#she really could have done with a line or two

[d3vdgvrlll]

trauma ig

@gorelvr and anyone else who wanted it

i’ll start from the begining because it’s the one thing that will make my story similar to others. it will have a begining and an end just like anyone else’s. i have been sexually abused since i was seven years old. my cousin joe (obv not his real name i was in israel at the time) he was considerably older than me. 13, not too bad, but at the time it felt like a worlds difference. it didn’t start slowly, not at all, and pieces of it i don’t even remember. i do remember closets tho. it wasn’t just an rape either. he wanted me to like it- either that or he was just sadistic. he would make me smile and beg for it, make me please him as a lover, told me it was right since i was his blood. in fact, he would draw this blood quite often. he would pinch me, beat me, cut me, anything to make me cry, because he had a rule. if i cried, he could come back to use me again. he would do anything to draw out a mere sound of discomfort, anything, any excuse so that he could come into my room at night and violate me. he called me his wife. he called me his girl. and in my native tongue i had to tell him i loved him as well. when i was 9, after two years of this, with no one believing me (and if you ask how it’s possible, youve clearly never heard of arabic jewish culture-) i move to america. i lived in chicago, and suddenly, i was a normal girl. sure, i couldn’t speak english but i was clean. no longer dirty. i was far away from joe and i thought maybe id be far from the pain too. i was far from the bombs that rang in my ears as i walked home, the desolate shelters littered around playgrounds, the constant whisper of “you are never safe” far behind me. i was ahead of everyone else, and when i heard that another one of my childhood friends died of an attack, it didn’t feel better, but at least it wasn’t me. at least it wasn’t me.

this is where i met a friend named lucie. she was the first female friend id ever had. my wonderful grandma, who was like a second mother to me (at the time when she was alive my mother was still kind, the lines on her face less pronounced, her words filled with less poison) signed me up for swimming classes with lucie. after swimming class, me and lucie would shower together. it’s started off because i had conditioner that she needed for her blond hair, conditioner that i was willing to give up to her because she was so much whiter than me, so much purer. she then asked me for favors. to touch her. she’s press me against the wall and kiss me, and when i resisted, she wouldn’t even react. she asked me for more. she said “if you do it well this time, you won’t have to do it again.” and “kiss me for longer this time, you only did two seconds, you promised ten” and each request, no matter how hard it was for me to do, was done. and each time, there came another. no matter how much she promised it’d be the last one, there was always more. i couldn’t get away from it. i was trapped. i was scared, and i wanted her to be my friend. she taught me that if u don’t give people ur body, they won’t stay. she taught me that im worthless besides what i can offer to others. she taught me everything i know and live by, and then she left anyways .

seventh grade- i had a very nice science teacher. i was doing very well in his class. his name i really cannot say because he is still teaching at the school in illinois, and no one has believed me, no matter what i insist happened. we were doing a bridge project. i was failing, because my grandma was dying. she was dying, and she was my everything. watching her- it was the hardest thing i’d ever done. but i couldn’t avert my eyes because it felt sinful. it felt wrong to look away because it was hard to watch- she was my grandma after all, the one who raised me, loved me, showed me the good in the world. so i watched. i watched and stayed with her and read her books she couldn’t hear me reciting while she lay in her hospice bed barely breathing. i wrote down the stories she told me through her tubes, and i tried to imagine that the wires connected to her were flowers instead, that she was somewhere were her grimace was rlly a smile. she stayed alive until my birthday, my 12th birthday, because she didn’t want to ruin it. she stayed alive, in pain, riddled with so much terror, to see me turn 12. one day, i walked into her room and spoke to her, and watching her eyes try to open, her oxygen intake spike up, her stiff limbs try to reach me- it killed me. i love her and always will. it feels awful to group her with this awful man- my science teacher, but in this story they do go together, unlike in real life where my grandma was such a big and powerful woman she always stood alone. or with me. i digress, the man- let’s call him Mr.P- he failed me. i was excelling- frankly, because im very smart and quite good with physics and such, but he still failed me. (shortly after this whole ordeal i was neurologically tested and i have an IQ of 156). i walked into his class one day, and all i can remember is him smiling, saying that he would give me an oppurtunity for extra credit, but that it had to be secret- you can tell where this is going. i had already learned from lucie that nothing is good abt me besides my body, and so when he took mine, the second person to- i could just sit and cry. at least this man let me cry- at least this one didn’t kill my hair to get a reaction, with the promise of hurting me more the less i liked it. i don’t remember much besides my face being pressed against vents on the side of the classroom. i would “wake up” (ptsd) with blood between my thighs, and cuts on my face from the metal on the vents, because of how hard he shoved my face in them. he had a daughter- she was 6 at the time. when i graduated, he told me he’d do the same to her. that was the first time i cut myself. because i knew i couldn’t stop him. i knew that i couldn’t do anything. i knew that what lucid taught me was wrong. my body wasn’t even special- it wasn’t even “worth it”, it was just available.

i moved all over the US, living in austin, chicago, colorado, and florida for the longest times. chicago was my home though, and i know the city like the back of my hand. this is not something many people can say, but i survived being homeless in chicago during the polar vortex. for those who don’t know, the polar vortex is a phenomena that happens every year. winds from the arctic pass through canada and end up in the midwest, chilling the air to roughly -58 degrees F or lower. after my grandma died, my mother became mean. angry. she scared me. she hit me. it’s too much to get into and frankly, i live with her and my dad now and i feel odd talking abt it. it’s my current reality as well, but what i learned from them is that words mean nothing. so i wont spend them here. after a week of being homeless and running to and from school, living in an underpass, someone started walking “home” with me. his name was pat. this is the man i often reference in posts. he was my best friend, not at this time tho. we walked home together for weeks, not speaking a word to each other, until one day i caught an awful case of pneumonia, the second time id fallen ill with it in the month. this time, i couldn’t walk, stand, breathe, or talk. i was passed out when he found me, at least that’s what he told me. he said he carried me to his friends house and that’s were they saved me. his friends name was biscuit, and biscuit ended up being a huge drug dealer. he kept me in his attic- it had a hole in the roof but it was better than dying in the cold. i had already lost my left foot to frostbite- i still can’t feel it but i can walk on it now, which is better than before. in the attic, and idk much abt it because rlly the memory is so hazy- sometimes i wake up in a cold sweat bc im back there, and sometimes idk if im dreaming or if its real- but rlly truly i dont know for sure what happened. all i know is that biscuit used to bring his friends up there, while i was healing (they put tons of drugs in me idek what they used to help me get better but im pretty sure it was a combo of depressants and steroids)- they would pass me around. i just get hazes- visions sort of. i dont even remember. i remeber the feeling of their hands tho, and suddenly feeling a lot colder, feeling the wind on my bare skin. i remember waking up with wind rash and scabs from cigarette burns. i don’t remeber enough o accuse anyone of anything though, so i didn’t mention it to pat. in my head, he didn’t even know. i was wrong ofcourse- he knew. he always knew.

when we got better and went back to our respective homes, we stayed very close. we formed a trauma bond. codependcy. it was wonderful while it lasted, but soon, he started to fall for me. he never raped me, but he did other things. i don’t care to specify at the moment because i fear ive already gone into prolific detail about things i never wanted to think about again. truthfully, i love pat. i do. i hold no hatred towards him, and i really don’t like to talk about all the bad things he did to me, because he was my sweet boy. i never loved him like that- he was just my best friend, but when i speak about him people don’t seem to understand. he understood me, and it’s just. hard to talk about because there’s so much to say. i can’t write it all down in this small part of a bigger story because i have so much to say about him that i’d rather just give it out in pieces. if you see something tagged with #pat or #i miss him, it’s probably about him.

idk what else to say. i’ve been manipulated many times since. used, beat, thrown away. at least pat had the decency to lie to me about it while he did. i’ve never been anyone’s first choice, and i’ve never felt as loved as i did when i had him. he was my best friend, and while this story isn’t about him, it’s hardly about me either. long story short, people used me because they could. i was available. i was around. i used to feel like a victim until i realized im just not special enough to be that. im not special enough to be anything to anyone, and my body wasn’t even “chosen” to be used because its me, it was just convenience. idk. that’s as much as im willing to share. there’s more but - for now this is enough.

[rootspiral]

This is gonna be a long one so buckle up. And I’m going to apologize in advance if I repeat anything you said, I’ve had this saved in my drafts for a couple days now. The way this entire trial is set up makes me absolutely feral.

The way Agatha’s trial is presented as a teen sleepover with friends (and gf) and then all of them turn on her. The way they all immediately want to leave her behind despite the fact that it was Agatha who uplifted them and got them through the first two trials (despite any ulterior motives) because they buy into the story (half truth) that Agatha can’t be trusted. When it’s Agatha’s turn to be supported they fail her, let her fall.

The way Agatha reverts to something so vulnerable when Evanora shows up, saying classic teen lines (“gee mom quit embarrassing me in front of my friends”). How she reverts to begging and saying “I can be good” when she genuinely thinks she’s about to be abandoned again, something she told her mom right before her first coven tried to kill her for… wanting knowledge, because Evanora took one look at a baby and saw something wrong. Agatha is genuinely terrified, knows Evanora hates her so entirely. She is a lot of the reason why Agatha is the way she is.

It doesn’t matter that she knows the Road itself is fake, Billy’s magic has done the worst thing it could possibly do to her and put her at the mercy of Evanora and her new coven when she’s completely mentally, physically, and emotionally vulnerable. When she’s dressed as a teen at a slumber party being ousted and persecuted by “mean girls” and her closed minded mother. “Tie her up, humiliate her, leave her with her tormentor.”

Her only defender being her gf (wife) who refuses to leave Agatha with Evanora for even a moment, who refuses to even play along with the idea under the pretense of the Road having rules. Even as a joke, even as someone who acts like they’re just here for the chaos, real or not Rio refuses to let Evanora lay a hand on Agatha.

