#we will not go away just because you don't like us

[totalswag]

raw next question? pt 2 ⎯ RAFE CAMERON!

authors note the amount of support i got on my last fic is unbelievable, thank you so much. i tried my best for part two so i hope you guys like it. so, here you go 👀. raw next question

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masterlist

summary after leaving a comment under rafe's post, he responds back showing interest and reaches out.

warning(s) flirting, kissing at the end, cuteness, and meeting rafe for the first time.

rafecameron: hey! bold move, I think we should talk.

The only thing running through your mind is⎯what the actual fuck. To be fair, you were expecting a response or comment, not even a dm. You don't know what to say.

"Okay, we need to think of something to say because," you hesitate for a few minute, "yeah, I don't have anything to say" you trail off before stretching the back of your head.

Zoie lets out a breath: "I say we wait to respond then once we come up with a response, send it to him."

Five minutes later, you open your phone, click on the text, and begin typing a reply. "This is what I'm going to respond with," you say, pointing to your phone to the girls. 

yourusername: hey haha, thought I’d hop on the trend. didn’t expect you to reply tho.

Two minutes later, he responds.

rafecameron: oh, so I’m just part of a trend? damn, i thought i was special... 😔

yourusername: haha so funny, rafe

yourusername: i admit though you're attractive

rafecameron: ahh the truth comes out huh

rafecameron: since we're speaking the truth, you're gorgeous

Rafe and you started conversation among other topics. One of the main things you two found out is that you live an hour away from each other. By the end of the week, you exchanged phone numbers.

After Rafe responded to your comment, you two started leaving sly/flirty comments on each other's posts that spiked conversations between your supporters.

They're messing with us right?

They keep playing eye tag... HOLLA AT YO BOY!!

"Would you like to meet up sometime?" Rafe asked casually over FaceTime while searching the kitchen cupboard for something, his phone resting against a glass cup. 

It's been a month since Rafe and you have been texting and calling. Constantly texting⎯quick responses. It became a routine for the both of you. Learned a lot about each other in a span of a month.

Your back was against the headboard as you sat on your bed. He wants to meet you in person, and your eyes almost pop out of their sockets. "Yeah, I would like that," was all you could offer.

Peeping over his shoulder, Rafe chuckles quietly and smiles. "I'm thinking this weekend if you aren't busy?" "I would drive to you," he says, suggesting.

You raise your upper body off the headboard and reply, "I'll send you my address the day before, I'm not doing anything this weekend."

"Perfect!" He smiles.

Today was the day⎯Rafe and you are meeting for the first time. Nervous and excited about all this. You don't want to make a fool of yourself. Rafe was forty minutes away, in the meantime, you were on the phone with Zoie and Evenly.

Rafe offered to drive to visit you, and you couldn't help but be anxious. He was an hour away, yet his attempt to see you meant more than you could express.

"Bitches I'm shitting bricks" you confess feeling anxious, running your hands down your thighs, walking around the kitchen.

"Y/N, it's normal to feel this way especially since you're meeting him for the first time. Take a few deep breaths and if you need anything from us, we're one call, and few doors down" Evelyn reassures you in a soothing tone.

"Agreed, you got this, it's normal to feel this way," Zoie expresses.

"Thank you, you two are such great friends, I love you so much" you say with honesty, your phone buzzes, you put your phone back.

rafe: five minutes away

you: perfect, see you soon!!

You gasps, quickly putting your phone back to your ear, "he's five minutes away um, I'll text you guys throughout the day."

Once Rafe got to the apartment complex, you walked down the stairs to where he parked⎯he was getting his bags from his trunk. You were amazed how tall he was too.

Before you can say anything, he turns around and says, "Hey, Y/N," with a smile that conveys how happy he is to see you.

Seeing him in person made you realize he's even more handsome. Rafe couldn't keep his eyes off you, he couldn't help but think how he's standing infront of someone as beautiful as you.

"Hey, Rafe, It's good to see you" you say, taking a big breath and gazing up at his towering body. You grin and lean into the hug. The height difference between you two is insane. He

"It's great to finally meet you; you're even more beautiful in person," he says to you, smiling. You chuckle softly at his compliment, "thank you handsome" and smile.

After arriving at your place, you show Rafe where everything is and where he will be staying—either your bed or the guest bedroom, which has been thoroughly cleaned and sanitized. 

