#this seems to be a nice and clear way of doing it

[cherienymphe]

Jawbreaker

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: Who knew that asking your boyfriend's best friend for help with your sex life would make your boyfriend very angry...

warnings: DUB-CON, slightly toxic relationship, Rafe is mean but what else is new, dumb!reader, bimbo!reader, kook!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies 

⭑

Rafe’s groans were loud above you—as they always were—and while his satisfaction made you feel good about yourself and your efforts, the tight grip he had on your hair reminded you of your shame. Truthfully, you didn’t think you had done anything shameful—you were only trying to do something nice for your boyfriend—but as Rafe had stared you down with that deep frown on his face and the slight curl of his upper lip…

You realized very quickly that you had done something very wrong.

Rafe slightly lifted his hips off of his bed, forcing the length of his cock further past your lips. All of the saliva on his length made the intrusion smooth and easy, but it also made you feel a tad gross, but you recalled what Topper had said.

“Blowjobs are…dirty work,” he’d said while rubbing the back of his head. “The messier it is, the better.”

He’d shrugged at you, and despite the way those words made you frown, you believed him. Not only was he a guy, but he was Rafe’s best friend, and so he had to know what he liked. That was what drove you to seek out Topper for help to begin with. That and the fact that Sarah had given you a firm no when you’d initially gone to her. Something about feeling weird giving you sex advice all the while knowing it was going to be used on her brother.

“It never hurts to…spit on it,” the younger blond had advised.

Sex was already wet and sweaty and involved swapping bodily fluids, but something about spit just never…settled with you. With that being said, you took his advice and did just that, pulling your lips off of Rafe’s cock for only a moment to spit on the tip. When Rafe cursed from above you, you knew that you did something right, but it seemed that it clicked for him on how you knew to do that, and he was shoving himself back into your mouth again.

“Did Topper teach you that? Huh?” he sneered from above you, lifting his hips over and over again to drive himself between your swollen lips.

It brought tears to your eyes, not because it hurt, but because it became clear early on that this was just as much a gift for Rafe as it was a punishment for you. The sound of your mouth swallowing him repeatedly was loud in the otherwise quiet room, only accompanied by the blond’s uneven breathing. Your nose almost touched Rafe’s stomach, and you made a noise deep in your throat.

Your boyfriend heard it.

“I should make you gag on it, you know that?” he breathed. “I should break that pretty little jaw.”

His hand guided your head over him, rhythmically bobbing your head over his lap, and when you stole a peek, your tearful gaze met Rafe’s even one. As your eyes met, you felt…torn. Rafe looked so pretty with his cock in your mouth. Those blue eyes the most expressive you’ve ever seen them, his pink lips parted, and his dirty blonde hair with a mind of its own. You really, really liked him seeing like this, but…

Those blue eyes weren’t just dripping with desire for his sweet girlfriend. Rafe was also angry—pissed—and although you struggled to grasp why at first, you were slowly beginning to understand. Rafe had a habit of losing his cool if some guy even so much as looked at you the wrong way, but even still, Topper was his best friend and you were his girlfriend. You were two people he trusted the most, and that was why you’d had no hesitation in being honest with him.

“...and what were you doing at Topper’s?” was what he’d asked you less than thirty minutes ago.

When he’d asked you about your day, it had sort of slipped out without you even realizing it, and your lips had parted at the realization you’d ruined the surprise. A frown had formed between your brows, and you’d struggled to come up with a lie, pulling your lip between your teeth.

“He was helping me with something.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it was too vague of an answer for Rafe’s liking, and your boyfriend had stepped closer, his face pinched as he looked between your eyes.

“What was Topper helping you with that I couldn’t help you with?”

Your lips had opened and closed, struggling with what to say to him.

“It’s a surprise,” you’d said to him in a small voice.

You’d given him a small smile, but Rafe hadn’t returned it, and that was the first inkling you felt that something was wrong. Rafe’s house was empty—his entire family out—and he’d moved closer to you, tilting his head.

“...and have you ever known me to like surprises?”

You’d thought about it for a few moments before eventually shaking your head, shoulders sagging a bit.

“No…but you will like this one,” you’d answered, perking up with a smile and gently tugging on his shirt.

Again, Rafe hadn’t returned it, and you’d started to think that he wouldn’t like your surprise, after all, but he was a guy, and Sarah said that all guys loved getting their dicks sucked. Besides, it was among the many things you’d come across on Rafe’s laptop one day, links and videos full of people—women—doing things that you’d never done with him, things he’d never even brought up with you.

While it wasn’t like you thought he’d leave you over whatever you didn’t do for him, it still left a bad taste in your mouth. Sure, Rafe told you all the time that he loved what he loved about you and that he’d kill for you—something that made you a tad uncomfortable actually—but there was something about knowing Rafe desired much more than you were actively giving to him.

Did he not think you’d want to? Or that maybe you weren’t capable?

“Well, where is this surprise that you had to go to my best friend for?” he wondered, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Here?” you’d wondered, to which he nodded. “Now?”

Again, Rafe nodded, face stony, and you gave him a soft okay.

It was clear that he hadn’t been expecting you to kiss him, gently pressing your lips to his before parting them. As you coaxed his tongue out of his mouth, you reached for his folded arms, slowly pulling them apart before letting your hands drift to the waistband of his pants. At that, Rafe stopped you, and you pulled back slightly with a frown.

You were in the kitchen, but it wouldn’t be the first time you and Rafe did stuff in some place other than a bedroom, so you didn’t think that was why he stopped you. You found out that you were right.

When your eyes met Rafe’s, he was frowning at you with a different kind of frown now, and he slowly looked between your eyes as he studied your face. Excitement buzzed through your body as he just looked at you, but when his hands tightened on your wrists, your brow twitched, and you blinked.

“I don’t care about the surprise anymore—fuck the surprise, actually. What exactly did you and Topper do this afternoon?”

His tone and his voice had you shrinking in on yourself, and this was the moment that you realized Rafe was mad. Your lips parted as he stared down his nose at you, and when his hold grew tighter, you winced.

“I… I wanted to learn how to give you a good blowjob.”

It was the first time you were sure you’d ever seen Rafe just…freeze. The kitchen grew completely silent, and the air between you felt oddly off. Your boyfriend just stared at you for what felt like a long time, and for a moment, you started to wonder if he’d even heard you. Like you, he started to open and close his mouth a few times before eventually deciding on just snapping it shut. You watched Rafe’s jaw clench, and when he swiped his tongue between his lips, his chest was brushing yours.

“Topper…taught you…how to give a good blowjob.”

He said the words slowly, and you nodded in confirmation of the statement.

“I know that’s what you like, and-.”

“So, you gave Topper a blowjob?”

“No!”

The word came out so loud that it startled you, but Rafe’s question had startled you even more. Your eyes were wide as you looked at him, and as his own words hung in the air, you realized the cause for his sour mood. The thought actually made you chuckle, because Topper had been terrified of the same thing when you first went to him.

“We didn’t do anything that you and I would do,” you sweetly told him. “He just told me and showed me what to do.”

It was practically the same words you’d said to Topper when he also misunderstood you, but oddly enough, it hadn’t seemed to calm him down. He’d still been jittery and nervous, forcing you to basically beg him for his help. Even weirder, the clarification didn’t seem to calm Rafe down either, and you watched him press his tongue to the inside of his cheek.

His gaze briefly landed on the ceiling as he nodded.

“He just…told you and showed you what to do,” Rafe repeated, and you’d been dating him long enough to notice certain patterns with his tone.

You felt yourself shrinking a bit—deflating—and tears had kissed your eyes.

“I feel like you’re mad.”

Rafe had let out a laugh, but you struggled to find the humor in the situation. When your boyfriend looked at you again, he was stepping towards you, forcing you back. He was shaking his head at you—in that way that didn’t make you feel good—and you were suddenly reminded of the times when he wasn’t so nice to you and even made you cry.

“I know…I know that it takes you a little bit longer than everyone else to catch up sometimes,” he whispered, letting your hand go to gently take your chin between his fingers. “I know that.”

You struggled to piece together what he meant by that, and when you finally did, he was already insulting you again.

“...but you went to another man to help you learn how to go down, and you’re wondering if I’m mad?”

Rafe just stared at you, brows raised, and you slowly realized that he was expecting you to say something. With the knowledge that he initially thought you cheated on him, you were starting to see how Rafe might not see this from your eyes. Both Sarah and Rafe had repeatedly told you that everyone didn’t think like you did, but you hadn’t cheated on Rafe, so you were really struggling to understand his anger, right now.

You’d done it for him.

“I just wanted to make you happy,” you’d whispered.

At those words, you watched as Rafe’s eyes glazed over, and he stared you down with a look you couldn’t place. You watched the corner of his lips curve upwards ever so slightly, and when he let you go, the blood rushed through your arm again. Your boyfriend took a step back before raising his arm in a gesture towards the stairs.

“Well, let’s go…”

You’d straightened at the shift in his demeanor.

“Show me what he taught you, and make me happy.”

That was how you found yourself on your knees with Rafe’s cock in your mouth, and his hand on your head. He was rough, but you’d expected it because Rafe often was. However, you also accepted that there was an added layer to that because he was pissed off. You’d genuinely gone to Topper for help and to do something for your boyfriend in return for all he’d done for you.

Yes, Rafe could be mean sometimes, but he always told you he was sorry and made up for it by putting a gift in your hand. He wasn’t perfect, no, but neither were you. You knew how imperfect you were, how frustrating you could be—something your parents had never failed to be honest with you about—and so you didn’t expect from him what even you yourself didn’t live up to.

Besides, Rafe was always looking out for you—at parties, at the mall, and even in your own home when you had another near miss. He was always buying you any dress you wanted, and he was more sweet than he was mean. At least, you thought so. He often ran you baths and detangled your hair and helped you pick out what blush or lipgloss to put on. He enjoyed dressing you up, and you enjoyed letting him.

Your life just seemed to flow so much easier and smoother since you started dating Rafe.

…and you’d always known you weren’t the brightest person in the room, so whenever Rafe expressed his frustration with that, you tried not to let it get to you. This time was different though. This time you’d gone out of your way to try and do something nice for him, to try and be a better girlfriend to make him happy…and he wasn’t happy.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Rafe snapped when you pulled away, letting him fall out of your mouth.

He sat up and looked down at you as you knelt on the floor, arms crossed over your chest. With one look into your eyes, your boyfriend huffed, and you bit your lip in an attempt to keep it from trembling.

“You’re being mean,” you tearfully told him.

“No shit,” he bit out, reaching for you, but you reared back.

“I just wanted to do something nice for you!”

“By going to my best friend and asking him to teach you how to suck my dick, are you crazy?”

“How else was I supposed to surprise you, Rafe? Was I supposed to take notes from all of those videos on your computer?”

A silence descended over you, and you avoided his gaze. You could feel him staring at you, and you continued to look at the wall behind him.

“Is that what this is about?” he eventually sighed.

“You like it, otherwise you wouldn’t watch it. Any of it…”

A blowjob seemed the easiest barrier to cross, but you had worried yourself a bit on how you’d ever hype yourself up into doing any of that other stuff. You’d told yourself one step at a time, but who knew that what you thought would be the easiest would cause all of this. You angrily wiped away a stray tear.

“Come here…come here,” Rafe repeated himself when you didn’t budge, reaching for you and pulling you between his knees again.

He took your face into his hands and forced you to look at him. Rafe didn’t look as angry, now, eyes softer, and he brushed his thumb along your mouth.

“If I wanted to do everything I watched then we’d be in trouble.”

He chuckled to himself, but you didn’t laugh.

“Then why watch it?” you whispered, and your boyfriend rolled his eyes.

“It’s like putting on a football game.”

“Rafe, I saw some woman getting fucked by three men at once. No way you’re comparing that to football…”

“I’m just saying…” he started, leaning in and kissing you. “It’s not a big deal and especially not enough to where you need to go running to Topper for help on our sex life.”

His hand found it’s way to your throat.

“You want to know how to make me happy then you come to me,” he lowly said against your lips. “That’ll make me happier than any surprise, you understand?”

You nodded at that, and his hand moved to your hair again as he leaned back.

“Now spit on it, baby, just like you did before.”

You did, and soon after, Rafe was in your mouth again.

His hips wouldn’t stay still as you sucked in your cheeks around him, a sound leaving your boyfriend that you were sure you’d never even heard before. The groans that left him were animalistic, and you were shocked by how much it turned you on. You didn’t think that focusing on pleasuring Rafe would be so exciting, but it filled you with something that made you feel proud.

“Use your hand,” you heard him breathe.

You recalled Topper mentioning that, and you brought your hand up to wrap around what your lips couldn’t. Rafe lifted his hips again, one hand on your hair and the other on your wrist. When he softly told you to bring up your other hand, you didn’t quite understand why until he took it and placed it under his shaft. You played with him there, and Rafe’s satisfied moan reached your ears.

You bobbed your head over him for a while, taking in the taste of him and every sound he made. He sucked air through his teeth when you flattened your tongue against his cock, dragging it along him as you continued to suck him. All the while, you progressively grew wetter and wetter, enough to almost make you feel embarrassed. When Rafe started to sit up—albeit with difficulty—confusion filled you. It only grew when he pulled you off of him, completely standing now.

He looked down at you and you looked up at him as he rested his hands on the sides of your head.

“Open your mouth for me,” he purred. “Keep it open just like that.”

On instinct, you reached out to grip the back of his thighs as he began to thrust himself into your mouth. Something about it turned you on even more, and you didn’t know why. Maybe it was the look in his eyes? You could certainly see them better from this angle, and the blue of them looked so much darker to you as Rafe watched his cock disappear into your mouth.

Maybe it was the way you could see his chest heaving, quickly rising and falling as he struggled to breathe from how you were making him feel. His button down was open, and your eyes took in the slight glisten on his chest from the sweat. Your eyes traced his skin in the low light and then eventually his hair and how it hung along his forehead, kissing the skin there.

Or maybe…just maybe…you liked the feeling of Rafe using you.

You were completely still as he fucked your mouth, keeping your lips parted and your tongue flat for him. You liked being on your knees and letting Rafe use you as a means to an end, letting him use you to chase his high that would no doubt end in him spilling himself down your throat. You could tell that Rafe liked it too, your boyfriend not taking his eyes off of you once.

The choked gasps and groans from his mouth got louder and louder, and even if he wasn’t holding your head in place, you were sure you would’ve still remained there to let him come in your mouth, ropes of warmth hitting the back of your throat and tongue as he continued to fuck your mouth through his orgasm.

Rafe stroked your cheeks as he came, his breathing slowly becoming even again, and when he moved your head, you slid your lips along his cock one last time, tongue sliding against his length and swallowing anything left behind.

“Good girl,” you heard him murmur from above you.

When Rafe bent down to kiss you, you lifted yourself a bit to help him, smiling against his lips. His hand twisted into the hair at the nape of your neck, and you moaned into the kiss.

“You were just trying to be a good girlfriend, huh,” he whispered into your mouth.

You frantically nodded at that, happy that he wasn’t mad at you anymore.

“I guess I can’t fault you for that,” he hummed. “...but I’m still going to have to kick Topper’s ass.”