There’s also something to say of the queer context for this scene but I feel unequipped to properly dissect all that with any coherency.

haha coherency isn't my strong suit either, but I also really want to explore the parallels between agatha's upbringing and queerness. i see a lot of parallels this show can draw with race and mental illness too - in short, being in a marginalized group has its specific downfalls but some general patterns too, both in the way the outside world treats you and the way members of the group treat each other.

and yes, I agree that this trial was 30 minutes of horrible, senseless torture for agatha. I'll get to all that tomorrow and in the next entries, but I do belive - with reserve - that agatha wasn't in control. thank you so much for your contribution and for always engaging with my posts, I really appreciate it!

[emo-mohawk-boy]

The Foundations of Decay Lyric Analysis

(Basically me yapping about my theories for lyrics, lmk if you have any ideas!!)

See the man who stands upon the hill- Hills are higher areas of land. If he's standing on a hill, maybe he's above everyone else (higher position? Rank? Mentality? Experience?) He dreams of all the battles won- Whose battles? Likely his, but maybe his opponent's battles? Potentially glorifying war But fate had left its scars upon his face- Marked in some way? Wounded in battle? Or maybe just a way of saying he's destined to do something With all the damage they had done- Who is being referred to as "they"? Dictator? Fate? Enemies? And so time, with age/It turns the page- Could mean time erases everything? Maybe he's getting old? Let the flesh/Submit itself to gravity- Again with the aging theme, maybe using plastic surgery or something to not have skin sag? Or his body needs to fall (gravity) from the hill he's standing on (first line) Let our bodies lay/Mark our hearts with shame- Could be something about lovers? Marking hearts with shame because they didn't love who they were supposed to (Gay? Not following the Dictator?) Let our blood in vain- Killing "us" won't do anything? You find God in pain- Religion is powerful, maybe being in pain or causing pain causes you to further your faith? Maybe you become like a god? Now/If your convictions were a passing phase/May your ashes feed the river in the morning rays- If your convictions (what convictions?) are wrong, your ashes (death) will feed the river (MOAT?). Morning rays could indicate the start of something; maybe your death is a catalyst for rebellion? And as the vermin crawls we lay in the foundations of decay- What exactly are the foundations of decay? Is it a place? A feeling? A state? Maybe the vermin are taking over as we're unable to help?

He was there, the day the towers fell- 9/11? I've made a post about this theory as well; maybe the Dictator witnessed 9/11? And so he wandered down the road- Could mean he had a glimpse into the future? And we would all build towers of our own- Everyone has their own towers, meaning they could all have their own 9/11-esque events? Towers are generally secretive places, so maybe people don't trust each other anymore? Only to watch the roots corrode- Maybe realizing their beliefs are not what they believe in anymore (Revolution?)? But it's much too late/You're in the race- What race? Electoral race? Running away or towards something? Maybe it means you've already started and it's too late to quit now? So we'll press/And press 'til you can't take it anymore- Maybe pressuring you to do something? Like finally convincing someone to do something? And if by his own hand his spirit flies- Suicide?

Take his body as a relic to be canonized- His body becomes a relic? Canonized? Could be another possible reference to becoming god-like. Bodies aren't typically considered relics unless they belonged to someone important (Dictator?)Now/And so he gets to die a saint but she will always be a whore- Seems a lot like what many women experience, they say a guy raped them and nobody believes it, they just think the woman's a whore. A more likely reason based on the videos so far could be that a man (Dictator) can gain power and eventually pass away as a saint; if a woman did that she might be accused of sleeping her way to the top? If he's the Dictator, he could die a saint (again, religious reference). But who's the woman in this situation? The only two women we know about so far are the Secretary and the Opera woman. Neither of those seem like they'd really fit this line.

(You look stressed out)- Why do you look stressed out? Is there a major event happening??

Against faith (cage all the animals)- Another religious theme. To go against faith could mean to go against the Dictator. Politicians are sometime called animals? Against all life ('cause the message must be pure)- So life isn't pure? Are we trying to make life pure? What message is being sent that must be so pure? Against change (you can wander through the ruins)- Go against change? Is the world a good place as it is under the Dictator's rule? Is the Dictator about to rule? You're allowed to wander through the ruins but what ruins? 9/11 aftermath? Ruins of an old world? War? We are plagued (but the poison is the cure)- What are we plagued by? If the poison (Party Poison? Unlikely but possible) is the cure, does that mean we have to die to escape the plague? Is there misinformation? You must fix your heart- What about my heart do I have to fix? Is it because I'm mortal? Do I need to start following the Dictator? And you must build an altar where it swells- Where what swells? My heart? Altar=Another religious object, build an altar for the Dictator? When the storm it gains/And the sky it rains- Storms are typically bad and destructive? Let it flood/Let it flood/Let it wash away- What are we letting the storm wash away? A past life? Beliefs? Cities? And as you stumble through your last crusade- Final mission, stumbling could mean you're getting weary, maybe that's why it's your last. Crusade=another religious theme Will you welcome your extinction in the morning rays?- Will you accept death? One of the previous lines is about your ashes feeding the river in the morning rays. Maybe your death is the start of a new era? And as the swarm it calls we lay in the foundations- What swarm?

Yes, it comforts me much more/To lay in the foundations of decay- Why is it comforting? Are you finally done fighting? Are you the foundation of decay to come? Get/Up/Coward- Maybe you have to fight and choose something that's not comfortable. Is it cowardly to lay in the foundations of decay? Is it something the Dictator designed?

[seullovesme]

red velvet hcs » love languages

irene

- acts of service

irene loves to take care of you all the time. whenever you're stressed or overwhelmed, she'll prepare you your comfort food and make sure you eat knowing you already have a lot on your mind <3 she also checks the weather every time you plan on leaving the house so she can remind you to bring a jacket if it's cold or an umbrella if its raining. even if it's simple things like making sure your car keys are always by the front door so it's easier for you to find them, or sneaking extra snacks in your bag in case you get hungry when going about. it slowly becomes apart of her routine. she doesn't really do it to expect anything in return because she loved knowing she's helping you, but she does enjoy all the love and affection you give her all the time in gratitude of all she does for you.

you do try to return the favor though. when she's ill, you leave medicine and water on the bedside with a sweet note before you leave. if she's feeling cold at night, you'll give her the majority of the blanket and cuddle her to sleep. the things you do for each other are basically instinctual and they come so naturally, all formed by the love you shared. people may have seen it as chores or added responsibilities, but irene never thought of it as that and neither did you. you both–not always having the right words to express it–were happy knowing that there were little things you could do to show you cared.

seulgi

- physical touch

being able to be wrapped in your warmth makes seulgi so happy! she unconsciously longs for your touch whenever your not around, and when you're with her, she doesn't hesitate to hug you and hold your hands. you'll be laying on the couch and seul comes home exhausted, and immediately she starts walking to you. no words, she just lays on top of you and enjoys feeling your chest rise and fall on hers. when sleeping in the same bed, it's impossible to every be cold with your bear latched onto you. <3 she especially loves when you initiate contact. holding her face with both hands on her cheeks makes her smile instantly, and she really loves when you squish her cheeks when she's smiling. she always feels the need to be as close to you as possible.

she'll finish a performance and bolts backstage to find you. when she finally spots you sitting in her dressing room, she jumps onto you and hugs you like she hadn't seen you in weeks (it was more like a 2 days, but that's too long in seulgi land). she's just like a koala to a tree, never letting go. inevitably, she lets go so the staff can fix her up, but she can't go a few minutes feeling your touch and holds your hand as they work around the two of you. it was so reassuring for seulgi to feel you there physically and you knew that. it never bothered you in the slightest.

wendy

- words of affirmation

every day, she tells you that you're the best partner in the world. even after every fight or argument, she reminds you that her love for you never wavers. wendy also loves showering you in compliments. you'll be getting dressed, and she'll just sit there and watch you piece your outfit together. when you're done, she claps while saying something along the lines of "wow, i'm truly the luckiest girl in the world" or "i can't believe your all mine". she's a little cheesy with her lines, but she'd do anything to make that million dollar smile show on your face.

wendy not only likes giving words of affirmation but also receiving. sometimes, she gets self-conscious because of what people say about her. she comes home from work absolutely drained, on the verge of breaking down at the foyer, and you come rushing to greet her. once you see her in that state, you immediately know what to do as you put down all her stuff and drag her to your shared bedroom. you lay down and wrap her in your arms with her head under your chin, rubbing her back while telling her how proud you are of her. "i don't care what people think, you are amazing love. i've seen how hard you work, i'm so proud of you and i love you so so much".

joy

- receiving gifts

it's not that she wants you to spend your money on her or that she needs objects to represent your love; she just enjoys how much thought you put into picking out something specifically for her. it's never just random thing you think might please her, but things your time and effort go into. every time you bring her something new, you love seeing her face glow in happiness and her smile is enough to soothe any kind of stress or tension in your life. joy absolutely adores seeing you rave about how you came up with the gift idea as she sees and hears the love from within you.

her favorite gift of yours–which she must admit had some really close contenders–was the photo book you made for your anniversary. it was almost as thick as a dictionary, filled to the brim with cute pictures of the both of you. firstly, you got a crapload of photos printed at a print shop before cutting the hundreds of images into their own individual pieces. then, you very carefully glued each picture one by one in the many pages until there was no empty space left. she had it dead center on her shelf, and whenever she saw it, she was reminded of the love you held for her.

yeri

- quality time

yeri values her time and she never wastes it on anything unimportant. that's why it was either spent with her career, her family, her friends, and with you. all her time was invested in the things she loved most and you were apart of that list. she made sure the two of you didn't go a full week without at least two dates (one if your schedules were packed), and mainly it was because she needed it to stay sane in the midst of the chaos. just being with you took her mind away from her problems.

she loves having your absolute attention. she does receive a lot of attention from fans and all, but with you it was different entirely. you gave her love that she couldn't get from just anywhere, and the fact that you'd put down everything to just be in the moment with her filled her with a warmth only you provided. something simple like sitting on the sofa together and talking about you've been up to all the way to a fancy dinner where you're sharing stories over expensive foods, yeri just loves spending her hours with you.

