot coffee Gaz had brought you- fixed perfectly the way you liked it. It elicited a pleased sigh as you swallowed, humming in content. 

“Price wants to see you before we all leave. Brought you some new stuff to work on.” Kyle smiled, watching how your expression softened at the taste of the beverage, clearly proud of himself for drawing out that reaction.   

“A present? For me?” You smiled sarcastically back at the prospect of more work added to you caseload, “It’s like Christmas.” 

“You been good this year?” Kyle grinned back, accompanied by Soap chiming, voice low and chiding, “Nah, she’s definitely been naughty.” 

Both Sergeant’s shared a look as you almost choked on another sip of coffee. 

“I’m leaving now.” You shook your head, turning on your heel away from where they were hanging around the rec room, clearly waiting for Price to dismiss them, “Y’all should shower. Or take a nap.” 

“You want us naked?” Kyle questioned, raising his eyebrows at you, leaning back against the wall, standing so very close to Soap, who was sprawled out in his chair, long legs splayed and spread before him as he waggled his eyebrows. “And in bed?” 

Now that was some imagery. Taking the lord’s name in vain you didn’t dignify that with a response other than a huffed, “Leaving now.” 

____

The good thing about Price and Ghost was they were business first. So if you really focussed you could almost ignore Ghost's thigh pressed against yours as you sat beside him in the dark room, reviewing body cam footage. They pointed out different things to you, things to include as you started your next dark web deep dive. 

You could almost ignore how Price’s fingers grazed and lingered on your palm as he gave you a thumb drive to decrypt and analyze, how he stood close enough to you that you had to look at him through your lashes. 

“Has a self destruct program that Gaz didn’t want t' aggravate. Figured it needed your... soft touch.” Price smiled down at you as you curled your fingers around the thumb drive. You had to try pretty hard to ignore the slight emphasis on soft. Ghost seemed to chuckle lowly at your expression at the captain. 

“What’s on there'll point us in the next direction of our next target.” Ghost nodded to you, his leg shifting so it pressed harder against yours. In the guise of stretching out, he’d draped an arm over the back of your chair, the cotton of his gloves half tickling the sensitive skin on the back of your bicep, where the flesh was soft. 

“So don’t screw it up, got it.” You swallowed thickly, shifting so you couldn’t feel his thumb against your skin- it was making it hard to think about hacking and terrorism and military operations.  He took it as an invitation to spread out more, his fingers grazing the exact spot only seconds later. 

“Precisely,” John laughed lowly, his hand moved to your shoulder, back into that sweet curve that was partly your shoulder and partly your neck, and gave it a lingering squeeze, that kind of made you want to melt, “You won’t screw it up, love.” 

The captain gave his Lieutenant a nod, and Ghost quickly stood, his boot giving the toe of your pretty heels a slight nudge as a goodbye before silently stalking out. Price took a seat across from you, leaning back and his arms cross comfortably over his chest.

“I’m having the boys over at mine tonight. A couple of drinks, I’m gonna grill, put the footie on, celebrate another successful mission to start our leave.” Price listed out their plans casually, noting how you squirmed a bit, uncrossing and recrossing your legs as you tugged at the hem of your skirt before continuing, “We want you to come. Couldn’t have done it without you, so you should celebrate it too.” 

“Oh, uh-“ You started before you could think of a good excuse, “I’ll be really busy… with.. with the flash drive. And stuff.” 

“What stuff?” Price rose a single brow, his stare pinning you still as he reached across the table and took the flash drive back, “This can wait.” 

“Files. Coding. Security checks.” You mumbled the first couple aspects of your job that came to mind, the intensity of his gaze making you want to adjust your collar or shrink in your seat. You figured you’d have a couple more sites to clear off their devices, if they’d been sitting around base all night. Your cheeks heated just at the thought. “I’m a little behind. Been… distracted lately."

“Everything all right, love?” He ‘asked’ with at signature warm smile and amused eyes, he seemed to already know the answer to his question, “You’ve been… skittish, since we got back.” 

Your teeth worried the seam of your lips as you considered the question. Skittish, was one way to put it- fidgety, fleeing rooms, avoiding eye contact, barely speaking as opposed to your usual chatter and banter. Your eyes flitted away from his gaze again, swallowing dryly again- geez when did you get so shy, “ ‘m fine. Absolutely fine. Never been better. How’re you?” 

Cringing at your own rambling, you sighed shoulders drooping as he fixed you with another look, and muttered your name in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. It was a look that expected obedience, as his legs shifted into a natural man spread. Your brain flitted back to the video of your look alike being shoved under a desk… 

Him saying your name again, slightly louder but just as bemused drew you back to him, realizing you were staring at his legs, debating if you could fit between his knees and you almost sputtered as you cleared your throat, “I’m fine, really.” 

“Either lie more convincingly or tell me what’s bothering you, sweet.”  Price chuckled, leaving forward against the table, drumming a knuckle against the table. Sweet, that was new. You’d have to add it to the laundry list of nicknames and pet names the boys had for you. You’d always told yourself that it was nothing personal, that British/Scottish people just did that. But this on wasn’t as easy to write off as ‘love’ or ‘bonnie’, average pet names in the UK colloquial, no sweet seemed personal. 

“I’m not bothered.” You glanced away again, nose wrinkling, even though you were bothered- hot and bothered. John Price had a way of drawing details out of people with just a look and a couple of well prodded words.  With a deep breath, you tried to keep your characteristic rambling to a minimum, a losing battle as he starting stroking at his beard with those long fingers- two parts of him that you’d been thinking about way too much lately-, “Listen, I’m not judging, you’re grown men, watch what you want to, but just a reminder that it’s my job and obligation to review every link and site that government devices visit. Which includes at least skimming videos.  In case you didn’t know or maybe forgot that I can and do see these things, so maybe you could pass that along to the boys-“ 

“You can tell 'em yourself. ’s your job, sweet.” Price said firmly. The girlish part of your brain corrected ‘firmly’ to dominantly. Before his demeanor relaxed again, giving you an amused, appraising look again, “At my place. Tonight. 8 o’clock. Not a request.” Shrinking in your chair a bit, hoping the chair hid the way your thighs involuntarily clenched, you couldn’t help but nod and squeak, “Yes, sir.” 

___

Part Two

Was supposed to have actually smut in this but I got carried away on the build-up, laugh out loud. Maybe a part three or you can just imagine how the little dinner party goes (hint, she's the meal)

Tags: @fruitymoonbeams-blog @viviennevianna @savas-q1 @cringeycookies @lainey-laines @buttercup337 @acosmisted @carqueensworld @tmartin0918 @dreamland08 @sheepdogchick @hidden-wildflowers @lilynotdilly @astrxsee @joopyjup @originalsoulcollector @henhouse-horrors @ohdrey89 @red5tars @cod-z @balletbiscuit @spacecrawllerr @scrumptioussportstoadgarden-blog @blues-of-neptune @monster-effer @yunho-leeknow @ungodlydilf @pluviofleur @jandthecrow @fangtoothgod @coquetterie-dancer @sapphires-and-silver-things @ghost-is-my-bbg @loveergirll @silly-starfish @popkle @honestlymassivetrash @not-mentally-sane @devoetee @beloveds-embrace @jellyamour @simon141price @divinecat

[photomatt]

You gonna do anything or make any statement about the rampant transmisogyny on this hellsite, especially in cases like predstrogen recently? Or yall gonna stay silent and keep letting/making us get pushed off of it.

I have a number of asks about this, so this is to address all of them, I won't do each individually.

We generally do not comment on individual cases, but because there seems to be mass misinformation around this, I will make an exception and comment on predstrogen.

First, Tumblr has a number of LGBT+ including trans people on staff, and they see things from the inside fully, and they're not protesting this case.

Why do we wrongly have a transphobe reputation? We did have an external contract moderator last year that was making transphobic moderation (and also selling moderation, criminally). As soon as we were aware that person was fired, and we later terminated the entire relationship with that contracting firm and have brought almost everything in-house (at great cost). I have previously commented on this publicly, several times.