[communist-hatsunemiku]

this might be a strange take but as someone who was groomed and who had what i would call an "elitist" mindset towards it, zako really seemed like it was about that mentality. of knowing you were playing with fire but feeling like you were above it. and for that i was really attached to it for the 2 hours it was out. the more logical side of me KNOWS its more likely a play off mimukawa nice try but i would love to believe it was meant to cater to a different audience than loli-cons. what's your take on the fiction vs reality of it? do you think westerners are just overreacting

I think you're interpretation of the song is valid, and pretty interesting tbh! I had not thought about that at all, and it's a case for letting people interpret the song in their own way. Instead of kowtowing to the loudest, most offended people. I also think the fact the creators literally took down the song amid backlash is pretty strong evidence they didn't make a song "for lolicons". They obviously did not anticipate this reaction, Channel admitted to having reservations, and tried to make Yuuki somewhat older-looking in the video. Whether you think she does or not, is up for (good faith!) debate. I do think she does not look like the literal box art version of the character, but that's kind of beside the point.

there is no fiction vs. reality debate because there are no real human beings harmed in the making of this song. Like, full stop. The "well kaai yuuki has a child VA" shit doesnt hold water cuz that person is an adult now anyway, and there are plenty of other songs featuring her that go wayyyy beyond this one. Like it's just something people reached for out of convienence. Same for "it violates her TOS!" like no one gave a fuck about Kaai Yuuki's TOS before it became a convenient cudgel in this particular situation.

The thing is, no one can have conversations about stuff like this in good faith because you are immediately labeled some kind of monster for trying to have any kind of nuanced opinion. Any dissent from "this song/movie/book is irredeemably evil and your sick for defending it" is taken as proof that you are a pervert monster. It's such a clear example of people, willfully and gleefully, diving into reactionary thinking without a shred of thought.

When really, I do think having an actual conversation about lolicon causing you discomfort is totally normal, and it's a pretty reasonable response to this stuff! But people can't just say that, they have to burn the whole thing to the ground, in the name of "protecting kids" or whatever bullshit they come up with. I don't actually like a good portion of Miku art for the same reasons people didn't like Zako! There was art going around on twitter of Miku with a literal binkie in Her mouth like a baby, and that shit was kind of weird! But I just didn't engage with it, that's it. People whipped each other up about the "harms" of this song, when simply not liking or engaging with it at all would have been the normal thing to do.

Freak outs like this do not protect anybody from anything. My big hot take is that having a moral panic about literally anything has more potential for actual harm than whatever it is people are panicking over. You simply cannot make rational, thoughtful decisions that prioritize protecting people from abuse when you are in a panic, or listening to people who are in a panic. You just can't!! It's not how shit works!

I know I have other asks about this, but I'm kind of trying to answer here, definitively, and let the topic dissipate. I'm glad I got the video downloaded, and we'll see what they release to appease all the weirdos who freaked out about the song. People objected to both the video and the lyrics themselves, so I don't know how they're going to come out with a new version that isn't radically different than the original. We'll see.

[girlyrafe]

──── ᴅɪɴɴᴇʀ .ᐟ

ᡣ𐭩 ❝ ꜰᴀʀᴍᴇʀꜱ¡ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ ⟡ ݁₊ ❞

⌗ with rafe cameron .ᐟ.ᐟ

ᝰ summary .ᐟ Dinner was tense—your father’s scrutiny, Rafe’s stiff composure. But in stolen glances, quiet laughter, and a whispered tease over pie, warmth bloomed. He wasn’t just enduring; he was proving himself. And in that lingering touch, you knew—he was worth it.

₊ ⊹ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

Dinner had been your father’s idea—a rare gesture of formality meant to welcome Rafe to the farm. The table was set with the usual rustic charm, mismatched plates and worn wooden chairs, but tonight there was a certain tension hanging in the air. Your father, ever the stoic figure, sat at the head of the table, scrutinising Rafe as if he were some rare specimen, while you tried to pretend like this was just another meal.

Rafe, on the other hand, was doing his best to follow all the unspoken rules, his broad shoulders stiff under the pressed shirt he’d pulled out from the back of his closet. His usual, effortlessly rugged look was tempered by the neatness of his outfit, and while he tried to maintain a sense of composure, the faint furrow in his brow told you just how out of his element he felt. It was clear he was making an effort, yet there was something undeniably charming about the way he fumbled through the formalities, that casual air about him constantly threatening to break through.

As your father started asking about Rafe’s past work experience, you couldn’t help but notice how Rafe’s focus kept drifting toward you, even as he struggled to make polite conversation. His brow furrowed as he pushed his food around on his plate, his eyes flickering toward you and catching yours with a soft, almost shy smile that made your heart skip. You giggled involuntarily, the sound light and almost mischievous, as you saw him glance down at his utensils like he had never seen a fork before. He was trying so hard to be perfect, and yet it only made him seem more real, more... human. 

You shot him a quick wink, your heart fluttering as his gaze softened in response. A brief but meaningful moment, lost between you two before the formalities pulled him back.

“So, Rafe,” your father’s voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding, “how do you find working on the farm? Is it everything you thought it would be?”

The question hung between them like an obstacle course, and you could practically hear the tension in Rafe’s throat as he cleared it, his voice steady but laced with just the hint of hesitation. “Well, sir,” he began, with that familiar drawl of his, smooth like honey, “it’s been great. The land here, the animals… It's a good kind of work. I’ve done this kind of thing before, but this place—well, there’s something special about it.”

Your father’s eyes narrowed slightly, an inscrutable look settling on his face as he considered Rafe’s words. “Special, you say?” he prodded, clearly sceptical.

You could see the way Rafe’s jaw clenched, trying to find the right words that would satisfy your father, but all he could do was glance at you again. This time, his eyes softened, a silent understanding passing between you, one that made the whole situation feel like something of an inside joke. You couldn’t help but giggle at how earnest he was trying to be. It was so... endearing.

Rafe’s lips twitched into the barest of smiles, a playful gleam in his eyes that only you could see. “Yeah,” he said with a slight shrug, glancing over at you again, “it’s nice. Peaceful, you know?”

Your father looked between you both, his brow furrowing deeper as the quiet exchange lingered in the air. It didn’t escape his notice, but you were too caught up in the warmth of Rafe’s presence to care. He was always so put-together, but in moments like these, when he let his guard slip just a little, that’s when you saw the real him—charming, a little bit rough around the edges, but undeniably genuine.

You caught his eye once more, and despite the tension in the air, you couldn’t stop the soft giggle that slipped from your lips. Rafe’s lips quivered, and before he could stop himself, a low chuckle escaped, his eyes lighting up with affection for you, even in the midst of trying to impress your father.

Your father’s eyes sharpened, his attention snapping between you both. “What’s so funny?” he asked, his tone a little too sharp for comfort.

You immediately cleared your throat, trying to compose yourself. “Oh, nothing, Daddy,” you said, trying to sound casual, though your grin was betraying you. “Just—uh, just a funny thought. Nothing important.”

Your father leaned back in his chair, the creak of the wood punctuating the silence that followed your light-hearted exchange with Rafe. His eyes were still narrowed, watching him with an intensity that you knew all too well. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, glancing between the two men, as if waiting for the next round of questions to come.

“So, Rafe,” your father’s voice broke the quiet, deep and measured, “how long do you think you’ll stay on the farm? It’s not exactly the kind of work that’s easy to walk away from, is it?”

Rafe stiffened for a moment, his hand pausing mid-air as he reached for his drink. His fingers tightened around the glass, but he was quick to recover, leaning forward slightly to answer, trying to sound casual. “No, sir, it’s not easy, that’s for sure,” he said, the low rumble of his voice betraying the genuine thoughtfulness behind his words. “But I’m here for as long as you’ll have me. I’m not in a rush to go anywhere.”

Your father’s eyes didn’t leave him. “That’s good to hear,” he replied, his tone just a little too even. “Because this farm… Well, it’s not for the faint of heart. You think you can handle the weight of this place?”

Rafe met your father’s gaze without flinching, though you could see the slight tension in his jaw, the way he rolled his shoulders back as if to steady himself. He wasn’t used to being questioned like this, but he wasn’t backing down either. “I’ve worked hard before. I know what it takes,” Rafe said, his voice steady now, filled with that quiet confidence you’d seen a thousand times.

Your father didn’t respond immediately, as if considering Rafe’s answer, and the silence stretched between them like a taut rope. You couldn’t help but feel the weight of it, the disapproving edge of your father’s questioning tone. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Rafe—it was something deeper, something unspoken.

Rafe cleared his throat and glanced down at his plate, breaking the tension just a little. “And, uh, if it’s okay to ask—how long have you been running the farm?”

Your father’s expression softened ever so slightly at the question, but he didn’t miss a beat. “Long enough to know what I’m doing,” he said with a tight smile. “And long enough to know when someone’s not pulling their weight.”

Rafe nodded, but there was something in his eyes now—an understanding that this was more than just about work. It was about respect. Something that wasn’t given easily here, not even to someone like him.

You held your breath, watching the exchange unfold. Even in the quiet moments like these, there was a strange tension between your father and Rafe, something simmering just beneath the surface, ready to erupt at any moment. It wasn’t hatred, but something else. A challenge. A test.

For Rafe’s part, he didn’t shy away. His gaze met your father’s with a steady resolve, as if silently promising that he wouldn’t back down. You could see that he wanted to prove himself—not just as someone capable of hard work, but as someone worthy of respect in your father’s eyes.

The conversation moved on, but you could tell that this was far from over. There would be more questions, more subtle tests to come. But tonight, at least, it was just the beginning.

Rafe’s gaze softened as he tried to hide his own smile, but it was impossible. “Yeah, just—just thinking about how much I’m enjoying the food,” he said, his voice low but teasing, shooting a quick look at you that made you almost lose it. He was impossible.

Finally, your father seemed to relent, focusing his attention back on his plate. But you could see the subtle shift in Rafe’s posture, the way his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly now that the spotlight was off him. He reached for the dessert you had made—a homemade pie, something warm and comforting. He cut himself a generous slice, still trying to maintain that calm, collected persona, but the moment he took his first bite, you saw the flicker of relief in his eyes.

And then, as if on instinct, you made your move. You stood up, slipping quietly toward the kitchen as your father busied himself with cleaning up. You pulled a plate from the cabinet and carefully slid a piece of pie onto it, your hands trembling ever so slightly with excitement. As you walked back to the dining room, you caught Rafe’s eye again, that familiar spark between you two only deepening with every glance.

You leaned down, just slightly, your lips almost brushing his ear as you whispered, “It’s the best part. You deserve it after putting up with my dad.” 

Rafe’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening just slightly, as if he hadn’t expected you to be so… daring. But that was you, wasn’t it? Always the one to sneak around the edges of propriety, always the one who took risks with that playful, innocent smile.

Rafe reached for the pie, his fingers brushing yours with the kind of lingering touch that had your heart racing. “Thanks,” he murmured, his voice low and warm, almost like a secret. “You didn’t have to do that, but... I’ll take it.”

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest, feeling a rush of affection for him that you couldn’t quite explain. It wasn’t just the little things—like how he was so careful with his words around your father or how he tried so hard to fit in—but the way he looked at you when he thought no one was watching, the way he made everything feel a little less stiff and a little more real.

As you both shared that moment, with your father in the other room and the soft glow of evening light spilling through the windows, you allowed yourself to forget the weight of expectations. In the quiet between you, it was just Rafe—loyal, charming, and impossibly handsome—and you. And for a moment, that was enough.

©GIRLYRAFE

[bitchinbarzal]

Almost Hate | M Boldy

Summary: a reconciliation with Matt wasn’t in the cards for you.

-

Boston College had been big enough that you and Matt could’ve easily avoided each other. But for some reason, the universe had other plans.

From the moment you met, there was something off between you. No real reason, no dramatic backstory—just a constant, simmering tension that neither of you could shake.

Maybe it was the way he always seemed to have some cocky remark ready when you walked into a room. Or the way you refused to laugh at his jokes, even when they were actually funny. Whatever it was, it had followed you through four years of college, through mutual friends and shared parties, through stolen glares across campus.

And then, after graduation, life happened. You moved on. He moved on. That part of your life was over.

Or so you thought.

Minnesota was never the plan. But when a job offer came, one too good to pass up, you packed your life into a couple of suitcases and made the move.

You had been here for a few months now, slowly settling in, figuring out the rhythm of a new city. Which is how you ended up at a bar downtown on a Friday night, sipping your drink and regretting not leaving earlier.

Because the guy standing next to you? The one who had been trying way too hard for the last ten minutes? Yeah, he wasn’t getting the hint.

“Come on,” he says, leaning in just a little too close. “One more drink.”

“I’m good, thanks,” you reply, shifting back.

“You sure? Because—”

“She said she’s good, man.”

The voice is familiar. You turn your head and—of course, Matt Boldy is standing there, hands in his pockets, looking at the guy like he’s debating whether or not to shove him away from you.

The guy scoffs but mutters something under his breath before finally walking off.

You exhale, turning to face Matt fully. “Boldy.”

His lips twitch. “Still calling me that, huh?”

You roll your eyes. “What are you even doing here?”

He shrugs. “Live here. Play hockey here. What about you?”

“Same. Minus the hockey part.”

His gaze lingers on you for a moment, like he’s piecing something together. “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“Yeah, well. Life’s funny like that.”

The tension between you is still there, but it’s different now. Less sharp edges, more… curiosity.

He clears his throat. “Let me walk you home.”

You raise a brow. “Excuse me?”

“Just—” He shifts his weight, looking a little unsure for the first time ever. “It’s late. And that guy might still be around. Just let me make sure you get home safe.”

You hesitate, but the sincerity in his voice makes you nod. “Alright, fine.”

The walk to your apartment is quieter than you expect. The city hums around you, streetlights casting long shadows, and Matt walks a step closer than necessary, like he’s making sure no one gets too close.

It’s nice.

Weird. But nice.

When you reach your building, you turn to him, crossing your arms. “So. You save me from a creep and walk me home. What’s next? We pretend we don’t know each other for another five years?”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Actually… I was thinking I’d ask you out.”

You blink. “What?”

He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly looking almost—shy? “Look, I know we had that whole ‘hate’ thing going on in college, but I don’t think I actually hated you.”

You narrow your eyes. “You don’t think?”

He chuckles. “I know I didn’t. I just—” He exhales, meeting your gaze. “I don’t know what it was, but it wasn’t hate. And now that we’re here, and I’m walking you home, and you’re still you, and I still… notice you—” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to waste time pretending anymore.”

Your heart stumbles over itself, but you keep your expression neutral. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying—” He steps closer, eyes flicking to your lips before locking back on yours. “Let me take you out. No tension, no bullshit. Just you and me.”

The old part of you—the part that remembers all the snarky remarks and stolen glares—wants to push back, to challenge him, to keep whatever this is at arm’s length.

But the new part of you? The one that sees the way he’s looking at you right now?

That part says, Why not?

So you tilt your head, smirking just a little. “Fine. But if you annoy me, I’m leaving.”

He grins. “Fair deal.”

[buckysgrace]

Fantasy

Steve Harrington x fem!OC

CW: Vaginal fingering, making out Just some sweet Steve :)

Steve likes to take it slow.

CW: lots of making out, fingering

Kim

She was sure that she’d get lost every time she stepped into the Harrington house. It was so large and vast, practical and impractical at the same time. Part of her still felt like an outsider, even though his parents had been more than inviting. 

She had met them a few weeks ago over dinner, and they had seemed kind enough. They were still busy and tended to leave quite a bit, but she thought they had enjoyed her enough. All the stress had been for nothing.