Rafe was happy to see your apartment and commented on how well it matches your vibe. He took his time looking around the apartment. Since you were already ready for the day, you spent ten more minutes in the apartment before heading out.

You have no idea what the plan was today. Rafe intended for a lasting and enjoyable day. You persisted on showing him around, but he said he wanted to be the one to take you places, even if he didn't know where. 

"This is has been such a great day, thank you Rafe" you tell him with full honesty as you two get settled to play mini golf.

He looks up from the floor and responds with a kind, sincere smile, "I'm glad you're enjoying it." "I remember you mentioning you loved mini golf too."

He is able to recall the small details.

Your heart sank to your feet since no male has ever recalled the small information you shared with them. As you playfully nudge him, you exclaim, "I can't believe you remember that."

He chuckles, "I'm just good at remember."

Mini golf was a lot of fun, with plenty of laughs and competition between you two. In the beginning, he noticed your concentration and took out his phone to record you until you spotted him flipping him off.

Towards the end of the night, Rafe and you drove to an ice cream shop and ate it outside. You had little conversations and learnt more about each other today.

Before putting a scoop of his ice cream in his mouth, he says, "We should make a tiktok."

After contentedly leaning back in your chair, you decided to do it. In addition, many who support you have been wondering if you two will ever cross paths. They're going to be amazed.

she knows remix slowed.

Rafe began lip-syncing, his expression playful and undoubtedly attractive. When it got to looking like the Fourth of July, you're officially coming with me, he switched the phone to you. You were already staring at him, eyes full of admiration, unable to conceal the warm smile on your lips.

The camera returned to him, and he tried not to chuckle, tilting his phone downward as he giggled. The final second of the video showed your arms wrapped around his neck.

rafe cameron: 👀

tagged yourusername

Fans were blowing up the comment section.

⇾ fan23: DO YOU SEE THE WAY SHE LOOKS AT HIM!!

⇾ fan12: you know you have thirty minutes

⇾ fan1: i decided if i want y/n or rafe 😔

⇾ fan3: im sat for this

By the time you returned to your flat, the tension had grown to a point where it could no longer be ignored. Rafe took a step closer as you paused nervously by your door. His hand softly stroked your cheek, his gaze seeking yours, before he asked, "Is this okay?"

You barely had time to nod before his lips touched yours, gentle and languid, like if he was savoring the moment. The kiss was pleasant, but it also hinted at something deeper.

When you eventually pulled away, he leaned his forehead against yours, chuckling. "Best decision I ever made was replying to that comment."

"Best decisions I ever made was commenting" you softly say, smiling.

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[mindmelter]

A Better Marcus Than Marcus

It all started when my sister’s boyfriend, Marcus, did a complete 180. The guy used to be your textbook finance bro—straight-laced, all about stocks, cryptos, and protein shakes. He was also the type who’d casually flex his "intellectual superiority" at family dinners like he was the human embodiment of a TED Talk nobody asked for.

Then, out of nowhere, he turned into this fun, carefree dude. He started to grow his hair and beard and constantly walk shirtless, showcasing his unfairly perfect pair of pecs and set of abs. He even tattooed his arm—something I would never expect from him. It wasn’t just a change in style; it was like he had become a totally different person.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Then it hit me—my sister’s ex, Dylan, a scrawny hippie who could’ve been the poster child for essential oils and “love, man” vibes. Dylan and I had gotten along great back in the day, mostly because he shared a little secret with me: a drug. No, not this kind of drug. This stuff could turn anyone into a bodysuit. Yeah, you heard me. One hit of this thing, and you could empty someone out, leaving behind a perfectly usable, skin-tight vessel. Thanks to him, I solved my bullying problem at school by wearing the jock leader's body.

Then, one day, Dylan disappeared from our lives after my sister dumped him. No warning, no goodbye, nothing. I thought that was the end of it. Turns out, it wasn’t.

Fast-forward to tonight. We’re having a family dinner at my parents’ house, and Marcus is here, all smiles and carefree vibes, making dumb jokes with my parents. It was the perfect chance to test my theory. I waited until everyone was distracted with dessert and pulled Marcus aside to a quiet corner of the house.

“I need to talk to you,” I whispered, trying to keep my voice low.

He cocked an eyebrow but followed me. Once we were out of earshot, I didn’t waste any time.