I am not aware of any Automattician (people who work at Automattic and Tumblr) who has made any transphobic moderation actions. If it's reported it is investigated immediately, if anything were found that person would be terminated for cause immediately.

Predstrogen's account was suspended for:

Repeated mis-tagging of adult content against Tumblr's community guidelines. This has nothing to do with clothed transition photos, she had 20+ other blogs and multiple accounts with names so explicit I can't post them here without a mature tag.

Multiple cases of harassment of other Tumblr users, not just me.

Multiple threats of violence, not just the one I share below.

These represent a breach of our Terms of Service, and we've exercised our right to refuse service.

Threats of violence are never okay. Threats of violence are not protected speech. We will work with police and FBI where appropriate, though to be clear prestrogen's case hasn't warranted that so far. I'm referring to what we may potentially do for other threats. I just got a death threat yesterday from someone mad about predstrogen, and that account was immediately terminated.

So regardless of whether you still think Tumblr staff is somehow a bunch of transphobes, know that threats of violence or death are still not acceptable and will result in immediate and serious action. Know that when you rile people up, they can do dumb things with possibly permanent consequences.

(2 hours later update: I have changed instances of the pronoun "they" or "their" to "the account" because I am unaware of pronoun preference in this instance and don't want to misgender anyone. Thank you for the people who reported this as an issue. Update 2: "She" is apparently better, the post now says that. Sorry for the mistake.)

Here's one (of many!) examples of the harassment violations, this one targets me but there are others targeting other users on the site.

The second part seems to indicate she wanted to be suspended, I'm unaware of why, perhaps to create this sort of uproar. I agree the hammers feel silly, but the start, "i hope photomatt dies forever a painful death" is a violation of Tumblr's community guidelines and terms of service.

The car part did hit close to home as I have almost died twice in car accidents.

Update 2: Added this text to the adult content part: This has nothing to do with clothed transition photos, she had 20+ other blogs and multiple accounts with names so explicit I can't post them here without a mature tag.

[gor3sigil]

Before starting T, when I socially transitionned, I was surrounded by radical feminists who saw masculinity as gross and inherently evil, something to avoid, something to make fun of, something to destroy. The other transmascs in my friend group, sometimes, told me that they didn’t knew if they really were non-binary or if they just were scared shitless of saying “I am a man”. Because they saw this as a betrayal to their younger self who had been SAd and abused.

I saw many of my masc friends and trans men around me hate themselves, not outing themselves as men because it would imply so so much, it was like opening the Pandora Box. Even when we were just together, talking about our masculinity was always coated with bits like “I know we’re the privileged ones but…”, “I don’t want to sound like I have it bad but…”, “Women obviously have it worse, but last time…” and we were talking about terrible traumas we experienced while taking all the precautions in the world in the case the walls were a crowd of people in disguise waiting to get us if we didn’t downplay the violence we faced, or like crying and being upset and being traumatized and afraid and scared and to say it out loud would make us throw up the needles we were forced to swallow every second of every day living in our skin.

Most of us weren’t on T yet, some of us were catcalled every day and harassed in the streets or in abusive relationships nobody seemed to care to help them get out of because they were “strong enough” to do it by themselves.

I was using the gender swap face app and cried for ours when I saw my father looking back at me through the screen. The idea of transforming, of shedding into a body that would deprive me of love, tenderness, and safety, was absolutely terrifying. I knew I couldn’t stay in this body any longer because it wasn’t mine, but I also knew that if I was going to look like my dad, my brother, my abusers, it would be so much worse.

5 years later and I’m almost 2 years on T, and almost 2 months post top surgery.

I ditched my previous group of friends. I was bullied out of my local trans community. But let me tell you how free I am.

I was scared that T would break my singing voice: it made it sound more alive than ever.

I was scared that T would make me less attractive: it made me find myself hot for the first time in my life.

I was scared that T would make me gain weight: it did. But the weight I put on is not the weight I used to put on by binging and eating my body until I forgot that it even existed. It’s the weight of my body belonging to me, little by little. The wolf hunger for life.

I won’t tell you the same story I see everywhere, the one that goes “I started going to the gym 8 times a week, I put on some muscles, I started a diet and now I look like an action film actor”, in fact if you took pictures of me from 5 years ago vs now I’d just have more acne, I’d have longer hair and still look like I don’t know what to do with myself when I take selfies.

But the sparkle in my eyes, my smile, tell the whole story way better than this long ass stream of words could ever.

I want to say some things that I wish someone told me before starting medically transitionning.

It’s okay to take your time. It’s your body, it’s your journey, if you don’t feel comfortable taking full doses and want to go slow, the only voice you need to listen to is your own. Do what feels right.

If you feel overwhelmed, it’s okay to take a break, it’s okay to ask for support.

Trans people are holy. Everyone is. You didn’t lose your angel wings when you came out because you want to be masculine. You are not excluded from the joy of existence, from being proud of yourself, from being sad, from being scared, from being angry. The emotions and feelings you allowed yourself to feel while processing what you experienced when you grew up as a girl and was seen as a woman are still as valid as before. Nobody can take that from you. If someone tries to, don’t let them.

It’s perfectly normal to grieve some things you were and had before you started to transition, like your high soprano voice or even your chest. Hatching is painful. You can find comfort in things that don’t feel right, so making the decision to change can be incredibly scary and weird and you deserve to be heard and supported through this. Wanting top surgery doesn’t make the surgery less intense, less terrifying, less painful to recover from. When it becomes too much you have the right to take a break and take some deep breaths before going on.

You don’t have to have a radical, 180° change for your transition to be acceptable or valid or worthy of praise. Look at how far you’ve come already. It doesn’t have to show, you’re not made to be a spectacle, you’re human and it is your journey.

Oh, and last thing, you know when some people say “Oh this trans person has to grow out of the cringy phase where you think that you can write essays about being trans or transitionning or just their experience because it’s weird” ? If you ever hear this or see this online, remember all the people whose writing you read and, even if they were not professional writers, helped you more than any theorists did ? If you want to write, do it. It won’t be a waste. It can help people. Or it won’t, and even then, if it helped you, that’s enough.

Love every of my trans siblings, take care of yourselves. You deserve the world.

[drdemonprince]

if sex is no big deal and just a normal thing like having dinner with someone, how do you square that with the belief that children can't consent to sex? Like idk this whole thing of "sex is a normal act like any other and we shouldn't treat it differently" makes me soo uncomfortable because i feel like it's really obviously not in a lot of situations? Otherwise what's the difference between being told by my boss to have lunch with one of our prospective clients being told by my boss to blow one of our prospective clients? :/

let's take your dinner example to its logical conclusion, because you are on to something here, but I don't think quite in the way that you think.

children are forced to eat food that they this really dislike (due to sensory issues, allergies, or just run of the mill unfamiliarity) quite regularly by their caregivers. they are also sometimes denied the right to eat because they didn't behave the way their caretakers liked, and sent to bed hungry, or barred from eating food that they can handle, and instead left to go hungry because they won't eat food they can't handle.

treatment like this causes a lot of food issues and trauma to children. It exacerbates eating disorders and erodes a child's sense of their own body autonomy. It can also cause children to have nutritional issues and a scarcity mentality around food that can be really damaging to them.

similarly, people are forced to share meals with people who they are viscerally uncomfortable around all the time too, often to extreme negative effects. employees are forced to sit down with clients who debase them or harass them. Young people in particular are forced into sharing tables with relatives who have crossed their boundaries, insulted them, abused them, bullied them, and whom they want nothing to do with. people in recovery from eating disorders are surrounded by co-workers, family members, or friends at meal times who speak about calories and weight loss and comment on their own bodies and other people's bodies in incredibly invasive and triggering ways that often make them feel way worse, and make taking care of their own bodies far more difficult.

when a powerful institution wants to exert control over other people, they also often do so using food. prisoners are given almost no control over the kind of food they eat, and are often given very low quality food that is in a disgusting condition, or that violates their own nutritional requirements or religious beliefs. patients in hospitals and in mental institutions are also subjected to such treatment, and people in poverty are expected to eat anything that they are given without complaint. It is an extension of their dehumanization to control and limit the kinds of food they're allowed to access, and how and when they are permitted to eat.

each of these experiences surrounding food can be incredibly violating and harmful. food is quite frequently a tool of control and abuse. yet it is not because there is some magical quality to food or to dinners that make them uniquely fraught with the potential for trauma. these experiences are traumatic because they involve a violation of a person's body autonomy, and a lack of social power.

sex isn't any different from dinner. we just have a series of cultural beliefs surrounding it that make the pressure involving sex something that's both a lot more acknowledged, and mostly encountered in the private realm.