“You kids want anything?” His mother questioned as soon as she stepped into the living room, her eyes soft as she smiled at the two of them. Kim had yet to figure his parents out, but she couldn’t judge too much. Her parents seemed to be far worse if she was being honest. 

“No, we’re good,” Steve answered for her a second later, making her cheeks burn as she realized she had been far too quiet, “but thanks.” He added as he tugged Kim through the open living room, leaving her little time to examine the room again. It was interesting, different from most houses. 

“Are you sure they’re okay if we’re here?” She asked as he knelt in front of the TV, setting up the movie that they had selected earlier. He had gained a sudden interest in watching movies, which Robin had blamed her for. Which she didn’t think was true. 

“Why wouldn’t they be?” He said with a little laugh, his eyebrows raised softly as the sunlight trickled against his skin. She wasn’t sure what to say, unable to admit that it was odd to have parents that supported her relationships. 

“I don’t know,” she mumbled underneath her breath, “Do they want to join us?” She asked as she looked over her shoulder, confirming that his mother was already gone. He smiled as he gripped her hands, tugging her forward so he could plop both of them onto the couch.

She sat next to him, sinking into the same cushion as him. The furniture was pretty and neat, but not very comfortable. But Steve was. He was really soft. 

“They’re not much into movies,” he smiled as he scooted closer to her, pushing his arm over her shoulder and tugging her close, “What’s this about again?” He turned towards her, eyes lingering against her lips. 

“Uh,” she paused, trying to think of the best way to explain it, “they need to find a piece of this crystal to restore it in order to bring balance to the universe. Intense stuff.” She added with a little giggle, watching as his eyebrows furrowed tightly together.

“And they’re puppets?” He asked once again, repeating what they had gone through at Family Video the other day. She nodded her head in confirmation, eyes widening for a second as he kicked her legs up on the couch. He wiggled next to her a second later, pushing them into a laying position. 

“Yes,” she smiled as she sat up a little bit, confirming that he was still bewildered. “Too weird for you?” She asked, feeling a little worried as she tried to get comfortable on the stiff cushions. It was fairly clear to her that none of them sat down here very often. 

“Not weird enough,” he corrected playfully, “I like odd things.” She couldn’t deny that. He hummed as he snuggled his chin into the crook of her neck, sighing deeply as he held her close. 

She curled up against him, her head falling onto his shoulder as they linked their long legs together. She moved a palm across his chest, resisting the urge to place it over his heart. She liked to feel the way his heart thumped, as if there was a way to understand if it really beat for her or not.

The furniture wasn’t very comfortable despite being very expensive and very nice looking. The cushions were soft and hard at the same time, never truly letting either of them get fully comfortable. They shifted a lot, but she didn’t care as long as she continued to lay next to him. 

She giggled at the feeling of his fingertips on her bare skin, goosebumps forming as he continued to dig into her flesh. His lips dragged against the crook of her neck, warm and soft as she melted into the uncomfortable cushions. 

Her heart hammered roughly inside of her chest, warmth spreading through her body as his mouth traveled up towards her chin. The corners of her lips twitched gently as one of his large hands fell to her cheek, cupping her softly.

“You’re so beautiful,” he hummed, brown eyes twinkling in appreciation, “I’m so lucky.” He added, drawing out his words as he continued to admire her. It made her heart throb as she slowly shook her head, breathing in deeply. 

“Thanks,” she squeaked out underneath her breath, “You’re handsome.” She added underneath her breath, speaking the truth to him. He was handsome, pretty even. His features soft and sweet. 

Her insides twisted in pleasure at the softest feel of his mouth against her own. She fluttered her eyes shut softly, savoring how warm he felt against her skin. Her head fell back against the arm rest, her hands moving to his biceps. 

Steve was a gentle kisser, soft and calculated. He didn’t rush and it was rare to feel his tongue flicking out against hers. Which she didn’t mind, it just wasn’t what she was used to. But she still liked it, even though it got her hot and bothered. 

She moved her hands to the nape of his neck, dragging her fingers through the soft hair that rested there. He gently kissed at her lips, pecking softly as he squeezed at her chin. It felt nice, made her stomach flutter with butterflies. But he always managed to do that.

She tilted her head up towards him, kissing him a little deeper as she felt the corner of his lips tilting into a smile. He pulled back softly, making her work to feel his touch once again. She easily recognized that she was going too fast, that he wanted her to slow down. But she craved him. Badly. 

Her mind felt foggy, her body turning into goo as he moved his large palm against her cheek. He felt soft and smooth, his touch sweet as he continued to drag his lips against hers. She twisted his hair around her fingertips, spreading her legs a little further so he could slide in against her.

He exhaled deeply against her lips, giving her a brief taste of bubble gum on her tongue. He never tasted like anything too intense, just slightly sweet. Nothing too overbearing, but enough that it made her crave the taste of him. 

Her body began to tingle with electricity, a dire need spreading through her body as she slowly arched her hips up towards his. He chuckled softly as he moved his free hand between their bodies, pressing down on her hips to keep her still.

She stared up at him, heart hammering wildly inside of her chest as she inspected his swollen pink lips. She reached up against his cheek softly, then tightened her grip against his skin. She needed him. Now. 

His skin was warm against her touch, his freckles shining on his skin as she inspected the moles on his face. She had once tried to cover all of his pretty spots with kisses, only for him to tire once she reached his chest. She thought they were cute, which only earned a little eye roll from him. But she was determined to try again. She liked how it made him flush. 

“Should we go upstairs?” She asked him, face burning and out of breath as she whispered to him. She hated being the one to make the first move, but she was beginning to feel like he enjoyed it. 

“Calm down,” he grinned as his lips dragged against hers softly once again, his breath hot against her skin, “there’s no rush.” He added as he grazed his teeth across her neck, making her heart hammer roughly inside of her chest. 

“Your parents are here.” She squeaked out softly as she looked at him with wide eyes, watching the way his features turned to amusement. Like he was playing with her. 

“We’re just kissing,” he teased as he kissed along the curve of her lips, his fingers dancing across her cheeks, “S’fine. They’re busy.” He confirmed as he pecked her lips once, then twice as he moved his hands back to her jawline. 

“Just kissing?” She asked softly, giggling as he brushed his nose against her cheek. He shook his head softly, chuckling underneath his breath. 

“You pervert.” He grinned as he played with her hair, making her lips part in surprise. She shook her head quickly, denying whatever he was thinking. It wasn’t like that at all, she just didn’t want to get in trouble. 

“I’m not a pervert,” she defended herself in a hushed manner, her cheeks burning hotly at the accusation, “I just-,” she trailed off, unsure of where she was going with her statement. He was different in a way that he didn’t want to rush like most boys did. He liked to take things slow, something she wasn’t used to. 

“Mhm,” he grinned proudly, as if he was onto something, “s’alright, I like it.” He teased as he traced his fingers across her cheek softly, movements light as if he was trying to trace the freckles on her cheeks.

“Sounds like you’re the pervert then.” She told him quickly, only to be shushed by the feeling of his mouth crashing onto hers again. She instantly melted, caving into him as his fingers dug deeper against her face. 

His lips dragged against hers a little harder then, not by much, but just enough to make her croon underneath him. His free hand began to rub at her hip, squeezing as he captured her bottom lip between his teeth.

She gasped at the feeling of his teeth biting down on her flesh, a soft moan spilling free as he slipped his fingertips delicately inside the band of her skirt. Shivers erupted over her skin as he kissed at her sore lip, his hand slithering further down her skirt. 

“Steve,” she whispered against his mouth, gasping as he began to press inside of her panties, “what are you doing?” She asked as she felt her eyes widening, cheeks flushing as she tried to look over her shoulder. His parents couldn’t be too far away.

“Helping you,” he mumbled as his lips continued to graze over her cheek, her jaw and then her neck. She jolted softly at the feeling, biting back a giggle as he kissed over ticklish spot, “since you’re so needy.” He teased as he brought his warm eyes back towards her, making her heart hammer against her bones.

She pressed her lips together, trying to keep from moaning as he slid his fingers across her slick folds. He groaned softly as his head fell against hers, inhaling deeply as he pressed down on her clit lightly. She jerked up against him, biting down on her bottom lip this time to keep from sighing at the sensation. 

It was hard to focus with his lips across her neck, licking and sucking as he began to rub his fingers in soft circles over her clit. A little whimper slipped free from her lips this time, her hips rolling up to meet his motions. 

“Shh,” he teased, smirking as he looked up at her, “just relax. I’ll take care of you.” He promised as he guided his fingertips along her slick hole, making her stomach twist in awe.

His eyes scanned her features as he slowly slid one finger inside of her, long and nimble as her walls stretched around him. She parted her lips in surprise, eyelashes fluttering as she savored the way he filled her to the brim. His fingers were nice, lengthy enough to hit the deepest spots inside of her.

She just barely adjusted around him, clit aching for more when he slid in a second finger afterwords. She bit back a whimper, rolling her hips forward softly to meet his movements. A little groan left his lips as he watched her, his own features filling with bliss as he admired her pleasure. 

“Steve,” she hummed underneath her breath, chest rising as she curled her fingers into fists. She breathed in deeply, reminding herself of where she was. Of course close his parents were. She needed to be quiet, to remain calm, “I want you.” She whispered as she gave him a reassuring nod, sure that she would be able to do it. She’d been in worse situations. 

His eyes twinkled with mischief as he slowly curled his fingers upwards, searching for the spot inside of her that made her go wild. Her body tingled in pleasure at the sensation, walls clamping down around him as he hovered closer to her. 

He traced his lips over hers again, soothing away her moans as he began to kiss her. She lingered against his mouth, mind feeling fuzzy as he continued to slowly curl his fingers into her slick hole. 

Her pulse raced as the pleasure spread through her, electricity brewing in her veins as she slowly began to rock herself over the curve of his digits. It was enough to make her eyelashes flutter, her clit throbbing as he stole the air from her lungs. 

She breathed out against his lips, eyes feeling heavy as she continued to grind herself over the curve of his fingers. Each thrust made her clit ache, her cunt squeezing around the girth of his digits as he kissed her a little harder. 

His fingers reached the deepest parts of her, curling deep inside of her walls as she began to rock her body against him. She felt her eyes rolling into the back of her head as he began to stroke her bundle of nerves, a reassuring coo leaving his lips as she whined against him.

Her lungs began to burn, craving oxygen but unable to comply. She didn’t want to stop kissing him, she needed him that badly. She savored the feeling of his mouth against hers, how sweet and gentle he felt. How he made her melt against him, like she needed to be a part of him. 

Her toes curled at the intense feeling that poured over her, making her feel like she was floating high above the couch. Her mouth parted in bliss, silent moans pouring free as he continued to kiss along the curve of her lips while grinding his fingers inside of her. 

“Steve,” she squeaked out as she gripped his bicep, eyebrows furrowing together tightly as she tried to keep from getting too loud. The pleasure crashed over her intensely, harshly as her muscles tightened in her stomach, “oh God.” She arched her back against him, head falling against the couch as she came.

Her walls shook around his long fingers, trembling as he coaxed her through her orgasm. Her eyes felt heavy, mind blissful as he cooed softly in her ear. She clung to him, holding onto him tightly as she fought the urge to cry out. 

“Doing so good for me, honey,” he praised as he kissed her cheek softly, continuing to move his fingers softly until her body relaxed underneath him, “You did so well.” He hummed as he came to a stop, making her wiggle underneath him once again.

Her lips parted as he slowly removed his digits from her soaked cunt, her skin flushing at the sound that came from their joined bodies. He smirked as he admired the slick that coated his fingers, his lips curling into a little smirk before he slid them into his mouth. 

“You’re bad, Steve Harrington.” She whispered underneath her breath, heart hammering as she watched the greedy way he licked at his own fingers. He wasn’t as kinky as she was used to, but he always loved the taste of her. Almost in a feral way. 

“I am?” he grinned as he licked his fingers clean, making her face burn as he watched her, “I’m pretty sure you’re the naughty one out of the two of us.” He teased as he straightened her clothes out over her legs, sighing deeply as he rested against her. 

“I’m good,” she bit her lip as she moved her hand between their bodies this time, pressing her palm against the obvious bulge in his jeans. He groaned, the cocky expression falling as he began to grind his hips against her, “poor thing. I can help you.”

He nodded eagerly, looking like he was unable to speak as he slowly rutted his hips forward. She watched the way his expression turned to pleasure, his lips parting as she began to rub against his hard cock within his pants. 

“Steve?” She froze, eyes widening at the sound of his mother’s voice a few feet away, “Dinner is ready.” She yelled out in a sing-song way, sounding excited. Kim sank into the couch deeper, hoping that she couldn’t be seen. 

“Now?” He whined as his expression turned towards anguish, his head snapping up to look towards his mother. Kim quickly pulled her hand away, not wanting to get caught with her hand on his crotch. 

“Now,” She confirmed sternly, “don’t make that poor girl wait.” Kim could practically see her wagging her finger, just from her tone alone. It sort of made her smile though, knowing that his parents were at least a little fond of her. 

“Fuck.” He whined as he dropped his head into the crook of her shoulder, pouting as he clung to her. She giggled as she held onto him, playing with the hairs against the nape of his neck. She could still feel his bulge digging into her skin, unable to be hidden away. 

“Told you we should’ve hidden up in your room.” She teased in a smug way, giggling at how he whined in response. 

[paingoes]

Crash Out - Love

(Content: fever, drug mention, bruises, discussions of past abuse, guilt)

He was in and out of sleep for a long time. He remained supervised. They didn’t trust him with as much rope as he could hang himself with. 

Vi had lied to him, essentially. Paris was a prisoner just as long as he was here. But, as she reminded him frequently, he could leave at any time. They’d give him his sword back at the door. They’d take it away at the next base they crashed into. 

Lorelai was in her element, though. She was one of them now, clear as day. There was a little medallion around her neck, the gold markings which he recognized as distinctly imperial.

“Did you scavenge that off a corpse?” he asked.

He had meant it as a joke.

He got the distinct sense that he had killed something beautiful. Like setting a butterfly on fire. Had she been changing all this time?

And yet she didn’t leave him. She changed all the time, but that didn’t. Over the border was still the goalpost. CTRL sheltered them at most stops. She’s their own now, of course she can stay. He offered what he could — intel when he had it, labor when he didn’t, when his body allowed him to. Sometimes he merely slept, looking sheepishly at the night guard for the time they were both wasting.

The border was a stone’s throw away and she wanted to make one last stop. 

He indulged her. He had to. And it was good for him too, to see the last stop before leaving Empire. Some kind of closure. One last goodbye.

It was a tundra. The frozen kind, though some stages were now in thaw. It was painfully beautiful. 

She had an eye for it more than he did. He’d have followed her up into the mountains and along the frozen stream, walked the whole length of tundra ten time over. Anything. Lorelai pulled winter weeds out from the ground to press into the journal she still carried. Small, living things dashed across the dead-land. Foxes and rabbits. Owls and swans. Living things, not so unlike them. Hot blood flowed through all of them, proof they still existed. Alive.

It was her idea to break into the cabin, which to him did not seem very altruistic, but he had no better ideas. Luckily enough, it was empty, seemingly abandoned for a time. They’d get better use of it.

Only in the middle of the night, when they were already tangled in between each other’s limbs, did he realize the fever was upon him.

A real one, this time. Not induced, not even dopesick. An honest to god fever.