[littlemanthings]

Dear Fandom,

To say I am deeply disappointed in what this fandom has become is an understatement, but because I really don't want to start aggression by using vulgar language or to stress the VAs out anymore than they probably are; I'm going to try keep it at a certain level. But man, there are better ways to ask for a whole army to come after you with pitchforks like this was the fucking middle ages and without having all this damage being done.

And now we're losing a big part of this show because some people just had to cross the line over a hundred fucking times now. I'm so ever proud and impressed with Kat for dealing with this and for so long— and with three other jobs as well? All I can do is hope that she knows how important she and all the others who work with the shows is to us all.

I don't like getting personal, but if there is that small chance that any of them read this I just wanted to share this with you; about like two-three years ago I was very lonely, and my head space was not in the right place, but in that same year I also found the SAMS channel, and my heart kinda just made a nest there. Then Lunar and Earth started their own thing and things just felt better. For a while I really thought one of these years was going to be mark the end for me, but these characters, the writing, everything about it made me want to stay a little longer— just until I got to see how it ended, I would tell myself. And now I'm pretty sure I do want to be here long after the curtains fall.

So thank you, if I could say it a million times I would. Thank you for making Earth who she is. Thank you for representing the rest of us girls out there. Thank you for reigniting my love for writing. Thank you for unknowingly raising a young teenager who wants to live thanks to you and a lot of other people (you too Davis and Reed).

To clarify a few things; I am not in any way trying to convince Kat to not quit writing for the shows, I understand her decision and fully support it. I hope to god I didn't make things weird or project myself onto this situation, I really just wanted Kat to know she means a whole lot to us.

[fictionalmenxyn]

𝐁𝐢𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬

Pairing: Rafe x Reader

Warnings: swearing, boys being boys (suggestive talking) and Rafe casually (to him) hitting someone.

◎◎◎

Rafe and the boys felt bored, they knew just the thing to cure that, you. So that’s exactly what the did. They spammed you with messages in their ‘the idiots and Y/n’ group chat. Then all parked their bikes on your driveway.

Rafe walked over and knocked your door. You swung it open, you shouted playfully “No!” You playfully shut the door in his face. You could hear them all laughing. You smiled and opened the door “yes yes, I’m coming I’m coming.” Kelce shouted “that’s what she said”. Earning a smack to the back of the head by Topper and a playful glare from Rafe.

Rafe looked back to you and smiled “hey, pretty girl, you got everything?” He leaned down and pecked your lips.

You smiled and nodded “yeah, got everything.” You head over to the garage and open it up. Revealing your Yamaha MT10. You pull your helmet on and get into the bike. You grew up with motorbikes, your father being a mechanic. Also a bike enthusiast. So you knew your stuff and saved your money well. Even if you’re a kook, you’re humble, not a spoilt brat. Like some….

You girl my head forward toward Rafe “put the radio thingy on, babe, please.” He chuckled as he walked over and put on your radio that connects to everyone else’s helmets. So you can all communicate.

You all started to leave the street you lived on, heading out for the day.

You all stop at a stop light. Putting your feet either side of the bike and onto the ground. You spoke “so why did you all drag me out of my comfy bed?” They all almost say in sync “bored.” You playfully roll your eyes “so I had to come?! Couldn’t have done anythinnggg else??” They all answer “yup.” You joke “hate you guys…”

They all laugh the Topper spoke “no you don’t, you love us really.” You shrug playfully “mmm don’t know, might change my mind…” Rafe playfully shoves you a little. Then the light turning green you all sped off. You asked “where are we even going?” Rafe replied “don’t know, didn’t really think that far ahead…”

You laugh “what?! What do you meeeaaann ‘didn’t think that far ahead’… sometimes I think I’m actually friends with a bunch of idiots…” Rafe playfully gasped “hey! I’m your boyfriend, correct that shit, right now!” You roll your eyes and correct yourself “I think that my boyfriend is an idiot, that better?” He nodded and laughed “yeah, babe, better…”

Topper suggested “we could head for some food? That new grill house is finally open…” you practically squeal into the radio. Causing the guys to groan, Kelce complained “could you not?!”

You laugh “sorry… I like food… can you blame me?” Topper replied “touché.”

Rafe said “yeah, let’s head there for some food, then we can think of something to do while we eat.”

You all rode through figure eight and headed towards the coast line where the food and other stores were.

You all parked your bikes up and headed down the street. Taking your helmets off as you enter the grill house. Rafe walked first. Already acting like he knew the place. A thing he always did especially at stake houses. A random thing he did but never really knew why.

Rafe asked to the waitress “could we get a table for four, please?” You smiled a little at his manners. Usually you’d have to smack him under the table or give him the ‘evils’ as he says when you shoot a quick glare at him.

The woman nodded and spoke “come right this way…” she guided you four over to a booth. You all sat in. You and Rafe on one side, Topper and Kelce in the other.

Rafe purposely leaned over to grab a menu. Making sure you got squished as he did. You knew he was playing around, since he’s done this since you two were kids. He also knew that a jab to uis ribs was coming. Which you did. Sticking your index finger out and jabbing him in the ribs. He laughed softly “what? I wasn’t doing anything…” you remarked “oh really?? So everyone you do that, you don’t do anything??” He smirked and nodded. You shake your head with a smile, unbelievable he was.

After you’ve all ate your food and paid, you once again head out towards your bikes.

Your eyes widen a little as you see some guy leaning against Rafe’s bike. And a girl taking photos of the guy. Topper muttered “oh shit…” you and Topper shear a glance before you hear Rafe “what the fuck??”

You all walk over, the guy looks over and spoke “hey dude, this your bike? It’s sick! I’ve always wanted a bike like this…” you could see Rafe’s eye twitch ever so slightly as he sees the guy adjust a few things in the bike. That’s two things that pissed Rafe off. One, a stranger getting all up in his personal belongings. And two, someone touching and adjusting things on his bike.

Rafe replied “yeah, man, that’s mine. You taking pics or sum?” He scratched his nose with his thumb. You place a hand on his shoulder blade. Rafe stepped away from your touch. Not actually kissed at you for touching him but he knew he had to take a step from you so whatever he did, you wouldn’t get caught up in it.

He walked over to the guy, “Topper, my friend here-” Rafe slung his arm around Topper “-he’ll take some photos for ya. He’s good at that shit, ain’t ya Top?” Topper nodded. Knowing where this was going. Having seen Sons of Anarchy, with Rafe.

Topper took the guys phone out of the chick’s hand. Taking a photo of the guy against Rafe’s bike. Topper spoke “that’s the before…” the guy’s eyebrow raised “before?”

That’s when Rafe’s fist connected with the guys nose. Hearing a small crunch coming from the guy’s face. You and Kelce wince at the noise. Rafe stepped back with a smirk “don’t ever fucking touch my bike… you’ll have worse next time, buddy…”

The guy held his now broken nose. Topper snapped another photo “there’s the after…” Topper then tossed the guys phone to him.

You walked over to Rafe and muttered “you really wanted to do that after watching that fucking show, hm?” Rafe smirked. Looking down to you, he mumbled “what? Can’t help it…” you joked “sometimes i actually think you wanna be Jax…”

He playfully rolled his eyes. Looking at the guy and his chick. Rafe shot him a warning glare once more.

You all got on your bikes and sped off. Your little biker gang being the knockoff ‘Sons of Anarchy’.

‘The Sons of Outer Banks.’

And turns out you guys did think of ideas on what to do for the rest of the day.

◎◎◎

[feminurge]

gale, pressing words into her mouth as if she had spoken them-- there, in this space where she is the shape he made her, she exhales softly at the poetrics death can bring about. she is a lovely thing, transformed by his good heart. perhaps in another life she is that exact creature, one that does not adore the spilled guts and the pools of blood.

however the truth is that she meant corpses; true corpses. beauty in the decomposition. beauty in the horrid truth of what comes once the spirit has been cut, as easily as a thread. red, yes, red like the spilt blood on her hands, the one on the blade, the one that she tastes when the knife glides on her tongue. beauty, yes. in-between the unfocusing of the eyes and the last exhale stands a secret most cannot handle.

and that secret, as all precious things, deserves its bit of worship.

perhaps it is what she finds beautiful in the wizard: he, too, holds a secret that most would not be able to handle. a corpse that refuses its rot, that finds rhymes for its demise, that remains standing even after the final blow. she could not kill him, for that would be ruining the secrecy of his ways-- it would end the delicious game of his survival. she supposes that kicking a dead corpse would be as satisfying as taking gale's last breath. even if it were bitten between her own lips. even if it were stolen with a kiss. even if it were the worst betrayal ever committed.

gods, would he not give it to her, were she to ask? would he not help? disgust seizes her. disgust, and something else-- something warm, like blood.

"i would not know." she admits it easily, as one would comment on the weather. none of her own that she can possibly remember. perhaps it is for the best: no point in entertaining the idea that she is a monster capable of love. desire, yes. she has felt it-- she simmers in it quite easily. like a fire looking for moths to burn.

at the mention of dismemberement, she grins wildly, "how delicious." illuminated by the fire, she appears to be a hellish creature of white gold. the electricity of her gaze, almost luminous, sparks with amusement. "is it not joyous? to cut one's limb off & remain entirely free to grow another. or a thousand." she looks at his journal, then, following the gaze of the wizard with ease. he is quite a read himself, but she finds herself fluent. perhaps it is because he is an easy study, all rough lines, so eager to be perceived.