Sex is treated as an almost magical thing, at once both sinister and sacrosanct, and so people are primed to see the potential for harm in it, and it is frequently used as a tool for harming people because it is so loaded, but that doesn't mean there aren't abuses involving every other mundane human activity that we simply are conditioned to ignore because doing so is so normal.

People's body autonomy surrounding food is violated traumatically all the fucking time. unfortunately because we consider dinner to be a neutral activity and sex to be this incredibly fraught and almost magical one, we ignore the massive amounts of coercion, pressure, and violation surrounding food.

your boss shouldn't be able to force you to get dinner with someone. and people are uncomfortable with discussions about body autonomy that neutralize sex, because it forces them to confront how little freedom we actually have in every facet of our lives.

[foxy-eva]

Send Nudes

Summary: Chaos ensues after you accidentally send Spencer a nude pic

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader 

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) dub-con (Spencer receives an unsolicited nude pic), embarrassment, awkwardness, tension, heavy kissing, male masturbation, oral (fem receiving), handjob, protected penetrative sex

Author's Note: I wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins Wrong Recipient Challenge!

Word count: 3.2k

Masterlist

Panic. Embarrassment. Shame. 

It was hard to describe what you felt when you stared at your phone, realizing that you had just sent Spencer Reid a nude picture of yourself. 

It was a mistake, of course – right when you wanted to send him a screenshot of an article, you stumbled over the mess in your apartment and selected the wrong picture. Frozen in place, you watched in horror as the read receipt showed up instantly. 

Spencer had just seen your naked body light up on the screen of his phone. 

A picture he never asked for and probably didn't want to see. It wasn’t a bad photo, some might even call it aesthetically pleasing. But you had never intended for anyone else to see it. It was just a way for you to make yourself feel good about your body. 

You contemplated your options. Burning your phone, moving across the country and changing your identity sounded intriguing but difficult to arrange. Instead you decided to text Spencer, hoping that soon you’d both be able to laugh about the embarrassing thing you just did. 

“I am so sorry about that. I really didn't mean to send that! Can you please delete the pic and forget about it?” 

You didn't get a response. Spencer was never great at texting but you had really hoped to hear back from him. It was hard to tell if he felt just as embarrassed or maybe even offended – you certainly wouldn't want to receive unsolicited nude pics either. 

You had barely gotten any sleep when you walked into work the next morning. Worst case scenarios had plagued your mind all night – from another painful workplace sexual harassment seminar to maybe even losing your job over your mishap – you had no idea what would expect you today. 

Everything seemed normal when you got to your desk, except for the fact that your favorite coworker didn't even look at you when you walked by him. Spencer usually liked sitting beside you in the conference room and also on the jet, but he did neither of those things that day. 

“Wow you really must have pissed Reid off, huh?” Luke whispered when he sat down beside you on the plane. 

“Did he say anything to you?” you wanted to know. 

“No, he didn't. What did you do? Spill coffee over his favorite chess board?” he teased. 

“Oh it’s so much worse than that,” you whined while heat rushed to your face. 

Emily decided to discuss the case before Luke could ask more questions. Spencer avoided you for the next couple of hours until you decided you both had suffered enough. 

A quiet moment in the coffee kitchen of the police precinct seemed good enough to approach him.

“Hey Spencer,” you said and noticed how he almost jumped at the sound of your voice. 

“H…hi,” he mumbled, his eyes fixated on the floor.

Stepping closer, he finally looked at you for the first time that day. The rosy shade spreading over his cheeks was impossible to ignore. 

“I’m very sorry about the… you know. I didn't mean to send it but I understand if you feel offended by it,” you sincerely told him. 

“I’m not… offended.”

You took a deep breath before you continued talking, “All I want to say is… if you want to discuss this incident with Emily or even HR, I would understand. I never wanted to make you uncomfortable in any way.” 

“No, it’s okay, really,” he lied. “We can just forget about it.” 

Spencer Reid was good at many things. Lying, however, definitely wasn’t his strong suit. You decided to drop the subject for now, aware that talking more about it would probably not make him less uncomfortable. 

The tension between you two was palpable for the rest of the workday. When you stepped into your hotel room that night, you were relieved to finally have a couple of walls between the two of you. 

If this thing didn't resolve soon, you’d have to talk to Emily about it eventually. But there was still hope that it wouldn't come to that. The embarrassment about your mishap was already bad enough as is.

The three knocks on your hotel door startled you. With your heart beating uncomfortably fast, you walked over to the door to find Spencer on the other side. 

He walked into your room without saying a word. Then he began slowly pacing up and down your room, still silent. He looked at you for a second but his sight fell to the floor immediately after that. 

“I uh…” he began before taking a deep breath. “I lied to you earlier.”

“About what?” you wanted to clarify. “Wanting to go to HR?” 

He shook his head. “I said that we can just forget about it but I don’t think I can do that.” 

Your heart felt heavy at his words. His discomfort pained you and you wished nothing more than to be able to take it back. “I’m so sorry Spencer.”

“I deleted the image off my phone but…” he paused to finally look at you. The expression written over his face was hard to read. What you didn't find was the discomfort you expected. Instead he looked… cocky?

He continued, “...it seems like it’s burned into my brain. And I can’t help but wonder, was it really an accident?”

“What?! Of course!” you squeaked. “Believe me, I would never want to send you a picture like that unprompted.”

That was when you saw a subtle smirk on his face. “Interesting choice of words.” 

You thought about it for a moment. Had you really just implied that you would want to send him nudes if he’d ask you to? 

“That's not what I meant,” you tried to brush it off. “And please don’t give me a lecture about Freudian slips.”

His presence filled the room and you felt like you couldn't take deep enough breaths to satiate your need for oxygen. His demeanor was so different from what you were used to and you had trouble wrapping your head around it.

His next question was even more surprising. “Who did you take this picture for?” 

The undertone in his voice was unsettling and you started feeling defensive. “I don’t see how that's any of your business but just for the record, I took it for myself. I do that occasionally to make myself feel good about my body.” 

It seemed as if he was content, almost relieved with your answer. You scanned his body language again and replayed his words in your head. Then it hit you all at once. Spencer was not here to scold you for what you did. 

He was jealous. And he wanted to make sure no one else got to see your picture. 

A grin formed on your face as you realized that you could play this game too.

Your tone was laced with a certain playfulness when you asked, “What did you do after you saw the picture?”

The change of your demeanor seemed to take Spencer by surprise. “I just told you, I deleted it.” 

“I don't think that's all you did.” He audibly gulped and you noticed his cheeks taking on a reddish color. Stepping closer to him, you whispered, “Did you touch yourself, Spencer?”

A shaky breath left his mouth before he confessed, “Yes.”

“Naughty boy,” You teased him. “You really liked that image, hm?” 

Nodding, he took a step forward until there was barely any space between the two of you. “I can't stop thinking about you.”

His words boosted your confidence. “I know I look great in that pic. But I think I would look even better in this lighting right here, don’t you think?” 

Before you could bring to action what you had insinuated, you felt Spencer's hands cupping your face to pull you into a kiss. The surprised gasp escaping your throat was muffled by his lips against yours. 