Paris stood up blearily, feeling some of the heat recede when he’d detached from her body, but not much. It was still bright outside, something to do with the equinox. The sky was an odd, soft color. It was freezing out, which felt nice against his flushed skin. Lorelai groaned slightly from the bed. She wrapped the blanket tighter around herself before she shuffled over to the door. At that point, he’d already stepped out.

Paris was on his knees in the snow. He pressed some of it to his face, still appreciating the contrast between the cold and the burning. It felt nice. It was strange, the things that felt nice to him now. As the last dregs of the drugs cycled out from his body, he found pleasures unmuted in their absence.

“You okay?” she called from the doorway. She was barefoot by the entrance, where the carpet was still warm.

He nodded, though he probably wasn’t. The fever was cooking his brain. 

The blanket hung off her bare shoulder. He hadn’t seen it as well in the dark, but the bruises marked her skin just as much as the love bites. She’d been busy. She’d been through a lot.

“I’m sorry for dragging you out here,” he blurted out. He’d been meaning to say it for a while. 

“What?” She blinked. “I wanted to come. This was my idea.”

“But you didn’t know what you were getting into. I didn’t tell you anything. It was taking advantage.”

“Did you know?”

He shook his head

“I knew it would be bad. I didn’t know it would be like this.”

“It’s my ship,” she said, the same way she ended all her arguments. “I could leave anytime I wanted. Why are you always trying to get rid of me?”

He desperately did not want to be rid of her. 

“I don’t understand you.” he said. He couldn’t fathom the thought of anyone staying with him by choice. If he could’ve left himself behind, he would’ve. He’d have done it in a heartbeat.

“What part don’t you get?” she asked. It tickled him how annoyed she sounded then. Like her clarity was being taken for granted. 

Then, as if reading his mind: “You give yourself way too much credit. I wanted this too.”

“This?” he laughed.

“Not all of it. I never wanted you to get hurt, Paris. I just wanted us to get out. I didn’t know how hard it would fight to keep you.”

A pause. She said:

“I had fun, though. Is that horrible to say? I had fun. I don’t regret it.”

He wondered if he regretted it. Really, he regretted everything.

When he didn’t answer for a while, she sat down on the wooden steps. The blanket shielded her from the cold contact. She lit up a cigarette, holding it delicately between her lips.

Another pause. He said:

“…You know I couldn’t have let him go, right?”

If she was surprised by the change in topic, she didn’t show it. He suspected she wasn’t shocked at all. Delta was on the cusp of his thoughts, all the time.  Everything lead back to him. Lorelai raised one eyebrow at the new proclamation.

“I couldn’t just let him go,” Paris said, because he had been thinking a lot about it. “He was too dangerous. Nobody would ever let that kind of power live in peace. He would have always be wanted, always somebody’s captive. He never could have had a happy life. It’s not his fault. He didn’t do anything to deserve it. But its true. There was never any hope for him. The kindest thing to do would have been to kill him.”

He didn’t mean to say that last part. Because he had killed Delta — and it had not felt kind. The ice felt colder beneath him as he went on.

“I know I didn’t have to treat him the way I did. I’m not saying anything about that. But yeah. I never could’ve let him go.”

Clearly.

“I don’t know. That’s beside the point, now.”

She barely reacted. He thought she might argue. Maybe he wanted her to. Maybe she saw another way out, some path that he didn’t. If he could do it all over, what would he change? Or would he always end up here — and Delta, dead on the ocean floor?

“Why did you treat him like that?” Lorelai asked, leaning forward slightly onto her knees. “…You didn’t have to.”

It felt like being stabbed. But it was a miracle he’d even avoided the question for this long. She’d been patient with him, endlessly. He could afford to be honest. The fever would make it so, regardless.

“I was so angry,” he admitted.

“All the time. At everything. I couldn’t stand it. I hated my life and I hated myself. I still hate myself. The only reason I had to live was to try to keep empire running — and I didn’t even want that. It felt like the whole place was fucking diseased. There was this rot at the center of the machine. He was just the worst of all of it, the worst thing it had ever created. It wasn’t his fault. I know that, it wasn’t his fault.”

“They told me I needed to. It’s his conditioning. He needed to feel powerless, all the time, or he would stop working. I was fucking terrified of what would happen if I lost control of him, if I lost the only edge I had. I was scared of him. And I needed him.”

“I hated needing. I hated feeling like I was losing control. And that’s all I was doing, the entire time. Just losing control, constantly. Over everything. Over myself.”

“It just became a habit, after a while. It started with just…punishment. Then it was just because he was there. Because I could.”

He was acutely aware of how cruel the word punishment sounded in his mouth. He was aware of how absurd it was, without any of the false authority he’d once put behind it. Who had he thought that he was? He’d never had the right.

He forced himself to look up at her, scared as he was of what he’d find. The scars of his body ached in the cold.

“I’m sorry, Lorelai. For everything.