“I know you’re not really Marcus,” I said, crossing my arms. “I know it’s you, Dylan.”

For a moment, he just stared at me, then a wide grin spread across his face. “Took you long enough, bro,"

He opened his robe even more to show me his muscular body, looking like he was showing me an outfit and not another man's skin, “Yeah, it’s me. Poor Marcus never saw it coming. Injected this asshole with the stuff after he dropped your sister at your house, and bam! Marcus went to bodysuit city.” He chuckled darkly. “I’ve been living my best life ever since and with the love of my life."

I’ll admit, I wasn’t surprised. But hearing it confirmed still left my mouth agape.

"So, what now? You gonna rat me out to your sister? You wouldn't do that to good old Dylan here, would you? Not after I helped you turn your jock bully into a bodysuit. I even helped you out at faking his disappearance, I had to drive to another state to get rid of that bodysuit."

I smirked. “That depends. What’s in it for me?”

Dylan—or Marcus, I guess—laughed. “Alright, how about this: I let you enjoy Marcus’s body anytime you want, as long as you keep your mouth shut.”

It was a twisted offer, but let’s be real—I’d had a thing for Marcus since day one. The chance to have him, even under these bizarre circumstances, was too good to pass up.

“Deal,” I said, extending a hand.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, bro,” he replied, shaking my hand. Before we could head upstairs, my sister caught us in the hallway.

“Where are you two going?” she asked.

Thinking quickly, Dylan—Marcus—flashed his charming smile. “Your brother wanted to show me his collectible…uh…vinyl record collection. Said he’s got some rare finds.”

She bought it. “Wow, bonding over music. Finally. I’m proud of you two. Don't take too long, we're going to have karaoke." She leaned forward to give Marcus a kiss and walked away.

As soon as we were in my room, the facade dropped. I locked the door, and he turned to me, that sly grin back on his face. “Alright, bro,” he said, taking off his already unbuttoned white shirt and letting it fall to the floor. “Let’s see what you’ve been fantasizing about.”

I immediately pushed him down onto his knees, grabbing a handful of his long hair to assert control. “You’re going to start by sucking me off like a good slut,” I whispered.

His grin widened as he complied, reaching for my pants and pulling them down. His warm mouth quickly wrapped around me, and I let out a satisfied groan as he worked his tongue expertly. Once my cock was slick and throbbing, I pulled him back by his hair, forcing him to look up at me.

“Get on the bed, on all fours, now! You're my secret boyfriend slut now,” I ordered. He obeyed, taking off his pants and crawling onto the bed completely naked with his huge ass waiting for me. It was the sight I've been dreaming of ever since my sister introduced Marcus.

I walked over to my desk and turned on some rock music to muffle what was about to happen.

Climbing onto the bed behind him, I gripped his long hair tightly as I positioned myself. Without hesitation, I thrust into him hard, using his hair as leverage. Dylan moaned as I filled Marcus' ass. This wasn't our first time together. When Dylan was wearing my hot bully's body, he let me fuck him as a final revenge before he dumped the bodysuit in another state.

Marcus' back arched, and he let out a muffled moan, the sound drowned out by the loud music. I didn’t let up, pulling his hair like reins as I pounded into him mercilessly.

I leaned down on his back as I filled Dylan's—Marcus' ass with my cum. “You make a better Marcus."

[lilmisshellfireswritingblog]

Play With Fire - Johnny Storm x fem!Reader

Authors Note: Well, since we have officially been introduced to MCU Johnny Storm, here's a little one shot I wrote a month ago because I am absolutely feral for Johnny Storm. We don't know much about how he's going to be portrayed so, I used my imagination. I hope you enjoy!

PS: Smut is not my forte so I hope it's...satisfactory.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, contains adult content, DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE NOT 18+, smut, lots of fire puns (I'm not sorry or maybe I am), lots of yapping

Pairings: Johnny Storm x fem!reader

Word Count: 6k+

The glimmering lights of the charity gala bathed the New York skyline in golden hues, casting long shadows on the sleek, chrome surfaces decorating the event. The décor was a striking blend of mid-century modern aesthetics—smooth, flowing lines, geometric shapes, and vibrant colors—reminiscent of a time when the future was just a few glamorous steps away and held a more optimistic approach. 

