#she can do what she wants of course it's her show but like so many things this season it wasn't built up at all

[be-xkyy]

yandere cowboy x boss's daughter who is an innocent country girl and barely knows that the person she trusts most is the one she should fear most

Well, I have a few ideas coming to mind about this scenario but I'll pick one for now.

Tw: Yandere, violence, blood, breeding, dirty talk , naive reader.

Yandere cowboy who works for your father for a while now. He's one of his most trusted workers and your father isn't the type to trust many people.

He always does jobs here and there on the ranch helping to put up wire fences so cattle don't escape, looking for cattle when they enter other lands, threatening neighboring ranchers when they don't want to return cows or sheep.

In his defense, they deserve a bullet in the head for trying that shit with him.

But the job he likes the most is taking care of you, the beautiful and naive daughter of his boss. He simply fell in love with you since he saw you for the first time a few years ago.

You were all pretty behind your father in that flowery dress, cowboy boots, your braided hair... and how can we forget your cute tits.

Tits he thought about that same night as he masturbated, his calloused hand wrapped around his hard member as he rubbed vigorously imagining you looking up at him with your big eyes as you ride him your tits bouncing on his face it's so good he ends up cumming all over his hand.

You are indeed a pretty little thing all smiles and ignorant of the world and people's intentions. Raised and protected by your father kept under his wing for far too long after all you are his only daughter.

It's inevitable that he ends up threatening and beating to death your countless suitors who shamelessly approach you believing they have a chance, no fucking way will it happen. not on his watch.

He simply corners them away from your sight and beats them mercilessly, he gives them a hard punch his knuckles impact their nose with a loud crunch he doesn't stop as the man falls to the floor with a broken nose.

Of course not.

He beats them until his fists are bruised and the man's face is covered in blood with a broken nose, teeth knocked out and eyes swollen he grabs them by the collar of their shirts as he growls.

"Stay away from her or i assure you this will be nothing compared to what I'll do to you, buddy"

The one who tries to make himself as presentable as possible so you won't get suspicious when he comes back to you.

He knows everything he does is worth it when you show all worried for him grabbing his calloused hands in yours, looking at his bruised knuckles asking him if he's okay with that worried tone that makes his cock hard inside his pants.

He ends up asking you to "comfort" him a little like he taught you. You both end up in the barn with him leaning you on hay bales, his hands undoing his belt and zipper before pulling down his pants along with his boxers that get caught on his knees.

Then he lifts your dress as you whine about the hay stinging your ass, he just pats your thigh to shut you up as his fingers pull down your panties, he hisses when he sees your pussy he moves his thick fingers closer inspecting your wet entrance.

"God you're so wet, for someone who acts so sweet you're a bit of a slut aren't you doll?"

He arches an eyebrow when you shake your head shyly at his words murmuring an embarrassed "I'm not..." he lets out a laugh that rumbles from deep within his chest his thick fingers don't stop moving thrusting into your hot pussy your walls squeeze his fingers like hell.

He grabs his member unable to resist any longer he uses your wetness to lubricate his cock and slide inside you, both of you let out a moan of pleasure you from the delicious stretch and him from feeling your walls throb around him he murmurs.

"What a tight fucking pussy you have so hungry for my fat cock baby doll"

He moves his hips hard his heavy balls slap against your ass and his pubic hair scrapes deliciously against your pussy, your juices forming a creamy circle at the base of his cock as your nails dig into his muscled belly for support, his moans combined and the loud wet sound of his cock pounding into your pussy fills the barn.

"You're about to cum aren't you baby doll? Fuck–of course you're about to cum your pussy is getting so tight right now I think you want to rip my cock off"

His hands tighten their grip on your waist and you just mumble stupidly wrapping your legs tightly around his waist your boots dig into his ass as you cum letting out a high pitched moan your eyes roll back in your head from the intense pleasure, he growls thrusting into you hard chasing his own orgasm that doesn't take long to come.

With one last thrust he thrusts deep inside you, stopping his movements and letting his semen explode, flooding your interior with its swimmers. Who knows, maybe today will be the day when his seed finally takes root inside you. He would be the best father, the best husband and the best successor for your father. Your father will also see it that way. Because it would be a shame to have to kill him, after all, they are almost family, right..?

[sungiescheotluv]

mirror muscles ⭑.ᐟ na jaemin

pairing: na jaemin x gender neutral reader

word count: 2.7k

tags/warnings: fluff, established relationship, suggestive, gym talk(?)

summary: doing your new resolutions with jaemin has always worked in your favor, most goals ticked off your lists. however, when you mention going to gym, jaemin's enthusiasm reaches new heights.

notes: hiyaaaa! it feels like forever since i last posted (two days omg 🙄) but i do hope you pretty stars enjoy this very indulgent fic! as an aspiring gym girlie, i'd do anything for this kind of princess treatment (particularly from jaemin 😋) also, the title of this is based on the soft play song with the same name (emo jisung, lemme give u some music recs). ok, i think i'm done here. wishing u all the best, much loveeee! <3

Note to self: never, under any circumstances, tell Jaemin your New Year’s resolution. Because one peek at your ambitious list and Jaemin will pry you from your warm bed, at the ass crack of dawn (might you add) to go to the gym because ‘nothing beats a morning pump.’

If you weren’t stupidly in love with him, you would’ve dropped a dumbbell on his toe.

How you get to this point is a lot more wholesome. Since the start of your relationship, once snow trickles down for Christmas, you two sit at your dining table with your laptops opened on Pinterest and pin-point what goals you'd like to achieve the following year. This way, you’re not shouldering your ambitions alone, having each other every step of the year as you tick off box after box. So far, you’ve managed to complete most of your goals. Go traveling, learn a new language, cook more home-cooked meals, limit screen time (still working on that) and many more. Jaemin was also progressing well: dedicating more time in his photography, reducing his coffee intake, going to bed earlier and visiting his mother more. 

For this year’s moodboard, while collecting pictures of your next set of goals, fitness content shows up in your recommendations. People in pilates studios in their pastel pink gym-sets. The aesthetic draws you in, how content people feel moving their body besides getting their 10k steps a day in. More photos start showing up, people sculpting their pride in the gym, sharing personal stories of their fitness journey and how the gym has taught them so much about themselves. What they’re capable of, what they never thought they could do and what opportunities lie await now that they’re happier in themselves. It all seems promising, even more so when you reconsider how bright your best friend’s life’s become since making the choice. She’d rarely accompany you to a game of badminton and now she’s pioneering her own run-club, amassing a social media following the size of an army.

You’d have to ask her how to get started once she’s back from her influencer trip (maybe content creating is something you needed to hop on). Then again, peering over your laptop screen to Jaemin’s glowing face, you could simply ask him. He’s been consistently going to the gym for a while now, to the point where you fake-pleaded for SM to close their gym because your boyfriend's become too buff for you to function. He’s always been gorgeous, with a face that could charm a snake, but now that he’s carved like a Renaissance sculpture, you couldn’t form a coherent sentence around him. Of course, aesthetic reasons are what lured him into the space, but he relays it’s become a lot more than that for him.

“I want to be strong, not only to build my confidence but to also protect my loved ones,” he looks directly at you, a serious hue to his eyes that has you breathless. “It’s another form of self-love, is my thinking. Showing up for myself, proving I can do hard things, even when I don’t want to. That I can step out of my comfort zone, trying new things and ultimately, living a longer life. Because at the end of the day, as much as I do this for me, I also do it so I can help you carry groceries. So that I can move furniture around when we move in together, be the one that my family calls if they need something physically demanding done,”

Fondness curves his lips, a flicker of timidity dart his eyes down to the desk before they flicker back up at you, astoundingly earnest as he says, “I’d also want to keep up with our kids. Carry them when they’re tired or run after them in a park. Those are my reasons.”

Something stutters in your chest. Then, leaps. Over the course of your three year relationship, it’s only natural that topics like this are mentioned, like marriage and children. Heck, you two shared a Pinterest board of decor ideas for the shared apartment you’d been on the lookout for. So, it shouldn't phase you but it does. How far into the future he sees with you. How he shares a bit of himself so effortlessly, in a way that lacks pressure and possesses good faith. Love and promise. All prominent themes throughout your relationship, one you thank your lucky stars for.

As a consequence, you flush. Folding like the early days of your relationships. “You’re getting bold these days. We haven’t even moved in together.”

“All in good time, angel,” he grins, looking a bit lovesick. “In any case, if this is something you wanna do, I’d be more than happy to help. Go to the gym with you so you don’t feel anxious, show you how to use the machines, get you workout clothes - whatever you want.”

You could marry this man.

You extend your arm across the wooden table, hand finding his as your fingers interlace, the same song and dance you’d hope you’d spend your life doing. “Thanks, baby.”

And now? Now, divorce weighs heavily on your mind.

In an effort to avoid the New Year’s crowd, Jaemin wakes you up early in the slum of days after Christmas where time doesn’t exist, cuddling into your half-sleeping figure with a gentle voice. Coaxes you to get up, slip on the new gym clothes you’d spent on his card (his treat, he said) and somehow, here you are, stinging eyes squinting under fluorescent lights with some EDM track playing faintly in the background.

“Oh, baby. Don’t look so down, you’re in good hands,” Jaemin coos, hand squishing your cheeks under your chin before pulling you into his chest, warm and comforting. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Couldn’t this wait until,” you glance at your fitness tracker, your own treat to yourself. “Midday? No one needs to be here at 9 am.”

“Maybe, but it’s a good way to start your day. Or get it out of the way,” he chuckles, spinning you out his arms before he wiggles his eyebrows. “Plus, who doesn’t want to see my muscles first thing in the morning?”

He drives home his point by kissing his bicep, something that should make you cringe out your skin or disappear without a trace, but no. Perhaps you’re still sleepy, shielding a snicker with your hand because of how lame (said adoringly) he is.

“You said you’d usually start off with thirty minutes on the treadmill, right?” You nod your head. “Okay, I’ll go with you. I’ll run for fifteen and row until you're done. So you don’t constantly have me in your ear.”

You laugh, because as grumpy as you’d been on the way here, you could never grow tired of him. All his carefree and mischief nature, his sweet and generous manner - you couldn’t even if you tried. 

Few people populate the modern gym, near to none in the cardio section as Jaemin refreshes your memory on all the buttons before you begin. Beside you, he does sporadic sprints, no heavy breaths clouding his chatter with you. You, on the other hand, keep it relatively reserved for your first time, upping the speed when you want to challenge yourself, surprising yourself with the distance and time that flies by. Soon enough, Jaemin’s squeezing your hand and moving a few rows back where the rowing machines are, leaving you with your walking playlist.

Again, in a flash, time passes by, upbeat songs blaring in your headphones that make you dance through the next fifteen minutes, a simmer of sadness coming when you’ve reached time with a whole host of songs still in the queue.

“You can listen to them next time,” Jaemin winks before leading you into a dark, LED room dotted with mirrors and yoga mats. This is one of the rooms booked for classes, but for now, it’s your stretching area where you cycle through some stretches and Jaemin jokes about folding you like a pretzel. 

The one other person in the room - a woman in her thirties - coughs, before smirking your way, the heat of your embarrassment migrating to your cheeks as you swat at Jaemin. He simply laughs, stretching to reveal his happy trail and suddenly, you forget why you’re even mad. 

When you’re finished, he shows you different sections - an assortment of cable machines, the weights area and then to an area with more machines. There’s a few people occupying the machines, immersed in their own world with flushed cheeks and sweat seeping into their clothes. It fills you with relief, that no one’s focused on you and your sweating figure as if you had ‘gym newbie’ written across your forehead. Jaemin shows you some of the machines he uses, depending on what he wants to work out but for the most part, lets you decide what machines you’d want to use - if any.

“Why do I need to put on muscle? You putting me in a headlock is good enough.” You fake-complain, feeding off the gentle approach Jaemin’s taken in trying to convert you to a gym rat.

“And you say I’m the dirty one,” he tsks with a matching grin. “You don’t need to do anything. All I’m doing is showing you the options you have. The more things you try, the more likely you’ll find something you lik-”

“Is that the slut machine?”

Jaemin’s head jerks back, eyebrows pinching together in confusion. “What are you talking about?’

“This one,” you approach the machine closeby, pointing to the photo attached along with its actual name - hip adduction. “Isn’t this the one where people like, open their legs like crazy?”

Jaemin shakes his head, amusement in the smile he swipes with his hand. “Yes, it is. Wanna give it a go?”

“Hell yeah,” you climb into the machine in a rush, finding the experience more exciting than scary as Jaemin makes sure everything is in order. “This is gonna be hilarious.”

“I’m setting it to a low weight. If it’s too easy, we’ll move it upwards and try and find your range,” he comments, looking at you through his silver hair. “You ready?”

“Ready,” and you go, the weight moving like nothing, so much so that when it sets back to its original position, you’re more caught off guard by how far apart your legs are spread. “This is so raunchy, ohmygod.”

“Good thing it’s facing the wall,” Jaemin laughs at you shielding in between your legs. He ups the weight, the number looking a lot scarier than anticipated. “Let’s try this then. You should be able to rep 10 of these.”

You shuffle, a bit unconvinced. Taking a breath, you engage the machine, exerting more effort than before but managing to do one rep. Then two, then three all the way up to ten. Enough to challenge you, but not strain you.

Jaemin howls, pinching your cheek as he says, “Look at you go! That was great.”

“Thank you,” you huff, the tingle in your thighs somehow the source of the happiness in your chest. “That was really fun, actually.”

“Isn’t it?” Jaemin smiles, using some paper towel to wipe after the machine for you. “Usually people do about three sets of those. Reps depend on what you want to do - build endurance, muscle strength, all that. But that was really great, I’m so proud of you.”

And you feel proud of yourself too. Having tried something new, feeling unsure but leaning into the feeling. Letting yourself see how far you can extend yourself, pleasantly surprised with the distance. 

So, this was what Jaemin was on about.

You continue your morning like this, getting a personalised tutoring session in how certain machines works and what areas they work out. Jaemin runs through his leg day, since you two were on the hip adduction machine, enjoying more exercises like leg press and goblet squats. By the time you get to the hip thrust machine to try, someone’s occupying it. Jaemin suggests using the squat rack, the scary thing with a long barbell and weights attached to it. Sensing your apprehension, Jaemin lets you know he’s got you, coaching you through the exercise and any queries you may have about movement or positioning. Eventually, it’s your turn to lean against the incline bench and despite your fear, you work your way through 8 hip thrusts. You don’t nearly enjoy it as much as people online talk about it, which Jaemin says,

“That’s perfectly fine. There’s so many exercises that work the same areas. You’ll find one you prefer.” 

Finished for your session, Jaemin asks for you to hold tight while he does some deadlifts. It’s maddening watching him pick up such heavy weights, concentration knitting his eyebrows together with his exposed arms flexing under the tension. Wearing a sleeveless top for the gym in theory is great, but for your mental health? Bad, so bad. 

Because even if your body rings with exhaustion, the kind that’s refreshing and ensures a peaceful slumber, you’re about ready to jump his bone. 

Ill with lust, as you’d joke. 

Jaemin snickers, snapping his waist belt off with one hand, which shouldn’t be sexy but is. Your eyes then trail to the barbell, the memory of Jaemin’s set vivid in your mind.

“Did you wanna try it?” Jaemin asks, reading your mind. “We can start off with no weights. Just the barbell. There’s also different variations of a deadlift, let’s see which one you prefer.”