I wish I could take it back.”

~~~~~~~

this is effectively the final chapter of Crash Out

paris and lorelai will return in Destroyer

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @whump-queen @sir-fenris

[lexa-griffins]

Clarke spends all night making Lexa's favorite cake for her birthday

Lexa isn't big on celebrating her birthday. Clarkr has come to learn the perfect low key way to do it: dinner at the chinese restaurant she loves in a cute outfit, a little walk afterward followed by cuddles on the couch and a small cake from Lexa's favorite bakery.

Simple and easy.

Although Lexa is turning 30 this year. And she has expressed the desire to go a little more out this year and Clarke is completely for it and having Lexa be celebrated by more people.

Three people plus them isn't too long of a guest list but Lexa is pretty excited about it and so is Clarke. They book a reservation at this fancy chinese restaurant and Clarke makes sure to get Lexa's favorite cake from the m bakery she adores. Everything is set for a nice birthday party and Clarke is giddy with how excited Lexa looks about celebrating her birthday!

The day before Luna calls. Sudden work trip so she cannot make it. Lexa assures her its okay and as she slightly disappointingly hangs up Clarke is there to rub her arm and tell her that they'll still have a great time with just Anya and Raven.

Clarke is just leaving work when she gets a phone call from the bakery. A mistake in the schedule made it so Lexa's cake was forgotten, and they don't have the time to fit it in for tomorrow. The owner is clearly apologetic as she has known Lexa and Clarke for a while now, but there isn't anything she can do except return the money and promise a free bento cake next time they come in. Making a b-line to the grocery store, Clarke looks at the pre-made cakes before quickly deciding Lexa deserves more for her 30th than a grocery store pre-made cake. Lexa loves the chocolate cake Abby bakes for them every time they visit. It's been a recipe in Clarke's family for as long as she can remember. So Clarke is quick to call her mom and ask her for it, knowing Abby doesn't need to look at the falling apart piece of paper it's written on to remember every single ingredient.

She manages to make it home before Lexa, carefully keeping the bag of ingredients in the back of the pantry just in time for the door to open and a teary-eyed Lexa to enter the house.

Clarke immediately jumps in to help to help her with her coat and kiss her, "What's wrong, love?"

"Raven got a bad flu and Anya caught it. They can't make it tomorrow." Lexa's voice trembles slightly but Clarke sees her trying to keep herself collected.

Lexa always said she doesn't care about her birthday. But Clarke knows she was excited with the prospect of celebrating entering her 30's with friends and a nice dinner - one Clarke is sure she'll have to call and cancel.

"I'm sorry, honey." Clarke doesn't fully know what else to say. She's a little mad at the three women, but it's not like they could have predicted a work trip or sickness. Still, her heart breaks, seeing her fiancee clearly upset after two weeks of excitment for her birthday.

"I'm going to have a shower and then lay down, I think." Lexa says in lieu of a response, the disappointment clear in her voice. Clarke manages little more than a kiss and an I love you before Lexa replies in a whisper and moves to their room, closing the door gently behind her.

Clarke would follow, but she knows Lexa will avoid letting herself fully cry over something she deems minimal while she is there, so Clarke lets her go.

When 1 hour later, Lexa has not made her way out of the bedroom. Clarke decides to take a peak, her heart breaking further when a sleeping Lexa's breathing shakes with the last of her quiet tears. A kiss to her forehead that seems to even out Lexa's breathing is the only thing Clarke seems capable of doing before she exists the bedroom, set on baking Lexa's cake and giving her the birthday she deserves.

A quick call to the restaurant as she tries to wrap Lexa's frilly smaller apron around herself changes the dinner reservation from 5 to 2 people and with all the ingredients and the messy recipe from Abby she wrote down on a post it note, she gets to work.

Turns out, baking is not Clarke's calling. Her google history shows a collection "how to know when the egg whites are stiff" and "how to melt chocolate without burning it" searches but she finally ends up with a batter that her mother aproves of.

It is close to midnight, almost 7 hours after Lexa's been in bed, that Clarke finally finishes the decorations on the cake. It's by no means professional, but what she lacks in backing skills she'd like to think she makes up for in buttercream painting, the pretty flowers all around the cake making it look less like a 5th grade art project.

With the cake in the fridge and the kitchen cleaned out of any evidence, Clarke hops in for a quick shower before getting into bed, her movements waking up Lexa momentarily who instinctively turns to cuddle into Clarke's arms.

"Why were you up so late?" It's slurred, and Lexa doesn't even open her eyes to ask the question.

Clarke, realizing just how tired she herself is too, answers is a barely there fashion, "Got distracted. You'll see tomorrow."

Lexa replies only with a hummed agreement, burying herself in Clarke's chest. Although Clarke is positive, she heard the happy birthday, Lexa does not reply.

The next day is a blur until dinner time comes around. As always, Lexa is out the door before Clarke makes it out of the shower, making the happy birthday wishes quick and underwhelming in Clarke's opinion and although Lexa is not beaming with the excitement Clarke wishes she had when she tells her dinner is still on, the sweet smile Lexa gives her when she tells her, its worth it.

She feared dinner would feel empty when it was first supposed to be bigger, but they are placed by the window with a wonderful view and Lexa arrives wearing the dress she excitedly bought for today and refused to let Clarke see until now, the pearl dress making Clarke take a deep breath and reminding herself tonight is all about Lexa.

Lexa's excitement grows over dinner. They sang her happy birthday at work, something she would have hated before but her entire team got her the prettiest flower bouquet (that she gladly dropped at home, and that gladly does not fight Clarke's smaller but very meaningful arrangement) as well as a little necklace with a pearl, making it clear to her just how appriacted she is. Abby called to wish her a happy birthday, giving her a sweet talk about how happy she was that Clarke had found her. Luna sent her a thoughtful message accompanied by a picture of them at only 12, a memory Lexa had forgotten about. Anya and Raven video called her on her lunch break and sang her the stuffiest birthday song in the world, but it was nice to see their faces as they wished her a great start to her 30s. And of course, Clarke herself has made today so much better than she was expecting, with all the cute messages throughout and reminders of everything she loved about her.

As they arrive home Lexa is slightly tipsy and seemingly very ready to celebrate her birthday in her birthday suit. But first, Clarke worked too hard on that cake to let it not be seen.

Lexa already has her hand on her belt when Clarke manages to stop her.

"Wait wait wait, I got something else for you!"

Lexa looks at her confused and ever so slightly annoyed at not getting what she wants. As much as she loves the cake they ordered, it is massive, and Lexa dislikes to think it'll mostly go to waste with just the two of them.

But as Clarke turns around, the uneven coating on the cake looks nothing like the one she knows the bakery makes. Clarke approaches Lexa carefully the smaller cake placed on the coffee table, the pearly 30 candle matching Lexa's dress.

"There was a set back ans the bakery couldn't get your cake out so, hum, I called mom and got the recipe for thst cake you love."

Lexa feels the tears burning in her eyes. She doesn't really care that the bakery couldn't make her cake. She would have canceled it if she had remembered it yesterday. Instead, Clarke took it upon herself not to let Lexa be disappointed over one more thing. She stayed up late to make sure she baked a cake Lexa loved, decorating it in the style Lexa sends her over instagram dms over and over again because she just finds those cakes so pretty. Clarke was the one who wanted so badly for Lexa to feel celebrated and happy today. There's no one else she'd rather spend her birthday with than her future wife.

"Haopy birthday, beautiful." Clarke smiles at her, and Lexa could burst into tears with just how grateful she feels. Instead, she kisses Clarke, nearly bringing the cake down with her. Clarke kisses her back with just as much passion, burting at the seems with happiness that Lexa is this happy about it after she feared today would be all disappointment.

"I love you." Lexa tells her, now sitting on Clarke's lap as she lights the candles on the cake.

Clarke smiles and tells her to blow her candles and make a wish. Cheekly, Lexa tells her she's got everything she wishes for right here.

"Well, you can always ask for a little more." Clarke nudges her with her nose, urging her to do it, smiling as she watches Lexa close her eyes, and finally blowing out the candle when her wish is made.

A year later, Lexa lays in a hospital bed when there's a gentle knock on the door. There are ballons all around her, more than dozen flowers bouquets, congratulations written all around. Clarke enters the room slowly, a small cake - the one the bakery promised for free - in her hands.

"Happy birthday momma!" Her wife whispers as she makes her way to the bed.

A small noise distracts Lexa momentarily, the small noises of last year's wish as he stirs in his little hospital crib before settling back down to sleep, born exactly one day before Lexa's birthday.

"They wouldn't let me bring a candle up, so I fear you dont get to make a birthday wish until we bring you and our little boy home." Clarke is radiant, so clearly tired but looking even happier than she did last year.

Lexa shrughs, tired but so incredibly happy for it all, "I think this time I really am all out of wishes. What more could I ask for?"

[antisemitism-eu]

I don't understand - Either you think Trump as president is much much worse for Jews than the past year of antisemitism or not. I think it's not (I'll try to explain below)

You think it is. And you're getting upset at me because

a. how dare I say you think that way

and

b. of course it's this way

you spend a lot of time telling me why Trump is so much more dangerous to Jews (and how dare anybody who deals with antisemitism for over a decade tell you anything about it )

Just to clear up that last point, because you accuse me of "putting things into your mouth" and then you do the exact same thing to me: I didn't say that Biden didn't condemn antisemitism. Of course, he did. I said that Trump took steps against antisemitism that should have been done a long time ago Biden didn't do anything against antisemites (and frankly, actively encouraged them) and thereby made the lives of American Jews that much more unsafe.

I realize you don't really care, but here's why I think Progressive antisemitism is much, more worse.

What does "Jews will not replace us" mean? It means that Jews are committing a genocide in the US. That is, of course, a Nazi antisemitic canard. And yet "Jews are committing a genocide in Israel" - does not seem so bad, does it? Nobody would say that it's Nazi, right?

Yes, Biden said that Israel is not committing a genocide. (which shows that he recognized it was wrong to say) But he also said that he understands why some people think that way. And his VP said that people must speak their truth.

For some reason you remember Trump as saying that Nazis are "a very nice group" But what he actually said was that he condemned neo-Nazis and White Supremacists and that there are "very fine people on both sides" when discussing taking down Confederate statues.

Now, how in the world does that sound different from what Biden said? In fact, I think it's way, way worse. Trump did not support the neo-Nazis in anything they said about Jews. Biden did.

There are so few neo-Nazi groups in the US and they're beyond the pale. The FBI usually stops them when they get weapons in order to commit an attack, as it does for most antisemites who try to commit attacks against Jews.

However - the Democratic party is mainstream. Saying "Israel is committing a genocide" is mainstream. Saying "Jews are European colonialists" is mainstream. people aren't sure that "destroy Israel" is antisemitic

Because if Trump would tell Nazis "you must tell your truth" - the entire country would go berserk. But for Progressive Nazis it's okay.

In fact, I'm currently under attack because I'm pointing out how Palestinian society and their anti-Zionist supporters are actually Nazi (hitler, swastikas, nazi salutes, murder of Jews) I realize you're upset. But try to stop and think who you support in this and what are the chances that you'll say "there are fine people on both sides"

so. american jews. ...is this "My Go bags are refreshed and packed," or is it "start making serious plans to leave the country"?

[iridescentmirrorsgenshin]

Hello! Hope you are doing well!

Random thought I had to share: Alhaitham obtained his Vision after reading a section about language. The passages itself lean into his philosophy of uniqueness and the individual. Makes sense, with Visions bring tied to ambitions and all. But at the same time, this is language - a system people developed to communicate with other people.

There's such a neat dichotomy with the two facets of Alhaitham's character: egoism as well as social affiliation. And I think it's that dichotomy that makes Alhaitham’s character stories so interesting. There are a lot of things directly stated, as well as things implied or hidden in plain sight. The prose is written objectively rational and detached from personal emotion, but sentiments are still discernible through omission.

Kaveh's character stories get the most recognition - and for good reason when it's written so easily to empathize with. Meanwhile Alhaitham's really comes across as academic jargon at first glance. But I really feel there is as much depth in Alhaitham’s stories as much as Kaveh's. And it only just struck me why his Vision story intrigued me so much. There's no clear indication on when it happened, but I like to imagine it occurred sometime after the fallout. The passage he read affirms his personal beliefs and ambitions, and I can see the text evoking his longing to reconnect at the same time.

I don't know. Maybe I'm looking too much into it.

Hiya! Thank you for your interesting ask!

I completely agree with your thoughts on Alhaitham’s character stories, they really are chock full of detail, even more so with what’s been omitted and what has to be inferred, whereas Kaveh’s are more straightforward. I think this ties in really nicely with their individual characters, where kaveh’s empathy and sensibility shines through, whereas alhaitham’s stories are given in a rational, detached way – but like you said, this doesn’t mean they’re absent of emotion in any way. I’ve gone through some of my personal favourites in terms of potential omissions and sentiments that can be inferred

This passage gives the reason for alhaitham’s sarcasm, which I think is interesting in fleshing out his character in terms of him wanting to evade unwanted interaction, as it’s a call to question the things alhaitham says and why, and also the motives behind his bickering with kaveh. alhaitham can be seen to instigate supposed ‘trouble’ with kaveh by outright goading or teasing, such as when we’re introduced to kaveh during the archon quest, which can be seen as alhaitham genuinely enjoying his and kaveh’s rapport, and yet kaveh perceives this as alhaitham antagonising him.

it can demonstrate the difference between kaveh’s method of communication as opposed to alhaitham’s, as kaveh states that it’s come to a point where he can’t tell the difference between sarcasm and genuine praise, whereas alhaitham typically uses sarcasm as a means of deflection and evasion, but also to goad kaveh into interacting. It’s an interesting passage (for me) because it seems to directly ask for engagement to question alhaitham, which is exactly what alhaitham values as knowledge, this ability to analyse and question, which aligns so well with the alhaitham style of narrative for his character stories – of course he would invite the reader to question the information they’re given (at least, that’s how I choose to see it hehe)

additionally, this passage seems to contrast directly with alhaitham inviting kaveh to live with him, considering that his and kaveh’s relationship is described as ‘terrible’ by outsiders, and that alhaitham claims to want to leave the house of daena to avoid another interaction with kaveh, but doesn’t – it can raise the question, if alhaitham wants to avoid trouble, why does he go out of the way to include kaveh in his life?

The mirror passage is pretty damning in terms of sentiment I think hahaha, whilst there are no mentions of alhaitham’s feelings regarding their argument or how he feels at the present, it’s very evident that this is a significant, positive shift for him in what he gains by having kaveh directly involved in his life – being kaveh himself

Also, alhaitham’s mentions of home are almost exclusively tied to his grandmother’s house, and then the property he and kaveh were given due to their thesis project – a property which he moved into on his own accord, despite having inherited his grandmother’s home. I’ve discussed it’s likely that alhaitham expected to run into kaveh at some point upon moving into this once shared property (as there’s nothing really here to suggest otherwise, as the reasons for alhaitham’s move aren’t mentioned), so it’s discernible that living with kaveh has never once posed as an issue for alhaitham

I’ve talked about the line regarding kaveh’s dissatisfaction here as it essentially builds into what alhaitham considers important to the both of them functioning as each other’s mirror. as a side note, I really like the EN translation listing build up here, as if listing properties that are supposedly almost inconsequential only to amount to what is essential not only to alhaitham’s perspective as a scholar, but alhaitham as a person, with kaveh’s personal attributes listed beside his scholarly views

When looking at this passage in particular and comparing it to his character stories as a whole, it’s actually really touching ahaha alhaitham’s interactions are limited with rebutting ‘offensive’ comments spoken at work meetings he chooses to attend, and nodding at those he considers himself friendly with in the street, as well as meetings with nahida and those he is friendly with, so alhaitham being the one to invite kaveh to live with him can almost come out of nowhere, especially as there are no recorded feelings about his past friendship with kaveh, other than that he values kaveh’s intelligence and that they worked together, but fell out due to differences – which is then described as a typical occurrence in the akademiya, as if calling attention to this generalisation of the description of this event. It makes the omission here questionable, as alhaitham’s perspective of the argument, along with his personal feelings, aren’t given, whereas kaveh goes into much more detail

Additionally, alhaitham makes repeated references to avoiding prejudices and maintaining objectivity, so him valuing kaveh’s opposing perspective makes perfect sense, but alhaitham goes above this by actively considering kaveh his mirror, which aligns them as perfect equals, something that alhaitham obviously values and prioritises - kaveh is very much highlighted as an irreplaceable bond

I think this is a perfect example of alhaitham’s sentiment present but not explicitly stated. Alhaitham’s life pursuit of comfort is based upon his grandmother’s wishes for him. I find the phrase ‘he was informed’ really interesting, in that he was seemingly previously unaware that this had been arranged for him by his grandmother, in order for him to learn from other darshans, to maintain a balanced, clear perspective, like a one-sided communication from his grandmother – and this leading into how alhaitham lives by his grandmother’s advice is especially touching

Following this then, alhaitham moving out of his inherited house and into the new property (which again we aren’t given a reason as to why), and looking through the books his parents had left, supposedly for the first time in a while, perhaps even since looking through them for the first time? But as it’s stipulated that alhaitham has next to no memories of his parents, and all he knows is through his grandmother, this passage reads as alhaitham gaining a sense of them through their writing, a one-way communication. The passage ends with the encapsulation of his character stories, abiding by his grandmother’s wishes for him to pursue a life suitable for him, which I think is a really moving sentiment. there’s no detail given about personal feelings as there might have been in kaveh’s writing style, but there doesn’t need to be with all this implied sentiment, that invites the reader to engage with the text

!!! you have a really interesting take on alhaitham’s vision. I don’t think it’s farfetched to associate this with kaveh considering that alhaitham’s character stories as a whole invite interpretation, and they allude to kaveh’s philosophies very often when outlining alhaitham’s opposing views on collectivism