He kissed you with a fervor that knocked the air out of your lungs. Weakness rushed to your knees and you had to hold onto him to not tumble back. One hand pawed at his shirt while the other one held onto his shoulder. His lips felt soft yet firm against yours. 

When his tongue begged for entrance, you let it. As he deepened the kiss, you could feel heat rushing through body. A few moments ago you really thought you’d have the upper hand in this game you were playing but now realized you were just as pathetic as he was. 

Maybe sending him that image was a Freudian slip of some kind. Or maybe it was just some odd plan the universe had to bring you together. Either way, you were grateful for how things turned out. 

Your hands became curious as they wandered over Spencer’s body. The tingling in your fingertips could only be soothed by feeling his skin underneath them, so they quickly began unbuttoning his shirt. Spencer showed a similar interest in feeling more of you by the way his fingers dropped down to the hem of your shirt. 

Piece after piece both of your clothes fell to the floor, only ever breaking the kiss for as long as necessary. When you stood completely bare in front of one another, you dared to press your body against his to feel him. 

It was impossible to tell who moaned first when his length pressed against your stomach. With a firm grip on his shoulders, you moved him back until his legs made contact with the edge of the bed. You pushed down until he sat on the mattress, staring up at you with a curiosity in his eyes that made your heart jump. 

As you stepped back, his tongue darted out of his mouth to lick over his lips and you wondered if he thought about tasting you. To your surprise, he managed to not break eye contact until you challenged him, “Go on, take a look.”

His sight scanned your body, lingering on your breasts for a second before moving further down, taking everything in. You couldn’t hold back from looking at him, too. A rosy color had spread all over his cheeks and chest and when you dared to drop your eyes to his cock, you noticed how it twitched slightly against his thigh. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he cooed when your eyes met again. 

“Better than the image?” you teased, smirking at him. 

He only nodded before looking at your body again. It was like he was mesmerized, as if a miracle had just unfolded right before him. It became obvious that he was ready to worship you if you’d let him. But first, you had something else in your mind. 

“Show me exactly what you did when you saw my picture,” you told him. 

He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “Wh… what?” 

“Don’t be shy now,” you snickered. “Come on, I wanna see how pretty you think I am.” 

The sweet smile on your face seemed to encourage him enough to let his right hand move towards his hardness. It was as if he needed reassurance when he found your eyes and you nodded.

He wrapped his fingers around his cock, giving himself a squeeze and you watched as precum spilled over the tip. Slowly, he began moving his fist up and down his length, swiping his thumb over the head each time he got to the top. The groan that slipped from his lips could only be described as absolutely sinful. 

You couldn’t deny how much the sight in front of you turned you on. Spencer was so incredibly beautiful and the thought that your body had the ability to make him feral like that drove you insane. 

Arousal gathered at your entrance the longer you watched him. This show was no longer enough for you, you needed more. Your hands found the curve of your chest, gently kneading them before your fingers began toying with your hardened peaks. Spencer’s eyes were fixated on your hands, his mouth hanging wide open and unabashedly moaning at the sight while accelerating the pace of his hand. 

Then suddenly, he stopped and got up from bed. Desperation was written all over his face when he looked at you. 

“Please,” he begged as he stepped closer. “I need to touch you.” 

It was everything you wanted right then, too. 

“I’m all yours, Spencer.” 

His mouth was on yours in an instant and he didn’t waste any time to move you over to the bed to push you onto the mattress. He followed quickly, towering over you as he kissed down your neck, making you moan in anticipation of what would follow. 

He moved further down your body, kissing and nipping on the tender flesh of your breasts before focusing his attention on your nipples. The sensation was almost unbearable and you could feel how your arousal began coating the insides of your thighs. 

Spencer smiled against your skin when he noticed you rocking your hips against his leg every so slightly. His confidence grew as he realized that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. 

“Needy,” he chuckled as he kissed down your stomach. “That’s cute.” 

Right then you couldn’t care less about being in charge, you just wanted to be taken care of. When his lips brushed over your inner thigh, you opened your legs further to give him better access. He lay down between your legs and didn’t waste any time before he began leaving feather light kisses against your folds. 

You watched as he licked his own lips, tasting your essence on them before he found your eyes. 

“You’re so wet,” he teased and let a finger move along your slit. “Is that all for me?” 

He expected a witty response, like you telling him to bring his mouth to good use for once. So it took him by surprise when you simply sighed, “Yes.” 

There was no more game to play. No more back and forth of who was in charge. It was just the two of you, equally as desperate to finally do what you both had been dreaming of for weeks.

“Good,” Spencer whispered, his hot breath tickling your core, before he finally granted you some relief. 

His tongue moved through your folds, collecting your taste before he focussed on your most sensitive spot. He experimented with different motions for a few moments, paying attention to your reactions until he found what you enjoyed the most. Your hand flew to his hair, your fingers intertwining with his curls to hinder him from moving away – even though he had no intention to do so, anyway. 

With one arm wrapped around your thigh he hindered you from bucking uncontrollably against his face while his other hand found your entrance, letting two fingers slip into you with ease. He moved with great precision, adjusting the angle and the pace according to your reactions, bringing you closer to your breaking point with every second passing. 

The sounds of your pleasure filled the room as you began dancing along the brink of euphoria. With just a few more skillful motions, he pushed you over it. Your walls pulsed around his fingers while your entire body shook. He worked you through your orgasm before he lay back down beside you, placing a gentle kiss against your lips. 

You were still panting when you found his eyes. The warm amber of his irises was almost completely swallowed by his pupils, the lust visible in his eyes contradicting the saccharine smile he showed you. 

“You okay?” he breathed as he wrapped one arm around your waist. 

“Yeah,” you confirmed while one of your hands moved down his body. 

Tentatively, you let your fingertips brush along his length, feeling his velvety skin under your touch. “Now what are we gonna do with you?” you purred as you wrapped your fingers tightly around him, making him gasp. 

With a torturously slow pace, you moved along his cock. “Tell me, Spencer. What do you want?” 

“I uhm…,” he audibly swallowed. “I have a condom in my pocket.” 

The fact that he brought a condom to your hotel room when he came over early amused you. He never had any intention of just talking to you. 

“So, you want to fuck me?” 

“Yes,” he admitted unabashedly. “If you want that, too, of course.”

With a nod you confirmed that that was exactly what you wanted as well. Right after you let go of him, he grabbed his pants from the floor to take out the foil wrapper. You watched as he ripped it open and carefully rolled down the condom. 

Then, he kneeled down between your legs, taking a moment to admire the beauty of the woman in front of him. 

“Come here,” you cooed and he leaned over you without hesitation. 

Reaching between your bodies, you guided him to your entrance. He closed his eyes when he slowly entered you, relishing the sensation of stretching you open inch by inch. When he was fully inside you, he kissed you before he began moving with slow thrusts.

Wrapping your legs around his hips, you brought him even closer. When he was sure that you could take it, he accelerated his pace, fucking you against the mattress until you were sure you would lose your mind. 

Spencer’s body began trembling and he suddenly stopped moving. 

“Sorry, I’m really close,” he whined and tried to pull out slightly. 

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded as you kept him in place with your legs around him. “Please, I need it.”

One of your hands moved down to where your bodies were joined to desperately draw circles around your little nub, making you clench hard around his hardness. 

“Fuck,” he whimpered as he began moving again. “I can’t, ah–” 

With just a few more deep thrusts Spencer came, his cock twitching inside you as his whole body shook. It was enough to throw you over edge too, entering a state of pure bliss together with him. After you had both come down from your high, you welcomed him inside your embrace, your fingertips gently dancing over his back as he caught his breath. 

For the sake of getting cleaned up you separated for a few moments, only to lay back down together soon after. A shaky breath fell from Spencer’s lips and caught your attention. 

“So…,” he began talking but didn’t continue. 