Out of the three, you pick the most conventional one to start with, teeth sinking into your bottom lip at what you’ve gotten yourself into. Particularly after Jaemin loads weights on each end when you've rehearsed with the barbell.

“Think of the barbell cutting your feet in half - not standing too close so that your shins are touching it and not too far away that you have to lean to grab it,” Jaemin coaches, your feet shuffling into the right position. “Nice. Let’s move onto the hinge movement,”

From behind you, his hands settle onto your hips, pulling them back with him. He pats them, a chuckle left in his wake as he steps to your side to demonstrate without overly being horny. 

Bastard.

“Like you just did, you’ve gotta hinge your hips backwards until you can’t hinge anymore. Then, you’ll move a little into your knees, like a squat almost so you can grab the barbell,” you follow along, the barbell cold against your hands as you blow a breath.

“Great. Keep your body tense, engage your core and glutes. No arch,” his hand hovers over the arch of your back, something teasing in his smile. “Show your chest, keep your head up straight and lift the barbell up. Remember to keep it close to your body before you lower it down with the same hinge movement and movement into your knees.”

You puff out another breath, the same fear you’ve conquered throughout the session whirring in your chest.

“Don’t worry, angel,” Jaemin smiles, moving behind you again with hovered hands around your figure. “I’ve got you. You’ve got you.” 

Again, his words dawn on you. All the power in your hands, a feeling your heart wants nothing more than to run towards as you lift up the barbell, strength personified as you wait at the top of your stance, smiling at the “Let’s fucking go, you’re doing it! You’re doing it, angel!” in your ear. You hinge backwards, the weight knocked down to the floor with no tension on your back as expected.

Once you’re upright again, Jaemin engulfs you in a backhug, lifting your figure off the floor and kissing your neck, drawing giggles out of you. Joy moves through your body like warm light at his excitement that exceeds your own, belief not setting in quite yet.

“I can’t believe you,” he coos, the mirror ahead of you capturing the embrace he holds you in, the elation in his eyes as he does nothing but adore you. Like he’s always done. “Actually, I can. You’ve got a laundry list of things you’re good at. Can you believe it?”

“Not originally,” you admit, the confession somewhat bittersweet. “But after this, I think I’d better have more faith in myself.”

Fondness finds itself in his lips again, a kiss against your cheek as he gently guides you out the way, lifting the barbell onto the rack with his gaze in the mirror directed to yours. 

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

And you fall into laughter, helping him slid off the weights before flexing in the mirror like you wanted, finding a different strength in yourself with Jaemin by your side.

[dollzites]

⏦ﾟ♡︎ GDRAGON AS A FATHER

୨ৎ pairing: father!jiyong x fem reader

୨ৎ genre: quite soft, quite fluffy, and emotional!

୨ৎ from myeong: hi!! so happy to receive this adore request and I’ve been so excited to get to it! I hope you can enjoy this and seeing a dad jiyong would be the cutest ever!! ): such a sweetheart x

jiyong will be the most softest, caring, sweetest, loving, supportive, and genuine father ever!!!!!!!!!!

does not care about whether the first baby will be a boy or a girl all he cares about is having a healthy child that he can help him become a better person.

enjoys letting the baby hold his finger and takes at least a dozen photos even when you tell him it’s a bit pointless to have so many of the same photos.

“it’s not! what if something happens to the first few I took then I need to have more for backup!”

jiyong will be extremely overprotective and if a family member wants to hold the baby he has to be near to watch and make sure everything is okay.

“see that precious smile? that’s because of me.”

you’ll give him this look and he then of course adds you in and thanks you for helping in the creation of the baby and why he/she is just so beautiful. aww

“do you think he’ll/she’ll look more like me or look more like you as they get older? I’m so curious.”

jiyong will kiss you and tell you to go back to sleep while he takes care of the baby during the night. he knows you need all the rest you can get for being up most of the day with the baby. he’s very caring.

spoils the child rotten but also makes sure that he or she has the best manners even at such a young age, teaching basic skills and always showing the baby how much he loves you for everything you do.

as the child gets older it only makes jiyong slightly panic because he wanted so badly for the baby to stay little forever but of course it doesn’t work that way so he spends extra time filming for memories.

“one sec! let me take this last picture.. alright I got it. gosh.. she/he looks so perfect thanks to us.”

when it’s just the three of you jiyong sometimes gets emotional and talks about how much he’s always wanted a family like this and he still can’t believe he finally has one after so many years.

takes family time very seriously. he’ll cut everyone off who’s not interested in including you and the baby. he doesn’t have time for any of that stuff.

jiyong will want matching pjs, shoes, jewelry, hats, glasses, etc etc with the baby and you. he looks at it like family goals and thinks it’ll complete the fam.

“guess what? I learned how to make this dish! do you think he/she will like it? it has all of his/hers favorite things in it! the broccoli is what sold me.”

jiyong is obsessed with taking you and the baby to the park every chance that he gets. he’ll ask if you want to go if the weather is nice and gets the big bag ready full of snacks, drinks, and toys for the baby in case he/she gets a little bored there.

he likes to plan little trips as a family. the zoo and aquarium being at the top of the list because in his mind it’s so important to experience these types of things with the baby as a very close family. cute ):

allows you to have time to yourself since being a mom is a very tough job so he’ll take the baby and shop around for the day or hang out at the studio while he/she plays and snacks on yummy snacks.

“are you having fun with dada? I know you are.”

if you’re away at work or he’s allowing you time away for yourself like said before then he’ll send you so many selcas that he takes of him and the baby asking if you’d like this as your wallpaper.

“thank you for giving me my perfect little one.”

jiyong loves falling asleep with the baby even when he/she starts to get older he’ll take bedtime very seriously and read he/she a book while slowly falling asleep. next thing you know he’s asleep with he/she in bed and it’s the cutest thing ever!!!

long story short he’s a perfect father to your baby.

[seitmai]

Ahh many thoughts

“Non-existent,” he had replied with a sad shake of his head. “Same.”

Mood lol

You don’t know that Bob Floyd doesn’t require much to fall in love with you.  That the paltry moments between physical encounters is plenty for love to flourish for him.  That the handful of soft touches, the smiles, the little laughs…they are enough.  The way you pat his cheek after you brush a chaste kiss there once you’re dressed and about to leave his place.  The time you slid his glasses on his face, then kissed the tip of his nose.

🥹🥹🥹

(A therapist once posited that you’re this way because of your own childhood:  the only child of two career Army parents.  Your chaotic formative years—bouncing around the world, unable to set roots, sometimes even shifted from one parent to another due to conflicting deployments—left you with a wound, your therapist suggested.  Disliking having a mirror held up to yourself, you just ghosted said therapist and never dug into that part of your internal makeup again).

Hahah the last sentence cracked me up 😂

You canvass the Hard Deck for a month.  Take in all the fly boys and consider the fly girls too. 

One has to make an informed decision 🤷🏻‍♀️

Not the sort of man you’d go for, usually.  Quiet, reserved.  Hardly ever drinks but gets in on the sing-alongs.  Plays pool when someone needs an opponent.  Is often the designated driver, and you smile when you see his bemused frustration when he steers a fellow Dagger, drunk and stumbling, out the door and safely home.  He’s so stable and pulled-together.  You bet he’s never cheated on a girl or stolen her car.  Not your type at all.

This would exactly be the guy I go for hahah

He’s good-looking though, in a quiet way.  Ditch the shitty Navy-issued glasses, muss up his hair a little, and he’d be downright handsome. 

Facts

The third encounter is…wonderful.  It’s like Bob was homing in on you, treating you like one of his weapon systems.  Calibrating you.  Figuring out what you like and doing more of that, seeing what you don’t respond to and never doing it again.  Which makes it sound cold, how he figures you out, but Bob is so damned warm.  Warm and sweet and considerate, and he grins at you and laughs with you, and it’d be so easy to fall for him—

Not the calibrating 🤭

He’s usually so secure in himself, but he has a small crisis of confidence.  He wonders what he lacks—what makes him a good hook-up but not a good boyfriend?  If he could just show you…if he could take you out on a proper date.  Buy you flowers, buy you dinner, take you for a moonlit stroll along the beach.  If he could cook for you, show you that he’s not that useless breed of man who can’t or won’t do homey tasks.  If he could take care of you when you’re sick, be a sounding board when you rage…

He is desperate to be a fixture in her life 🥺

It never occurred to Bob before, but he adds it to his list of sexual acts:  have you sit on his face and smother him with your pussy.

It's on his to do list 🤭

Bob generally lets you set the tone of your arrangement, but sometimes he has a moment of dominance that makes a wave of desire wash through you so strongly that your knees actually go weak.

🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️

Of course it was easy to catch feelings for him.  He’s perfect, and right now he’s staring at you like he wants to eat you alive.

I mean how can one not?

He laughs, and he shifts his weight onto one arm so the other is free to reach down and grasp your waist.  “If you kill me like that, I want how I died mentioned in my obituary, okay?”

Deal 🤝🏻

She smiles, snorts out a light laugh.  “Yeah, the two of you are a real fucking vibe, Bob.” Phoenix nods.  “Dislocated nose.  Slight concussion.  Embarrassed.  Convinced she murdered you, until I set her straight.”

Haha I can't

“She knocked you out,” Hangman cuts in.  “And broke your nose.” “You weren’t moving and there was blood everywhere,” Rooster adds. “She also gave you grade two whiplash,” Phoenix continues.  “And it looks like you’ll be sporting a pair of gnarly black eyes by morning.”

And he is gonna wear them like a badge of honor knowing gave it to him 🤭🫡

“She has all these rules.  To keep it clean.  To keep feelings out, you know?”  He lifts his hand again, drops it again—the best version of a shrug he can manage.  “I have to think that injuries requiring ambulances is an unwritten rule too.”

This is so funny if he wasn't so defeated

“You ever tell her you wanted to revisit the rules, then?” “No.” Her smile widens.  “You’re so fucking dumb, dude.”

Someone had to say it 🤷🏻‍♀️

“There’s a pool about you and Baby on Board.”  He sips his own coffee, smiles at you.  “I want to know if I’m out money or if I have a payday coming.” “You bet on us?” He holds up a hand.  “Whoa.  All the Daggers bet on you.  It wasn’t just me.”

😂😂😂

“It doesn’t matter either way,” you finally answer.  “I nearly killed the guy.  Is there a pool on that?” Hangman laughs, and he settles in the chair near your bed.  “You didn’t nearly kill him.  You only lightly injured him.  Then Bradley lightly injured you.  It’s hilarious.”

This just such a silly situation but those two are so in love they see it in such a different way because they both think they destroyed everything 😂🥲

“If anything, Bob’s gonna have some light duty, but he can do some systems work on the ground.”  The smile reappears on his face, and he slyly adds, “and his cred just skyrocketed.”  A beat.  “The quietest Dagger just got his face rearranged by pussy.  He’ll never have to buy his own drink again as long as he lives.”

He's not wrong 😅🤷🏻‍♀️

He looks awful.  He looks…well, he looks like he pulled the full weight of an adult woman onto his face, pussy-first. 

🤭🤭🤭

But his smile…God, when he sees you, it’s just like Jake said:  his poor, mangled face lights up, and his smile is so wide it looks like it might hurt.  It hits you again, as it often does, how different he is from your usual type of man.  That he loves to see you, is happy when he sees you, even injured.  That he doesn’t need you around to fix his life, but he wants you around to just…be with you.  Bob is no one that needs fixing; he just wants you there with him.

🥹🥹🥹

“You could make a claim against my insurance, I guess—” “Just a date,” he interrupts.  “I just want one date with you.”

He's so cute 🥰

“Hmm.”  He releases your hand but pats the space on his bed beside him.  “I don’t know if I’d be comfortable making you miserable, honey.”

🥰🥹🥰🥹

“I’d like that.”  He shifts a little in the bed, then adds, “maybe around the six-month mark, you could meet my family.” “Would they make me miserable?” you tease. “Oh, they’d make your life a living hell,” he teases back.  “My dad would give you this whole disgusting speech about how he always wanted another daughter, my mom would drop hints about my grandma’s engagement ring being set aside for me—”

Awwww so happy for them 🥰

Would love to read about their miserable time with Bob's family if you ever feel up for it 🤗

First Time for Everything

(Bob Floyd x F!Reader)

CW:  Angst (friends-with-benefits; idiots in love; talk of bad past relationships; injuries); smut (vague references to sex; oral sex gone awry); 18+ only.

Word Count: 5591

AN:  This was requested by an anonymous person!

AN2: Usual caveat - not edited in any way. Likely grammar bugaboos, tense switches, etc.

Bob Floyd would have never thought he’d end up in a friends-with-benefits situation, but there’s a first time for everything.

You’re the one who drives the entire enterprise.  A civilian who works at Top Gun, you’re no stranger to the stress of dealing with a multi-billion-dollar fleet of planes.  You serve as a liaison between the Navy and the bevy of contractors who build and maintain the planes, and if Bob has to juggle a million complicated systems mid-flight, you have to juggle a million tricky relationships and contracts on the ground.

You put the question to him, late one night at the Hard Deck.  Harvard and Yale had been leading a spirited conversation about dry spells, long distant relationships, juggling hook-ups.  You and Bob sat there, listening but adding little.  But after the other Daggers started to peel away one by one, you had turned to Bob and started asking about his love life.

“Non-existent,” he had replied with a sad shake of his head.

“Same.”

There was a beat of silence—you sipped at your drink; Bob cracked another peanut.

“Any prospects?” you asked.

Another shake of his head.

“Yeah, same here,” you replied.

Then there was another long stretch of silence, but this time you fixed Bob with a curious look.  It lasted long enough for him to notice, for him to squirm in his seat—

“So, I have an idea, and you’re totally free to say ‘no,’” you started, and the rest was history.

-----

That was months ago.  Bob has gotten to know you much better since then.

Much, much better.

He knows what you feel like.  He knows what you taste like.  He knows the place on your neck that makes you keen when he puts his mouth to it.  He knows exactly where to press the tips of his fingers when they are inside you, where to find the spot that makes your pussy pulse with arousal, that makes your breathing stutter and your eyes roll back, that makes you moan out his name—

He knows how it sounds when you moan his name, and he knows how that affects him in turn, and he knows that he doesn’t know nearly enough about you.

He doesn’t know what you eat for breakfast or how you take your coffee or if you even drink coffee at all.  He doesn’t know much about your family, little about your childhood, only a bit about your wants and likes and dislikes.

Because of the rules you laid out that night at the Hard Deck.

Hooking up, friends-with-benefits, you had explained, requires clear lines be drawn.  Otherwise, it gets messy.  Feelings develop.  Misunderstandings happen.  People get hurt, sometimes badly.

Your rules keep those lines clearly drawn.  No spending the night.  No dates beyond sex—no lunch dates or movie nights, no days at the beach together.  You call each other and make plans to fuck, and then you part, and that keeps it neat.  Clean.

There’s no way you can know it, because you don’t really know Bob either, but there’s no rule on earth you could put in place that would keep him from falling for you anyway.  You work with numbers and contracts all day, so you believe in the power of words, in rules. 

You don’t know that Bob Floyd doesn’t require much to fall in love with you.  That the paltry moments between physical encounters is plenty for love to flourish for him.  That the handful of soft touches, the smiles, the little laughs…they are enough.  The way you pat his cheek after you brush a chaste kiss there once you’re dressed and about to leave his place.  The time you slid his glasses on his face, then kissed the tip of his nose.