It does seem that alhaitham gained his vision after the argument, as he was out on a research trip, which presumably he undertook on his own, as the thesis with kaveh is the only joint project he worked on so ‘people are controlled by language under many circumstances’ is interesting to me here as it’s a rather ambiguous line, being that it can have both positive connotations (in terms of making a language unique to the respective individual, aligning with alhaitham’s individualism) and negative connotations

In relation to kaveh, this line from the tome could represent the limits of language, or rather the subjectivity of it, in that language can easily be misconstrued by another. During their argument, I see it that alhaitham’s underlying concern for kaveh’s philosophies is construed as an attack on kaveh’s character, as this tension is described as 'exploding spectacularly’, so it’s comprehensible that in the heat of the moment, intentions weren’t worded in the ideal way. In this sense, regret can perhaps be inferred here, as the restrictions of language failed in communicating himself effectively, which carries this sense of longing to connect that you mention with this dichotomy of egoism and social affiliation

Alhaitham’s character stories are so fun to tear into, there’s so many angles to take when reading them precisely because of certain omissions and implications of personal feelings – when contrasting them with kaveh’s, it becomes evident just how much emotion and how many details have been left out on the surface, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there! Thank you so much for your ask, it’s certainly given me a lot to think about! <33333

[randomfoggytiger]

The X-Files: A Day-in-the-Life On-Set

An extract from this (very long) 1995 Chris Carter post.

CRUSHING TIMELINES AND ULTIMATE FREEDOM

…The Los Angeles office, housed in its own bungalow, is nicely appointed but relatively spare. 

The [Los Angeles] office itself is bustling this particularly morning, as writers move in and out--- occasionally invading the space of researcher/officer manager Mary Astadourian, where various drawers full of research material are kept. In there, the scribes will find literature on the paranormal, diseases, viruses, and various monsters, with folders that carry labels like “Roswell” or “Loch Ness.” 

…Part of the morning is devoted to the regularly scheduled writers’ meeting, with the entire staff… assembling to go over that week’s script, blocking out the teaser and all four acts….

The other writers question each nuance, throwing out suggestions to refine the story and make sure it’s clear…. Despite the need for exposition, Carter also stresses not letting the pace drag, wanting to spread action within the hour (or more precisely, 44 minutes or so minus commercials) allotted them. “Make sure you keep it hoppin’,” he says. 

…Eventually, it’s suggested they shift some action from the second act into the first in order to achieve the proper sense of pacing. The move requires some reconfiguration of other plot elements, but once those are blocked out the producer and other writers seem content. “That works for me,” says Carter, sending the show’s writer off to do another rewrite. 

Carter’s daily schedule, however, is just beginning. The writers’ session is followed by what’s known as a concept meeting-- a teleconference with the staff in Vancouver to grapple with various production issues before the begin filming a new episode…. 

Other issues involve the number of extras they can use….

Because money is always an issue, and time a luxury the crew usually doesn’t have, compromise and ingenuity remain key….

The producers also pride themselves on finding means of scavenging resources, then developing different ways to capitalize upon them. A prime case involves the crew getting access to a Canadian Navy destroyer that was then used in three different episodes, including “Dod Kalm”... and “End Game”.... “It’s fun,” Carter says, “to make something out of nothing.” 

Episodes must be plotted down to the most minute details-- in part because Carter is a perfectionist, and in part because the show is under a microscope now, with fans picking and nitpicking every conceivable aspect. Issues raised include what sort of garb Native Americans depicted should wear, with an emphasis on being as faithful as possible to tribal customs. (A Navajo group has complained because a character wore his hair down, something the elders in that tribe wouldn’t normally do, in the episode entitled “Anasazi.” Carter subsequently visited a Navajo reservation and attended one of their ceremonies.) 

From a more practical standpoint, the Vancouver team wants to know whether they can wardrobe the actors in blue jeans because some postproduction special effects shots use blue-screen, which essentially eliminates that color. 

The L.A. staffers are also assured that a shoot-out sequence will be top-notch, with bullet hits and ricochets plus a movie-style car explosion. Can it be done? “The answer’s yes… with disclaimers,” quips Beck good-naturedly adding, “One big disclaimer: How much money you got?” 

…The crew clearly takes enormous pride in the series, which presents them with such challenges on almost a daily basis and allows them to put their skills to the fullest possible use. Some freely admit, in fact, that they’ve been spoiled by their involvement with "The X-Files" and would have a hard time working elsewhere. “They’d have to drag me kicking and screaming off this show,” Gauthier says. 

The same goes for makeup special effects supervisor Toby Lindala…. Still, Lindala has proven up to most any task, with the Flukeman-- a costume his crew created in 10 days that had to weather water and other shooting ordeals-- still his proudest accomplishment. “That was probably the most insane undertaking for a time period,” says Lindala, who worked a 28-and 28-hour day during that stretch to get the suit ready in time. Even so, Lindala grew up watching monster movies and isn’t complaining, relishing the opportunities the show has provided to fool around with such projects. “I love making ‘em,” he says. 

Goodwin, a veteran producer who has worked on such series as "Life Goes On" and "Mancuso FBI", now tries to provide more lead time to prepare such major undertakings, but in most instances Lindala and his team (four people, including Lindala, work full time in that area) have just seven days’ notice to put a makeup effect together, and his services are needed in virtually every episode. 

…Careful planning remains the main hedge against both cost and time crunches, with Goodwin pointing out that in television time essentially translates directly into money. “The quicker you have to do it, the more it costs,” he says, adding that while some in the industry are tempted to cut corners, “My motto is, ‘Quality, whether they want it or not.’” 

…Kim Manners, also one of the show’s pool of directors, lauds Carter for treating each installment like a mini-movie. The process gives the individual directors-- who in episodic television, which is dominated by executive producers, are often viewed as transient guns for hire-- the opportunity to truly ply their trade. “He insists that you go out and be a filmmaker,” Manners says. “He doesn’t want you just go out and be a traffic cop.” Because of that freedom, he adds, the show is “the zenith of my career.” 

…Unlike most television shows that shoot on location, on "The X-Files" whoever scripted that particular episode goes to Vancouver to scout out locations and do other preparatory work. “To make sure,” as story editor Frank Spotnitz puts it, “everything is in sync with what the writer had in mind,” from casting to production design. In the cryptic vernacular of the show, the process stems from commitment to “purity control.” 

…For the episode in question, that means co-executive producer Howard Gordon, the only member of the writing staff other than creator Chris Carter who has been with the show virtually since the beginning, has made the sojourn to Vancouver. “As a writer, you don’t get that experience on any other show,” says Gordon. 

…Other matters have also arisen, some remarkable in their degree of minutia. Gordon’s script for the episode being prepared, for example, contains a seemingly innocuous reference to being “in the mood for some Quarter Pounders,” and Fox’s legal department wants them to clear the wording with McDonald’s…. “That’s a great line,” says an only slightly exasperated Manners…. Hours later, it’s decided to change to a more generic term rather than hassle the legal issue. 

…A later shot involves disposing of the [dead] cow, and Gordon-- a city kid from New York-- has actually researched the matter…. …But in light of McDonald’s headache, Carter has another suggestion. “How ‘bout if we just have a truck with golden arches on the side?” he jokes, spurring laughs from everyone in the room. 

…The attention to detail, again, proves remarkable, driven by Carter’s commitment to perfection. 

The entire process involved in shooting an episode of "The X-Files", from the first day of preparation to the last day of postproduction, usually takes six to eight weeks, with the seven days of preparation key to ensuring that the eight days of production that follow go smoothly-- though even the enormous effort that goes into planning can never account for every detail that can delay filming and raise blood pressure rates all around. In the middle of the season, as time grows shorter, there’s occasionally been as little as five weeks from prep to air. 

Just two days before shooting is to begin, Manners, Gordon, Carter, and co-executive producer R.W. Goodwin cram into a small audition room, where they’re scheduled to see more than 20 actors in just over an hour….

Manners, Gordon, and about 15 crew members, including special effects ace Dave Gauthier, production designer Graeme Murray, and others from various departments, later embark on a technical survey. They pile into an air-conditioned bus to scout out all the locations that will be involved in the upcoming shoot, usually a six-to-eight hour pilgrimage. “And this is the easy part,” laughs set decorator Shirley Inget. 

Carter follows the group to the door but has too much work at the office to come along. “I’m gonna miss this one, you guys,” he tells them, which is met with a collective “Aw” from the bus. 

…The bunch straggles back to the studio around 7:30 P.M., almost eight hours after their departure. On a near-by soundstage, meanwhile, Bowman is directing stars David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson, trying to keep the level of enthusiasm up with another long night of work to do. Shooting is frequently a tedious process, with long lapses between the action as shots are set up. The two stars carry out an emotional scene in front of an elevator that isn’t really an elevator, with a crew member behind the soundstage wall sliding a wooden door closed to approximate the effect. “I love it!” Bowman proclaims as the scene ends, watching the shot through a monitor and lauding his star as “One-take Duchovny.” 

Outside, Anderson’s baby, Piper… plays with various staff members as well as her father, assistant art director Clyde Klotz, who’s just returned from the technical survey. Piper shows off her mother’s piercing eyes and frolics later with Duchovny’s dog, Blue (his constant companion on the set), both seemingly fascinated with and a bit perplexed by the other. "The X-Files" is, indeed, a family affair, underscored when Goodwin brings his 10-year-old son and a friend into the production office the next morning, the latter collecting autographs from everyone on that week’s script. 

A short time later Duchovny and Anderson arrive, enjoying a few quiet moments while Piper plays nearby in a small red tub, watched carefully by her nanny. …Though he isn’t shooting that day, actor Mitch Pileggi (who seems to create quite a stir among the female office staff) also pops by to look over dailies, or raw footage, of a fight sequence featuring him shot earlier in the week.  

…Bowman has to deal with five actors (Anderson, Duchovny, and Gunmen Dean Haglund, Bruce Harwood, and Braidwood) in a relatively confined space, so the staging will be critical. After Bowman aligns them one way, Duchovny suggests an alternative in handling the shot, and various configurations are tried. As they begin rehearsing, everyone still seems a bit punchy, and the mood is light. Haglund keeps wanting to call a Nazi scientist “Kempler” instead of “Klemper”, and Duchovny has a hard time not laughing each time Braidwood (who comes up roughly to the actor’s chin) approaches him, with Frohike supposed to act relieved to see Mulder alive after the events that closed the second season. “Did you ever see the Star Trek where Spock thought that Kirk died?” Duchovny tells him with his trademark deadpan delivery. ‘That’s what you want to be doing.” 

Production ultimately won’t conclude until near 2 A.M. that morning…. 

[milkymora]

left ✧ tsukishima kei x fem!reader ✧ fluff ending

note: uhh i originally had a different idea for this one, but then art block kicked in and i couldn’t find a way to end it how i wanted to, so, for the life of me, i changed it and this is the result. it’s kinda bland but i thought the idea was nice although clichè.

tw: period cramps, r! throwing up.

“kyoko is right.” said tsukishima in a low voice, so that only you could hear. confused, you turn your head to him, inquisitive stare seeking for his amber eyes.

he had his cheek resting on the palm of his hand, not really returning your stare, rather glancing at his plate, with a neutral expression that had a shade of dreaminess in it you weren’t sure you’ve ever seen before.

he seemed to be spacing out, actually.

“what was that?” you questioned, although having heard just fine his previous statement, stealing a forkful of pasta from his plate to get him to pay attention to you.

a subtle smile made its way across tsukki’s thin lips at your gesture.

“i said that kyoko’s right.” he repeated, eyes finally reciprocating yours, no shame in his apparently sincere compliment.

it wasn’t a tease, nor a joke. his voice was genuine, to your surprise.

“what do you mean?”

you knew. you knew what he meant, and he knew that you knew. yet, you wanted to hear him say it. to hear those sweet words, that never came out of his mouth, from him.

“you look gorgeous.” he admitted as if it was the easiest thing to say, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world, going with his fork to steal one of your french fries, mimicking your previous playful deed. though you didn’t even notice.

you had your eyes locked on his, shifting from his right to his left, too busy processing what you’ve just been told.

“oh,” you let out a nervous cackle, “thank you.” flashing him a timid smile. he responded with a simple nod, that subtle smile lingering on his lips as he did.

“sure but, don’t look at me like that.” abruptly, he added.

“like what?” you tilted your head.

“like i’m never nice.”

“would it be a lie?” you snorted, eyeing him from head to toe.

“yes. a blatant one.” unfazed, he responded.

“uh,” you lift your eyebrows at his words, “excuse me?” shock painting your traits, as you go to fill your glass with the water the waiter just brought to the table.

“wasn’t i lovey-dovey enough yesterday?” chuckling, he watches as you almost choke on your drink, coughing the life out of your lungs.

you keep coughing into your palm for a good moment, after having sent him a kick with the tip of your shoe on his calf from under the table, peering around you to make sure your friends hadn’t heard kei’s last sentence.

too bad you’re met by kyoko’s interested stare; when you make eye contact, it’s like you’ve seen a ghost.

“what happened yesterday?” she curiously wonders out loud. although her angelic face, you recognize those sly eyes.

“nothing,” you laugh, not helping the a little too high pitched tone, “he just dropped a couple books at my house, to, uh–” that would always kicks in when searching for a decent lie to tell.

“–to hand them back. i borrowed them from y/n over a month ago, but forgot to return them.” tsukishima chimed in at the pathetic sight of your struggling figure, being the good actor he’d always been.

“sure.” kyoko’s smile spoke volumes, however she simply accepted your response, leaving you alone... without flashing you a knowing smirk beforehand, though.

swallowing a pool of saliva formed in your mouth, you cleared your throat, detaching your gaze from her, your bashful face glancing at your empty plate.

quietly, you go back to eavesdropping the others’ conversations, finding yourself eventually joining yachi’s jokes after sharing laughters with tadashi and her.

and it went on like that for a good while.

until you felt a sudden, stinging pain in your stomach that made you drop the fork in your hand. nonody noticed you going silent at first, nobody except him.

“you good?” his brows furrow the more the time passes, seeing no response coming from you. “i–” your arm goes to cover your stomach, but the pain is so strong you can’t even speak to explain.

abruptly, you jump up, unable to bear it any longer.

it wasn’t a bellyache from something you’ve eaten, you’d recognize those awful cramps from a mile.

without being able to alert anyone, you dragged your feet towards the restroom, closing the door behind you and letting out a groan as shimizu’s voice spoke from afar.

“y/n? are you okay?”

you ignore her, too busy hastily rummaging into your purse for your portable meds’ box as kyoko’s steps approach you, but when you open it, you remember that you hadn’t taken any pill with you for period cramps from home.

“ow—” you cry, the pain bending you, making you kneel down on the bathroom floor. “hey, hey-” kyoko spoke, laying a hand over your shoulder. “what’s wrong?” she asks, her hand traveling on your back to caress it in slow movements.

“do you have anything for cramps?” with tight teeth, you fight the nausea that threaten to make you throw up at any given second.

shimizu’s features softened at your request, wordlessly realizing the issue. “i think i do,” she begins, “i’ll go back where i left my purse to search it up, okay?” she continues. “i’ll be right back.”

you nod, and as quickly as she came, she was gone, leaving you alone with your aching lowerbelly.

you cursed yourself for your oversight, swallowing several times as to try not to actually vomit, when you hear another voice speak from behind the door.

“are you there?” kei’s knuckles knock on the door.

your voice trembles slightly, “yeah.”

he opens the door of a couple inches, his head sticking in to take a look at you. “come in,” you say, gesturing at him.

“um, are you sure i can...?” he doubts, eyeing the women sign glued on the door.

“oh, who cares!” you exclaim, before letting out another groan, closing your eyes in pain. you crouch into yourself further, as if that was somehow gonna relief that unbearable discomfort.

the door closes. his frame sits next to you the second later, so close to you that your shoulders are touching.

“i saw kyoko running back to the table, i figured she anticipated me.” he talks softly, his calmness somewhat comforting. “what happened?”

“just my period.” you lay your head against the cold tiles of the room, huffing and puffing as you tried to regulate your breathing. failing.

“is it that bad?” his face tilts slightly, glancing over every inch of your grimace. “what do you think, sherlock?” you turn your face on the opposite direction, avoiding his eyes as to not be seen like that.

“sorry,” he timidly apologizes, slapping a sense of guilt into your guts for giving him an uncalled for attitude.

“no–” you shake your head, “i’m sorry.” you sigh. “it’s just that it hurts so bad.”

the door pushes open once more, this time hitoka is behind it.

“oh,” yachi takes a step back, “did i interrupt something?” her squeaky tone makes you smile. “no.” you flash her a weak smile.

“i came in to tell you that kyoko doesn’t have anything for you, she told me... and neither do i.” her hands fidget with the little bows of her dress. “do you wanna go home? we will pay for your part.” her displeased face touched your heart.

however tsukki didn’t allow you to choose.

“i’ll pay for it and get her home, you girls don’t worry. i’ll take care of it.” he gets up from his spot. “go tell the others we’re leaving, please.”

his request meets a nodding yachi, that wastes no time heading back to your friends.

“here,” he lends you his hands, “hop.” he says as he helps you get on your feet.

“you really don’t have to, i ca-” you begin, “y/n, darling, spare me the “i can do it myself” speech for another day, okay?”

you try to rebut, “but, really, i can do this myself.”

“yeah, yeah. you’re an independent, strong, woman. i know. we all know. now let me help you.” he says, taking your hand into his, his warm skin pleasing to the touch.

although the nausea and the hammering pain in your womb, you can’t help but chuckle at his statement. “thank you.” you whisper, going on your tippy toes to print a phantom kiss on his cheek.

tsukishima paid for your and his part as he said, before giving a quick wave at the table where the others were still dining cheerfully, tossing on his shoulders his thick coat and opening the door of the restaurant for you and himself.

you and him walked out of the building, the freezing, nightly, dicember air hitting your skin like a whiplash, making your aching worsen immediately.

“shit,” you whine, his arm going around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “resist. we’ll be home before you notice.” he comforts, your frames starting to walk down the street hand in hand.