You propped yourself up on one elbow to find his eyes. “Yeah?”

“I wanted to ask if maybe–” 

“You want me to send you that pic again?” you interrupted him with a grin on your face. 

“No,” he laughed. “I mean… that’s not what I wanted to say.”

Still in a teasing mood, you snickered, “But you would like to see that pic again?”

“You know what,” he chuckled as he lifted the blanket to get a peek at your naked body. “I think I actually prefer this.”

“Good,” you chirped. “If you want to see more of me you’ll have to take me on a date though.”

Placing a soft kiss on your lips, he whispered, “Deal.”

Thank you for reading! Please like, reblog and leave a comment to show your support and help me stay motivated to write more stories!

Taglist: @adoredfromafar @grumpyy-bearr @frickin-bats @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @xserenax-13 @alexxavicry @samuel-de-champagne-problems @evvy96 @reidsbookclub @lover-of-books-and-tea @sebs-oxygen @nomajdetective @kobaltdragon @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @castiels-majestic-wings

[urmum-lovesme]

Bunny (P5)

Rafe Cameron x Maybank!Reader

summary: Struggling to keep her and JJ’s home afloat, Y/N turns to the only option that guarantees fast cash- stripping at a club on the Cut. But when Rafe Cameron catches her in the act, he sees the perfect opportunity to tighten his grip around her life.

a/n: its been tough day today y'all #Ihateexams (projecting in this chpt idk if you can tell BAHAHA). Also I'm sorry for the late update 😬. My poor girl y/n idk if things can get any worse than this tbh..? (or can they....)

warnings: smoking, weed, drinking, a strip club, naked women, harassment, mention of sex, crying, aggressive behaviour (shoving/shouting), mentions of domestic abuse.

(P1) (P2) (P3) (P4) (P5) (P6) (P7) (P8) (P9) (P10) (P11) (P12)

Y/N stood at the sink, scrubbing at a plate with slow, methodical circles. The warm water ran over her hands, the sound of it filling the quiet kitchen. It was almost unsettling... the quiet. Usually, the house was filled with slurred shouting, breaking bottles, slamming drawers or the heavy silence of a man passed out on the couch. But today?

Today, Luke was standing right next to her, drying the dishes.

Just a towel in his hands, stacking plates in uneven piles as she placed them onto the drying rack. It wasn’t much- but it was sober. He was sober. Maybe a little hungover, his face drawn into a small tired frown, but he wasn’t slurring his words, wasn’t swaying on his feet. That alone made her stomach twist.

“You been out a lot lately,” 

“I’ve been working.”

Luke commented, voice rough from sleep or whiskey- probably both she couldn't differentiate between the two anymore. Y/N hummed, placing another plate on the drying rack. He let out a low exhale, rubbing the towel over a glass. 

“That’s good… keeping busy.” 

A pause. 

“JJ doin’ alright?”

Her hands faltered just slightly before she continued clearing her throat, “Yeah. He’s- good.”

Luke nodded, setting the glass down with a quiet clink, running a hand over his face. It was such a normal thing, a simple chore, standing here washing dishes with her dad. It should’ve been a small moment like it was for so many other people, something forgettable, something easy. She could feel the way her chest ached, feel the way she wanted to hold onto this moment, just for a little while- mind floating back to when she was younger and he’d take her and JJ on fishing trips with him, make them crappy, burnt pancakes for breakfast. But she couldn’t help the instinct of keeping her walls up, watching him from the corner of her eye, waiting for the moment the calm shattered, for reality to crash back down.

Because with Luke, it always did.

The kitchen was now quiet, except for the clink of dishes and the hum of the old ceiling fan overhead. The dim light cast long shadows across the counters, stretching out between them. Y/N wiped her hands on the rag, dishes now washed, her gaze still flickered to Luke drying the last dish. The silence had been hanging heavy; she could feel it pressing down on her shoulders, waiting to crack open. And then, without looking up, Luke muttered, 

“Better not be lying.”

Y/N’s hands froze still gripping onto the rag in her hands, she blinked once, twice, before glancing over at him. 

“What?”

Luke finally looked at her, his eyes sharp, unreadable, “about working”. Y/N felt her pulse quicken. She forced herself to keep her expression neutral, even as she slowly pulled her hands towards the sink, wiping it with the rag. 

“I work at the country club.”

Luke huffed, tossing the dish towel he was using onto the counter. “Yeah-” He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms.

“You sure?”

“Yes- you think I’m dealing dru—?”

“-I think you’re my kid, and I know what it looks like when someone’s keeping secrets.” 

He cut in but his voice wasn’t raised, it didn’t need to be. It was threatening enough as it was. Y/N inhaled sharply through her nose, her grip tightening around the cloth in her hands. She wanted to snap back, wanted to tell him to fuck off, that shes the only reason they still had a roof over their heads and food in the fridge- but there was something in his tone, in the way he was watching her, that made it harder to breathe. She swallowed hard. 

“I told you,” she said, voice quieter now, “I’m a waitress and sometimes... I clean”

 “I hope so.”

Luke stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he let out a slow exhale, shaking his head. Y/N’s stomach twisted. He dropped the dish cloth onto the counter and walked over to the fridge, cracking it open and grabbing a bottle of beer. Then he walked away without another word, leaving her standing there, heart pounding, hands fisting the material of her t-shirt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The club was louder than usual tonight, the air thick with sweat and smoke. Y/N felt the exhaustion settling deep in her bones, dragging at her every step. It had been a long week- too long. She picked up an extra shift at the country club and seemed to be coming to the club every evening, so all she wanted was to get through the night without any more bullshit but, of course, that was too much to ask.

“Aw c’mon sweetheart, give me a smile.”

Y/N barely suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. She forced a tight-lipped grin instead, just enough to appease the drunk tourist slouched in front of her. He looked like the type who had never stepped foot in a place like this before, all sunburnt and sloppy, his polo shirt wrinkled from a day of drinking. “Just trying to get past sugar” she said, voice smooth but empty. The guy let out a loud, obnoxious laugh and leaned in closer. 

“And I’m just trying to have a little fun, sugar”

Y/N’s fingers twitched at her sides. She could feel the sweat sticking to her skin, the air suddenly feeling too thick, too suffocating. She spoke out to the man, keeping her tone light even though she could feel her patience fraying.

“I’m sure there are plenty of other girls who’d love to entertain you,” 

The man clucked his tongue, tilting his head as his eyes went down to stare at her chest- tits being pushed up by a leopard print bra- before noticing the slight frown on her brow. 

“Don’t be like that. You’re too pretty to have a face like that.”

Her eyes almost rolled to the back of her head at his comment. She didn’t want to deal with this tonight. Not after the week she’d had. Not after— the man reached out, just barely brushing his fingers against her waist. It was light, barely anything. But it was enough for Y/N to take a sharp step back, her bracelets jingling at the sound, heart kicking up into her throat. She said, her voice sharper now,

“Don’t touch me”

“Whoa, relax, baby. No need to get all worked up.”

The guy raised his hands like he was innocent, like she was the one making a scene. Y/N swallowed hard, forcing herself to take a deep breath. Her nails dug into her palms, her entire body stiff as she fought to keep herself together as she walked over to an empty booth but she wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take. She sank into the empty booth, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes- trying not to smudge her mascara- as she tried to shake off the lingering tension from the encounter. Her pulse was still thrumming too fast, her body coiled tight. She just needed a second- just a second to breathe.

“Hey”

A soft voice pulled her back. Y/N blinked up to see Bambi standing there, arms crossed loosely over her chest, her head tilted in concern.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

Y/N exhaled, nodding quickly. Bambi didn’t look convinced. She slid into the seat across from her, watching her carefully. “Maybe you should take a break Bunny…” Y/N shook her head before she could even think about it. 

“No, he was just an asshole. I’m fine.”

Bambi sighed, reaching out to rub Y/N’s arm lightly. Her voice dropped, softer now. “C’mon, don’t be like this, okay? Just take the rest of the night off. It’s dead in here anyway.” Y/N hesitated, her gaze flickering up to the small digital clock on the wall.