Which is why your rules turn out to be so important after all:  because here he is, hopelessly, painfully in love while you only see him a safe place to release your sexual frustrations.  He cannot imagine how much worse it would hurt if those lines didn’t exist.

*****

You have a chronic issue with men.

You pick the worst possible boyfriends.  From high school until now, you seem to only attract cheaters, losers, and general assholes.  Numerous boyfriends cheated on you.  One stole your car.  One stole your prescription sleeping pills and got arrested trying to sell them. 

It’s not that you’re attracted to assholes, really.  The whole bad-boy schtick bores you.  It’s more that you like to fix things; you like to turn chaos into order.  That trait serves you well at work, untangling all the intricate contracts and orders and rules between the Navy and their contractors. 

That trait serves you less well in love, because people often can’t be fixed, at least not without wanting to be fixed.  And anyway, the guys you date need deep fucking therapy, not a girlfriend with a fetish for setting order to the universe.

(A therapist once posited that you’re this way because of your own childhood:  the only child of two career Army parents.  Your chaotic formative years—bouncing around the world, unable to set roots, sometimes even shifted from one parent to another due to conflicting deployments—left you with a wound, your therapist suggested.  Disliking having a mirror held up to yourself, you just ghosted said therapist and never dug into that part of your internal makeup again).

But the therapist did make you aware of your bad patterns with men, so you swear off relationships, which is easy enough. 

You still have needs, though.

You canvass the Hard Deck for a month.  Take in all the fly boys and consider the fly girls too.  Profile them, watched how they acted when they think no one is watching.  Watch them sober, watch them drunk.  Watch to see which ones are handsy in an unwelcome way, and which ones remain respectful.

It’s Bob Floyd who catches your eye.

Not the sort of man you’d go for, usually.  Quiet, reserved.  Hardly ever drinks but gets in on the sing-alongs.  Plays pool when someone needs an opponent.  Is often the designated driver, and you smile when you see his bemused frustration when he steers a fellow Dagger, drunk and stumbling, out the door and safely home.  He’s so stable and pulled-together.  You bet he’s never cheated on a girl or stolen her car.  Not your type at all.

He’s good-looking though, in a quiet way.  Ditch the shitty Navy-issued glasses, muss up his hair a little, and he’d be downright handsome. 

Not the sort of man you’d go for, usually, but you aren’t looking for a boyfriend or a future husband.  You just need a zero risk, reliable guy to get off with.  It seems like a long shot because Bob is so quiet, but when you put the idea to him, he blinks…then asks you to clarify.

Then he agrees.

-----

That was months ago.

The arrangement works.  It’s exactly what you were looking for.  Bob Floyd is exactly what you thought he was:  reliable, steady.  He’s no broken man-child; he’s quiet but that belies a secure sort of masculinity that you’ve never really experienced before.  He knows who he is and what he wants, and he isn’t swayed by anything.  He’s solid.

He’s also surprising, in some ways.

To be crude about it, in looking for a friend-with-benefits, you needed only two things in a man:  a clean bill of health and a hard dick.  Bob is able to provide both (he hands you his test results from his latest physical, neatly folded in an envelope the first night you meet up).

He is also able to provide more than that.  The first night is a little awkward, but only because you are near-strangers.

The second encounter is better.

The third encounter is…wonderful.  It’s like Bob was homing in on you, treating you like one of his weapon systems.  Calibrating you.  Figuring out what you like and doing more of that, seeing what you don’t respond to and never doing it again.  Which makes it sound cold, how he figures you out, but Bob is so damned warm.  Warm and sweet and considerate, and he grins at you and laughs with you, and it’d be so easy to fall for him—

It's been months, but for fucks sake, you’re falling for him.  It’s embarrassing, because you gave him this tough-girl speech about rules and lines and not catching feelings, and he had nodded seriously and said he understood…and now here you are, the idiot who is catching feelings, who is realizing that maybe your type of man was wrong all along, that maybe who you needed was a reliable, steady man with warmth and blue eyes that swim a bit behind the lens of his thick glasses.

*****

It’s been months, and Bob always worries that this arrangement will end. 

One of your rules had been that the arrangement stops the moment one of you find someone else, and Bob always worries that someone else will catch your eye.  That you’ll find some man—you are surrounded by handsome, capable men every day, for heaven’s sake—that you find an appealing prospect.  Someone you want to sleep with and be with.

Someone better than him.

He’s usually so secure in himself, but he has a small crisis of confidence.  He wonders what he lacks—what makes him a good hook-up but not a good boyfriend?  If he could just show you…if he could take you out on a proper date.  Buy you flowers, buy you dinner, take you for a moonlit stroll along the beach.  If he could cook for you, show you that he’s not that useless breed of man who can’t or won’t do homey tasks.  If he could take care of you when you’re sick, be a sounding board when you rage…

Bob decides to do what he can, which is to just be the best lover he can be.  To be the most considerate, most adventuresome, most giving man you’ve ever taken to bed.  It’s all he can do anyway, so he might as well give it his best.

-----

Bob usually lets you lead.  He lets you set the schedule, and for every five times you call to hook-up, he calls once. 

The arrangement, such as it is, does work for him.  For all the angst of his unrequited love for you, the hooking up does relax him.  It helps him burn off extra energy, which helps him focus at work.

It also helps him explore things he has never tried before.

With you, Bob has played around with role play:  tame scenarios where he gets to pretend that he’s a different person than he is.  He has tried a variety of positions that have tested him in both strength and flexibility.  If there’s a list of sexual acts, Bob feels like he’s steadily working through it with you.

There’s still one, though…

It’s Fritz who starts the conversation at the Hard Deck.  You’re not there, but the guys all are, and the conversation drifts towards the usual locker room talk.  Fritz kicks it off by talking about his latest girl.  The guys egg him on for details.  Bob grins around the rim of his glass, says little, but then Fritz says, “man, when she sits on my face and smothers me in that pussy, I could die happy.”

It never occurred to Bob before, but he adds it to his list of sexual acts:  have you sit on his face and smother him with your pussy.

The idea takes hold so fiercely that Bob has to shift in his seat, suddenly warm at the thought of you sitting on him, his mouth on you.  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, and he’s sending you a text before he even has a beat to rethink it.

Want to meet up tonight?

You reply within a minute.

Sure.  Mine or yours?

Bob pauses and considers.  He catches Rooster’s eye and tilts his head at him, gesturing to his roommate for a sidebar.  Rooster comes over and stands beside Bob.

“What’s up?” Rooster asks.

“What are your plans for tonight?”

Rooster grins at the question.  It’s not exactly a secret that you and Bob are hooking up, though you don’t publicize it either.  Bob doesn’t know that his fellow Daggers have a betting pool about how the situation with you will resolve.  He’s caught the sly grins between them sometimes and wondered at what they mean.

“You asking if the apartment will be empty?” Rooster asks.  “Hell, Baby on Board.  Keep it to your room.  I don’t care what happens in the privacy of your own room.”

Bob can’t help the blush that heats his face.  He shouldn’t be embarrassed, but sometime the two of you get lost in the moment, and more than once, Rooster has sidled up to Bob the day after and clapped him on the back, congratulated him on his prowess—

Rooster catches the man’s discomfort and elbows him in the side.  “I was planning on finding myself some companionship for the night,” he finally says.  “The place is all yours.”

Bob thanks him, then texts you. 

My place?

Another beat before your answer comes.  When?

Now.

*****

Bob generally lets you set the tone of your arrangement, but sometimes he has a moment of dominance that makes a wave of desire wash through you so strongly that your knees actually go weak.

Like his text.  No softening his final message, just a simple, single word that holds a universe of promise.

Now.

“Yes, sir,” you murmur.  You only take a minute to brush your teeth and slip into nicer lingerie, but then you get in your car and head over to his place.

He must have been waiting at the window, watching for you.  You aren’t even halfway up the steps to his porch when the door swings open, and there he is. 

Of course it was easy to catch feelings for him.  He’s perfect, and right now he’s staring at you like he wants to eat you alive.

-----

“Explain it…again,” you manage to get out between kisses.  “How does…it work?”

Bob raises himself, props himself on his forearms on either side of your head.  His hair is mussed (perfect), and his glasses are on the bedside stand, so his blue eyes peer down at you. 

“You sit on my face,” he replies simply.

You huff out a breath.  “Sure, but….like, how?  I weigh a lot—”

He shakes his head.  “Not a problem for me, honey.”

“But I could hurt you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I could kill you.” 

He laughs, and he shifts his weight onto one arm so the other is free to reach down and grasp your waist.  “If you kill me like that, I want how I died mentioned in my obituary, okay?”

“Not funny!”  You poke him in the side, and he laughs again.

“Seriously, Bob.  I don’t want to hurt you,” you continue.

“You won’t.  I promise.  It’ll be fine.  But I want to do this.”  His smile fades, and he fixes you with a darker look that sends a bolt of lust right through your core.  “Please.”

-----

The two of you, once you got over your initial awkwardness, usually move so well together.  Perfectly coordinated, in sync. 

This…is not that.

For the first time, the two of you aren’t working together.  Bob can’t know it, but it’s not just a physical misalignment—there are hidden feelings at play.  As you tentatively hover over where he lays on the bed, you feel suddenly exposed, like Bob might be able to see the feelings you’ve caught for him.  It’s so intimate, you think, being so bared to him.  You hold yourself back, shy, and Bob doesn’t understand the sudden reticence in you.  He chalks it up to fear of hurting him.

And you can’t know it, but Bob absolutely loves how intimate it is, being so exposed to him.  There are hidden feelings on his side too—how hard it hits him, that he’s never done this with another woman before, and how he cannot imagine doing it with another one after you.  He’s ravenous for you, wants to possess you in every way he can, but when he tries to tug you closer to him, you chalk it up to general horniness and nothing more.

It is all misunderstanding, in the end.  You hold yourself back, hover over his face.  He grips your hips, tries to pull you to him.  The two of you struggle against the other, not understanding what is really driving the other—

“Come on,” he growls.  “Give it to me, honey.”

“Bob, I don’t—”

“I can take it.”

“But I—”

It happens in a split second.  Bob tugs you down against him in the exact moment you try to get a better balance over him, and the force of his pulling you down is added to the full weight of you shifting, with a bit of gravity, and you hit Bob so hard.

There’s a sickening crack, like a chicken bone snapping.  You look down at him, startled, and see his blue eyes widen in pain—shock—

You scramble off of him, call his name, but he doesn’t move, and then you see it.

Blood.  There’s so much blood, all over his face, and you yell his name now, but he still doesn’t move—

You’ve killed him.  You’ve murdered him, and you scream.  You reach for your phone and fumble it, and your body just acts.  You back away, your mind scrambling, and you think I need to stop the bleeding, so you think to go to the bathroom for a towel, but when you pivot quick on your heel and turn towards the closed door, it is already swinging inward, right at your face, hard, and there’s an explosion of pain behind your eyes.

Then everything goes dark, and you don’t wake until you’re in the ambulance.

*****

Bob wakes up to the paramedics sliding him onto the backboard, his head immobilized between two foam blocks.  Rooster hovers at the perimeter, a worried look on his face.

“What—” Bob manages to croak out, but the room grows dim again, and he fades in and out until the hospital.

-----

He comes to and stays awake in a quiet hospital room.  There’s the steady beep of a monitor somewhere behind and above him.  When he tries to turn his head, though, he finds himself held in place by a brace.

“You’re awake finally.”  The voice is familiar, and a moment later, Phoenix’s face swims into his peripherals. 

“You scared us, Baby on Board.”  Rooster, to the left of him.

“Who knew you had it in you?”  The voice at the foot of the bed, the hint of smarm.  Bob feels a hand on his ankle, jostling him lightly.  “You dirty fucking freak.”

“Shut up, Bagman.”  Phoenix glares at the cocky pilot, then turns back to Bob, her gaze softening.  “How are you feeling?”

He considers his answer.  He feels…rough. 

He also notices that his Dagger teammates are there, but you are not.  Which makes him feel worse.

Phoenix seems to read his thoughts.  Something in his expression must give him away, because she leans in closer and sets a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“She’s still downstairs,” she says, low near his ear.  “You got a room, but she’s still in the E.R.  They haven’t released her yet.”

“E.R.?”

She smiles, snorts out a light laugh.  “Yeah, the two of you are a real fucking vibe, Bob.”

Rooster steps closer to the bed and grins down at him.  “You’re lucky I struck out at the Hard Deck.  I come home, barely get my shoes off, when I hear a scream.  I go running back to your room just in time to knock your girl out.  She ran headfirst into the door when I opened it.”  He claps his hands together.  “Down like a bag of rocks.”

Bob’s heart rate picks up, and the monitor registers it.  Phoenix glances at the machine and snorts again.

“She’s fine,” she assures him.  “I’ve been bouncing between you and her.  It’s just slammed down there, so she’s been waiting for the doctor to release her.”

“She’s okay then?”

Phoenix nods.  “Dislocated nose.  Slight concussion.  Embarrassed.  Convinced she murdered you, until I set her straight.”

Bob smiles despite himself.  “She thought I was dead?”

“She knocked you out,” Hangman cuts in.  “And broke your nose.”

“You weren’t moving and there was blood everywhere,” Rooster adds.

“She also gave you grade two whiplash,” Phoenix continues.  “And it looks like you’ll be sporting a pair of gnarly black eyes by morning.”

“Wow.”  Bob breathes out a reedy whistle.  “And you’re sure she’s okay?”

Phoenix nods again.

Rooster and Hangman offer to go grab some coffee from the hospital cafeteria, leaving Bob and his partner alone.  Phoenix drags a chair over and settles closer to him, and Bob feels his mood sour little by little.

“Are you okay?” Phoenix finally asks. 

He lifts his hand, drops it back onto the bed.  “I guess it’s ruined now.”

“What is?”

“Our…arrangement.  Mine and hers.”

She tilts her head.  “How so?”

“She has all these rules.  To keep it clean.  To keep feelings out, you know?”  He lifts his hand again, drops it again—the best version of a shrug he can manage.  “I have to think that injuries requiring ambulances is an unwritten rule too.”

Phoenix stares at him, but a smile starts to creep across her face.  She shakes her head then, grips his shoulder again.

“Do you love her, Bobby?”  The question is asked softly, kindly.

Bob forgets the brace for a second and tries to nod.  “Yeah.”

“You ever tell her?”

“Against the rules.”

“You ever tell her you wanted to revisit the rules, then?”

“No.”

Her smile widens.  “You’re so fucking dumb, dude.”

*****

Hangman’s the one who stops to check in on you.  He has a paper cup of coffee in each hand, and he holds both up to you.

“Wasn’t sure what you liked.  One is black, one is cream and sugar.”

“Cream and sugar, please.”

He walks over to your bed and hands it to you, then studies you.  You know you must look like hell—your eyes red from the hysterical crying of thinking yourself a murderer.  Your nose—not broken, only dislocated—swollen and tender.  And the general misery of how badly everything has turned out.

“You like the little nerd, huh?”

You take a sip of the coffee and thank him for it. 

You don’t answer his question.

Hangman sighs, leans against the wall.  “It’s just that, if you do, I’d like to know.  I have a lot riding on it.”

“Huh?”

“There’s a pool about you and Baby on Board.”  He sips his own coffee, smiles at you.  “I want to know if I’m out money or if I have a payday coming.”

“You bet on us?”

He holds up a hand.  “Whoa.  All the Daggers bet on you.  It wasn’t just me.”

You shake your head.  “I don’t understand.”