"why should i be apologizing?" she asks him, "why should you?" she rises from her seat, then, only to crawl closer. istar is a peculiar individual, sometimes more animal than human, inhabited by habits quite difficult to explain away and with no probable causes. unapologetic, yes, even in the way she moves: fast as lightning, agile as a lizard. once she is close enough, her right hand is raised toward his chest. hovering, close to feel the warmth of human skin; the pull of his rot, of his hunger.

gods, perhaps she is a bit apologetic. how terrible to pretend she is doing a good act when, really, she is so very curious to see if he would have the guts to devour her. magic and all. sometimes it feels like he might be the only one who can. when the feast is done and she lays on her bedroll, the voices quiet down. the blood simmering in her veins becomes a gentle river. her joints start to hurt. her thoughts loose themselves in impossibilities that have yet to die. it is peaceful. it is such a pitiful thing to desire.

and yet.

"always the martyr, wizard." she whispers. "do i not know of being cut in two?" magic flows, then, from her hand; a small tendril of lightning, immediately swallowed by the hungry orb within him. (strange, perhaps, that no incantation has to be spoken)

she sighs softly, mouth parted, and it takes her a moment to continue. "the sum of who i am is what you have encountered. all that came before is lost to the ether. i believe considering my estimated age that i have not been halved, but quartered." a small quiver, the sting of magic being ripped from her very skin. but then the same demented smile, "it is not my duty to apologize for all that is missing. nor is it yours. and if anyone has been stupid enough to steal from us, then they should encounter our wrath."

loved? no, nothing like that. but she knows that she has been feared. that whatever is within her-- that hunger, that rage-- it could topple empires.

Interesting. "...I'm guessing what you meant to say was that there would be beauty even in death. Well, if beauty truly would lie in the eye of the beholder, then I would desire nothing more than to see myself through yours." It's disgusting, isn't it?, how he would say such things with such terrible ease. He should wonder if it skeeves her to so witness the measure of this dear friend's heart. She could dawdle on murder, dream of organs strung like jewels to hang upon her neck, and every morning with the birdsong and a greeting from this wizard, he would look find her, treat her, and think she's suns. It's -- vile, is what it is. It's borderline liable to trouble one's guts. But there is a beauty in this madness, in commanding so easily that trust he would give. She could long to see him dead, to snip at all his flesh and to rummage through his bones, and perhaps in fondness, he may just let her...

Perhaps in fondness, he'd help her, too.

And wouldn't that be nice, to lower down and sleep in the hovel of his chest? She could nest in there longly with all the warmth tucked tight in his smashed-splintered ribs. He could protect her from nothing, this hunter, this prowler, and this abominable killer. She's come crawling from a nightmare, a thing birthed from vents in those hells of ruin, and what monster would slither to try her in her sleep? She's queen. She, looking at him, is always safe.

No. He is nothing like Halsin, and he's no sense, none at all, like the rest of their group. Still, the man's love in droves, a lamb that truly views her as worthy of his efforts. And perhaps it all makes sense. Perhaps that's the reason she would hate him dead. He can't give her much, not when he would fester in the open as a corpse, but that warmth that would leave him as his heart took to slumber... In life and only then, it will stubbornly persist.

Yes. He could offer her his praise. He could hold her in his arms if she would only want it. All that fealty on his tongue and hammered in his marrow... Even the daughter of death-gods require devotion.

"Ahem. You, um, don't exactly mince your words, do you? It's not exactly an easy affair, loathed as I am to admit it," Gale finds himself saying, "to detangle oneself entirely from a lover." How unfortunate. "Sacrificing a half of yourself for the half of someone else would leave any parting like a...violent dismemberment." Or an amputation, he thinks, as you're buckled and fastened atop a blood-dripping gurney, lopped by a bonesaw of your rot-eaten arm. Ugh. He feels amputated, truthfully, a gruesome phantom pain still gnawing at his nerves. The blight is festering, climbing up greedily like ivies in their journey up a rain-eaten trellis. It renders him hollow, his mind still foggy even as they speak. He's still not entirely whole, scurrying on his knees to pick up those pieces his goddess had shattered, but where Mystra's sharp heel would plunge in his neck, Istar's own has never hurt him. She just...watches him there, collecting himself, failing, collecting himself again. She sounds so stoic, her words as clear as her face as the starlight paints her brow. She's nothing to hide, baring all of herself like the midnight were the morning. He doesn't know how she does it, speak in that way and yet spirit his heart. She's sank her claws in his mind, his attention for tonight entirely on her. What had he been doing before she'd come here? Oh, right. Wallowing. Shaking his head, he peers back down to eye his journal with his poetry. "But you would look to me as though I were something whole, wouldn't you? Truly, as I told you, I would do most anything to walk the world in your shoes," he says, seemingly to her. "Everything about you is so...no word can do it justice. I suppose I'll just have to settle on unapologetic."

Yes. Would he have her as should she offer herself? Would he feast off that magic rumbling lively in her heart? He would. Once, twice, thrice. Indeed, how very, very marvelous.

"I would hope you don't know the feeling, to feel so unceremoniously halved." Has she ever sacrificed herself? Loved?

[doctorpleasant]

So you’re saying the brutal enforcer of the ruthless drug lord who fractured the Underground gets to represent the people of Zaun instead of, idk, one of the Firelights?

[merlinmerlot]

I could play one of the most beautiful well crafted video games on the planet and it will never be as appealing to me as one that kind of sucks shit but has soooo much potential

[britneyshakespeare]

throughout the series of drake and josh it pretty consistently implies that josh nichols is a christian (josh peck is jewish) and in the finale of the series helen (played by yvette nicole brown, not jewish[?]) is portrayed as a practicing jew

[camscendants]

Had a bad day at work yesterday

[border-collie]

I get pushed out of windows and keep landing on my feet, but I wish life would stop pushing me out if windows

[rafestify]

need a rafe fic please where reader is part of the pogues, her and rafe have been on and off for forever obviously due to everything he’s done but deep down he’s so down bad for reader and maybe she’s pregnant instead of sarah and he doesn’t find out until morocco because the pogues are hovering over her idk angst fluff whatever you feel!!!

Two lines — Rafe Cameron

Summary : Fem!Reader is pregnant with Rafe’s baby, but he doesn't know until pope accidentally mentions her baby (season 4 ep 10 spoilers!! ⚠️)

Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

Warnings : mentions of vomiting & language (english is not my first language)

A/N : as requested 😉 hope u like it anon!

Two lines, and the father was long gone, off doing god knows what. Rafe was the last guy I'd hooked up with, and even after we broke up, we somehow kept finding our way back to each other, especially after the Kildare Enduro. He knew no one else could satisfy me the way he did, and so it became this endless cycle, break up, hook up, make up. What Rafe didn’t know was that I was pregnant. I hadn’t planned on telling him, at least not until we made up.

There I was, back on Rafe’s boat with my friends, setting off to Morocco in search of the Blue Crown and Chandler Groff. My friends had locked Rafe up, tying him up in a small room, just in case. We all knew better than to trust Rafe Cameron, not after everything he’d done.

I walked into the dimly lit room, carrying a tray with a glass of water, a plate of food, and a couple of aspirin for his black eye. The sight of him, bruised, tugged at something deep inside me.

“Here,” I murmured, setting the tray down on the table beside him. “I brought some aspirin, just in case you’re feeling dizzy or something…”

He snorted, cutting me off. “What? You’re just gonna throw it in my mouth like I’m a fuckin' seal?” He wasn’t exactly wrong, but his sharp tone made me bristle. “Nobody trusts you, Rafe,” I replied, my voice steady. “Not after what you did.”

His jaw tightened, and a flash of anger sparked in his eyes. “I saved your asses!” he shot back, his face flushing with frustration. “And not even a thank you was said.”

I took a slow breath, steadying myself. “I know, Rafe. I know,” I said softly. “Thank you, really.” I offered him a small, sincere smile.

He looked at me for a moment, his gaze softening just slightly. “You trust me, right?” he asked, his voice quieter, a bit more vulnerable. I bit down on my lip, feeling the pull he always seemed to have on me.

“Yeah,” I admitted, almost reluctantly. God, he knew exactly how to get to me.

He looked at the ropes binding his wrists and nodded toward them. “Then untie me. Get this shit off me.”

I shook my head, feeling a pang of guilt but holding my ground. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” I pressed my lips together, trying to keep my resolve. “Just… eat the food. We wouldn’t want you dying in here.” With that, I turned and walked out, the door closing softly behind me, leaving me with a sigh that I didn’t even realize I’d been holding back.

As I stepped out of the room, I was met by Kiara’s anxious expression, her arms folded tightly as she waited. The moment she saw me, her face softened slightly, though worry still flickered in her eyes.

"How’d it go?" she asked quietly, as if afraid to hear the answer.

I shrugged, trying to mask the mixture of emotions stirring inside me. "Same old Rafe," I replied, keeping my tone light, but my gaze drifted, unable to meet hers directly.

Kiara studied me for a moment before speaking again. "Soo... did you tell him?"

I frowned, genuinely puzzled. "Tell him what?"

She raised an eyebrow, giving me a pointed look. "That you’re pregnant, with his child."

Oh, right. That one.

I swallowed, feeling a sudden knot in my stomach. "Uh—no, not yet," I admitted, my voice barely a whisper. "I just… I don’t know how he’d react." My hands found each other, my fingers nervously fidgeting as I tried to imagine how that conversation would even go. "What if he doesn’t want to keep the baby?"

Kiara sighed softly and reached out, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. Her warmth grounded me, pulling me back from my spiraling thoughts. "Look," she said firmly, her gaze locking onto mine. "You have us. We’ll help you through every single part of this. That’s what friends are for, right?"