1:37 AM.

She could technically leave. The money tonight hadn’t been great, but she wasn’t sure she had the energy to keep pushing through either. “I don’t know…” she muttered. Bambi didn’t wait for her to make a decision. She just stood up, nodding her head toward the back. 

“C’mon.”

Y/N followed her into the dressing room, the fluorescent lights making everything feel a little too bright. Bambi shuffled through her bag, muttering under her breath, until she finally pulled something out and turned back to Y/N. She watched as Bambi pressed a small joint into her palm.

“Take the night off” 

Y/N stared down at it for a moment before her fingers curled around it. Maybe just this once couldn’t hurt? Y/N stepped out of the club, her bag now  slung over her shoulder as she zipped up her hoodie against the cool night air. The parking lot was mostly empty, the neon glow from the club’s sign casting long, eerie shadows across the pavement.

It was one of those rare nights that Rafe didn’t show up, and for once, she felt relieved. The last time she saw him was at the country club that night- so it's not like she was eager to see him again. But it was odd, him not being there. In all these past few weeks he’d been getting under her skin more than usual, and she didn’t have the energy to deal with his shit tonight anyways. Always in the background, always watching, always pushing- she couldn’t deny that it was starting to get to her. So maybe it was good that he wasn't there... She let out a slow breath as she made her way towards her car thinking about getting home, showering, and forgetting this night- this week- ever happened. But then she saw it.

Something fluttering against her windshield. Her brows pulled together as she got closer, her stomach twisting in irritation before she even knew what it was. And sure enough—

“What the fuck?”

A goddamn parking ticket

Y/N snatched it off the glass, scoffing as she scanned over the bullshit fine. She always parked here. She never got ticketed. But apparently, one of her tires was inches over the line, and that was enough for some asshole cop to give her a fine?

“Fucks sake” 

She muttered, shoving the ticket into her bag as she yanked her car door open. She threw herself into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut a little harder than necessary. Just one more thing, one more headache. She dumped her bag into the passenger seat before her hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles tight, her jaw locked.

She just needed to get out of here.

Yet she couldn’t figure out if she was thinking of the club parking lot- or the island in general. Y/N let out a slow breath, her head falling back against the headrest. Her eyes fluttered shut for a second, just long enough to let the exhaustion settle in her bones. Surprisingly, sitting alone in her car with the world muffled behind closed doors was hitting her all at once. She exhaled again, longer this time, before reaching up to tug at her earrings. The hoops clinked softly as she dropped them into the cupholder. Then came the rings, the thin ones stacked over her fingers, and finally the bracelets- the million little silver chains and beads that lined her wrists.

Her eyes flickered down.

A deep, ugly bruise was forming just beneath the faint imprints the bracelets had left behind. It had been a few days, but the color was still harsh- fading from deep purple to that sickly yellow-green. A reminder of her father's hold over her life, even when he wasn’t around. Her fingers ghosted over it and she swallowed looking away. Her gaze landed on the joint in the cupholder instead, its paper crinkled slightly from being shoved into her palm earlier. She thought about it. Thought about lighting up, about just forgetting for a little while and falling into the muffled haze she hasn’t been in for a while, but before she could, the screen of her phone lit up in her lap.

JJ (10)

She sighed, unlocking her phone with tired fingers.

JJ  :  yo 

JJ  :  are you coming to the bonfire tonight y/n? 

JJ : I literally told the gang ur coming

JJ  :  bruh 

JJ  :  answer ur phoneeeee

JJ  :  seriously?????

JJ  :  i've seen you like twice this week and its literally Saturday 

JJ  :  where are you 

JJ  :  you never spend time with me anymore what is going on with you

JJ : ?

Her grip tightened on the phone slightly before she groaned, tossing it onto the passenger seat and dragging a hand down her face. JJ was having a go at her- she was the older sibling wasn’t it meant to be the other way around? Did he really think she was choosing to distance herself from him- she’s the only one keeping their family afloat and now she’s getting punished by him too. She shook her head, biting the inside of her cheek as she jammed the key into the ignition, shifting the car into reverse.

The tires screeched slightly against the pavement as she pulled out of the parking lot, gripping the wheel a little too hard. She sighed through her nose, stretching her fingers along the steering wheel. The hum of the engine was the only thing filling the silence, and it was too heavy, so she reached for the radio flicking the knob with her thumb. Nothing. She twisted it again but still nothing. Her eye twitched as she muttered, smacking the side of the console in frustration. 

"Stupid piece of shit" 

Yet the radio stayed stubbornly dead, leaving her with just the sound of her own breathing and the occasional rattle of the engine. The Cut blurred past her windows as she drove, the streetlights casting flickering shadows across the road. Her fingers drummed against the wheel, her body still buzzing with the exhaustion of the night. As she sat in silence driving she couldn’t help but mull over the question in her mind- and then it hit her

She didn’t want to go home.

Why the hell would she? Home was where all her problems were. Where her dad’s temper sat in the walls like cigarette smoke, where she could still hear the echoes of slammed doors and broken bottles. No, she couldn’t go back there- she didn’t want to. Her fingers tightened around the wheel, knuckles paling as she made a sharp turn, diverting from the usual route. 

She knew exactly where she needed to be.

The road stretched longer as she drove toward the beach, the town fading behind her, the air growing saltier. When she finally pulled into a small parking lot—one that was never busy, never full, one that she used to bring JJ to when they were younger and Luke had too much to drink. She let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding. Looking out through the windscreen she could see the dark ocean stretched out in front of her, endless, the waves crashing against the shore in a slow, steady rhythm. She killed the engine, sitting there for a second, just staring and she let out a small sigh, eyes looking down at the joint still sitting in her cup holder.

For a second, she just stared at it, debating.

Then, with a quiet sigh, she grabbed it, fingers brushing against the lighter beside it as she slipped out of the car. The beach was almost completely dark, save for the glow of the distant streetlights casting long shadows across the sand. The wind rolled in off the water, cool against her skin as she walked a little further down. She sat down, legs bent, one arm wrapped around her knees as she pulled the joint to her lips, sparking the lighter. The flame flickered for a moment before catching, the tip burning red-hot as she inhaled, holding the smoke deep in her lungs before slowly blowing it out.

The tension in her chest didn’t ease, not really, but at least it dulled the sharp edges.

She took another drag.

Then another and before she could stop it, before she even realised, her vision blurred.

The tears came out of nowhere.

Hot, quiet, slipping down her cheeks, dripping onto the sleeves of her hoodie. She rubbed at her face roughly, sniffling as she took another pull from the joint, but the tears wouldn’t stop. She hated crying- Luke always told her it was a sign of weakness- she wasn’t weak. But she was just so fucking tired. Of working her ass off just to barely scrape by. Of dealing with her dad. Of feeling like she was letting everyone down, like JJ was slipping away.

Like she was letting him down. 

Y/N wiped her sleeve under her eyes again, sniffling hard, trying to force herself to get it together. The waves rolled in, soft and steady, the only sound filling the silence between her sniffles. The joint burned between her fingers, the cherry coloured tip glowing faintly in the dark. She brought it to her lips again, inhaling slow, the warmth spreading through her lungs, through her limbs, settling somewhere deep in her bones. Her eyes stayed locked on the water, mind hazy, thoughts swimming.

She barely even registered the sound of a car approaching in the distance. Not until the glow of headlights swept over the sand, catching the edge of her vision. Her head turned lazily, gaze trailing toward the parking lot just as a car pulled up right next to hers. She blinked at it once, twice, before looking back at the water, unfazed.

Probably just some kids hooking up.

No one ever came here. No one even knew about this spot. She rubbed at her cheek with the sleeve of her hoodie, feeling the dampness of the material. The joint between her fingers had burned down about halfway now, the fuzzy warmth settling into her muscles, making her limbs feel heavier. She took another slow drag, exhaling through her nose, ignoring the sound of an engine cutting off behind her. Whoever it was, they weren’t her problem.