“Some of us bet that you’d end up together.  Others bet that you wouldn’t.  Not that hard to understand.”

You try to take a steadying breath through your nose, which is an effort with how swollen it is.  You look away from him and fix your eyes on the open doorway of your room.  You watch the nurses and doctors scurry back and forth, the gurneys of hurt and sick people. 

“It doesn’t matter either way,” you finally answer.  “I nearly killed the guy.  Is there a pool on that?”

Hangman laughs, and he settles in the chair near your bed.  “You didn’t nearly kill him.  You only lightly injured him.  Then Bradley lightly injured you.  It’s hilarious.”

You can only wince at his word choice.  It’s not funny at all.  Miramar is a gossipy hive of rumor, and Bob’s injuries will put him out of commission for at least a while—

“Is this gonna hurt his career at Top Gun?” you ask Hangman.  You glance over at him and catch the way his expression softens at the angst in your voice.  “Did I just fuck up his life completely?”

He reaches out and grasps your hand for a moment, gives you a friendly squeeze before he releases you.  “Shit happens.  The Navy knows that.”

“Still…”

“If anything, Bob’s gonna have some light duty, but he can do some systems work on the ground.”  The smile reappears on his face, and he slyly adds, “and his cred just skyrocketed.”  A beat.  “The quietest Dagger just got his face rearranged by pussy.  He’ll never have to buy his own drink again as long as he lives.”

“Jesus,” you groan, and you cover your face with your hands while Hangman laughs, but a second later the doctor enters your room and tells you that you are being released.

Hangman doesn’t take the hint and leave.  He watches you sign off on your discharge papers, sips his coffee.  He hands you your shoes, and he helpfully holds out your coat so you can slide into it.

“That little nerd loves you, you know,” he says suddenly.  “It’s obvious as hell, which is why I laid a big bet on it.”

“He does?”  The surprise in your voice makes him chuckle, then shake his head.

“Probably hard to see it from where you’re sitting, but he does.  His dumb face lights up the minute he sees you, and when you aren’t around, he’s like a lost puppy.  So if you feel even an inkling of the same for him, just go upstairs and put him out of his misery, okay?”

It feels like grace you don’t deserve.  You hurt Bob, even if you hadn’t meant to, and for Hangman to offer this sliver of hope you don’t think you deserve—

You can’t help the tears that spring to your eyes.  Hangman doesn’t remark on them; he only stands by the doorway and waits for you.

“You’re a regular Cupid, Jake,” you offer.

“Nah.”  He finishes off his coffee, crumples the cup, and tosses it in the nearby trash can.  “I just want that fucking pool money.”

-----

The tears that threatened downstairs…they break free the moment you finally see him.

He looks awful.  He looks…well, he looks like he pulled the full weight of an adult woman onto his face, pussy-first.  His nose is swollen in a splint, he’s in a neck brace, and both eyes are so bruised that they can barely open beyond slits.

But his smile…

God, when he sees you, it’s just like Jake said:  his poor, mangled face lights up, and his smile is so wide it looks like it might hurt.  It hits you again, as it often does, how different he is from your usual type of man.  That he loves to see you, is happy when he sees you, even injured.  That he doesn’t need you around to fix his life, but he wants you around to just…be with you.  Bob is no one that needs fixing; he just wants you there with him.

Phoenix and Rooster have the good sense to leave, ushering Hangman along with them.  Bob, when he sees the tears coursing down your face, frowns and holds a hand out to you.

“I’m okay.  I’m okay.  It’s fine,” he repeats.  You make your way over to him and take his hand, and maybe it is okay.  He holds you tight, his big, warm palm enfolding yours—

“Are you okay?” he asks. 

You shake your head.  You’re not okay at all.  You don’t know if Jake was lying, but you can’t lie to Bob anymore just as you can’t lie to yourself.

“I broke one of the rules,” you admit.  You watch him, wary.  You have the sense of how he might react, but you can’t know for sure.  You just have to push through and say it.  Put it out there.

“I broke a rule too,” he replies.  He squeezes your hand.

“Yeah?”  It comes out shaky, unsure.

“Yeah.”

“Which rule?”

He lifts your hand to his mouth and brushes a gentle kiss to the back of it.  He’s so damned soft, and you blink against the fresh tears that threaten to spill over your face.

“It’s your own fault,” he grumbles, but he smiles when he says it.  “If you didn’t want me falling for you, you shouldn’t have been so easy to fall for.”

You laugh, a nervous sound that nudges up against the wall of tears you’re struggling to hold back.  “Even though I almost killed you?”

“I mean, you didn’t almost kill me, but you definitely owe me for all this.”  He gestures with his free hand at his face. 

“You could make a claim against my insurance, I guess—”

“Just a date,” he interrupts.  “I just want one date with you.”

“That’s it?”  The sick feeling in your stomach starts to recede, and it’s replaced by the fluttery feeling of promise, of something new and wonderful starting. 

“Just once chance to show you how good it could be.”  His expression is dead serious, and he squeezes your hand again.  “Me and you.  For real this time.”

“I, uh…”  You clear your throat and glance at his bright blue gaze, then look away.  You fix your eyes on where your hands are joined together.  Your hand fits perfectly in his.

“I’ve only ever dated assholes,” you admit.  Another glance at him to see how he takes in your words.  “Guys who don’t have their shit together.  It’s why I wanted the whole…arrangement with you.  I’ve never been with a man who didn’t need, like, intensive therapy.  Or the occasional law enforcement intervention.”

“First time for everything,” Bob replies mildly.

“What if…what if I don’t know how to be in a relationship unless…unless…”  You trail off, not sure how to say it without it sounding completely terrible…but then, the reality of your dating life has been completely terrible anyway.

“You afraid you don’t know how to be in a relationship unless you’re miserable?” he asks gently. 

“Maybe?”

“Hmm.”  He releases your hand but pats the space on his bed beside him.  “I don’t know if I’d be comfortable making you miserable, honey.”

You perch awkwardly on the sliver of bed available to you, but Bob reaches up and gets a hand on your shoulder, tugs you gently down towards him.  It’s careful maneuvering—a stark difference to what got you here—but you eventually get comfortable beside him, your cheek against his shoulder, your temple against the hard molded plastic of his brace.  His hand finds yours again, and he threads his fingers through yours.

“What if we started with that one date you owe me?” he offers.  “And then maybe a second date.  I’ll treat you the way you deserve to be treated, and you see how it feels to not be miserable.”

One date, maybe a second.

“I think I can handle that,” you reply.

“Then a third date, then another.”

You smile.  “Okay.”

“Maybe around, say, the fifth date, you can spend the night.  Let me make you pancakes in the morning.  Fresh-squeezed orange juice.”

“Okay.”

“Then after maybe a month, you could keep some stuff at my place.  Shampoo, extra clothes.  So you’re comfortable.”

“I could take you to my favorite taco place,” you offer.  “Over in Imperial County.”

“I’d like that.”  He shifts a little in the bed, then adds, “maybe around the six-month mark, you could meet my family.”

“Would they make me miserable?” you tease.

“Oh, they’d make your life a living hell,” he teases back.  “My dad would give you this whole disgusting speech about how he always wanted another daughter, my mom would drop hints about my grandma’s engagement ring being set aside for me—”

“They sound horrible,” you laugh. 

“The worst.”  He chuckles, and a long moment of silence stretches between you, but it’s comfortable.  His warm hand in yours, the quiet beeping of the machines monitoring him, the steady sound of his breathing…the slightly whistling quality of your own breathing through your swollen nose. 

“You know, I’ve never taken a girl home to meet my family before,” he says, and his voice is serious.  “Never even considered it before.”

You lift your head a bit to look at him, and you see the thoughtful quality of his expression.  You settle back against him.

“And you’re considering it with the girl who broke your neck, broke your nose, and shamed you in front of the United States Navy?”

He chuckles again.  “You didn’t break my neck and I’m not in trouble with the Navy,” he says.  “And yes, I’ve considered it.  First time for everything.”

He doesn’t add anything else, and the drama of the evening starts to hit you.  You feel your eyes getting heavy, start to doze off in the hospital bed with him.  His verb tense choice, though—he has considered it, past tense, not is considering it, present tense—makes you wonder how long Bob might have been breaking that rule…

Bob doesn’t say anything else, but he thinks it:  he never took a girl home to his family because he vowed to only ever do it once—with the girl he plans to marry. 

[insomniadreamzz]

I love the color blue

Jinx x Fem!Reader modern AU

Reader being a tattoo artist, no smut just mentions of nudity

The sound of the tattoo pistol buzzing was the only thing that filled up your tattoo studio, you being focused on your work. You wanted to make it perfect, especially because the woman you tattooed wasn’t just a normal customer.

You and Jinx have known each other for a while, you could say you became friends but she didn’t know you had a crush on her. Jinx always talked about the blue clouds she wants to get tattooed and today you finally gave in and made her wish get true.

She looked at you working on her arm and every now and then she looked at your face, seeing you being highly focused. One of the things she loved about you being focused was definitely the way your tongue got a little bit out, thinking you look so cute like that.

„Are you okay? Or do you need a pause?“ You asked her, Jinx shaking her head in response. „No don’t worry I am fine you can continue.“ She responded, making you keep doing your work. You knew she wasn’t the one to feel a lot of pain. Jinx past made her numb, she had to go through a lot of shit but every time she was with you, she showed at least a bit of true emotions even though she hid them very well behind her quirky behavior which seemed manic to others. It wasn’t a secret for you, you knew about her mental problems but you never thought they are a real problem for your relationship.

You couldn’t help but blush when you reached for her exposed chest. She wanted the tattoos to go along her boob and then down her ribs until they reached her tummy on the side. Of course you didn’t say no to her wish even though you needed to collect yourself once you saw her upper body naked. You could ignore it while you worked on her arm but now you are directly facing her chest, even tattooing on it. Your blush wasn’t unnoticed by her, making Jinx smirk as she looked at you still focused but this time with a blush on your cheeks. „Enjoy what you see?“ Jinx teased you but you didn’t pay much attention to it. „Yea I think these clouds came out pretty well.“ You mentioned, of course knowing what she meant but you had no time for flirting now, not wanting to mess up.

Once you finished, you took a last look at your work on Jinx, smiling as you felt satisfied with the result. „Good, I am done, go look at it yourself and tell me how you like it.“ You told her and Jinx hopped off the chair and walk towards the huge mirror in your studio, smiling as she admired your work on her. „You did a very good job toots! Thanks for that. Now I have you on me forever.“ She said as she turned to look at you, a little spark in her eyes. „M-Me? How’s that? It’s my job and I gave you the tattoos you always wanted.“ You simply reply, looking at her, noticing the tension building up between the both of you in that tiny room of your studio.

„Yes that’s the point dummy. YOU made it.“ She chuckled before walking closer to you, wanting to hug you. The feeling of her exposed chest in you making you blush. You hesitated for a moment before wrapping your arms around her waist, looking back into her beautiful eyes. „So? How many more hints do you need to understand my feelings?“

Your eyes widen a little bit at her statement. It was true, you did avoid all of her hints and attempts to get closer to you just because you didn’t want to ruin your friendship or just misinterpret something but the way she kept staring into your eyes made you realise it more. „So? You’re not just being your usual playful self?“ You said with a smirk, wanting to hear it from her but instead of using her words, Jinx decided to close the gap between you both, pulling you into a kiss.

You felt butterflies in your stomach when you kissed, tilting your head a little bit to deepen the kiss as you got lost for a moment, only wanting to enjoy the moment. When you pulled back, you both blushed, staring at each other for a a few seconds, the silence being interrupted by Jinx’s giggle. „Heh…I love you toots.“ You smile brightly at her words, not being able to hold back and ignore what just happened between you two, pecking her lips once again. „I love you too.“ You admitted, feeling the weight of your shoulders fall and you felt much lighter. „We still need to finish you up tho, the tattoos need to be protected.“ You mentioned, knowing you were still not done with your work.

„Yea sure but after you wrap them up…do you still have any customers coming today?“ Jinx asked with that special look on her face, knowing what she wanted. „You’re the only one today love. You want me to lock the doors?“ You asked mostly in a joking way but Jinx’s smile became darker, showing a little hint of lust.

„Yes…it’s time for me to take care of you after you did such a good job my love.“ She answered and you were eager to finish this up so you can focus on each other more and finally getting closer to each other like you always dreamed of.

[metaphorfordeath]

Anti-Psychotic

A person living with schizophrenia finds that their delusions may have more basis in reality than they thought. Originally published in the Fall/Winter II issue of Diet Milk Magazine, available here. Content warnings for depiction of psychosis, violence, ableist language.

No one is watching me.

Julie has me write that down at our session. She never listens to me. She says, it can be comforting to realize that people don’t think of you as much as you think they do. I know this already. She asks, what evidence do you have that you are being watched? I say there isn’t any. Just a feeling. She writes something down, and asks about my meds again. 

So fucking patronizing. Of course I take them. I have taken mine like clockwork, every day, for five years. Maybe I missed a few days, but who doesn’t forget sometimes. My meds are cleat spikes jabbing into the earth. Helping me keep my footing. Making sure I don’t slip.

Last week I started getting the prickle again. Like fingers up my back. Someone standing behind me, breathing. I live alone. When I felt it, I wasn’t scared at first. These things happen sometimes. I’ve been around the block. The prickle and I are old friends, practically. When it finds me, I have ways to forget it. 

I drew the blinds, which helped a bit. I had a drink—nobody's perfect—but the prickle didn’t dull. So I peeked through the shades at the street below. Normal street stuff. The sun was setting, painting the world in shades of fire. Cars went by, all the usuals. Some kids were yelling in a driveway. A wasp tapped at my window, wiggling its feelers at me. No obvious source for the prickle. So, probably nothing. For the rest of the evening I puttered, read my book, ate some frozen nothing heated in the microwave, and took my meds. The prickle was temporary, I told myself as I lay down to sleep, the usual fog settling over me in a cool, clammy layer. No one was watching me. No one ever is.

That was a week ago. It’s only gotten worse since then. The prickle turned into a terrified stomach ache that kept me up for nights and nights. I called in sick to group, told Cheryl the caseworker that I have the flu. She sounded alarmed, but she’s only worried because of what happened to Devin.

Devin was like me: good at meds, good at therapy. We were friends, in a psycho kind of way. A few weeks ago, Devin started to get bad. Stopped showing up to group, didn’t even call. I haven’t seen him in a while, even when I went looking for him in his usual bad places. I miss him. I told Cheryl not to worry. I’m steady, just sick. I’ll see her again soon. 

I keep taking my meds, but they aren’t helping like they should. The fog I count on to sleep is thin, or missing. Something scrabbles at my skin from underneath, and I keep catching myself scratching little bits off of me. When I lay down, a low, neutral voice whispers nonsense at me through the pillow I clamp over my head. I can’t shower; that’s when the prickle gets stronger. Someone standing on the other side of the shower curtain, someone looking down at me through the water stain on the ceiling. I hiss and babble out loud just to hear myself talk, to shut up the voices that aren’t mine. I get sicker by the day.

By now I haven’t been outside in over a week, but my meds are ready to pick up. I don’t want to miss a dose, so I put on shoes and the big jacket that makes me feel safe, and I go outside. Birds leer at me from the tops of buildings. Walking in the opposite direction, an old lady frowns at me.

“Hmph, same to you,” she snaps.

My stomach lurches, but I don’t say anything, just keep walking. I hadn’t spoken. Had I? 