I looked at her, the tension in my chest easing slightly. Her words held a strength that I so desperately needed. "Yeah," I whispered, a small smile breaking through my worry. "Thank you, Kie."

She wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into a hug, and for a moment, the uncertainty and fear faded. In her embrace, I felt a flicker of hope—a reminder that I wouldn’t have to face this alone.

After battling fierce winds and waves, we finally arrived in Essaouira. The coastal city spread before us, its whitewashed buildings with blue shutters gleaming under softened storm light. Narrow streets twisted through the medina, lined with shops selling handmade crafts and drenched in a timeless, rustic charm.

The Atlantic crashed against the ancient medina walls, sturdy and weathered, while blue fishing boats bobbed in the harbor—just like the skiffs in the Outer Banks. The salty air and easy warmth of the locals, the slow rhythm of the sea, and the hum of daily life brought back memories of home, as if Essaouira was a Moroccan echo of the Outer Banks.

We continued to wander through the narrow streets of Essaouira, the sound of bustling market vendors and the distant call of seagulls filling the air. John B and Sarah led the way, their steps light and carefree, like they had no care in the world. Following behind them was Cleo, Pope, and Kiara, their conversations flowing easily as they walked, with JJ and I bringing up the rear. But it was Rafe who trailed behind, his presence almost ghostlike, like a lost puppy, following silently in our wake.

As we strolled through the maze of alleyways, I felt a sudden, sharp wave of nausea hit me. It was sudden, and intense, as if something in my stomach was threatening to rise up. I let out a soft huff, pressing my hand to my stomach, trying to hold back the overwhelming feeling of sickness.

JJ, who had been walking beside me, must've noticed the change in my posture because he looked at me with concern. "Y/N?" he called, his voice laced with worry.

"Oh god," I muttered under my breath, the nausea worsening, my head spinning.

"What's wrong? You okay?" JJ asked, his voice low, concern evident on his face.

I shook my head, barely able to focus on him. "No... I need to sit," I said, my voice strained. I felt like I was going to collapse if I didn’t stop moving.

JJ quickly guided me to a pile of carpets that were stacked outside a shop. The soft fabric felt like a relief under me as I sat down, trying to steady my breathing. The rest of the group quickly noticed, and soon I was surrounded by their concerned faces. Kiara dropped to her knees in front of me, her eyes searching mine, her hand resting on my knee in a comforting gesture.

"What's up? What are you feeling?" she asked, her voice soft and filled with genuine concern.

"I'm really nauseous," I managed to answer, my hand covering my mouth, just in case. I didn’t trust myself to hold it down any longer.

Cleo, who had been standing off to the side, stepped forward, her arms crossed over her chest. "She probably needs food. It’s been like two days..or what?" she said, her voice tinged with practicality.

"Yeah, the baby’s probably hungry too," Pope added, offering a casual shrug, as if it was just an obvious conclusion.

I froze, my stomach twisting. The mention of "the baby" caught me off guard, and suddenly, all eyes turned to me. Rafe, who had been hanging back, still distant, looked like he was suddenly paying attention. His gaze shifted from me to Pope and then back to me, his brow furrowing.

"What baby?" Rafe asked, his voice sharp, as if something about the situation didn't sit right with him.

Oh god, here we go.

Pope went silent, and I could feel the tension rise in the air, thickening around us. I glanced up at Rafe, who was now standing a few feet away, looking at me with an expression that was hard to read. His eyes narrowed as if trying to make sense of what he had just heard.

"No, seriously, what baby?" he repeated, his voice insistent, even stern now.

I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle over me. There was no easy way to say it, but it had to be said. "I’m pregnant, Rafe," I said quietly, locking eyes with him. "With your baby."

The words hung in the air between us, like they were too heavy to carry. For a long moment, Rafe didn’t say anything. He just stood there, silent, his expression unreadable. The others were watching him closely, waiting for a reaction, but he remained eerily still.

I could feel the tension growing, an awkwardness settling in the space around us, as if everything had just shifted. My hands were shaking slightly, not from the nausea anymore, but from the weight of what had just been revealed. And Rafe, he was just staring at me, his mouth slightly parted but no words coming out.

"Go get her something to eat," Rafe suddenly snapped, his voice cutting through the tension that still hung thick in the air.

Without another word, he dug through his small waist bag, the leather creaking under his movements. I wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but then, with a small grunt of satisfaction, he pulled out a wad of cash—several bills, all stacked neatly together. As he unfolded them, I saw that he had about $400 in his hand, a small fortune for street vendors in Essaouira.

"Wait what?" JJ’s voice broke the moment of disbelief. He raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "They don’t take dollars, you idiot—"

"I said go," Rafe interrupted sharply, his tone hardening. There was no room for argument, no sign of hesitation in his voice. It was almost as if he was trying to regain some control over the situation, and in doing so, he completely dismissed JJ’s protests. His words were a command, not a suggestion.

The rest of us exchanged uneasy glances, the shift in Rafe’s demeanor catching everyone off guard. But without further discussion, John B, Sarah, Cleo, Pope, and Kiara reluctantly turned to start walking back toward the market, their steps unsure but obedient. JJ hesitated for a moment, clearly frustrated by Rafe’s abruptness, but eventually followed along as well.

Rafe’s eyes lingered on me for a second, his expression unreadable. He stood still for a moment longer, his gaze momentarily drifting over to the group before returning to me. He didn’t say anything else. His words had been clear, and I could tell that something about the situation had shifted for him.

"I don’t care whether you want the baby or not, but I’m keeping them," I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. My heart pounded in my chest, the weight of my decision pressing down on me. The truth was, I had made up my mind. I had to keep the baby, and nothing anyone said or did would change that. Not even Rafe.

Rafe’s eyes widened at my declaration, and for a moment, he just stood there, staring at me, his face unreadable. Then, he kneeled down, and he let out a sharp breath. "Hey, hey, hey—who said I don’t want to keep the baby?" His voice was calm, but there was an underlying tension to it, as if my words had hit a nerve.

I blinked, caught off guard by his response. The words seemed to hang in the air for a moment, and I wasn’t sure what to say next. His eyes were fixed on me now, intense, searching. It felt like something was shifting between us, and I couldn’t quite wrap my head around it.

"We’ll take care of them," Rafe continued, his tone softening just a fraction. "I’ll be with you throughout the whole journey, Y/N. You’re not doing this alone." His voice held a kind of resolve, as if he had already decided, as if he was offering something that felt almost too good to be true.

For a split second, it felt like the world around me had stopped moving. The noise from the market faded into the background, and all I could hear was the steady beat of my own heart. The words he said felt surreal, like they were echoing in my head. "I’ll be with you, 'aight?"

I blinked again, almost feeling like I was in a dream, like I had slipped into some alternate reality where everything suddenly made sense. But when I looked at Rafe, his gaze never wavering from mine, I felt a wave of disbelief wash over me. It felt like a nap dream, a momentary illusion that would disappear when I woke up.

"What?" I said, my voice coming out in a whisper of disbelief. "Sorry—"

Rafe seemed unbothered by my shock. He placed his hands on my knees, his movements deliberate. "You heard me, Y/N." His words were firm, and there was no mistaking the sincerity in them.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The air between us was thick with unspoken thoughts, and I could feel the weight of what he had just said settle in my chest. It was almost too much to process. I had always expected Rafe to pull away, to make this harder for me. But here he was, standing before me with something I hadn’t expected, a promise. A promise to be there. A promise to face this together.

My mind spun, trying to make sense of it. I glanced away for a moment, as if hoping the world would shift and reveal the truth. But when I looked back at him, his expression hadn’t changed. He was still looking at me with those steady, unwavering eyes.

"You’re serious," I murmured more to myself than to him.

Rafe didn’t flinch. "Yeah," he said simply, as if there was nothing more to discuss, as if the decision had already been made. "I’ll be there for you. For us."

For the first time, I didn’t know what to say. My heart was still racing, but for a different reason now. There was a part of me that wanted to believe him, to hold on to this moment, to trust that things might actually be okay. But there was also a part of me that was terrified of what this all meant, of how my life was about to change in ways I couldn’t predict.

I stared at him in utter disbelief, barely able to process the reality unfolding before me. It felt like some kind of miracle. My vision began to blur as tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, the emotions welling up and spilling over, probably caused by the pregnancy hormones, but I couldn’t stop them. I tried to blink them away, but they only gathered faster, until a warm tear rolled down my cheek.

Rafe’s expression softened when he noticed, his gaze never leaving mine. He reached out and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close in a way that felt so natural, so steady. He didn’t hesitate for a second, and his embrace was warm, reassuring, holding me together when I felt like I was on the edge of falling apart, and God, it felt good to be back in his arms.

His hand rubbed gentle circles on my back as he murmured, “We’re gonna be parents.” His voice was soft, filled with awe and disbelief, as if he was speaking the words for the first time and couldn’t quite believe them either.

I nodded against his chest, clutching onto him as tightly as I could. The weight of his words settled over us, the reality of what lay ahead, and as much as I wanted to be brave, I couldn’t shake the fear that started to consume my mind. I let out a shaky breath, my voice coming out in a whisper, “I’m scared, Rafe.” The words felt small, vulnerable, but they were the truth.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his hands gently cupping my face as his thumbs brushed away the stray tears still slipping down my cheeks. “I know,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I am scared too.” There was a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes that mirrored my own, a glimmer of uncertainty about the unknown future that lay ahead.

“But we’re in this together,” he continued, his voice growing stronger, as if he was convincing himself as much as he was reassuring me. “I don’t have all the answers, and I don’t know what’s coming… but I’m not going anywhere.” He leaned down and rested his forehead against mine, closing the space between us. “I’ll be there every step of the way.”

His words washed over me, filling some hollow place I hadn’t realized was empty. In that moment, his presence felt like a lifeline, pulling me out of my fears, giving me a glimpse of something that felt almost like hope. The future was terrifying, yes, but it felt a little less daunting with him by my side.