The bright glare of the headlights blinked off and the sound of a car door slamming shut echoed.  

She stayed still, unmoving, her gaze fixed on the water. Whoever it was, she didn’t care. Not enough to turn around, not enough to pull herself out of the haze settling over her, even when footsteps crunched against the sand.

A little uneven.

A little slow.

Whoever it was, were clearly coming her way. Her fingers tightened slightly around what was left of the joint, bringing it to her lips again just as the footsteps stopped.

Someone stood there, still as stone, eyes locked on her.

He hadn’t even recognized her at first- too caught up in his own head, too wired from the line he’d done before leaving Barry’s, his thoughts still tangled up in the mess of the night. He’d just wanted to clear his mind, let the salt air knock some sense back into him. But then he’d seen the curve of her shoulder and the delicate seashell inked into her skin, peeking out on her shoulder blade where her hoodie had slipped down. His jaw tensed, the buzz in his veins sharpening, his body instinctively pulling him closer before his mind could catch up.

He knew that tattoo.

And now, he wasn’t going anywhere- because what was she doing on his side of part beach?

“What are you doing here?”

His tone was unexpected- like he’d been caught off guard, like she was an intruder. But why wouldn’t he be? She doesn’t belong here. Not on this stretch of sand. This place was his mother’s. 

Their place.

Before everything turned to shit, she’d bring him here on Sundays, just the two of them. She’d pack fresh fruit in a cooler, spread out a towel, and run her fingers through his hair while he sat between her legs, half-asleep from the warmth of the sun. It was the only place he'd ever cherished. 

And now she was here. 

Sitting in his sand. 

Smoking on his beach. 

Y/N doesn’t even look up, her voice sharp, cutting through the thick silence.

“Sorry is this your beach, Rafe?”

She almost laughs at herself, because it’s fucking ridiculous—the whole situation. She was supposed to be alone. Sitting in peace. But then he showed up. Just like her goddamn father. Just like every other man in her life who couldn’t let her fucking breathe. She hears his steps before she sees him, the uneven drag of his shoes against the sand. Then suddenly, he’s towering over her, and she feels it—the shift in the air, the pull of something inevitable. Her fingers drop the burnt-out joint into the sand, and she moves to stand, to leave, to get the hell away from him, but—

Rafe blocks her.

She collides into his chest with a quiet oof, stumbling back slightly, her balance thrown off for just a second. Y/N exhales sharply, shaking her head, before trying to move past him again. But this time, Rafe doesn’t just stand there. His hand comes out fast, gripping her upper arm- not hard, but firm enough to stop her in her tracks. She has to take a step back, her pulse spiking, annoyance flashing hot in her chest as she lets out a small scoff even in her drugged haze.

“Don’t be a bitch, Maybank.”

The words land like a slap. A slow-burning ember turning into a wildfire. It’s not even just the insult- it’s the way he says it. That low, condescending drawl. Like he’s above her. Like he thinks he can control her, that she’s just another thing for him to mess with, to push and pull whenever it suits him. And she doesn’t know if it’s the anger which has been building for weeks now, or the fact she was high.

But before she even fully registers the movement her hands shove into his chest 

Forcefully 

Enough that Rafe actually stumbles back, his balance thrown for a split second. And he just stands there, staring at her. Like he’s trying to process what just happened. For once, there’s no quick comeback. No smug remark. Just stunned silence as he looks at her like she’s someone he doesn’t quite recognize.

But then—just as quickly—his expression shifts. That smug fucking smirk creeps back onto his face, eyes flickering with something almost amused. Y/N feels her blood boil.

“YOU'RE THE FUCKING BITCH!”

Her voice cracks with frustration as she yells the words out at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She doesn’t even recognise herself- doesn’t care that she’s causing a scene, doesn’t care that her whole body is vibrating with anger. She’s shaking as she points her finger at him jaggedly and loudly slurs out,

“You’re the stupid fucking bitch”

Her breath comes in ragged bursts, chest rising and falling too fast, her whole body trembling with the weight of everything she’s been holding inside. Her chest tightens, a lump forming in her throat, and she knows—knows—she’s about to break. But she can’t stop herself now.

Rafe’s eyebrows shoot up, taken aback. Not just by what she said, but how she said it. Her voice isn’t steady like always. It’s cracked, uneven, shaking as much as her hands. The words come out slower, slurred, not just from the blunt but from the exhaustion, she’s unraveling right in front of him, drowning in everything she’s tried so hard to keep buried.

She can’t take it anymore so with a harsh, desperate push, she shoves him back- harder this time. "What do you want from me, huh?" Her voice cracks as she spits the words at him, and her body shakes with the force of everything she’s holding in. 

"What do you want from me?.... Why won’t you just fucking leave me alone?!"

Her breath hitches, and her voice breaks completely in the middle of her sentence. It’s too much, and the tears she’s been fighting back spill over, streaking down her cheeks. They roll freely down her face now, mixing with the salt from the sea breeze, soaking into her already damp skin.

She stands there, trembling, her hands balled into fists, her chest heaving as she stares at him like she’s ready to either fight or run. For a moment, Rafe’s gaze softens but just as quickly, that softness vanishes, replaced by the cold indifference he wears so effortlessly.

He steps closer, his presence towering over her, filling the space between them. She can feel the weight of him standing there, like he’s waiting for something—and then, in his usual, dismissive tone, he speaks.

“You’re a fucking mess.”

It stings. The way he says it, like it's just another observation, like it means nothing to him. But it cuts deeper than anything he's said before.

Because she knows it true.

Her voice shakes with the anger which is still there, but now it’s mixed with something else- something raw and vulnerable.

“You’re so fucking selfish.”

She spits the words at him like they’re poison, her eyes flashing with something fierce, but he just stands there, watching her, as if it’s all some kind of show. She shoves him again, but this time he reacts faster, his hand shooting out to catch her wrist with surprising force.

“Don’t fucking push me.”

He holds her there, and the moment his fingers close around her wrist, she winces. It’s an instinctive reaction, and she can’t stop herself. The pain flares in an instant. Her bruised wrist—the one that’s been aching since her father grabbed it—feels like it’s being crushed.

Rafe notices. 

He sees the way her face contorts with the slightest touch, the way her breath hitches as she struggles to keep her composure. Her pulse quickens as she yanks her wrist free, glaring at him with a mixture of fury and desperation.

“Get off of me” 

She snaps, her voice breaking with frustration. He doesn’t say anything at first, but she can see the way his eyes linger on her, studying her like he’s piecing something together. It doesn’t take long for her to realize he’s noticed the bruise, and that just makes her snap harder.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” 

“Maybank—” 

But she cuts him off, her frustration pouring out in a torrent of words She points at herself, her finger trembling in the air before she repeatedly jabs it into her chest aggressively. 

“D'you think I want to work in that fucking club, huh? HUH, RAFE?!”

The words fly out of her like she’s been holding them back forever, her voice cracking slightly at the end. There’s desperation there now, unfiltered and it’s not just anger anymore. She’s screaming at him because he’s been tormenting her—trapping her in the world she’s trying to claw her way out of. Stuck between trying to survive and trying to hold onto a shred of dignity. The silence lingers between them, suffocating in its weight, and for the first time, it’s not charged with anger or frustration- it’s something else, something she can’t quite place. Her voice is quieter now, the anger draining out of her, leaving only exhaustion.

“Just leave me alone.”

The words are like a plea, but they still hold a sharp edge. She shoves past him, not bothering to spare him a glance as she walks towards her car, her body moving with purpose, as if every step is an effort to desperately escape from this moment, from him.

Behind her, Rafe watches her walk away, his eyes fixed on her retreating figure. His jaw clenches, and he gnaws at the inside of his cheek, unsure of what he’s feeling. There’s something there- it’s almost as if the walls he’s built around himself, the ones that keep him from caring about anything or anyone, are starting to crack. Why does he feel like this? Why does he feel this nagging sense of... 