The drug store is brightly lit. It hurts to be inside. Too many things to look at. Faces on packaging look strange now. Confrontational. Interrogative. But at least they look like faces. When I look at anyone real, their features shift. Static snow eats at the air around their heads in a halo. It frightens me, so I keep my eyes on my shoes. The pharmacy tech who’s always there gets the packet for me, rings it up.

“Any questions about your medication?” he asks. I shake my head, pay with a card. He has glasses that give his face a sort of stability, so I look at it. His eyes are brown, beard gray, no hair on his head. He smiles at me. “Have a nice day, miss.”

“You too,” I mutter.

And then I go home, have to stop myself from running for safety. The walk is twenty minutes each way; harrowing, the passing cars huge and hungry, huffing and snorting at me. The prickle is more than a prickle by now. It feels like someone is pulling out the hairs on the back of my neck, one by one. My heart thuds against my ribs so hard that I’m afraid it will burst out, plop on the sidewalk and keep throbbing without me. The paper bag with my pills turns damp and tattered in my sweaty hand. 

And getting home doesn’t even help this time.

Julie says too much TV can be a trigger for me, but I start leaving it on all the time. Noise beats silence, any day. No empty spaces that need filling. I can’t watch sitcoms or anything fictional, so I tune it to the news. The news is always. Steady, real, factual. There’s a story about a body they found by the freeway. Pushed out of a moving car. No one knows or cares who it was. There’s a picture of the scene, taped up yellow and covered in those little numbers that say where a bit of evidence is. A tattered jacket lays in a ditch, dark with blood. 

I stand and race to the bathroom, cool porcelain against my hands, bile and nothing coming up as sweat pours down my back. My head pounds, edges of my vision sparkling. I can only see the jacket. Not dirty or bloody or ruined but the way it used to look. Devin’s jacket.

Something is horribly wrong. Men-in-black wrong. The-end-is-nigh wrong. 

The prickle wasn’t imagination. It was intuition. 

Someone got Devin. Who else did they get before him?

---

The next week, I force myself to go to group. I need to see faces. See who else is there, or not. Cheryl picks me up for these, since I don’t drive. I’m sicker than I can remember being, and try to remember to ask Julie about my dose on Tuesday. I sit silently in the passenger seat, feeling Cheryl’s eyes on me. Caseworkers all have the same eyes.

“Feeling alright today, X?” 

My name isn’t the name she calls me. You don’t need to know it.

“Fine,” I say, pinching my hands between my knees. They shake if I don’t. “Still getting over that flu.”

“Sorry to hear that,” she says. Her sedan has beige fabric seats. The passenger seat is dark, stained with sweat and whatever else from all the people she’s ferried around. A vanilla air freshener dangles from the rear view mirror.

Someone shouts in my ear, so close I feel a little blast of hot breath on my neck, and I flinch. Cheryl looks at me suddenly.

“Everything okay?”

She didn’t hear that. “Yeah. Sorry. Weird itch.”

“Hmm.” 

Group is fine. It’s usually fine. I don’t say much this time, just look around at everyone in their folding chairs. Their faces are wrong. It makes me nauseous to look, but I look anyway. I need to see who isn’t here.

There are no empty chairs, but there are fewer. One or two down from usual. All the other regulars are here, picking at their skin or looking at the clock or chewing their hair. I glance across the room and for a second I think I see Devin, sitting in his old coat. But when I look again, it’s just Tom. I almost hoped.

When it’s over, there’s bad coffee to drink. I suck on a red straw and let the bitter taste anchor me to my tongue. I inhabit my body, touch my fingers to the side of my face to know that it and my fingers exist. Sufficiently convinced of my realness, I go to Amber, our de facto leader.

She’s drinking water from a bottle with cucumber slices in it, cloudy with pulp and seeds. Ectoplasmic. It makes my stomach turn.

“Amber,” I say. My voice feels far away. She looks at me, expectant. “I missed last week. Have you seen Greg, or Mariah?”

“Oh, no, I haven’t. Greg was here last week, but I haven’t seen Mariah since like, last month. Why?”

“Just wondering.”

A crinkle appears between her eyebrows. I focus on that, since the rest of her features won’t stay put. “You’re worried because of what happened to Devin?”

“I think Devin is dead.” There is a sudden hush as other people in my vicinity overhear. “I saw his jacket. On the news.”

Cheryl appears beside me. “X, would you like to talk in the hallway?” 

She pulls me out before I can answer. “Have you been feeling alright?” she asks again. “Taking your medication?”

“Yes,” I say, a little forcefully. She clicks her tongue.

“Really? Because if you need to move up your next appointment, I can make some arrangements for you.”

Despite the fact that I do want to move my appointment up, her tone hits a button in my brain and my face turns red. “No,” I say. “I’ll wait until the next one. I’m fine. I just need to know what’s happening.” A rancid taste creeps up the back of my throat. “Where are people going?”

“Honey, everyone’s here that needs to be here.”

“No—that’s not right. I need to know.” 

I can tell from the way she moves that she thinks I’m getting agitated. She doesn’t understand what I’m saying. “People call in sick sometimes. You did, just last week. Mariah was having issues sticking with the program, so we’re working something out. No one’s gone.”

“Devin is gone. Devin is dead. He’s dead and no one knows it.”

Cheryl comes closer, her voice so low and venomous that it starts to meld with the others. “I’m going to give Dr. Bern a call and try to get you in with her sooner than Tuesday. If you can’t keep up with your regimen, we’ll have to consider another in-patient stay.”

Anger chokes me until my vision goes white. “Okay,” is all I can manage. I have some unsavory thoughts, which I won’t repeat to you now.

“Good,” says Cheryl, holding my leash. “Let’s get you home.”

I don’t sleep. I don’t even try. Someone is watching me. I think about Devin, the last time we spoke before he was gone. He got paranoid, too. He jabbered sometimes, when we would see each other. The same face, he said, with glass eyes. Looking at him. Following him. He said his pills were replaced, his furniture moved, nothing looked the same as he’d left it. No one listens to me, he said. I’m scared, he said. I’m scared of what will happen next.

“I’m scared, too,” I say to no one. A chorus laughs at me. 

---

“So,” says Julie. “Cheryl told me you’ve been having some trouble sticking to your medication.”

“I stick to it,” I say, and set the pill bottle on the desk in front of her. “Count them and tell me I’m not.”

She doesn’t move to count them. I’d hoped at least that she would humor me. “It sounds like some of your persecutory thoughts are returning. Tell me about what you’re worried about.”

“I saw on the news that they found someone’s body in a ditch off the interstate. They showed pictures. I think the body was Devin.”

“Devin from your group?” I nod. “We actually just heard from him last week. His brother answered when we called his phone. Devin is currently in a private rehabilitation clinic in Cincinnati. He’s alright, X.”

A numb feeling falls over me all at once, like a sheet. Something crawls up my thigh and disappears into a deep hole in my flesh. “Oh.”

“Amber talked to us, too. She said you asked her about Greg and Mariah’s absences this week?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I followed up on those for you, too. Greg had an accident at home and was in the emergency room during your meeting time this week. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to reach Mariah personally, but her father informed me over the phone that her family has pulled her out of the program. She won’t be returning.” Julie leans across her desk. “X, can you please look at me?”

I look at her. Her face is twisted, like a mask, papier mâché, drooping strips of plaster bandage. The static threatens to consume her, and me.

“I’m going to increase your dose to eighty milligrams. For now you can take two of what you have at the usual time, but I’m sending in a new prescription to the pharmacy.” She scrawls something on a pad at hand, and I take the opportunity to look away. “I’ll see you again this time next week, okay? And if anything’s the matter, you can call the nurse’s hotline. We’ll take care of you.” She hands me the script. 

“Thank you,” I say, and then someone brings me home. I am silent for the drive. Thinking.

Wasn’t Devin an only child?

I start doubling my dose. The fog doesn’t come. The prickle intensifies into ceaseless paranoia. I check the window locks three times a day to make sure, even though I live on the third floor. Chair under the doorknob, empty bottles stacked on it so I’ll hear if someone comes. I can’t stop thinking about Devin, and the others. Were they all really fine? Was this just a breakthrough-breakdown, pills ceasing their function and leaving me alone, spiraling? 

I hadn’t tried calling Devin in weeks. He didn’t pick up the first few times, and anyone in that state doesn’t usually want to talk anyhow. But Julie said someone answered when they called. Maybe they would answer for me.

The phone buzzes. Surging forward and receding, like a tide. Devin could be there on the other end. Getting better. Being cared for. I close my eyes and wait to hear his voicemail, or something else.

Click. “Hello?”

The voice startles me so much I can’t speak. A stranger.

“Hello?” says the phone. “Who is this?”

“Um,” I say suddenly, “Devin?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the voice says. “Devin isn’t here right now. May I ask who’s calling?”

“I’m—his friend. X,” I clarify. My voice is not of me. “Can I talk to him soon?”

“No, unfortunately he can’t talk. But I’ll let him know you called, he’ll be happy to hear people are checking up on him.”

“What’s—who are you?”

“I’m Eric, Devin’s brother. I’m taking good care of him, miss. Have a nice day.” 

The call ends. Something in my stomach shrivels. I run to the bathroom, but there’s nothing to bring up. I don’t know why that voice scared me so much. Why had I thought Devin was an only child? He hadn’t mentioned his family—maybe I’d just assumed, or forgotten if he’d said. Of course he had a brother. He was alright. They all were, now.

---

Days pass. Bugs make their homes in me. My medication runs out, the new pills ready for pickup. I’d rather die than set foot outside. But I need my stability. I steel myself to leave, and exit my apartment into the world. 

Everyone looks at me. They all want to hurt me. A car drives slowly past me and I try not to look at the people inside. My head hurts. It’s hard to see where I’m going, but I go.

The drug store is bigger than it was last time. Brighter. Angrier. People avoid me as I shuffle towards the pharmacy counter. The pharmacist who’s always there smiles at me again.

“Do you have any questions about your medication?”

I shake my head, fumbling for my card. He’s staring at me through his glasses.

“Do you need me to call someone for you?”

His voice makes me want to puke. I shake my head again, take the pills and make for the door. A crowd of voices shout at me as I stagger out into the air. I miss the way things were. My cleats don’t fit anymore. I tear the bag open, pop the lid off the bottle and shake a pill into my mouth, force it down dry and sticky and hope it does its job. My mouth is sweet where it lingered. It didn’t used to be so sweet.

There is a dull shock of understanding that blooms at the edge of my mind. The prickle rises on the back of my neck, and I look over my shoulder again. The pharmacist is looking at me from his position behind the counter. His face ringed in static. He waves at me. And I take off running.

There is no one I can call. No one who will listen. There are only doors that will slam in my face, white speckle tile and fluorescent lights and needles. He knows that. He knew it for Devin, too. He knew it for the rest of them. The wind in my face feels like fingers grasping at me, tugging at my hair, slowing me down. I race home, up the stairs and lock the door, brace it with furniture and then I sit on the floor and cry and cry. They’re laughing at me. Trading whispers. Look how stupid. Look how gullible. Go on and cry, crybaby. 

So I do. It’s all I have left.

The next time it’s group, I don’t come to the door. Cheryl calls me, but I don’t answer. There will be a wellness check if I don’t come. I want them to, now. When her calls finally stop piling up, I wait fifteen minutes, then step outside. I leave my door open, leave what I can to show that I am gone. I leave the pills out, and the script. Crush a few with my heel for good measure. I hope they can put the pieces together.

It’s dark, cool. It reminds me of the fog, makes me wish I could sleep. Eyes follow me through the evening. Headlights burn me as cars move past. I walk slowly in my big jacket, letting myself be watched. Letting the prickle come up my neck, creep over my scalp, trickle down over my face until it covers me in a thin layer and I prickle all over. The prickle and I are old friends. It tells me when to be afraid.

Then there are headlights at my back that don’t go away. The growl of an engine crashes into me. I stop walking, and someone gets out. I don’t turn to look. I can’t stand to look at faces anymore. Suddenly, I have a funny thought. Maybe I do have some questions about my medication, after all.

Something whistles through the air above my head, and the world disappears.

When I wake up later, I’m not sure if I have. There are stars. It smells like gasoline, copper and dirt. My jacket is gone. My mouth is gone, too. My hands. You’re caught, someone says in my ear, you let it happen. With my eyes, which I still have, I look across the floor. It hurts to look. There’s blood under me, sticky black. The prickle is gone. I discovered its source.

I’m alone for a long time. It’s hard to say how much. I realize that there’s a door behind me when it opens. Light falls across the floor, yellow tractor beam coming to take me away. I long to be weightless, but the earth won’t let me. Then the pharmacist who is always there puts his shoe against my face and turns me over. He doesn’t speak. He crouches down and looks into my eyes like he is trying to take something from me. Then he takes the tape off my mouth.

All I do at first is scream. It's all my body knows how to do. He sits and watches me. When I can see his mouth, it’s smiling, and I realize he likes it when I scream. So as soon as I can, I stop. Silence rushes back into the gaps, roaring in my ears.

“Good girl,” he says when I am quiet. His voice is a distorted growl, infrasound, rattling my eardrums. “Aren’t you such a good girl?”

I think about his throat in my teeth. I think about his blood on my face. For a moment it feels like I am lunging for him, jabbing thumbs into soft and fragile places. But he still has my hands, turning numb and purple at the small of my back. So I sit up as much as I can and spit at the floor near his feet. Faster than my eyes can track, he lurches forward. Fist in my hair, hauling me up to hip height.

He looks into my face with his glass eyes. His mouth is monstrous, all his white teeth sharp in a thicket of gray.

“I’ve been watching you,” he says. 

I know this already. There is nothing satisfying in the confirmation of it. 

He is not the man in black I always pictured. He could be anybody.

“Think of this as a favor I’m doing you.”

Then he hits me again. And other things.

When I’m alone, voices chatter in my ears. No one is coming, they say, you are alone. They will not find you. You and the ditch will be friends soon. So you amounted to this—better than nothing, we suppose. I shush them, rock myself against the cement floor and hum and think about grass, and birds. I try not to leave myself room to cry. I don’t want him to have the satisfaction.

A thousand years go by. Outside the room, there are voices. Not any of mine. His, and others. They start loud, and get quiet. His voice goes away completely. Doors open, distant, then closer. Light falls over my body again, and I feel the weightlessness. Real this time. My hands come back to me, but I can’t move them. There are faces, more than I’ve seen in a while. They scare me, but I can’t run, so I try not to look. Except at his. They take me past him, and I look. Through his glasses I see his eyes, still trying to take something from me. He has, by now. But not what he wanted.

I sleep for a long time, and when I wake up, the world is the way I remember it. My feet on the ground, cleats and all, not slipping. When I’m well enough they bring me to identify Devin’s body, since he didn’t really have a brother after all. They find Mariah’s, too. Greg really was in the emergency room, turns out. But there are others. Too many to think of.

Cheryl changes careers afterwards. Probably for the best. I find this out when she drives me to group the first time after I get out of the hospital. She doesn’t look at me much, but when she does, I can see her eyes are different. Not caseworker eyes anymore.

“Lauren is going to be taking over your case starting next week,” she says after a long silence. “So this will be the last time I see you.” I can tell she’s trying not to cry.

“Okay,” I say. 

She never apologizes. No one does. They all say they’re sorry for what happened to me, but that isn’t the same thing. People who don’t listen never think to apologize for it. They think they were listening all along.