I looked up at him, my voice steadying as I replied, “I’m glad it’s you.” And as I said the words, I realized just how much I meant them.

He offered me a small, crooked smile, a warmth in his eyes that I hadn’t seen before. “We’re gonna figure this out together,” he promised. “One step at a time.”

I nodded, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. And in that moment, held in his arms, I felt a little less afraid.

Suddenly, as if on cue, the rest of the group appeared, each carrying an assortment of food and drinks. It was almost comical, watching them return all at once, each of them holding something different, John B with a handful of pita bread, Cleo balancing a bowl of yogurt, JJ carrying bottled water, and Sarah clutching a small bag of fruit, including a shiny red apple that she immediately extended toward me.

“Here,” Sarah said softly, her face easing with relief as she offered the apple. I took it gratefully, feeling the cool skin of the fruit in my hand, and took a tentative bite. The crisp, sweet flavor flooded my senses, soothing the nausea that had been twisting in my stomach. They watched with eager anticipation, and as they saw me begin to nibble, their worried expressions started to relax.

“Feeling better now?” Pope asked, his voice gentle but laced with concern as he studied my face.

I swallowed another bite and nodded, a smile creeping onto my face. “Yeah, yeah… thank you,” I replied, glancing at each of them.

They exchanged glances, visibly relieved, and a sense of warmth spread through me as I looked around at their familiar faces, each one showing their own brand of care. I realized then just how much I’d come to rely on them, not just as friends, but as family. I felt a comforting wave of gratitude for each of them, knowing they’d been there for me without question, supporting me in ways I hadn’t even thought possible.

As I took another sip of water, Rafe moved a little closer to me, his hand resting gently on my thigh. His touch was subtle, but the gesture was enough to let me know he was still there, holding his promise to stay by my side. There was something calming in his presence now, something steadying that I hadn’t noticed before.

The others began chatting among themselves, sharing their own stories of haggling with the vendors, laughing about who’d paid the most for what they’d brought. They were giving Rafe and me a moment, I realized, a chance to talk without the pogues’ attention fixed on us.

Rafe leaned down slightly, his face level with mine, his voice low and steady. “You really okay?” he asked, his hand still warm on my thigh.

I took a deep breath, the initial dizziness and nausea fading, leaving behind a feeling of clarity I hadn’t expected. “Yeah, I think so." I paused, looking up into his eyes.

He smiled, a soft, almost vulnerable expression, and for a moment, he seemed like a different Rafe—one who wasn’t weighed down by pride or bravado. “That's good” His voice was filled with a sincerity that softened something inside me. "Don't want our little one and her mommy to starve, do we?" He smiled making me let out a low chuckle.

In this quiet moment, I knew, deep down, that I wouldn’t want anyone else to be the father of my child. Everything just felt right. Despite all the chaos, the ups and downs, there was a steady comfort in knowing me and Rafe would face it together.

likes and reblogs are appreciated! 🐇

>゜))彡 taglist — @rafecamerons-national-anthem @ts1mp0ne @vheavxly @enjoymyloves @tv-girllover07 @husherstan @smthabsolutelyunhinged @multisection @onlyrealjoy @hoelesslyt @nina357

[dawnwriterimagines]

Innocents among you

Part Two to TRAITORS AMONG US

SIMON RILEY X FEM!READER TASK FORCE 141 X FEM!READER

Summary: Your torture is over, but is it really? There is only the torment in your mind now. The nightmares, the flashbacks, the flowers at your hospital bed and the tormentors awaiting the relief of your forgiveness.

Part 3!!

Part 4

If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?

---

You flatlined twice, almost as soon as you were handed off to the medics.

Committing themselves to doing CPR before bringing in the defibrillator for an electric charge to your sudden cardiac arrest. "Clear!" They restarted your heart just outside the hallway of your cell, Simon held back by Price as your heart stopped again within the same minute and panic ensued. Johnny and Kyle hearing the news, rushing up towards the hall, their footsteps probably the echo that you held onto as your heart rate picked back up.

Clearly, you lived.

You didn't have the luxury of going comatose immediately after. As you would've preferred.

You'd awoken hours after the medical team carried you off to the infirmary. Still on edge, still plagued by discomfort and cold, despite the lights of the recovery facility and the nurses that paraded around you.

Morphine wears off in about 6 hours, so you were up wailing in agony within the same time. Clearly no one expected you up so soon, but you hadn't slept in days, at least not more than an hour. Jerking up involuntarily, hands all over you to keep you down and steady, you could hear a familiar doctor's attempt to calm you down. But, the blistering pain that radiated from every pore in your body was ringing so loud, a present noise that blocked everything out.

So, at first, you'd been terrified, attempting to clutch onto the first thing you'd woken up to. But, you couldn't move, at least not voluntarily.

With the damage to your spine for countless hours, days, and what you had discovered to be two fucking weeks of endless torture, you'd undergone three difference corrective surgeries that would 'possibly' fix the nerve and circulatory damage done to you. It had left you nearly completely immobile since your admission into the infirmary. The doctors were quite astonished that you were even alive...

The nurses were patient enough with your panicked state to slowly ease you out of your stupor. But, at times it wasn't easy, especially when you didn't even know where you were at first. Since you couldn't see...

You were blind for about four days. Everything a tinted red for a few more after you'd regained your sight.

Fevers plagued you for the week, skin that was raw and inflamed from the severe cold and constant dousing from the pipes, you couldn't move if you wanted to.

The first thing you'd been graced to see were the multiple arrangements of flowers, lilies, white tulips, hydrangeas, roses...typical assortments of regret and remorse.

"Can someone throw these away?" had been your first words.

The nurse who had been checking over your vitals looks over at the flowers, the were all over the desk, even on the floor lining the windows, once they ran out of space to put them. It was beautiful. But, she knew why. Everyone knew why. You were quite famous here in the infirmary, as you were in special unit. "Of course."

They were out within the day. The room bare once more.

And then you saw them outside your infirmary window. Just a glimpse. Around the time you were still getting your sight back.

Seeing them for the first time since everything made bile build up in your throat, a screaming fear that created a pulsing headache.

Kyle, Johnny, Price and...you didn't see Simon.

Price was...a statue. Not moving an inch. His hand against his mouth, covering up the aching distress anyone could see on his face.

Kyle was pacing, back and forth and back and forth. Making an offhanded comment at one of them every few seconds.

But, Johnny was talking, pointing spitefully at someone out of your view.

He was there too then. Simon.

Turning away from the window, you couldn't look at them anymore.

"Don't let them in," you breathe out to your doctor as she sets down a trayed mug on your sliding table as she sits you up to drink a hot cup of tea, which you had requested. "Any of them. Please." You were still so cold, you couldn't imagine dealing with any type of cold weather for a while after dealing with this.

She's confused a moment, before turning to the doorway, where she recalled seeing the four men waiting outside in the hallway. She's seen them just sitting there for days now, they wouldn't beg or argue to come in, they'd just wait. It's not like you were cleared for visitors yet anyway.

Every morning she clocked in for the job, there they were. Sitting there like abandoned children, awaiting the moment the door would open to be welcomed inside.

It was like they never left.

Of course she knew who they were to you. Word spreads fast on the base. Especially for a Task Force as 'famous' as they were around here.

Squeezing your shoulder, comfortingly. Feeling protective, your doctor spoke, "Of course," she slides the mug forward a bit, taking the teaspoon to stir once and lift it to toward your lips to sip. "Blow," she guided.

You did. And sipped.

And it was warmer than any blanket they'd wrapped you in.

---

Prior to being able to trudge around on your own, with the help of a crutch you'd been given to go to the bathroom by yourself finally, the nurses had sponged you down in bed. Your spinal surgeries led to you being at risk if they made efforts to remove you from your bed for anything more than a medical emergency.

Mostly, because you're terrified of the showerhead....and it's pathetic, but no one judges you for it as you opt for a sponge bath every time instead. Even if you're shaking as the water slides down your skin even now. The last thing you needed on top of all this was to develop aquaphobia.

Today was the first day you could do it on you own, limping your way to the bathroom with your crutch. The smell of bleach is much stronger in here, it stings your nose.

You stared at the metal stool left tucked at the side, walking around it as if it would pounce up and attack you, you try not to look at it. You'd been doing well without panic attacks for a few days now, just hold it together.

Taking a breath, you reach out to the handle for the spout, glancing up at the showerhead, before back down. Swallowing thickly when you begin to turn it before pausing, hearing the water rush up the pipe to spill out. Turning it back up just as quickly, shutting off the pipe, you inhale deeply, trembling now, hand up to the chilled tile to steady yourself.

You'll try again, you had to.

Drip...

Drip...

Unable to help yourself, the sudden rush of paranoia that runs through you is terrible, a hoarse cry leaves you. You shove yourself away from the shower stall, back ramming into the doorframe, catching yourself, and away from the showerhead as the water drips, slowly from the faucet.

Drip...

Drip...

As panic tightened its grip around your chest, your breaths quickly turned to short, sharp gasps. The room spinning, colors blurring into a dizzying whirlwind. You turn swiftly, nearly knocking yourself off your feet as the thudding of your own heart startles you, you can hear it in your ears, in your hands, in your feet.

You press a trembling hand to your chest, clawing over the area, trying to slow the frantic pace of your breathing, but it only seemed to escalate. The small room narrowing to a black hole of fear and suffocation, every gasp began to disorient you, turning lightheaded.

As tears welled in your eyes, you collapse against the side wall, sliding down to the tiled floor. Slamming your palm against your chest, once, twice, as hot tears leave streaks down your bruised face, you beg your lungs to expand and wait for your breathing to regulate.

Beginning to sob uncontrollably as you hit yourself in the chest again and again and again, waiting for the moment you found yourself able to breathe.