Regret

taglist: @xoxosblogsblog @moonywhisp3rs @i-love-gvf @my-name-is-baby @ltristessedureratoujours @stoned-writer @mariamadison6-blog @rafecameronswhoore @lovelytoomusic @rafesgurl @mysticbby2009 @vanessa-rafesgirl @silkenthusiasts @partygirl14 @amterasuu @xoxo-ada @icaqttt @ivysprophecy @mauvesmax @larema121 @ggraycelynn @emeloyy @pluviophilis @slut-4-gojo @willowpains @wtfisastiles @rafecqmeronslove @pleasstory @lolasangelz @beau-dabomb @psychocitylights @constantsadness @rhianthebest @emmiesummers @sfotiegiuls @ggraycelynn @larema121 @emeloyy @pluviophilis @urgoldens @insominagirlss @urfavoritebrunette007 @mauvesmax @miniiminie @kythefangirl25 @niyalovests @scream4mami @aizawawify @prettybabyyyy @barbiefan14 @keennerdslover @rafeysslut @rafeysworldim19 @jennieonline @hannieskzzz @sugak00kie03 @gabrielaperez11 @simonejacpbsen @bambigirl10 @prettycoochieee @dreamybabbyy @annoyingprincebread @mattyskies @meeuhsworld

[iamlostandinneedofcoffee]

I like to imagine that every once in a while Red Hood just goes off comms for long stretches of time and comes back bruised as shit and exhausted before logging off for the night and the rest of bat brigade is trying to figure out which villain of the week keeps jumping him.

Eventually they, cause communication is a skill no one learned, just start harassing hood’s men to find out whose turf they are invading only to find out they thought the bats were beefing with Red again cause he keeps mumbling about brats.

Now they are trying to find out which one of them is lying about fucking with Jason and no one is owning up, the trackers they keep putting on him are fizzling out, no one as any idea and Jason ain’t saying shit. But like he’s never properly irritated about it or asks for help nor can they find anything out so they let it go for now (read keep trying to track him to no avail).

And then one night Red Robin comes across Red getting chased and then fighting off a feral looking teenager on the roofs of Crime Alley and just when he looks like he is getting the upper hand another drops down from above (how the fuck the nearest taller building is not anywhere near close enough to dive into the fight from what the fuck?!?) and joins the brawl.

Tim is about to rush in to help Jason before the two teens’ heads turn in unison to him with Lazarus green eyes and look like cats when they see a red dot. Jason panics and before he can grab them, they leap and now Tim is in a cartoon brawl dust cloud and all and Jason has joined in and is calling them all brats and how his gunna whop their ass- and there is a foot in his mouth.

And yet through it all Tim never feels afraid. In fact, as he fights he realises they are keeping up and beating him all whilst smiling and punning(?!? They must never meet dick SHIT DUCK) and that won’t fucking do, so he brings out all his tools and tricks and is getting matching by two raccoon twins. 20 minutes later they are all grinning bloody smiles and just as he is about to slam his bo staff up into into the female looking twin, a whistle is blown.

They all freeze and look over in unison as if they all became shining quadruplets at a giant shit house built fucking man. And like Tim has seen big men. Bane is a big mother fucker. Superman is a big mother fucker, and is also shaped like one. Bats is big but this guy even though his is maybe not as large he feels infinitely more terrifying and that’s before you get to the flaming(fucking literally, how does that even work or stay in the pony tail) white hair.

“Alright enough for tonight or foods gunna go cold. Inside.” A voice bellows across the roof before the man disappears??!? At the mention of food the one top of Tim almost starts drooling, gets up and starts dragging Tim’s still prone body across the roof and off of it OH FUCK AND INTO A WALL WHA and they went through it… well

A couple second later Jason and the other dude stumble in. Jason picks Tim up as he is coming down from that mini adrenaline rush at and puts a arm around Tim, half hug half chokehold, saying “say nothing and you get to join once a week. Say shit and you’re haunted.” And walks off to the kitchen and starts bringing out food.

… safe to say the rest of the bats are now confused why Tim of all people is now turning up bruised as well with Jason, cause if it was him to start why has he started loosing all of a sudden??? And he says fuck all but his weapons and fighting style has got more chaotic and terrifying.

Oh and he seems to be eating… well you win some and lose some

[a-shade-of-blue]

Palestinians on Tumblr are tired. Not only is struggling to survive in Gaza exhausting, not only do they have to face frequent bombings and attacks, but they also have to deal with harassments from zionists and racists when they raise the funds to save their family on Tumblr.

Hashem (@hashembadr) in particular has been shadowbanned again after zionists harassed him on his new account. It is his 9th account and he has only created it 3 days ago, and he hadn't even used it to message people or send asks!

Imagine how Hashem must feel! He is responsible for 26 people, including 13 children. His young niece is injured and in need of surgery, yet they do not have the money to afford it and he has to watch her suffer in pain. There are bombs falling all around him, attacks have been relentless. And here on Tumblr, as he is trying to fundraise so that his family may survive, zionists and racists keep attacking him, telling him that he and his family should die just because they are palestinians!

They are just trying to survive!! That really shouldn't be too much to ask for!! Hashem is losing hope after seeing his account being shadowbanned again, after seeing these racists comments, after seeing people block him again and again because they find him annoying for trying to survive and save his family! He has been fundraising since March now but he has only raised a little over 5k! Hashem and his family are facing horrors we cannot even begin to comprehend, can we just give them more support? Is it really too much to ask you to share his posts, and donate some money if you can?

Vetted! #102 on @/gazavetters vetted list!

£5,365 raised of £50K goal! They have been fundraising for almost 9 months now!!

tagging for reach

@bruciemilf @pcktknife @valtsv@sealsdaily @sporesgalaxy @ilovelifetbh

@pigswithwings @certifiedsexed @tpwrtrmnky @closet-keys @extremelycursedimages

@medusadyke @punkitt-is-here @whatcoloristhatcat @rickybabyboy @weirdmarioenemies

@tamamita @beetledrink @apas-95

@sandeewithtwoe @stuhde @spamtime @void-flesh @dykelicious

@riding-with-the-wild-hunt @fagflint @lesbiandardevil @neechees @khargooshe

@fangymutt @hobbithun @shamemp3 @marxism-transgenderism @jewishdainix

@spreadsheetdyke @komsomolka @feluka @transmutationisms @negreaux

@roseillith @welcometogrouchland @1vyf2 @thatdiabolicalfeminist @doctor-a-snakeman

@craftykittyscientist @catgirlcadaver @flor4zul @majortomwaits @strangeauthor

@duncebento @pomodoko @sphinxgirlbaeddel @lafemmemacabre @pollackpatrol

@lesbianboyfriend @leolaroot @clementine-kesh @nogender-onlystars @tododeku-or-bust 

@strangegutz @shadow-banned-the-hedgehog @autisticmudkip  @dlxxv-vetted-donations @ana-bananya @northgazaupdates

@whompthatsucker1981 @brokenbackmountain @sillymarillly @comradecassion @beesmygod

@wotsukai @t-800 @solarpunkcast @plum-soup @fiomeras

@fithragaer @vaporize-employers @jacobtheloofah @fmab @the-eldritch-it-gay

@thehopeof @servalias @amethyst-halo @bsideheart @murderbot

@tomiyeee @odddogs @vamptits @rthko @flouryhedgehog

@t4tvampireisms @11thsense @khanger @thorerre @yourbelgianthings

@handweavers @sketiana @fcbalding @girlinafairytale @loonarmuunar

@kittykatninja321 @decolonisers @elpeor @camgirlpanopticon @juney-blues @aloraaki@athetos@northirish@death2germany@girlbloke

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

@hashembader, @hashem-bader, @support-hesham, @support-hashem, @katya-mother, @support-heshem, @support-katia-family @hashembadr