Things are mostly the same as before, except I get my pills mailed to me now. And I think about Devin a lot. When I pour myself a drink, I pour one for him too and pretend he’s with me. I don’t have any pictures, so mostly I think about his voice. The last time we ever spoke, he told me, no one listens to me, X. 

What I said then was, I know the feeling, man.

But now I just tell him I’m sorry.

[alpaca-clouds]

"I thought you wanted this!" Religious Zealotism in Castlevania

Something Castlevania Nocturne Season 2 made me think about a lot about is its relation to religious zealotism, and how generally speaking religious zealotism is a theme that has been around since the first season aired in 2017.

And there is one very interesting aspect to this: Only one character escapes the grasp of religious zealotism for good - at least from all we know. And that character is Isaac. (Though I guess we also can talk about Mizrak.)

The Bishop & Emmanuel

The unnamed Bishop, who gets killed by Blue Fangs in season 1 of the show, and Emmanuel both are Catholics. They are similar in their motivation - and yet also very different.

The Bishop is very self-righteous. He claims he is acting in the will of God, even though obviously nothing he is doing has actual basis in the bible - especially not in the New Testament, which I remind you does explicitly state that it does undo a variety of rules from the Old Testament. Lisa was in the end just helping people with knowledge that he did not understand, and he killed her for it. Even if her husband had not been Dracula, who then exacted revenge on humanity for it, probably killing thousands in the process, the bishop would have probably doomed quite a lot of people through it. People, who without Lisa's medicine would have died even without Dracula's genocide. We maybe should not give a whole lot on what Blue Fangs says, but generally speaking I think that his entire thing with "your work makes God puke" is not too far off. Still, the Bishop very much clearly had very successfully convinced himself that he was indeed doing God's bidding. Of course God never thanked him for it, and he - like most other people - eventually ended up being killed by Dracula's creatures.

In Nocturne then we have Emmanuel. I wrote about his motivation already. He is different from the Bishop in that he does not think fully that he is enacting God's direct will, but thinks he is still acting in the name of God. He thinks he works for God, if he stops the heretic Revolution and then also Erszebet. Still, he is of no illusion about the fact that his actions will eventually end him up in hell. It is still zealotism that makes him act like this, though. He is absolutely certain of the fact that he is doing what he is doing for heaven and for God. In this he has convinced himself to not even do the kind of Witchcraft that definitely is forbidden by scripture, as he makes a deal with what he thinks is a demon. But of course, just like other religious men before him, he absolutely is convinced that this is still for the greater good. (Insert obligatory Hot Fuzz reference here.)

And just like the bishop in season 1 of Castlevania, Emmanuel obviously eventually dies because of this, not finding protection through his religion.

Drolta

Drolta is quite interesting in regards to the religious Zealotism, because she is the kind of Zealot that we very rarely see in media.

I talked about it before: Western media at the very least tends to be iffy about depicting religion in any strong sense outside of the religion of a possible exorcist in a horror movie (which tends to be Catholicism, as to Americans apparently Catholicism is a very magic religion, I assume). If we see Zealots they are usually Christian or Muslim.

A kemetic Zealot is something I have never encountered. But indeed, Drolta is a very interesting character through this. I wrote about her motivations, too. Her religion at this point is close to being a dead religion. And then the religious community she has gets murdered around her. She is a member of a cult (aka someone from a polytheistic religion just praying to one of the many gods). And thus she prays for a sign from her goddess. And the first thing that happens after this is that a vampire comes in to feed of the dead bodies. So to Drolta this is the sign she has been waiting for. And she, who clearly is afraid to be ever helpless again, decides the goddess wants her to be a vampire.

Now, she knows her goddess to be dead, and herself now being undead, she also decides that the goddess must want this too. Undead immortality. And thus she starts to reason herself into believing this is, what she has to do. And when she finally is confronted by her goddess she cannot even comprehend, that this could not have been what the goddess has wanted. That indeed the goddess was not aware of what Drolta was doing.

Her case is of course quite interesting in that she indeed gets opposed by her goddess herself, rather than just facing defeat in the end.

Mizrak

Before we talk about Isaac, we should quickly chat about Mizrak, too. Because within this conversation of Zealotism Mizrak is quite interesting exactly for being very, very religious, but not a zealot. Mizrak's religious experience in fact is very much focused on his doubt and his guilt. Yes, he strongly believes in the Christian God and in Catholic doctrine. He see him pray several times, and he soothes himself by saying prayers. Yet, he very much is doubting what gets presented to him. While every other character in this list goes to further and further extremes in the name of their deity, excusing those crimes to themselves by telling themselves it is what the deity wants, Mizrak cannot do that.

Mizrak does not know what God wants, and he does not claim to know. He is in fact at times clearly doubting God, partially probably because of his own homosexuality. Doctrine at the time said, homosexuality was a test given to the people to test them and their devotion to God. But of course, someone thinking critically about this, cannot help but conclude that this means God is quite cruel to test some people like this, and not others.

However, the point for Mizrak gets reached, when Emmanuel is about to kill Maria in his Zealotism. No doctrine, and no religious scripture will convince Mizrak that it is right to kill or even endanger a child - no matter to what end. And this is the point where he concludes that even if this was what God wanted, he - Mizrak - in that case cannot want what God wants, and he will in the worst case stand against God's will, because his moral integrity is stronger than his religious zeal. (This is the reason I like this character so much.)

Isaac

Finally we have Isaac, who is very much interesting in this - mainly in that the show does not quite as clearly telegraph his religious zealotism, if you have not read Muslim scripture (and that is more than just the Qur'an). I have seen quite a lot of discussion about why Isaac is so perfectly happy to commit genocide, despite his deeply held religious believes. After all, religion in general has strong opinions about killing people, right? And even if we were to assume that God was alright with killing non-believers, or non-Muslims specificially, "killing all the people in the world" would definitely include quite a lot of Muslims, right?

If you have however read the scripture, there is enough answer to this question in Isaac's dialogue. He does quote and reference scripture more than once, and from this it becomes quite clear: Isaac believes that the prophecized end times have begun and that he has been chosen by God to enact His will to end humanity, so that all the humans can eventually be reunited with God in heaven. (Please note: While it depends on the flavor of Islam people follow, Islam in general has an idea more closely to Hinduism, in that souls that end up in hell will be punished until their soul is redeemed. While in Hinduism this means a soul is ready for reincarnation, in Islam it means the soul can finally ascent to heaven and it is God's goal that in the end all his children will be in heaven. Which is why Isaac references several times that "hell will be empty". In Isaac's view he pulls souls from hell to enact God's will, which will cleanse them and allow them to eventually ascent to heaven.)

Isaac however is interesting in comparison to the other zealots of the show, as he allows himself to be reached by reason. After the Captain, the shopkeeper and Miranda talk to him, he does eventually come around to the believe that not only he was on the wrong path, but also that his zealotism itself was a sin. Which allows him to stop from going further on this path, and rather choosing a different goal, in which he eventually does want to help people.

[ashen-char]

we can be pirates

ship: river (all souls) x reader (gender neutral)

summary: river wants to give her daughter the best birthday party possible. noticing that it's personal for her, you help.

word count: 2400+

notes: requested here. split into two parts bc it surprised me how long it was getting. title from taylor swift's 'seven'. TELL ME THE SKULLS DONT GIVE PIRATE VIBES

River sits on the couch you two hauled off the road just last summer, flipping through the pages of a worn-out book on crafts. Beside her sits her mini-me, her daughter Jade who always loves being dressed up just like her mama. Big brown eyes go wide with excitement as the little girl points at one of the pictures.

"Mama, we can make this for my party," she exclaims, her small finger tracing the outline of a paper flower.

River hums, a tight smile on her face. "Yeah, baby. It doesn't look too hard. That'll be great."

Jade giggles and marks down the page number, already a small list of ideas on her pad of paper, her legs swinging.

Despite her smile, River can't help but think of how she wants more for her little girl. How she hates that Jade already knows they have to cut costs like this. Maybe if she pushed down her ego that told her she can do it all alone, without a cent of Silas' dirty money. River shakes her head, willing those thoughts out. She focuses on the pride blooming in her chest that Jade's still so happy and content with homemade efforts. She's raised a smart, kind, and wonderful girl. God, she can't even believe her baby's turning six in a week.

"You wanna help me?" she asks, poking Jade's cheek, who has now moved on to the section about invitation cards.

"Of course!"

This is when you walk in, joining them on the couch. You were busy preparing dinner so you didn't catch the full conversation, but the apartment's small enough where you could catch bits and pieces even without eavesdropping. Before you have a chance to tell them the food's ready, Jade shoves the book in your hands.

"You can pick one! I like this and this and-" Jade's pointing all over the place, choosing invitation cards she likes the look of seemingly by random if you didn't know her well. Luckily, you've had the chance to. Under River's upbringing and her own endless curiosity, Jade loves so many things it's hard to think of one straightforward theme. She loves her monster trucks as much as her stuffed puppy, as much as the manga the older kids in the apartment complex show her, as much as nature and princesses and scary stories.

"Woah, woah, slow your roll, kiddo." You wipe your hands on the apron before putting your hands on the book, knowing you'd get glares if you greased it up. "What's this about a party? I thought you didn't want to do a big one," you question.

"She doesn't. Says she'd be alright if it was just the three of us sharing pizzas and watching TV," River answers, to which Jade nods. "But Jade's in school now, you know? All the other moms already side-eye me for having her so young. I don't wanna give them more ammo, or make them tell their kids not to hang out with Jade anymore."

River has complained to you extensively before about the mom politics going on. Invite someone's kid to a party and they don't invite your kid back? Consider yourself dead to everyone. Couldn't bring muffins to their stupid bake sale? Worst mom ever award.

"I want Jade to have fun with her friends and not worry about being teased about not having a huge unicorn cake, or whatever. So..." River gestures to the book pressed into your hands, and you note all the marked pages of ideas.

You know the deeper reason too. How deep down, River wants better for Jade than what she had, never wants her to feel like she's going without. She wants Jade to feel like the other kids. To be able to stay a kid for longer, not cutting back on the toys she asks for just because you two are going from paycheck to paycheck. That's your responsibility as the adults. She shouldn't have to worry, shouldn't be punished for being born River's kid. It's something you've assured River about over and over again, that Jade's lucky to be hers and that the little girl knows it. But you can understand that wish too. Jade's such a sweetie. If any kid deserves to feel special on their birthday and get everything they ask for, it's her.

So it's no surprise that River isn't sold on the whole DIY party vibe. Resourceful is one thing, but she hates feeling cheap. Hates asking for or needing cash. She'll let go of her pride if the situation gets tough, but damn does she hate when people assume she can't take care of her girl.

"Hey, Jadey?" you ask, scooching down to address her directly. The two of you have agreed to not talk about money problems in front of her, so you know she should be far away for this discussion. "Can you go to the kitchen and turn the stove off? And when you're done, how about you write down all your friends' names that you want there, and draw them all a special invitation?"

Jade perks up at the request, liking to go on 'special missions' to help you or River. She likes the responsibility, likes that her favourite people can rely on her. It's part of what makes her such a good kid. "OK! Here!" As she hops off of the couch, she hands you the book. "They're gonna be the best pictures ever!"

"Don't come back too soon, OK? We're gonna come up with lots of ideas to surprise you!" you call out.

You turn to River, who shoves the book aside, frustrated. "Fuck. I don't wanna be a wimp about this, honestly. Or make it all about me."

"Hey." Your hand goes to her shoulder, rubbing right where she always seems to get tense. "It's fine. It's your first time living too. Or whatever the phrase is."

"It's just- I would've done anything as a kid to have had a birthday party," she shares, shaking her head like she thinks she's being ridiculous. But River does melt into your touch, letting you start to rub up, getting to the junction where her neck meets her shoulder. "This sucks to say, but I was always too ashamed to take any of my friends back home. I'm grateful for it now, but it was tiny and it smelled and I knew it. Didn't want them to give me shit for it."

Listening intently, your fingers trail over her shoulders as River sits up and tugs her knees to her chest. "And I didn't wanna hassle my mom. She was already doing so much to take care of me and put food on the table," River tells you. "My friends invited me to ones with the fancy custom cakes and the goody bags filled with toys and snacks, you know? The parties where the kids get to wear crowns and the parents take a million photos. My mom couldn't afford to take a day off of work, and I didn't have enough allowance to buy a gift anyways. So I never went to any."

And you can understand that. It's not like being a loner is always a choice. Sometimes you know that even if you try your best, you won't fit in, so why try? Pretend it's a choice. Pretend you're above it all, too cool for it, when all you really want to do is have fun with everyone.

"She's turning six. We could turn a sprinkler on and call it a water park and the kids would scream and laugh more than at some expensive party," you say. They're easy to impress at that age, at least in your own memory of being a kid.

River shakes her head. She wraps her arms around her knees tighter, resting her chin on them. "A water park? Really? She's six. She wants a real party with her friends, not just an excuse to run around like crazy. And it's not like we have a backyard for them to run in anyways." Something in her throat trembles, and it makes her voice rise with frustration. "I want to give her something special, y'know? I want her to feel like a princess for a day, not a charity case. Throwing around some paper decorations isn't gonna make the apartment bigger."

You know that tone, and you want Jade to have the very best too, so you fix on a more serious face, not wanting your girlfriend to feel like she's alone in this. "Fine. OK, so what's... special but free? Botanical gardens? Beach?" you start to pitch and brainstorm. "What's the best space to pizzazz with these paper flowers that Jade's gonna kick ass at making?"

When your hand reaches her ear, she just melts. It's a soothing gesture that helps when River gets these horrific stress migraines, pinching and rubbing along the lobe to coax blood flow. River thinks for a moment, considering those suggestions. "Yeah, the beach could work," River says slowly, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Jade loves the water, and I know her friends would have a blast playing in the waves."

"We'd keep an eye on them the whole time obviously," you add. "Section off an area just for the party, probably with whatever decorations Jade's picked.

More on board with the crafts now that they have a space in mind, she hands you the list of ideas Jade already jotted down. "Here. If you can read her handwriting."

Just like Jade's interests, her ideas are all over the place. Not that you don't appreciate her creative process, but cowboys, aliens, and dragons don't sound very beachy. There are pages that she scrawled down that go together though. The foam sword, the paper pirate hat, and a treasure map. You'll pour coffee on it, crumple it a little, and singe the edges with a lighter to make it look authentic. A pirate theme sounds like the ideal way to make everything cohesive, especially since it'll keep the kids entertained so no one goes home complaining to their parents.

"It could be like a scavenger hunt," River says. She's been steadily getting into the whole idea, pitching all sorts of ideas to make Jade's special day great. "Kills two birds with one stone. The map is something they actually use instead of a set piece and we'll know where they are when they run around. Make sure they stay where we can see 'em.

"Yeah, I like that! When I was a kid, I read these Skullduggery books and was like, damn, imagine digging something up. Me and my siblings buried this time capsule at the beach, but I'm pretty sure it just got swept away by the waves."

"You shoulda dug deeper," River teases, but pecks your lips when you pout at the memory. "OK, so that's settled for the main activity. What can we put in the chest that won't break the bank?"

Chocolate coins, obviously. The two of you take turns listing out treasures that you'd find for cheap, like candy necklaces and plastic swords that will be sturdier than the foam ones. Eyepatches are a must too. Plastic telescopes and octopus pop-its.

River writes down a note that Jade could make her friends a custom friendship bracelet to thank them for coming and commemorate the occasion. Plus, it would get that rainbow loom set you two bought her out of the storage. Jade went on a bracelet-making kick two months ago but got bored, so now you've got all these extra loom bands around.