Why did this have to happen?

You remember the violent swing of the baton against your face, the sting it leaves afterwards, the immediate spotting of bruises forming. The memory startles you, receding back into yourself, back to that day.

"It wasn't me..." you cried loudly, in the empty room. It echoes against the tiles.

Simon wrapping his hands around your neck, staring you down as he squeezed, maliciously. You couldn't breathe as your lover shook with the strength he uses to hold himself back from taking your life.

"I'm sorry," you hiccupped. "I'm--I'm sorry," you're not sure when you crawled yourself into the corner, the lights of the bathroom flickering off dimly from your lack of movement. As you're drowned in darkness, the water dripping from the spout, the cold tile against your skin, it's too much. You scramble upwards, running out of the bathroom.

The automatic lights flicker back on inside, but you're too in your head to notice.

Stumbling down to your knees as you feel the rip of a ruined stitching tearing along your side. "Ah!" comes your startled cry. Making it to the side of your hospital bed, you fist your hand through your sheets, unable to stand yourself up.

Taking pained breaths against the sterile sheets, you bury your head in them, cursing whatever luck you thought you had in this life.

They were your family...

All you had for so many years...

As your breathing slows to distraught, agonized huffs of air, sniffling to yourself as you catch sight of your face in the metal frame of your hospital bed. The dark purple bruises beneath your eyes as the swelling gradually went down, the still bloodshot left eye of yours, the twelve stitches on the left side of your face. So gruesome you knew it would scar you for life, a permanent reminder on your fucking face.

Anger bubbled up inside you at the sight of it. At the memory that would always follow when you'd look at it.

Anger that you hadn't been able to properly feel until now.

Anger that you feared to have until today.

"Are you alright?" the sound of his voice makes you visible tense.

Simon.

He's here.

You don't turn to face him, if you did, you'd revert back to the person you were cowering into moments ago. "The door was open...I just--" he pauses, swallowing thickly. "Lemme help you up."

Hearing his footsteps suddenly moving closer, you speak fast. "STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!" you scream over your shoulder, tucking yourself further away from him. "Do NOT move."

He stops in his tracks. You catch the sight of him in the metal framing of the bed, he's a blur in the metal, but you notice his mask is gone, he's Simon Riley now, not Ghost as he appeared to you in the interrogation cell.

"Don't you dare get any closer," you spat.

"I heard you," he spoke, carefully. Mouth opening and closing, before speaking again. "But, you don't have to be stubborn. If you stay there any longer you could tear your stitches."

"Whose fault is that?"

Simon shifts his stance on his feet, waits a second. "I know. And I can never begin to tell you how sorry I am for what I did. What we all did to you," he says, quietly. "The intel we discovered...or that was forged, it came from a source we've used a dozen times, (Y/n), we thought it was true. It had to be. We've never been misled before."

"So..." your nails bite into your skin, you make an amused sound, biting down on your lip for a moment, till it hurt. " That's what you came here to say, huh? What you waited days to--. Is this you justifying--"

"No, (y/n), that's not--"

"--why you tortured me, strangled me, stripped me, in that fucking cell, Simon?"

"We had to believe it, at the time..."

"Was I not a trusted source?" you argued. "Had I not proven more than a thousand times that you could trust me? I've fought next to you, laid in your bed, given you my love, my trust, I--" you shook with rage at the time and energy wasted on time family, this relationship, if the end goal was always meant to just be this.. "I thought that was at least half the reason you decided to marry me..." at the mention of your relationship, you could see the way Simon nearly lost his balance, hands coming up to run along his face. "You told me you would kill me in that room..."

"I was just talking, I wouldn't have--" his voice cracks as he whispers, trying to convince.

"When you left, I thought you'd come back to kill me any minute, or Price, to spare you. I waited to die for two days, terrified out of my mind. I wondered about heaven, not if I'd make it... but what it'd be like, what I'd be missing out on," you thought back to your time in that cell, a haunted expression Simon couldn't see. "While you all got a good nights rest, woke up for some bacon and eggs, and listened to the warden tell you that your prisoner was framed...for a crime you'd already punished her for..." you stuttered on your breathing, tears flowing silently.

Simon inhales deeply. "I could never expect you to forgive me. I-I had taken my hurt out on you, I thought you did it, I was so sure. I couldn't hear what you were saying, I just could see the evidence, and I--I'm sorry. I'm sorry, love. I'm truly--" he gets to his knees behind you.

"Get up."

"I can never tell you how sorry I am---"

"Simon."

"I never should've done this to you. If I could ever--" his voice rising with distressed breaths, you didn't have to look at him to see his face a mess of sorrow, tears that would mix into the stubble on his face.

"Simon!"

"--make it up to you. If you could ever find it in your to forgive me, (y/n). I'll spend the rest of my life--" he gets closer, reaching out.

Whipping around, stiffening completely as you feel the graze of his fingers across your skin, "DON'T TOUCH ME!" you shove your back against your bedding, your hand swinging and flying across his face. His head snapping to the side as he pauses, freezing up where he kneels, having completely forgotten your request to stay put. "What's the matter with you! Even now? Even now, you can't just listen to this one thing?!"

"I-I'm sorry..." He looks at you, finally seeing your face clearly and up close since it all happened. Finally he can see the bruises along your face, the blood that fills your eye, the dark bruise still around your neck.

Seeing him. He looks rough. Honestly, he looks terrible. His hair shaggy and falling over his eye. Dark circles with bags under them. Pale, and thinner than he should be.

His jaw clenches with guilt and he averts his eyes, you continue. "How could I forgive you for this?" you stare at him, "I could forgive you, if you hadn't let them chain me up like an animal. If you hadn't watched them drown me for hours, beat me black and blue and left me screaming for days. I could forgive you if you had just believed me even for a moment." you feign thoughtfulness. "How about you look at my face. My wrists. My legs! MY FUCKING SPINE, SIMON!"

"Nothing I can say or do, will ever make any of it ok, I know that. And I can't ask for you to ever forgive--"

"What could I possible owe you in this life, that makes you think I'd even think about forgiving any of you for the things you did to me?" you gritted out, angrily.

Simon's head drops, a slow, shuttering sigh leaves him. "I'll never stop trying to make this right. Never."

"...Get out, Simon."

"I'm sorry."

"Simon."

"I'm so sorry..." he reaches out again.

"Ghost."

He's silent this time, fingers tensing, out in mid air.

"I never wanna see you again."

"I love you, (Y/n)," he confessed, eyes feral and wide. Pulling at the ends of your slip.

"I don't want to hear that, Ghost," kicking away from him. "Stop it."

"I couldn't stop even as it happened--"

"Shut up. And get out," shaking as you sneered at his desperate attempts. "It's over, Ghost."

"And I took it on you. It hurt so much, I couldn't think," Simon's face twisted with agony and remorse. "I'm sorry!"

He was making you lose your goddamn mind, you broke. "GET THE FUCK OUT!" screaming at one another as overwhelming tears escaped your eyes.

---

It's quiet in your hospital room, it's empty now, the door closed this time.

The door knob turns and opens again a moment later. "Oh no, Ms. (L/n)!" luckily it was your assigned nurse, who takes your arm and fixes it around her shoulder before helping haul yourself up to your feet. "What're you doing on the floor? There's a call button for a reason," she scolds as you sit on the edge of your bed.

You're quiet.

Alarmingly so for your nurse, who notices the pulled stitching that creates a line of blood down your side. "If this is about what happened to you..." the nurse started, speaking carefully, pulling a lining of gauze from the side to press to your skin. You don't even wince at the pressure, even when she begins to clean and replace the broken stitch. "Don't let it break you. Not even further than this experience already has..." she says, while through the last stitch and prepping a bandage.

"I've been broken long before this," you whispered, looking towards the afternoon sun shining through your window. "This. This didn't break me, no," you admitted, before glancing up with glossy eyes, rage hidden beneath a profound look of sadness. "It destroyed me."

Her hand pauses at your side, your words startling, turning to see the tear that slips down your cheek. Knowing now how deep your scars were from this, before gently sliding the last of the bandage across your skin. "Do not think you are irreparable. That time can't heal your wounds."

"But, there's always reminders," touching the stitches on your cheek, "some things can't be forgiven."

"I never said to forgive..." the nurse interjected. "If you could, after all this, you're stronger than any woman that could be named."

You snicker at that, humming soundly. "That's an interesting thought. I guess I'm one of the weaker ones then."

"And yet, still the strongest I've ever met," she finishes. Pats your cheek, "click the button next time. Save us both the heart attack."

"Noted," you assured.

As she's prepping to leave for her rounds, you open your mouth, once, twice, before clearing it. "Is it possible, someone could help me out--the water..."

"Of course," the nurse says, quickly. "Don't worry, I understand. I'll get everything set for you."

As she walks away, you breathing out your appreciation, you take a long inhale, swallowing down the heaviness in your chest.

part 3 OUT NOW!!

Tag List:

@m3ntally-unstable @dreamsarenicer @ttsbaby01 @theweirdgeninistuff @shelbycillian @azxulaa @kthehoeforfictionalmen @amusling @v1x3n @nobodycanknoww @thesinsoflust @asexualbuthorny @poisonedsultana @blackhawkfanatic @character---obsessed @yunggoblin @teenagellamaangel @hanniebanggi @nym-phos @gastonlover9000 @lyssa-211 @doodle-cat16 @haven-1307 @kneelforloki @delphiakira @just-going-through-the-motions

[i-love-ptv]

Stacy’s Mom Has Got It Goin’ On ˚̣̣ ᵕ̣̣̣̣̣̣

Pairing: Husband!Rafe Cameron x Soccer-mom!Wife!Reader

It’s not easy being a soccer-mom, especially when dads hit on you at every game as if you’re not married to Rafe.