half an hour later, you’re finally home.

your face is sloped over the toilet, puking every single thing you’ve eaten. tsukki’s behind you, although your protests of not needing him to, holding your hair out of your face.

the cold hadn’t really helped, and your walk was terrible to say the mere least. you felt as if you were fucking dying.

“i’ll go make you something warm.” he offers, to which you jerk your face in his direction, tears in your glassy eyes, heavy breathing. “what?! no! i’ll throw that up as well!”

“okay! okay. what do you want me to do?” asks his intimidated self, “go grab my hot water bottle and fill it, please.” you command, rather desperately.

just like that, he goes upstairs, in your bedroom, taking a hot minute to find the needed object, that was buried between your peluches and covers.

you hear a bunch of rustling, then his steps descending the stairs, walking into the kitchen, taking out a small saucepan.

after another five minutes, his figure appears back into the bathroom, where your poor self had been sitting, sore.

“there.” he says, handing you the thing.

you grab it, laying your back against the wall and pressing the water bag against your abdomen so hard you almost burn your skin. “thanks.” you murmur.

“you think you can take the medicine now?” his finger goes to softly stroke your cheek, giving you a compassionate stare.

“yes...” you glance inside the toilet you just flushed, that erased all the gross shit that previously was there. “i think i’m done with it, if life wants to give me a break.”

“wanna go lay down?” he asks, the softness in his voice giving you sweet goosebumps. “are you gonna leave if i do?”

“wha- no. why would i?” his eyebrows jump slightly.

“i don’t know. just a feeling.” you look down, at your feet.

“i mean, if you want me to leave, i’ll leav-”

“don’t.” your hand goes over his. his fingers move under yours, bringing your hand to his lips. “okay.” before kissing its back.

“..stay for the night.” you move your head towards him, resting your forehead against his. “please.”

his face colored of a deep bordeaux.

“are you sure?” he questions. “mhm.” you hum.

you were left alone in the bathroom as he went to his house to quickly change into cozy clothes. you took the time to take your medicine, a short shower to get the smell off of you and brush your teeth– which you definitely needed as well.

just as you got out of the bathroom in your freshly washed pajama, he entered your place again, this time with flannel pants and a purple sweatshirt, that had a little yellow moon at its upper right.

“have you told your mom you’re staying here for the night? asking that for the sake of your ears, you know...” you joke, noticing, as you did, that your pain as already significantly lowered.

“ha-ha.” he sarcastically laughs at your joke, “don’t worry about that.”

you chuckled, the both of you walking upstairs into your room. “how’s your..?” he begins.

“good. thank you again, for... you know. everything.” you smile, entering your bedroom with him following.

“anytime, pipsqueak.”

you’ve turned on your pc, posing it on the bed, as he took out of your closet another pillow and a couple more fluffy blankets, in that room he’s been in so many times before.

he crawls up your bed, after having added all the necessities, before laying on top of your pillows and playing with one of your peluche.

precisely, the little t-rex he gifted you for your birthday when you were kids. which reminded you...

“oh!” you exclaim, making him jump upright. “what?” he asks, searching for any sign of pain on your face.

“i,” you blush. “i bought you something.”

he lets out a relieved sigh, “god, you scared me.” that quickly shifts into curiosity, though. “what is it?”

you clumsily slip out of your bed, running downstairs, where you left your purse. you grab it, going back to him.

the old woman at the shop had wrapped it up in christmas themed paper, with a red bow on top.

“before you say anything, i know it’s dumb.” you look away, stretching your arm out to him, with the thing in your hand. “i just... i don’t know. it made me think of you when i saw it, so i got it.”

he quietly grabs the object from you, unwrapping it. his expression remains impassive, which makes you nervous.

more than what you already are. “i got one for me too- a matching one.” you stutter mildly, taking out your own brown little bear.

when you go back to watch his face, you found him already looking at you. actually he keeps going back and forth to you and the white bear in his hand.

“you can give it back if you don’t like it.” you close your hand into a fist, hiding your bear in it, your cheeks darkening as you watch him get up from your bed. “tsukki?” you ask.

his arms wrap around your waist, lifting you up, mouth catching yours into a kiss. you tense up before realizing his gesture, loosing up and kissing him back, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist.

it’s the sweetest kiss you’ve ever received. nothing compared to the passionate one he gave you yesterday, no, it was... so tender. so delicate.

he wasn’t using his tongue, he simply pressured your lips with his. again, and again. until finally stopping to look at you.

he sat down, you on his lap, watching you with an adoring gaze that made your breath cut short. “i love it so much. thank you, it’s adorable.” he goes to kiss you one more time. “and...” he whispers into your ear, “i’ve actually bought something for you too.”

“really?” your eyes lighten up at his words, a wave of excitement crushing your heart. “yes.” he chuckles.

“what is it?” you ask, making yourself more comfortable on his lap, resting your hands on his broad shoulders.

“just a pair of earrings. i... don’t really know your taste, but i thought of you when i saw them, so i just got them, like you.”

your heart fastened at his words, a smile painting your face from ear to ear. “can i see them?”

“no. not tonight.” he says, making your excitement drop into disappointment. seeing the change of your traits, he pulls you closer to him, kissing the corner of your mouth.

“don’t be sad. i took them home when i went to change. i’ll show you tomorrow, promise.” he nuzzles his face against your neck, occasionally kissing it, making those goosebumps persist on your skin.

“okay.” you smile, running your fingers through his short, golden hair.

a couple minutes later, you were laying back on the bed. you had the pc on your lap, as he kept watching and watching the bear you just gifted him. “so,” he starts. “which movie are we watching?”

“my little pony equestria girls.” you deadpan, holding in the urge to turn and see his expression.

“no way, how did you know it’s my favorite?” he exclaims with irony, making you burst out laughing wholeheartedly.

“no, seriously though, which movie did you pick?”

“i haven’t picked one yet. i’ll let you do that.” you say, putting the laptop on his lap, going to lay next to him. “how do you wanna call your bear?”

“nice.” he smiles, as you guys fix your positions on the bed, your head going to rest on his shoulder as he bring the blankets over your bodies, fuzzy socks on your feet and a couple more peluches around the two of you. “pipsqueak seems appropriate. small, annoying. like you.” he says.

“what do you think?” he questions.

“i’m not annoying. be sweet for once.” you pinch his hip. “okay. i’ll figure out a kinder nickname.” he sighs, rolling his eyes with fake annoyance, although his smile betrayed him.

eventually, he picked his movie, series actually, something you’ve never heard of before, but that was quite his style.

the lights were now turned off, your hot water bag had gotten cold, but you didn’t need it anymore. tsukishima was a good substitute.

your eyes were slowly closing themselves as your hand caressed his chest, head under his chin, which he’d occasionally kiss, caressing your body in such loving way you felt like you were dreaming awake.

after all that’s happened between you and him, this moment was the last way you’d thought your relationship with this guy could turn into.

you weren’t complaining of course.

“tsukki,” you called, “are you asleep?” whispering.

silence. you moved your head slightly upwards, trying to take a look at his face. you couldn’t see much with only the pc screen’s light, yet his eyes seemed to be closed.

he looked so beautiful, an angelic, sleeping lamb.

his breathing was also slower. you watched as his chest rised and fell.

he must’ve been asleep.

“i love you.”

you confessed, closing the pc and going back to nuzzle your face against him, covering your bodies under the amount of blankets, ready to finally join him.

your relaxed face goes back into a smile, though, when you hear him whisper back,

“me too.”

✧ previous

[skribbledarker]

VAMP SANJI WIP UPDATE!1!1!1 i finally got off my ass and started writing ts so. have a snippet. context is that Sanji’s germa genes are starting to take effect OHHH hes not gonna have anything good happen to him from here on out sorry yall…enjoy

—

“I missed you.”

“Wh—” Sanji completely forgot he wasn’t alone. He jumps and the knife slips; Sanji registers a sharp pain in his thumb before he really has the chance to process what the hell Zoro just said. “Ow, shit—”

“Cook?”

“Ugh, fucking nicked myself,” Sanji hisses. he sticks the tip of his finger in his mouth, sucking on the pad of his thumb to stave the bleeding off when the coppery taste of way more blood than there should be fills his mouth.

Sanji lets the knife clatter to the counter as he scans the sink area for a dish towel, the pain from the cut throbbing dully as he grabs one and quickly bunches it over the digit. Zoro shifts from his perch on the couch, the bottle he was holding clinking on the wood as he puts it down. “You sure?”

“Yeah, m’fine, just—“ Sanji scans the counter for any stains, and oh, that is a good chunk of flesh with a fingernail sticking out of it just sitting on the table. That is a quarter of his thumb. on the table. What the fuck. Sanji feels panic well up inside him, because he just sliced off half of his fucking finger.“—Oh.”

“What the hell are you doing over there?”

The words go in one ear and out of the other. Carefully, very carefully, Sanji removes the towel from over his thumb (Chopper would be fucking screaming at him for not putting pressure on the wound, but he needs to see the damage) and…

…It’s fine. His thumb looks fine, whole. Once he frantically wipes the rest of the blood off, there’s barely even a cut. Again, what the fuck, because Sanji knows he just chopped off a good portion of that digit and it’s laying right next to him.

And then Sanji watches, breath tight in his chest, as the remaining wound on his thumb starts knitting itself together. The cut fully closes, leaving nothing but pink, tender, skin behind, and everything seems to grind to a halt as Sanji realizes exactly what this means.

“Do you need a bandage?” Zoro is somehow behind him now, looking over Sanji’s shoulder, and he scrambles to throw the dish towel over the incriminating chunk of his finger still on the counter before the swordsman can see.

Sanji barely spares enough focus to bat him away with his other hand, still reeling from the revelation. “Go– fucking sit down, it’s not even bleeding anymore.”

“Whatever. You’re being weird.” Zoro throws his arms up in defeat.

“Your face is weird!”

“I’ll gut you.”

“Shut. Up.”

“Fine,” Zoro tromps back his perch on the galley’s couch while Sanji struggles to keep his breathing in check.

It was stupid, really, for Sanji to think that he was in the clear. To believe that everything would all suddenly be over after he’d finally gotten rid of the last of the influence Judge had on him. Or, well, thought he’d finally gotten rid of– Even in its absence, Germa still manages to be ever-present in everything he does. Sanji really should’ve known better.

He pulls a breath in, oblivious to the eyes (eye, really) on his back, wrapping up the offending piece of finger in the towel and chucking the entire thing into the garbage can. Sanji will finish up here, go to sleep, and pray that he’s still him in the morning, because what else is there to do in this fucking situation?

The galley is blissfully silent as Sanji picks up the knife again, finishing off the rest of Franky’s potatoes quickly and carefully; Zoro doesn’t comment on what just happened, or what he said earlier, and Sanji is quietly very glad for that. The entire time, the knowledge of what’s happening in his body sits in the back of the blonde’s mind like a stone. Heavy, threatening to bowl him over with the weight. It stifles him, even as he moves deftly to clean the kitchen and not-so-nicely give the marimo a boot to the ass.

when Sanji falls asleep that night, he dreams of his name: whispered on faceless lips while a sword plunges gently into his chest.

—

ugh i have a slur to say. the two of them are homo leve 100 thousand and Sanji is about to start having a BAD TIME. oka

[skydigiblogs]

Digimon and Nostalgia

i have a habit of just kind of passing by in the tags sometimes even when i'm quiet, and i'm realizing i don't know how much i've talked about the thought behind why we decided to revisit digimon last february from start to finish.

okay so fair warning, this is gonna be rambly and a little bit semi-incoherent because i feel like absolute dogshit today but the brain worms on the subject aren't leaving me alone to rest.

i am putting it under a read more for all our sanity

so there's this category of post i always see in the tags that seems to come from a place of either not engaging with enough digimon media or not engaging with the media.

that first one is a bit easier to explain. sometimes people will talk about things they want to see in the digimon franchise, and it's kind of clear that they have a very narrow scope of what they've actually seen from it.

i'm trying to think of an example that doesn't put recent posts i've seen on blast lmao (because that's not the point of this post), but also i think some of the points brought up by this post by @starwardking (pardon the tag) highlight the complexity of the first kind of issue, because it both is and isn't the kind of problem that can be fixed by just finding the right digimon media.

when i saw this post, my first instinct was to point to series like savers and appmon, where a majority of the plot takes place in the human world and allows for a lot of mundane shenanigans. i also think a bit about the earlier episodes of tamers.

(i think to some extent ghost game has a bit of domestic life shit going on, but seeing as it is also a horror anime, part of it is about the dissonance between "Normal for Digimon" and "Normal for Humans." but you also get episodes about little hideaways digimon live in in the human world so they can drink tea and share snacks. you also have digimon that just hang out in libraries and shit like that.)

at the same time, this is also an issue i think that isn't fixed by finding the right digimon media. the comparison to pokemon is what makes me consider this, specifically because of something like pokemon amie. it may have just been a minigame, but it's also something that, especially in the video games, i don't think we have a clear parallel to. i do agree that it would be nice to enjoy a bit of domestic fluff with your digimon!

but then i also recognize that i myself have also skipped over games where i could tell there would be some of that. i couldn't finish survive because it has elements i just can't handle either playing or watching. what i do remember in survive is that you have quite a few scenes early on in the school that are about resource management (figuring out how to digimon survive, as it were). this is done while you're also chatting with your human and digimon friends.

which i think segues better into the second kind of issue, being that sometimes i see these posts and they come from an angle where it seems someone hasn't exactly made an effort to engage with digimon as it is. there's a phenomenal video essay by deep dive on youtube, actually, that talks about this with regards to ghost game.

on the most abstract level, are you trying to be cognizant of your biases going into a piece of art when you take it in? what experiences make it difficult to engage with the text in a way that it wants you to engage? can you even see what the text is trying to say, even if it's ineffectual?

this is also why i wanted to tie this in with the reason i decided to make a blog to track my revisiting of all the different series.

nostalgia is killer, and not in a good way.

one of the things we regularly do with media we enjoy enough to praise is revisit it. if it's been over a year since i've watched something and i am trying to hype it up to someone, i want to not rely on my own memory, but also the text of that individual piece of art.

the second form of this issue comes about when an individual has an Idea about digimon, and they post with a very firm stance on what digimon is or is not. it's a retreading i think of the same reason anyone is willing to not consider appmon part of the digimon franchise (despite the "digimon universe" title).

again: what are your biases coming into a piece of art? do you have certain ideas about what digimon is supposed to look like? do you refuse to give other digimon media a fair chance because of it?

this form is more likely to get me to just block someone so i don't have to keep scrolling past them in the tags tbh. there's a mixture of "it was better in the old days" combined with a blatant lack of media literacy when "attempting" to engage with newer digimon media. you see this in a lot of franchises, to be fair, but it is always frustrating.

like i could also be biased because of my own background, being that i have an english degree, but there's something so... disappointing, i suppose, to the latter form of this criticism. if you're going to have a take, i want to see you articulate it. it's not a school assignment, sure, but what in god's name is making you come to that take?

i think the most painful series to see this with for me are savers and appmon, if only because i did rewatch them to better understand why i love them (and also what i really hate about them!).

savers especially is a show i watched because i was interested in seeing if the "MIB but if the aliens were Digimon" series could handle making any statement about the nature of law enforcement! and surprise surprise, it fucking did!

people probably feel the same way any time i post about frontier, which is a series i've been vocal about my dislike about (though i respect anyone willing to try to make frontiers better through their own art and writing). it's been a struggle to rewatch that series, but i also don't want to make strong judgments with firm backing because i know i have not seen it in years, nor have i seen the original sub.

i don't think i have a nice clean conclusion for this. it's an observation i keep having, and i don't think there's any particular solution for someone like me who just wants people to try a little harder to pick apart the things they like. i want people to understand how stories tick, and the things they both explicitly and implicitly say. it's the english teacher in me, i guess.

[sir-fenris]

AAAAAAAAA 🥹 I've lived for the day that I would be getting commentaries too. I can die happy. Thank you <33

Sorry for taking so long to answer. I read it before going to sleep and I giggled so much my cheeks hurt, but I was too tired to answer cohesively. And today I was busy pretty much the whole time :'(

But I was able to write this down while preparing and eating my dinner :D

(My responses organization is kinda messy, don't mind it please XD)

It is real and it is happening, I'm glad Cyrus's yearning was clear and that it seemed a strong start :) I went back and forth with SO MANY begginings, I think I wrote and deleted more than 10 completely different starting paragraphs XD.

I might put the rp on the masterpost soon! I wanted to ask you if I could, first. And find a way to organize it in a way I feel is nice to read.

And well... about the gloves, who knows? :) is it because he can use his magic with any skin contact? What I can say is that all handlers do have gloves with technology, but usually, they're are fingerless gloves. Wilson's hands and arms are fully covered.

(I already changed your emoji <3)

Yes, protection barriers makes him nauseous when he goes in, because it's designed exatcly to keep his magic contained in the tent in case he uses it unauthorized, so it gives him a bad feeling. Once Wilson gives him authorization, the barriers are set down. When the authorization is revoked, they come back up. That's one of the many reasons why Wilson has to communicate when he's about to turn the nullification back of the collar.

A lot of safety measures 😃

Well... I wouldn't say he's allowed to actually refuse food. Wilson just sometimes is "merciful" and allows him to take his breakfast after his comedown is done, because usually Cyrus feels sick before getting to work. (If Cyrus... makes a mess, yk, Wilson will have to report and take care of the situation, and that's too troublesome)

And I'm not one for underestimating trope either, but I guess in LW whump it's interesting because adds to the familiar dehumanization and because the LW is actually very powerful and that gets proven.

"ohhh :( he makes me sad I'm definitely gonna read the comfort ask"

My comfort is also whumpy, because I don't wanna spoil Cyrus too much yet, he's still on the whump arc... but I hope you find the hurt/comfort good enough XD.

":( he knelt fast then. man..."