The two of you get to throwing around food ideas (you, personally, wanna serve chicken nuggets but brand them as 'gold nuggets') when Jade comes out of her room.

"Ta-da!" the girl says, holding out her birthday invitations. All told, there are seven, with radically different drawings attached. There's a horse (which looks like a giraffe with the neck honestly), a robot, a ballet dancer... "I've got six best best friends, so they've all gotta come. Mackenzie's got a little brother that should probably come too since they're always together, so I made him a smaller one."

"It's very sweet of you to think of your friend's brother." River shoots you a look as she says this, since Jade has been very fixated on siblings ever since you moved in. You shrug. You're not opposed to the idea but babies are expensive so the conversation has never gone longer than "that'd be cool!"

"These are awesome, kiddo! Think you could add something to each of 'em? Me and your mama thought a theme would make your birthday even cooler," you say.

"A theme? Oh, what is it, what is it?" Jade's already got her crayons in hand, ready to add to her masterpieces depending on your next words.

"Mmm, let's just say that you could be a mermaid, or have a peg-leg, but you can't turn up as a land-lubber." You cringe as soon as you're done saying it (you had been writing clue ideas for the scavenger hunt for the last ten minutes, OK?), but it makes River laugh so it's worth it.

"Pirates?!" You think the windows might shatter, that's how loud Jade's shriek is.

"Hell yeah, baby girl!" River says. "You like it?"

"I love it! Thank you so so much!" Jade leaps between you two, her tiny arms trying their best to wrap around and hug you both at the same time.

Upon seeing River's excitement as she shows Jade the list of ideas you two came up with, you can't help but smile. Your two favourite girls in the world are so hyped now that they're not even thinking about the cost, which was what you've wanted from the start. Jade pores over the list, nodding and adding little notes to the margins. There needs to be vegetarian options for her friend, Priya, for example, and she doesn't want it soooo different from the other food that Priya feels like she's missing out.

The day ends with half-made paper flowers, hot glue on foam, and Jade's rainbow loom taking up space on the kitchen counter and dozens of tiny colourful rubber bands all over the floor. Not to mention the dinner you cooked, which has gone cold and forgotten still on the stove. But when you turn to see Jade passed out on the couch, River's eyes lock with yours. Tired and pissed off from watching too many DIY YouTube tutorials, your girlfriend mouths "thank you. Jade was so happy," and you wouldn't have it any other way.

[coraniaid]

Standard disclaimer that I understand themes and motifs and I'm aware that the reasons characters do things in fiction is because the writers have decided it will drive the plot, rather than because of those fictional characters (who do not in reality exist) being inherently "good" or "bad" people.

Additional disclaimer that I don't think there's any one single reason that Faith ends up spiralling after Finch's death and siding with the Mayor, that the necessary dominoes started falling years before Faith was even Called as a Slayer and that by the time Faith had lost her first Watcher and been living out of a motel room for months and been tricked and betrayed by Gwendolyn Post and accidentally killed a man there probably wasn't anything anyone could have done to stop her from doing all of that.

One more disclaimer: I do not, despite what the rest of this post (or any other posts I may have made or fanfiction I may have written) might suggest, think that Faith's story in Buffy the Vampire Slayer would be somehow improved if she hadn't had the character arc she has in canon. I do not think it would improve the story if Faith hadn't ended up making a series of terrible and short-sided and selfish decisions which ended up making not only her own life much worse but also many other peoples' lives worse [and a couple of other peoples' lives much shorter]. I do not think Faith's fall and eventual redemption is a problem that somehow needs to be fixed.

That being said though ...

Why on Earth, when Giles realizes Faith is lying to him about who really killed Allan Finch, does he decide the best course of action is (1) to pretend to believe her, and (2) make a big show of acting as though Buffy's in a lot of trouble before sending Faith back home to her motel room? In Consequences itself the only excuse he gives is that he "needed [Faith] to think he was on her side" but .. well,

First, newsflash, Rupert: you are meant to be on her side. That is the job you signed up for and are still insisting on doing despite nominally being fired!; and furthermore

This only explains why he pretends to believe Faith. Why does he make a show of throwing the book at Buffy, something that can only help to convince Faith she was right to lie? ("If this is what he's saying to Buffy, his first Slayer and obvious favorite, imagine what he'd be saying if he knew it was me?")

Why not pretend to believe Faith, reassure her she did the right thing by coming to tell him -- and that he's sure she only did it because she knew Buffy needed help -- and then give her the speech he later gives Buffy about how "this isn't the first time something like this has happened" and he "has no plans to involve [the Council]"?

Why not tell Faith that this isn't the first time Buffy herself has been accused of killing a man and questioned by the police? Why not tell her that he himself once accidentally killed a man, and that's something that he and 'Buffy' now have in common? If possible, he could even take Buffy aside and explain the truth to her, and ask her to play along with the charade for now?

Surely if Faith sees that Giles isn't prepared to throw Buffy under a bus, and that he acknowledges that "the Slayer is on the front side of a nightly war" and that "accidents happen", and he's more interested in making sure both of them get the help they need than meting out punishment, she's much more likely to actually admit the truth eventually?

Even if she doesn't want to do that, why not just ask Faith to "sit in" while he talks to Buffy about what "she" did and asks her to explain how she was feeling, so that Faith is in earshot for any advice or suggestions he makes about what to do next? Giles says out loud in this conversation with Buffy that he's worried about "scaring [Faith] off", so ... why is that exactly what he decides to do?

Again, note the disclaimers above: I know the real answer to my question is "that isn't the story the writers wanted to tell". It is necessary for the short-term twist that Faith seems to have convinced Giles to blame Buffy for Finch's death, and for the longer term plot that Giles be unable (or unwilling) to offer Faith any help. I understand that.

But -- in-universe, pretending Giles and Buffy and Faith are all real people -- is there an explanation for this that doesn't boil down to "Giles is a pretty lousy Watcher and should probably not be acting in a mentor role at all?". Why has he decided that the number one priority before anything else must be for Faith to admit it was her, and not the girl Giles can't help but see as a daughter, who killed Finch, when he accepts that -- whoever did it -- it was entirely accidental? If he's not telling the Council anyway and nobody is going to be sent away to be punished, what is the actual issue here?

"There is no help for her until she admits what happened." Okay, Giles, but why have you decided to unilaterally invent this rule, and why do you never use it for anyone else? We saw way back in Faith, Hope & Trick that Giles has no problem at all lying to people who aren't willing to admit the truth in order to help them. If, that is, by "people" we mean "Buffy Summers". Why can't you do the same thing for a girl you don't personally like?

[cheshireliam]

"The Fairytale Keeper's Final Assesment" Story Event: Premium END

Liam Evans

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

<< Liam’s POV >>

Liam: An explanation about…?  

(What could it be? I've explained most of the things about Crown’s castle, and introduced as many members as possible…) 

(I don't understand… this is about Kate, and yet I still can't understand. I…) 

Just as my thoughts reached a dead end, Kate gently cupped my face between her hands. 

Liam: … Kate…? 

Kate: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to criticise you. 

Kate: So please don’t look so hurt. 

Liam: B-but… it’s my fault for not explaining enough… 

Kate: It’s not your fault at all! 

Kate: … If anything, missing out that explanation is exactly what you would do. 

Kate kept smiling at me, she didn't seem to care about the missing explanation. 

Kate: I’m talking about you, Liam.

Liam: Huh…?

Kate: The number one thing that matters to me, the one explanation I wanted to hear the most, is about you. 

Kate’s words made me reflect on everyone that had happened today. 

[ Flashback ]

Kate: Um… when I opened my eyes, the man standing in front of me was so dazzlingly handsome, I was caught off guard.

…

Kate: Liam, do you mind it when Jude asks you for such favours? 

…

Kate: Fufu, you two seem very close. Have you been like this since the beginning?

…

Kate: What song do you like, Liam? 

[ Flashback End ]

Kate’s interest was always directed at me.

She kept wanting to know more about me. 

Kate: You showed many great things about Crown, but… 

Kate: You’re a part of Crown that’s wonderful too, you know?

Liam: ah… 

Kate: Your kind personality as a guide will surely be a prominent trait to any new members… 

Kate: But I thought it’d be nice if they could know more about you too. 

Kate: I want others to know the good things about the man I love… 

Kate: … That’s kind of biased of me, isn’t it?

Kate: Even so, this is my honest opinion.

Liam: …

Liam: Thanks… Kate. 

(I was so desperate to make Kate stay, I failed to see it.) 

(I love Crown… and I’m part of what makes Crown great too.) 

(... Once again, Kate has helped me to realise something important.) 

Kate: … One more thing, Liam. It’s about time you told me, isn't it?

Liam: Tell you about what? 

Kate: The real reason for the tour! 

Kate: I realised it from how Harrison and William were acting. 

Kate: The tour wasn’t meant for “future new members”, am I right to say that? 

Liam: I… I can’t say it. 

Kate: … I’m worried, Liam. I feel like you’re trying to bottle everything up. 

Kate: Can you share it with me? 

… And so, I told Kate everything. 

…

Kate: Fairytale Keeper assessment… 

Liam: I want you to stay in Crown, Kate. 

Liam: That’s why I planned the tour to remind you of all the good things about Crown. 

Liam: I wanted you to feel like you’d want to stay here…

Kate: So that’s what this whole thing is about…

Liam: … What do you think? Do you still want to stay in Crown? 

Kate: Of course! Please let me continue being your Fairytale Keeper. 

Liam: Thanks, Kate. 

Seeing Kate nod so firmly filled my heart to the brim with joy. 

Overwhelmed by my emotions, I pulled Kate into a hug.

Kate: … Oh, Liam. 

Liam: Mm, what is it? 

Kate: I know that the purpose of today’s tour was to make Crown appeal to me, but… 

Kate: Your explanations were very thorough and well done. I think we should make it a real thing for new members that might join us in the future. 

Kate: It’d be a shame if I was the only one who got to experience the tour. 

Liam: Then I’ll have to make some changes to the tour and add an introduction for you. 

Kate: How will you explain it? 

Liam: … I’ll say that Kate’s my personal Fairytale Keeper. 

Liam: She has an adorable smile, her words are kind, and she smells nice and makes me feel at ease whenever I hug her. 

Liam: She’s the little robin who makes me feel like life is worth living, by bringing me joy every day. 

Liam: — Kate is the love of my life. 

Our passionate gazes met, and our lips came together as though drawn to each other. We fell onto the bed holding each other in our arms. 

The agreement form I’d been so eager to fill in would have to wait till tomorrow afternoon to be submitted to Victor. 

…

Fairytale Keeper Continuation Agreement 

Here, Kate agrees to continue working as a Fairytale Keeper. 

Because I can’t imagine a future without her. 

— Liam Evans. 

…

Victor: Okie dokie, I’ve confirmed your submission. 

Liam: Thanks, Victor. Please pass on my regards to Her Majesty too. 

Victor: … Oh? Where are you rushing off to? 

Victor: I recently obtained some delicious tea and was about to prepare some…

Liam: Sorry, I’m heading off for another tour with Kate. 

Victor: Tour? I thought that was done already? 

Liam: Fufu… actually, Kate’s the one giving the tour this time to introduce my good qualities. 

Liam: She said “the one who least understands Liam’s strengths is Liam himself”. 

Victor: What a wonderful tour! You must tell me all about it afterwards. 

I gave Victor a nod and dashed off to our meeting spot. 

…

(I’m going to keep doing my best from now on… so that I can welcome my tomorrows with you and everyone else.) 

(So that the story we weave together won't be seen as a “tragedy” or “farewell tale”.)

(Until the very end… I pray that Kate and I will find happiness together.) 

…

<< Kate’s POV >>

A few days after the tour by Liam, I received a royal decree from Her Majesty.

Kate, I have heard of your excellent work. As always, I thank you for your efforts. 

Now, I have a task I wish to entrust to you, whom I know I can rely on.

I want you to assess if Liam, who bears a curse, is a suitable member of Crown. 

Note: Please take into account the cause and effect of his fits when making your decision. 

[jackiespurnell]

I cant think of anything different for Jackie as an ask but i would like to hear your take on her character. Maybe bless us with a character analysis???

ahhh okay!!! i have so many thoughts on her!!!! for starters, i wanna talk about why i think some ppl in the fandom hate her sm cause ive never seen anyone whos neutral on her tbh like either ur a jackie anti or a jackie stan theres no in between.

i see a lot of people using the fact that her only crime was being a teeanage girl as an argument to defend her and while i wholeheartedly believe that, i think that’s the exact reason why people dislike her. i think a natural instinct that viewers have when watching a show is to take the sides of the "heroes." people usually root for the people with the best moral code (which is why nat is so beloved, besides the fact that she's hot asf). but in a show based on survival, where morals for the most part go out the window the second everyone is stranded in the wilderness together, nobody cares if you're the realest or the more relatable. in fact, i think in a show that is based on things that are highly unlikely to happen/deals with topics outside of everyday things, you're more likely to prefer characters that aren't real. in stuff like yellowjackets, people want the batshit crazy ones. they want the cult leaders and the butchers and the psychopaths. its made very clear that jackie isnt any of these things. you dont go into a show about cannibalism and murder and survival and think of a character like jackie. 

she's not the typical final girl. shows like these make you want to root for actively seek final girls. so of course, most people aren't going to gravitate towards jackie. i think ive seen maybe two people aside from myself on tumblr who jackie is their number one character and theres a reason for that. shes simply not what most yellowjackets viewers are looking for.

also, shes just a girl trying to fit into society and doing a pretty damn good job at it, at least on the outside. i think that’s another part of the reason she has so many antis, because 99% of the people want to fit in one way or another but if you’re getting seen/treated as an outcast, of course you’re going to envy the cool, popular girl. it would be another story if she was bitchy and mean but the fact that she’s so nice probably bugs people too without them even realizing it. sorry, but it’s the truth - people hate girls who are pretty and kind. jackie is that.

now, im not saying she’s perfect whatsoever, she has several flaws, she can be super vain and demanding sometimes, and even bossy, although i do believe a lot of that comes from obliviousness and compulsory heterosexuality (which, i won’t get too into cause i feel like a lot of people have already talked about it).

now, for a character study i think her defining trait is her popularity which is insanely sad, but also, its true. you see that she only knows how to be a cool, popular high schooler and the second all that doesn’t matter anymore, she doesn’t know what to do with herself. there’s a mitski songs with the lyrics “if i gave up on being pretty i wouldn’t know how to be alive” and i think that describes her perfectly. in a time and society where everyone has a public and a private side, and i think spent so long crafting ‘public jackie’ that she forgot how to be ‘private jackie.’ she spent so long trying to be a pretty girl that she forgot how to be just a girl.

i also think a reason that she was so kind to misty - outside of her just being a kind person - is the fact that jackie saw herself in misty. while i don’t think jackie was ever unpopular, i don’t personally believe that was always as cool and charismatic and we see her in high school. i think she was always charming to a certain extent, but i truly think entering high school she went the extra mile to become beloved and popular. misty was trying to do the same thing as jackie, she was trying so hard, and as much as i love misty, she was failing. jackie felt bad for her because she knew, not so long ago, she was kind of similar to her. jackie was also trying too hard. i saw an ella purnell interview where she said that sometimes she (ella) forgot she was a person, instead of a brand and i believe jackie resonates with that. she forgot she was a person, not just a popular girl.

she forgot who she actually was outside the makeup and the smiles and the perfect girl persona so much so that when the plane crashed, she didn’t know how to be. because while the other girls slipped out of their public image, jackie didn’t know who she was outside of her public image.

it got so bad that i don’t even think shauna truly loved her. shauna, who just wanted what was best for her best friend. shauna, who never really wanted jackie to die. shauna never really loved her, because shauna never really knew her. we see loads of bunnies around adult shauna’s house, when in reality, we know jackie hated bunnies. even shauna only saw the idea of jackie that she showed people, and that’s not shauna’s fault by any means, but it just goes to show that jackie never really let anyone in.

i think the most tragic thing about jackie by far, is that, ultimately, she just wanted to be loved. and she thought that by putting on this whole facade of having her life together and being the cool, hot soccer captain, people would appreciate and love her. but she mistaked being loved for being admired. and, as sad as it is, i think jackie died without anybody truly loving the real her.

tysm for the ask @yourlocalsaiko

[9mysterybook6]

What do I expect from this coward?🤦‍♀️

I told her to come and face me.