Wc: 1,596

Fluff, Protective Rafe making an appearance, kinda pushy guy (idk what to say)

An: I’ve really wanted to write a fic based on this song, and this idea randomly popped into my head so! Am I using the names I wanna name my kids? Yes, yes I am.

Not proofread tbh

Feedback always appreciated lovelies!! xx

“I’ll be back, ‘mkay doll?”

You hum in acknowledgement, eyes peering back at the field after looking up.

Your husband, Rafe leant down and places a firm kiss on your forehead.

“Yeahhh, Daddy’s gonna be back, baby.” Rafe coos at your two year old, who was sitting on your lap, babbling freely while peering at him with her big doe eyes.

Rafe walks off the bleachers; in search of the concession stand to buy food for the three of you.

You brush your hand over your young daughter’s head, making sure her somewhat oversized hat is still covering her head entirely. Her hand wraps around your index finger.

It was oddly humid today, if you continued moving, you’d break a slight sweat. You can't even imagine what your daughter -Stacy must be feeling, running around on the large grassy field under the beaming bright sun.

You were proud of your baby girl though, nonetheless. And so was Rafe, of course.

You shout loudly when you notice the game is about to start, bellowing out a “Go Stacy!”

Stacy’s eyes easily found yours, for you and Rafe would always sit in the same spot on the bleachers.

Her eyes were slightly wide due to your shout, despite you and Rafe always cheering for her during her games.

She’s motioning for you to ‘shh’, putting her fingers to her lips before getting into her position.

“Which one’s yours?” You hear to the left of you, the unknown voice makes you tear your eyes away from the field.

You smile shortly at the unfamiliar man next to you, “Number 22.”

You can’t help but notice how he’s rather scruffy looking, an odd contrast to your upkept husband with his neatly buzzed hair.

“Mine’s number 13.” He says, flashing his teeth at you.

You gasp and shoot up a little, making you look down at your daughter on your lap. “Valerie’s yours? Oh she’s just the sweetest!”

The man chuckles, looking deeply in your eyes. This makes your eyebrows raise, slightly in confusion, but mostly in discomfort.

He hadn’t done anything out of the norm, you’d randomly talk to the other moms around too, but something about him made you uncomfortable.

“My name's Brandon, and yours?”

You introduce yourself briefly, before turning back towards the game.

His eyes dart to your left hand, looking for a ring, for any indication that you belong to someone else. He smiles sharply when he finds your fingers bare. This goes unnoticed by you.

Little does he know, you do have your ring on, just around your neck.

Your biggest fear was your youngest accidentally pulling off your ring, resulting in you losing it. Or, even worse: it pokes her eye or something of that nature.

You suppose you could be considered a ‘Helicopter-mom’ at times, simply going to the extremes to make sure your kids are happy and healthy at every point in time.

Rafe is the exact same way, maybe even a little worse. But you knew he was just protective, he loves this life that he has with you, since he had no idea the two of you would’ve been together for so long.

You had started dating Rafe when you were 18 and he was 19. It was good for the first few months, disregarding the few arguments that you had. But then, you had caught Rafe doing cocaine.

You don’t think you’ll ever be able to shake the look on his face from your memory.

You weren’t supposed to be at the party, you said you were busy filling out college applications.

So when he was mid-line, and he saw you standing there all dolled up, watching him with glossy eyes, he felt his heart shatter into pieces.

You weren’t supposed to find out, he wanted to keep this away from you, to keep you close to him.

He promised that he would try and stay sober for you, but eventually he’d give in every time the opportunity was in front of him. This resulted in several arguments, and surprisingly, a break up.

But things are different now. You both are in your 30’s, you got married, and of course, had two beautiful babies together.

Rafe knew he’d be crazy to fuck things up now, when he has the perfect life right in front of him.

Speaking of which; you’re really starting to wonder what the hell is taking him so long just to get some goddamn hotdogs and drinks.

You’re bouncing your knee anxiously, which makes your daughter giggle. You wish she wasn’t finding this amusing, but you know she can’t help it.

“Well who’s this cute girl, huh?” The man coos, tickling your daughter’s side.

“Her name is Noelle.” You huff, your mood quickly shifting due to this stranger touching your daughter.

He lets out another chuckle, you wish you never had to hear it again. “Sounds like you’re quoting Teenage Dirtbag to me.”

You give him a pointed look, you’re really getting sick of his pestering. “That’s where I got it from.”

Abruptly, the crowd starts cheering madly. You look around and see Stacy's team celebrating briefly; they had just scored a goal.

You cheer and clap, grabbing Noelle’s chubby hands and making her raise her arms wildly while giggling with her.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinking. Maybe we could-” Before Brandon could finish his sentence, none other than Rafe Cameron comes stomping up the bleachers, huffing and puffing angrily.

He sits down and sighs, “God, I’m sorry babe. The line was so long! I swear I’m going grey right now.”

“And I missed the goddamn play!” Rafe exclaims. He looks over at you and immediately goes quiet once he sees those wide baby eyes that look at him curiously.

“Da?” Noelle mutters, reaching her tiny hands towards Rafe’s larger ones.

“Yeah. Da’s here babygirl, do you want your food? Huh sweet girl?”

Rafe hands you your food, setting his food aside so he can put Noelle in his lap. He begins to split half his hotdog in pieces for her.

You glance to the left, you notice Brandon looking like a fish out of water.

Rafe is the CEO of one of, if not the biggest business company around. And Brandon had just borderline harassed his wife, who was holding his child.

Brandon sneers at the two of you in silence while the game continues, nearly boiling at the fact that he couldn’t have you.

Your head is laying on Rafe’s shoulders, you’re rubbing circles on Noelle’s shoulder as she settles down.

“Everything alright babe?” Rafe asks, trying to peer down at your face.

You untuck your necklace with your wedding ring from your shirt, fiddling with it. “Yeah, now that you’re here Ray.”

There’s silence between the two of you for a few seconds.

“…What does that mean?”

You hesitate to answer, but you do regardless, “Nothing! It’s just uh..That guy next to me, was kinda like hassling me I guess.”

This makes Rafe straighten his back.

“He do somethin’ to you doll?” Rafe questions in a whisper. You know you have about 30 seconds to try and calm him down before he’s banned from every soccer game left in the season.

“No, okay? I’m fine, it’s cool. I need you to calm down Ray.”

Rafe’s nose is flaring, “What about Ellie? Did he touch her?”

You feel your throat closing up, your heart is damn near pounding out of your chest.

You don’t say anything to Rafe, but that look in your eyes tells him everything he needs to know.

You grab his bicep, trying to keep him grounded. Even though he’s changed, some parts of him haven’t.

Rafe speaks lowly in your ear, but not too much to frighten you in any way. “I’ll take care of it, okay? Don’t worry y’pretty little head about it.”

Rafe presses a firm kiss against your cheek, then presses a softer one to your lips.

After 30 more minutes, and 2 more goals, Stacy’s team wins.

You and Rafe cheer loudly, letting out “That’s our baby girl!”

You meet Stacy at the bottom of the bleachers, holding Noelle in your hand as the littlest claps her hands between Stacy’s face.

You’re too busy congratulating your daughter to notice Rafe pulling Brandon aside while his daughter, Valerie is off talking to her friends.

Rafe puts a firm hand on his shoulder, “Hey man.”

Brandon lets out a nervous laugh, “Hey there, Rafe Cameron, right?”

“Yeah, let’s keep this short. I better not see or hear you talking to my wife again, do you hear me? I don’t give a shit what happened.”

Rafe continues shortly, “And keep your fucking hands to yourself, if I find out you touched my either of my daughters again, I swear to God himself I’ll put you under.”

The two men are holding eye contact, one looks with confidence and borderline rage, while the other looks with fear.

Rafe walks down the bleachers, meeting you and your girls.

“You were amazing out there sweetheart!” Rafe smiles while pulling Stacy into a bear hug.

“Jesus dad, you’re crushing me!” Stacy laughs with a slight wheeze.

Rafe ruffles her hair and puts his arm around your neck.

“All good to go?”

You nod your head, and with that, the four of you begin to walk to Rafe’s parked car.

Rafe realizes that this isn’t the first time you’ve been hit on at a soccer game, or anywhere in fact. And this definitely won’t be the last.

Cause everybody’s in love with Stacy’s mom.

[leoktzchen]

I think I’ve seen some similar takes on this already but the whole lila and five get stuck in the time line subway subplot had a lot of potential actually but they just BUTCHERED it with the whole romance thing

imo the could have just done this:

- show them bickering and arguing, fighting over wich station/line to chose next in a sibling like manner

- show lila falling asleep on fives shoulder as she keeps mumbling about some stupid thing Diego has done while five tops that story with an even more stupid anecdote from their childhood

- show five trying to shave himself without a mirror and failing miserably until lila rolls her eyes and goes “give it here you absolute imbecile” and then helping him out BUT STAYING AT A REASONABLE DISTANCE AND NOT BREATHING ALL OVER HIS FACE

- show them freezing on the subway floor, five mentioning how they could save body heat by staying close to each other, visibly uncomfortable, and lila pulls a face but they end up falling asleep shoulder to shoulder NOT CUDDLING

- show them at the greenhouse timeline, covering the walls with self-drawn maps and complicated calculations, brooding night after day after night, trying to figure this out with lila drawing little hearts on the paper with her kids initials in it

- show five finding the map on the subway, immediately rushing to tell lila whose face lights up like a supernova and as she exclaims “fuck, we’re going home!” she tries to high five him (it doesn’t really work, because five does NOT do high fives) and then pulls him in for a hug. five just about lets that happen, but he smiles a tiny smile and they arrive just in time for Christmas

basically instead of the romance that gave everyone the ick, they could have just gone for the whole sibling like dynamic between the two of them that I adored a lot in the previous season(s)!!!!