He dropped down on his knees :') Wilson doesn't let him kneel down slowly.

And Wilson whispered the "behave". Rhe others around don't need to hear the weapon being reminded to behave, just know that it will.

About the other gifted. I'll show the sketches of the gloves soon, but you'll see that it does need a metal manipulator, or else it has to be cut off and re-made on his hand every time. It's 100% closed. So that's why they use other gifted to do it.

(Usually metalokinetics are used around for stuff like that, menial tasks. They only go to battlefield if they are strong enough to destroy enemy's weapons and machines.)

"yeah I know </3 man this is a bunch of info I know cause I've already been exposed to bits of this story but for future newcomers this is probably necessary clarification"

That was the hardest part :') I wanted anyone who didn't knew any context to be able to understand the first chapter (though that's really really hard without a beta/proof reader) and the people who did have context to enjoy it anyway, even though it's pretty much a retelling of the drabble a lot of you already read. I was afraid of giving too little information and making it hard to understand, and of giving too much information and making it too dense.

60% of the chaotic editing was because of this. And 50% of the typos is because I kept changing sentences and missing to change a word or to (like making a sentence about one of his hands, then decide it should be both hands, but forget to put one of the words in plural)

Speaking of that, I need to do a typo checking on the chapter asap... already caught 2 yesterday.

"ugh he's so well trained"

His handler is proud to hear that.

I'LL GIVE YOU ALL THE GRASS EVER SWEET LOVELY BOY </3

Own, that's adorable. He'll have grass in recovery, lots of it, don't worry.

(The bar is very low when touching grass is almost an ultimate reward...)

aaaaaaaaa? wilson my beloved he's so cold

"Wilson" and "beloved" in the same sentence is........ something I was not expecting ever. Huh.

ooooooo :D I remember wondering why the art of him showed him with blue lines in his collar when he was a threat level red!!! fascinating :3

😊 when the nullification is on, it stays blue. When he's being shocked, it flashes yellow, and when his magic is free, it turns red. :D safety measures, too.

About the withering description, thank you! I really think it might be too abstract or dense to some people, especially those who don't have any context, but there's really not much I could do. From Cyrus's view, he's not seeing what the magic is actually doing, and this needed to be included on the first chapter.

But I'll try to slide in some description from Wilson's view of his powers in a canon chapter to make it clearer, perhaps make a separate post showing his vision vs what's actually happening, if I can.

And yeah! On the drabble I was really thinking about that song. But on canon, it became more like a curious fact, because I made it so it's from another language. It doesn't have a set lyrics, though the translation would be something akin to the hurt incantation. No one knows what Cyrus's murmuring means, not even him, it's gibberish to them all.

Yeaaah! I'm happy you saw that "Sweet Creature" follows the same line that "Magic Euphoria" drabble. It's pretty much that drabble, but from his perspective, plus a bit more at the beginning and end. This chapter is the truly canon, since when I did the drabble I didn't have the characters in mind, but Cyrus really does say "yes, sir" because his conditioning runs deep. He doesn't say "okay" ever.

(But Wilson is also an unreliable narrator, so you can consider the drabble him remembering Cyrus's words to be more disobedient than it actually was, since he spoke quietly)

(Poor baby, being shocked not even knowing why, loosing his warmth, being remembered as disrespectful even when he wasn't...)

Metallokinetic whumpee is not well :(

"oooo so he has gloves on when not working got it got it. leather! I assume it's to avoid skin to skin contact? or his hands are the most effective conduit and the higher-ups don't want him touching anything with his hands?"

I like the way you're going :)

(Both Cyrus and Wilson have gloves, but Cyrud's is restrictive)

About the den (his cabin) and mattress.... eh, don't get too happy. Remember, unreliable narrator. And this ask is very important.

(Oh, you reminded me that I wanted to put the images of his cabin and capsule on the chapter, thanks, I'll do that later)

"oooo is his collar nullifying it? or the gloves? capsule??? I think it's the collar"

All of the above. Plus the glasses too. Safety measures :)

the euphoria narration thing is. so fucking good man. but why'd he get shocked?? this isn't in the wilson pov chapter 😔

First, thank you <3

Second, it's not defined, it could have been a lot of different things. But my favorite option is that he started singing without realizing it.

"someone please give him a blanket istg. I know this is a different kind of cold but can he have a blanket :("

He can only earn blanket privileges when he's at the central base. In caimpaings there are no blanket privileges.

If he's very very good, tho, he might earn one night with a blanket.

!!! sneaky :0

🥰 He would look down ashamed at your words. He really didn't mean to be... he just wanted to relieve some of the painful uneasiness.

also love that. “his handler always sees everything.” !!! love love love that love the sheer amount of fear and expecting danger

YEAAA, that's the emotions I wanted to show. Especially since Cyrus is blinded so often. He rarely knows when Wilson is looking, to what he pays attention, what is his expression. It's kinda like the Panopticon Prison. You never know when you're being watched, so you stay on edge the whole time.

Wilson is a smart handler :)

HE'S NOT EVEN ALLOWED TO MOVE WITHOUT PERMISSION??? I mean I expected that but damn. also gloves again. is it a military thing or is this the skin contact thing

He's not allowed to move in the ways Wilson doesn't approve. What moves does Wilson approve? Only Wilson knows.

Cyrus discovers when he's shocked for doing the ones on the "no" list.

And the gloves, ah the gloves. Who knows?

Wilson knows, he's the one that changed their designs too.

pfft I love those moments of like. passive caring about everyday stuff in whump. they're funny but then they're not funny

Yeah, I really like doing that :D

Cyrus doesn't want to go through an hour of Wilson getting his anger out in his hair, leaving him with a sore scalp and holding back tears. His hair is full of broken strands because of it already.

HEY DON'T CALL HIM SNEAKY I DID IT FONDLY >:(

I let out a really genuine laugh 🤣

ough.. he's so scared poor baby

Of Wilson? Always.

D: man I don't even know what to say this is just rlly fuckin good. guilt my beloved

Oh well, thank you <3

huh??? how come he didn't get physically close to any of it

His comedown has really fun hallucinations :)

Auditory, visual, gustatory, tactile, proprioceptive and interoceptive ones. Not all together or at the same comedown, it varies.

WOW!!! love the logic and treating cyrus like so much of an object wilson can just talk out loud while he's there.

:)

man. I love cyrus. I love wilson. I have so many feelings about them both... I rlly love handler whumpers those are so neat I love cold whumpers that are professional. wilson has such a presence in this chapter. cyrus is so cute I wanna wrap him in blankets...

I loved how this was like. stractured with the euphoria and comedown and everything. I also love how despite everything cyrus is still so caring towards others it's so. ough </3

Really, thank you for this <333 I'm really pleasently surprise to see people saying stuff like "doing the fenris thing" for the commentaries. It really makes me happy, like... YEAH? Please do! With me and with others. It's so cool to read these. Even tired, even busy, I just wanted to keep coming here to read yours and others comments.

So thank you <3 really enjoyed reading this, and I really like the way you think :)

-

Sweet Creature

Content: magical living weapon, dehumanization, "it" briefly used as pronoun, dangerous whumpee, magical euphoria, shock collar, sensory (visual) deprivation, manhandling, military whump, implied institutionalized whump, magical slavery, heavily implied mass murder, hallucinations.

(chapter 1) | next chapter ->

(Curse of Withering masterpost)

Cyrus wishes to at least have a look around while outside. It would only be a military camp, soldiers walking around, tents set up, maybe some horses on one side. Not a very pleasant nor interesting view.

But at least he would be seeing the sky, and the grass, and people.

He's not. He's seeing pure black from behind his nullification glasses, being guided by an unrelenting hand on his neck, just above his heavy collar. Not even allowed to feel skin, only the tough material of a glove.

Around Cyrus, talk dies down, and muttering comes to life, as he's used to. It never stops making him feel ashamed.

Also not allowed to curl up or hide in any way, he's just dragged forward to keep walking.

A strong sensation of nausea hits him when they enter his designed post tent of this campaign. It feels like the protection barriers put around the tents are getting stronger each campaign.

Being on an empty stomach doesn't help, either. Regret fills him from refusing breakfast, but he's sure his stomach wouldn't have kept it down anyway.

"... This is it? The rumors made it look spine-chilling, not... this." A voice from his right side says, a bit far back. Further into the tent, then. Cyrus doesn't recognize the voice, but the words are familiar.

The gloved hand on his neck squeezes, and he stops after a second of trying to figure out if it was out of frustration or a command to stand still.

No scolding comes, so it must have been a command. Or both.

"Wait until you see it destroying a whole military camp while laughing like a maniac," Mr. Wilson says. That voice he does recognizes in the very core of his being. And by the coldness of it, his handler is audibly used to that question as well.

Cyrus doesn't have time to feel ashamed of the words before a pressure on his neck commands him to kneel down. Even with the knee pads, a mercy not chosen by his handler, the impact hurts a bit.

"Behave." Is what reaches his ear before the leather gloves are unfastened from his wrists.

Magic wraps around the metal gloves that were beneath the leather ones and bend it open. Cyrus didn't even hear the metallokinetic's handler telling them to do that. Maybe this gifted doesn't have a handler, he knows there's some free Gifted that serve the military willingly.

Unlike Cyrus.

He obediently waits with unmoving hands until his handler applies pressure on his head in another silent command. No one speaks as the nullification glasses are unlocked from his bowed head, nor when his half-necrotic fingertips find the floor beneath him.

It's not grass, it's rocks. He suppresses a disappointed sigh.

Cyrus knows better than to look around or shift from his position, but he's still able to see a bit of the tent's inside. The metallokinetic does in fact have a handler, and a black eye. He can't see anyone else, they're all behind him for safety.

That black eye must hurt, there's probably more bruises under the clothing, it never stops at just one.

Cyrus shouldn't care that the gifted was hurt. But he did. They deserve someone to care.

Mr. Wilson blocks his vision of the gifted by crouching down. The direct, practical delineation of where the enemy camp is sinks into his mind easily as his handler speaks. It's easy to map in his head exactly where he needs to focus on.

"You have permission to use your power, Wither." An uncomfortable eagerness blooms in him at the words.

"Yes, sir," Cyrus whispers and his collar beeps, its blue lights turning red as magic comes to life under his skin once again.

𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎, 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎.

Pain doesn't even register in the sea of feelings building up in his body. The rocks puncturing the palms of his hands aren't nearly enough to ground him, not after years of the magic slowly numbing his nerves.

The tent disappears and all he can see is colors erupting from the blackness, like thousands of little roots travelling through the grass. Ignoring the surrounding life had become easier over the years, and the withering knew to travel until it's closer to the delineated area than to him before branching to reach all soldiers of the other side.

It took less than a minute for him to spiral into euphoria this time.

Faintly, he knew his lips were moving, in that same eerie murmur of always, singing words he couldn't understand, but also couldn't forget. An incantation that breaks the laws of nature. A chant that was never created... only repeated. The echo of something that always existed.

And so he repeats. From the words, waves of withering magic follows the colorful branches and pushes it forward.

His hands crack and dug further into the ground, and he repeats the chant again. Again, again, again...

𝙰𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗.

Cyrus could see, or in a way feel, the life bursting out of the enemy's camp. It was hard to separate what was greenery and what was people, but it didn't matter in the end.

Wither magic fills the entire enemy camp with thousands of black ramifications that only he sees the colors of. Growing, rotting, decaying.

Every cell in his body beams with giddy energy.

A warm mist swirls on his arms pleasantly. Something similar started filling his eyes, and Cyrus's head was pure delight. His chest shudders with a bubbly feeling as a smile grows on his face.

And then everything goes black. The cold, painful reality crashes down on him, harshly taking all the cheerfulness away and leaving behind an itch, a hysteric uneasiness. A faint beeping of his collar tells him he's done today, it had turned blue again.

Cyrus didn't even know he had made a noise until the collar beeps again with a warning electrical shock. With a flinch, he goes dead quiet. An argument was happening over his head.

Cyrus wants to keep using his magic, why can't he? It's so warm and happy-

"It was fucking smiling, it is fine to keep on! What is the point of having a weapon that can't be used?!" A man behind him almost yells. Not the same one from before, a slightly more familiar one. It might be the general, but without seeing it's hard to be sure.

Yes, Cyrus was fine to keep going, he was! It's been less than a minute with the nullification glasses back on, but he misses the colorful cheerfulness already, his body is taut with the need to move, to do something, anything.

But Mr. Wilson is right there, so he stays obediently still.

"I'm not telling it to launch an attack again! The magic would consume it's head and-" Mr. Wilson pauses, and Cyrus recognizes his temper rising. It's an effort not to flinch. "Ugh, you have no idea how bad it gets. Wither. Up, we're leaving."

"Mmn?" The order takes a second to click. "Oh... yes, sir..." To speak was hard, his tongue didn't move the okay he wanted it to. Cyrus could hear the ecstatic smile on his own voice, and he almost winces at it, but without knowing why. To smile was good, wasn't it?

Should he even be speaking, actually? Wilson doesn't usually like him speaking. Did he say "Sir" as he was supposed to? He doesn't think so... but no shock comes. Perhaps he did. It's hard to remember.

The floor seemed to spin beneath Cyrus when he stood up.

A gloved grip squeezes his arm and Cyrus knows to stay completely still, despite the dizziness. Magic envelops his hands as the metal gloves are bent to fit them again. He still couldn't hear the metallokinetic's handler telling them to do it, maybe it had been a silent command.

He feels the leather gloves being fastened on his wrists, too, before Mr. Wilson grabs him by the upper nape and guides him out. The sound of many boots around them tells him the escort team is here already.

On the way back, there's no longer any murmuring. Even blinded, he knows everyone is just staring. There's only the sound of heavy steps and the wind slowly bringing the smell of death into the camp.

The heavy metal door shuts with the escort team outside, and the only steps that echo inside the container are his and Mr. Wilson.

Blindly, he's pushed to sit inside his resting capsule. Oh, that's right, he's at a campaign, his den isn't here... the sad longing only lasts a second.

The thin mattress is cold, and the restraints are too tight. Cyrus hates the cold, but it feels so weird, he can't help but giggle. It sounds off, but he can't pinpoint why.

"Quiet," Mr. Wilson scolds sternly, fastening his legs securely inside the capsule. Cyrus flinches and tenses from the upcoming shock that doesn't arrive.

What a silly thing, to flinch from something that didn't even happen. He suppresses another fit of giggles.

The pressure building up behind his eyes and neck is getting harder to ignore. His fingers twitch with the need to use his magic again, but the nullification doesn't let him.

The pressure gets worse.

𝚂𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚞𝚜, 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎.

Now the shock comes, and Cyrus's flinch is not so funny this time. It wasn't just a warning shock, but he doesn't know why he has been punished. Mr. Wilson doesn't clarify it, either. He's scared of not knowing.

The twitches are getting worse. He wants to move. The cold is starting to creep in again, and he wants the warmth back.

His hands move slowly under the temporarily loose restrictions, trying to relieve some of the painful nervous energy without grabbing Mr. Wilson's attention.

It doesn't work. His handler always sees everything.

"Did I say you could move, Wither?" Cyrus freezes from the gelid tone. His shoulders go up chastened just before a gloved hand fists his hair harshly. That'll form a knot later... he wants to wash up and detangle his hair already, before it gets too bad.

From how harsh Mr. Wilson's grip is, he doesn't think he'll be allowed that so soon.

"Stop trying to be sneaky, that's the only warning you'll be given." Cold and firm as always. Frightening as always.

"Yes, sir," Cyrus answers quietly. It's weird how he still feels afraid and sad even when he's feeling giggly and euphoric.

Euphoric. Didn't that word mean something important? The headache is getting worse.

Mr. Wilson's grip only grows even more painful. There's more to be said, but Cyrus's head is not working well. He doesn't want to talk, he wants to move.

What weapons want doesn't matter.

He tries again. "I'm... I won't be sneaky again. I'm sorry, Mr. Wilson," he tries. The hand leaves his hair without any further words.

The need to move only gets worse in the silent. He knows Mr. Wilson knows. Cyrus's body is so tense it hurts.

He needs to use his magic, he needs to. It hurts, it's bad, he wants the giddy energy back, and not this nervous, restless cold creeping in. Everything is still pitch black, and the restraints are too heavy, and he wants his magic free again-

So you can kill more people with it?

No. What? No, no, no-

Your handler stopped you before the euphoria truly took place. Where is your gratitude, you vile thing? Why must others die just so you can smile?

That's not what he wants, he just... he just wants the colors back, the happy feeling of-

Of killing.

The memories of colored forms change. Those were people.

People you killed.

"Are you crashing already?" Comes the distant, cold voice. It takes long seconds for Cyrus to recognize it's Mr. Wilson's.

Crashing. Yes. Yes, he's crashing, and he's still on war camp, so he doesn't even get his white den-

Images strafe his mind. People died. People were killed. By him. And he was just smiling. He giggled to people losing their lives. Not only soldiers, there were medics, and servants, and-

A cold, sharp thing runs his arm and he flinched away, swallowing hard. He tastes blood. He knows it's not his.

Vile thing. You're a plague on earth that should be eradicated.

Cyrus's back presses against the capsule mattress, and he can barely separate what is real touch and what isn't. Sharp goosebumps run up his arm, his hands are being held, there's a pressure on his chest and a numbness on his left leg.

"It's euphoric state was pretty fast this time, it was a good timing to retrieve it," Mr. Wilson's out loud thinking reaches his ear along with a faint noise of screams that mustn't be true.

They're true, you're just hearing them too late.

"Today will be easy, then."

Cyrus couldn't disagree more with his handler.

-

-

-

Want to see Mr. Wilson's pov? This is the drabble this series began as. You can consider it a loose version of this chapter, but in Mr. Wilson's view.

Taglist: @whump-till-ya-jump @floral-comet-whump @paingoes @bonbonbobomb @inhurtandincomfort @half-duck @scoundrelwithboba

-

[oldtvandcomics]

One quarter of the year 2023 gone. So far, I’ve read:

-) 3 nonfiction books (Handbook of Medieval Sexuality; By Your Side - The First 100 Years of Yuri Anime and Manga; Clothes Make the Man - Female Crossdressing in Medieval Europe)

-) 1 piece of classic literature (Roman de Silence)

-) 2 novels (Transistor; Consecrated Ground)

-) 0 novellas

-) 0 short story collections

-) 1 comic book (Dracula vs King Arthur)

[icewindandboringhorror]

Pages from trying to keep a little sketchbook-scrapbook type thing going for two weeks lol. I gave myself specific rules in hopes they might all end up more cohesive/consistent seeming, but alas, scribbly chaos reigns, it seems