But guess what Rhylie did?

Rhylie you can't run away from me not after you keep lying and harassing us

you tried to escape again

This is exactly what Rhylie did on her old account.

I will continue to spread awareness about Rhylie to everyone.

But look at her actions

I'm so scared she said

And Rhylie is still playing the victim.

I thought at least is not that worst

But I was very wrong

because of that the spoiled brat Rhylie

First I never said that I queen of Tumblr But that was you

You insisted on saying you are queen of Tumblr

I have evidence in the previous posts that you said this.

Plus Rhylie says that she is a god to all us🙄😬

And secondly

I never damsel in distress

I don't need anyone to save me

I can face my battles alone unlike you, you coward who hides behind your followers.

I said you are a fake damsel in distress And I did not mention myself in this phrase

else

Delete this now, You do not have the right to publish this drawing.

This drawing belongs to torrentialchaos.

This was an old drawing

When torrentialchaos didn't know Rhylie for who she really was

torrentialchaos story

((Alright, time for my story on Rhylie…

So, a while back, you may recall I did an art trade with Pami, and I very much enjoyed doing it.

Anyway, the next day, I got an ask in my inbox from her asking if I do requests, and of course I said yes. This was before I knew who she really was.

Anyway, her request was very simple. Draw herself, Pami, and a few other people (that she probably is also harassing) in the pose from Turning Red, which I did

Yes, I’m finally showing this now. Only so you can see what this creep made me do. I feel disgusted looking at this because I spent a good amount of time making this, only to find out I was being used for a stalker.

After I made this and posted it, I messaged Pami, of course since she was in it, and that’s when I found out the truth. Disgusted, I deleted the post immediately and blocked her.

And guess what happened next. A little later, I get a message from HER FRIEND asking me to unblock her! I unfortunately know what this is like as I had something similar happen to me once another time, but I’d rather not talk about that…

So yeah, that’s my Rhylie story. We need to get this creep off of tumblr for good.))

I feel bad for torrentialchaos

But what makes me angry is the response of Rhylie If you read what is in the picture

The worst thing is Rhylie taking The drawing without the owner's permission.

Seriously, torrentialchaos posted how they hates you now and you take the drawing and say three points

That's all matters to Rhylie.

her requests and demands

else Rhylie You prove it that you are 100% a Creep

I'm talking about this

@rainbow-starheart and @shadowwolfmemes was asked an important question

And you say you are 21 old And sensitive

You are asking someone with Different age from you to date you.

You don't even know them

They only know Rhylie through the drama

You ask to be in a relationship with people, you barely talked to them

Plus She wrote her name this way

(rhylie the cater fly is not a creep🤣🤣🤣🤣)

and other thing, I see your conversation with @rainbow-starheart

You want to get rid of me, you donkey

Don't make me laugh

What will you do? Will you send me one of your followers on me Or ask them to expose me

You are really stupid🤣🤣🤣

Guys I want to remind you, that Rhylie tried to make evidence against me In her old blog.

And it was very bad and weak evidence.

On top of that, she was confident of her weak evidence.

If you don't know what Rhylie evidence is

So let me tell you the funny thing.

Rhylie evidence was just a screenshot of On insults🤣🤣

just like that

There were many errors in Rhylie evidence.

First of all How do you know if this is was me huh

You just take a screenshot of the letters and Nothing indicates my blog

Unlike you, I take full screenshot on your blog

and secondly You can play with the letters.

You can easily mix my insults With fake sentences from you

For example, you can write something and take screenshot And you say I said this

and thirdly

She was very confident in them.

(((This is the real evidence, My own evidence are true and there are many truths about your true color that you've kept hiding from me and you lied and making everyone turned against me,

Unlike you, you're f**king delusional about your business and controlling everyone for what you have did to me.

Don't you see that all this hate posts about me makes others win against your fking Filthy mouth of yours, you're the worst gacha community leader ever and it is ugly and disgraceful, you have been kicked out from gacha community group, shame on you mysteryb*h!!!!!!

I won't let everyone forgive you…….))))

I'm laughing like crazy at Rhylie stupidity.

Even if one of Rhylie's followers tried to exposed me

They will be thrown Tomatoes at them.

Because first of all there is nothing to expose me at all

And secondly, if they tried to cover up Your crimes With an excuse and empty arguments, than Their position will be very bad.

And thirdly

If they try to lie about the truth or deny it

Their position will be very bad if they lied.

For example, if they said that @pamithebunterfly2007 Under mysterybook control And her lies

pami will respond angrily: This is not true.

pami: and Who gave you the right to say that?

pami: Rhylie is the problem

pami: Rhylie is a old creep stalker me!!! And you dare to say that mysterybook controls me

And pami showering them with their anger While others agree too

You're just making yourself worse and worse every second.

You can't get away with harassing people that easily without punishment.

So I suggest you to delete your blog from here Rhylie

I'm not afraid of you, You coward

Face it I'm the winner in this drama

[theoneandonlyjamiestark]

INTRODUCTION

Before We get started. Yes. I'm a Stark. Adopted, of course. And even though I'm not biologically related to the Starks, many people have told me I take after their ego and sassiness.

Jamie Eliana Stark She/her Trans MTF Bisexual Adopted Daughter of Tony Stark and Pepper Potts 19 years old. [Mod is a minor so NSFW DNI] Marvel RP account

I may not be a true Stark, but I surely do act like one. I get told on countless occasions that I'm "Just like your father" whenever I'm being anywhere near sassy or rude to anyone. Sarcasm is not for the faint of heart I guess. I also am not as good at building techy stuff as many others in my family, but I can hack mainframes like its nobodies business. You could say its a gift of mine. I'm also good at codes. Me and Dad (Tony) sometimes work together on projects that he needs done quickly. Its kinda fun, having a dad who can match your sarcastic energy. Being a Stark also comes with a shit ton of publicity and responsibility. Many reporters, paparazzi and other people who pry into your personal life like they need to know what direction you walked at Eleven AM on December Twenty First 2021. Its dumb if you ask me, but publicity, like fashion shows, celebrity events or galas that we're invited to? Love those. I love the attention when its not weirdly invasive. Theres one word to describe our household, and that is Chaos. With Peter running around on the walls and everyone else just being the people they are, it can get pretty busy and chaotic. Especially when some people are trying to build stuff and they blow up. The rule here, basically is just, "Don't blow anything up". And unless Mom/Pepper is home, most things fly as long as, a) no one (is, might, already) died/die/dead, b) nothing explodes, c) it wont get you arrested. At least for the older lot its like that. Rules in the lab are the ones you definetly want to follow,. The rules in the lab are the strictest. You don't want any of that tech going haywire. Trust me. I've done it only once and its probably the worst thing I've done. But anyways. Wouldn't have it any other way. Listen here okay? I may not be the absolute smartest Stark when it comes to building tech or doing stuff like my Dad does, but I'm really battle smart. I have fight training from THE Natasha Romanoff herself. I'm an incredible hand to hand fighter, and so if you cross me I wont hesitate to show you who you're dealing with without mortally wounding you. I was told the government and police will get involved if I do that.... so its probably better I don't and stay out of the authorities grasp.

You hear this? FUCK stereotypes or like norms and stuff. I will dress, style my hair, or speak however I want. Of course I wont be rascist, homophobic, transphobic (why would I hate myself?), or anything like that to ANYONE. Its shocking how anyone is like that to anyone. Anyways. If you need me, I'm always here, just throw a message in my ask box!

Dad: Tony Stark @under0-0s Mom: Pepper Potts @pepper-potts-in-charge Siblings: @serenastark-official @playgirlgenius Friends: Feel free to send RP starters or rp ideas! Rps are always welcoem! Face Claim: Lucy Hale (Pretty little Liars) Oc Owned by: @thescarleteevee //This account is not run by a system alter btw! dividers by : @vg-k

[bwat5-blog]

Greetings! As you tagged this in such a way that suggests you wanted to share this with all of us, I went and took a quick peek at some other intellectual highlights from the treasure trove of insightful and well written discussion of your page. It seems to be the least I can do to share such wisdom with the other souls like me lost in the dark actually liking Caitlyn’s character. Now of course these are things you shared not wrote originally, and some of them are lacking the whole post, but I captured enough to really share the glory of each one!:

So this one was all about the writers stating Jinx realizing she’s been the problem in Vi’s life. Just a few things:

1. “Jinx pulled Vi out of her pitfighter arc”: Jinx visited Vi multiple times while she was spiraling and did nothing until Vander arrived. Now I personally do believe she was trying to watch over Vi to some degree, but that is essentially head canon at this point because there is nothing to back that up. Never mind that after “pulling her out” Jinx declares herself a hero for busting Zaun out of Stillwater while Vi was passed out in the bottom of a mug. Jinx hid during the entire occupation until Isha was taken,and Vi was in a suicidal spiral caused by among many other reasons- yes including Caitlyn- Jinx. Not exactly the genuine love and kindness way to go. And regarding Cait being too busy to care well that is true, this was during Caitlyn’s darkest period. Caused by Jinx.

2. “Jinx was the one that after everything Vi had done and how angry she was with her, who wanted to be a family with her”- Everything Vi had done?:

A- Like being kidnapped and thrown in prison after the only moment of cruelty she ever showed Powder but still spent seven years punishing herself for?

B- Or maybe getting stabbed, beaten, hunted and knocked out all trying to find Jinx once she was free?

C- Or maybe still trying to get through to Jinx after Jinx attacked the bridge then tried to kill Vi and Caitlyn?

D- Ohhh or maybe you mean when Vi convinced Caitlyn to show Jinx mercy after jinx had almost murdered Caitlyn repeatedly and abducted her nude from her own home? (Spoiler alert Jinx repaid that with knocking Caitlyn out and murdering her mother- ever so kind, truly a hero!)

E- Or even after knocking Caitlyn out how Vi still tries to get Jinx to come away with her?

F- Or maybe you mean when Vi became an Enforcer. After all of the above that Jinx had done. After Jinx’s actions guaranteed Piltover retaliation. So Vi goes with Caitlyn (whose plan stopped the full invasion btw) and brings down the chem-barons and Shimmer. You remember? The dangerous criminals and the poisonous drug that Jinx helped Silco unleash on their people.

And Jinx loved Vi and wanted to be family after “everything Vi had done”. What a champ.

3. Jinx brought them somewhere they could be happy and heal and be a family- No arguments here. Although I would point out it was all Vi’s idea for them to stay but minor point.

4. “the person they put her with couldn’t have given less of a shit. Just being a dictator and sleeping with someone else”- No argument Caitlyn lost her way big time. Now of course she wasn’t a dictator. She was freely given her authority, enforced it in a place she had full authority to do so, demanded arrests be lawful, challenged unnecessary violence and was still meeting with trade guilds to listen to their complaints and concerns. I do have one question on this one though. Did you miss the part where Caitlyn starts a war for Vi then creates the path for Vi to free Jinx from jail? You remember Jinx who murdered Caitlyn’s mother? You must have. Thats okay. Just rewatch S2 E8 and you will feel better pumpkin.

So this is of course another Caitvi cell scene was wrong and Cait didn’t deserve her happy ending but everyone else did:

1. “Jinx directly communicated suicidal ideation to Vi then went off to attempt. It’s almost portrayed in a way where Vi chooses Caitlyn (an enforcer, an oppressor) over her own sister”- She directly communicated no such thing. We as the audience have the benefit of omnipotence. Vi never saw Jinx blow herself and Ekko up, she never saw Jinx getting ready to blow herself up against Vander, Jinx says “there’s no good version of me…. Breaking the cycle” and Silco’s “projection” for lack of a better word said nothing to Jinx about death. Only walking away. So what Vi chose is the woman she loved (who just started a war for Vi and helped her free Jinx) over continuing to chase Jinx. For the first time ever. And if Vi had been the one to find her they would both be dead. The only reason Ekko succeeded was the Z-drive.

2. “It makes me bitter that caitvi got a good ending despite everything Caitlyn did, which she never apologized for, and it was never fully addressed”-

A- Started a war for Vi

B- Jinx’s back to Caitlyn while Caitlyn is armed, totally ignores Jinx and runs to wounded Vi

C- Helps Jinx get wounded Vi to safety

D- After Jinx willingly surrenders Caitlyn keeps her in the Kiramman bunker rather than Stillwater and passes no judgement until Vi is awake even though she could have executed her immediately

E- “I KNOW!”- acknowledges her wrongdoing

F- “We can’t erase our mistakes, none of us”- placing herself and Jinx on same level

G- “No amount of good deeds can erase our crimes!”- placing herself and Jinx on same level

H- “I’ve hated you, hated myself.. I don’t have the energy for it any longer”- acknowledging and admitting self hate for her mistakes

I- literally allows Vi to make her own choice in freeing Jinx AKA the woman who murdered Caitlyns mom among many other crimes

J- Willingly fights on the front line sacrificing her own body to put things right

K- Gives up her council seat to Zaun

3. Timebomb whining- Sorry your personal fan fic didn’t play out how you hoped 🥲

Another jail sex scene bad post:

“She kinda just does that shit on a whim”- Yall are the same people talking about season two robbing Vi of her “agency” but if she makes a choice you don’t like she did it on a “whim”? No. She did it because in that profound moment of feeling like she’d lost everyone the woman she loves came into that place of darkness with her, told her she’d laid down the hate that almost destroyed them, and trusted and respected Vi to make the right choice in freeing Jinx or not. Which Vi did, and Caitlyn isn’t angry or cold. She tries to comfort her with a dumb joke. She makes Vi feel loved, and accepted, and respected. And she showed her what she failed to show her before, that her love for Vi outweighs her hate for Jinx.

Not responding to the rest its just more of the same.

IN CONCLUSION:

Boy that was fun. I know you said there is nothing anyone could say to make you not hate her. Maybe the reason for that is based on the material you are sharing and reading. You need to elevate the discussions you’re engaging in! So, unhook your mind from the unending volcanic eruption of juvenile, shallow, brain-dead analysis that is Arcane Critical and come to the good side. We have cookies.

there is nothing anyone could say to make me not hate that blue haired fascist bitch

[kaylazer]

back on my bullshit (meeting men im in love with). Ben Schwartz is so kind and tall :-) I didn’t totally freeze like when I met the Jonas brothers but the selfies we took are blurry so 😔

(at least I have these bc I told sam to record the whole thing heheheh)

[reydelospiratas]

The charlastor ship was huge after the pilot and of course vivziepop knew about it so having charlie and alastors relationship suddenly be coded as familial feels a bit petty ngl