You didn’t want to be here but there you were, trapped in a sea of tuxedos and satin gowns, your father’s arm draped possessively over your shoulder like a shield. It had been his idea to bring you along, of course, a desperate attempt to put up a "family-first" front after the affair rumor hit the front pages of The New York Post a week ago.

You hated galas. You hated the small talk, the polite smiles, and the thinly veiled gossip that filled the air. You hated the way your father’s overbearing presence had turned the night into a performance, with you as the unwilling starlet.

“I’ll only be a minute,” your father whispered to you, his fingers tightening around your arm in that way that said, don’t move. “Keep a smile on your face. This is important. Our family needs this.”

You barely suppressed a groan, nodding stiffly before he was off, mingling with the city's elite. His eyes, always sharp, locked onto the wealthy faces around him, like a predator hunting for its next meal.

You took a deep breath, turning away from the throng of people, hoping for a moment of solitude. The jazz band played in the background, their smooth melodies swirling in the air. You found yourself in the back corner, near a large glass window overlooking the city.

A tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped into the room, a confident swagger to his stride. Johnny Storm, better known to the world as the Human Torch, was hard to miss. His sharp blue eyes gleamed, his blonde hair tousled just enough to look casually effortless. He was, of course, dressed to the nines—a sleek black suit that hugged his athletic frame and a white shirt that gleamed in the ambient evening lights.

You knew who he was. Everyone did. His exploits were plastered across every major newspaper and the tabloids couldn’t get enough of his charisma and charm. He was a man of fire, literally and figuratively, the kind of person who seemed born for attention.

There was something different about him tonight. No flames. No flashy heroics. Just Johnny, looking slightly out of place amidst the formality of the gala.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes when he caught sight of you and flashed a grin, as if he’d spotted an old friend. “Well, well,” he said with a teasing smirk, his voice warm with amusement. “What’s a beautiful woman like you hiding in the corner all by herself? You look like you could use some company.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Not really,” you replied, crossing your arms as you leaned against the glass. “I’d rather be anywhere but here, to be honest.”

Johnny’s grin faltered for a split second, then he chuckled. “Yeah, I get that. These things can be a pain. All the smiles and the handshakes and small talk.” He leaned against the wall next to you, hands in his pockets. “You’re not here for the free drinks, then?”

You shook your head. “My father dragged me here. He thinks it’ll fix... everything.” You waved vaguely toward the sea of tuxedos and gowns. “But you know how it is—people with money can’t stand to be seen as anything less than perfect.”

“Yeah,” Johnny said, his tone thoughtful, as he glanced around. “I get the pressure. I mean, being a public figure comes with a lot of... expectations.” He flashed a grin, a little wry. “You’d be surprised how many charity galas I’ve attended for reasons that had nothing to do with actual charity.”

You gave him a skeptical look. “You? I would’ve guessed you'd be more of a ‘save the day, destroy the bad guys’ type.”

Johnny laughed, his expression softening as he pushed off the wall and stepped a little closer. “That’s mostly me, but tonight… tonight I’m just Johnny. No fire. No superpowers. Just a guy who’s probably as uncomfortable as you are.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “You know, I was thinking about ditching this whole thing and heading to a dive bar. Could be more fun. You in?”

Your lips twitched upward. “I’m supposed to be here for my father. This whole thing’s a mess.”

Johnny shrugged. “Tell you what then. When your father’s done playing the ‘perfect family’ game, I’ll swing by and whisk you away for some real fun. In the meantime, if you ever need a distraction, just holler for me, doll. I’m pretty good at getting people out of awkward situations.”

You met his gaze, amused and a little skeptical, but something about his laid-back confidence and easy charm made the idea tempting. "I'll keep that in mind," you said, your voice softer now.

Johnny’s eyes flickered over to the crowd for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. “You’re probably sick of being the center of attention,” he said quietly. “I get it. Sometimes you just need a break from all the... stuff.”

You gave a short, quiet laugh. “If only it were that easy.”

Johnny’s grin returned, this time a little softer, more genuine. “Well, if you need a superhero to make your night a little less superficial, you know where to find me.”

Before you could respond, he turned with a wink, slipping back into the crowd, disappearing into the sea of well-dressed faces.

You stayed where you were for a while longer, the sound of the gala and the distant jazz playing in the background. Johnny Storm, the Human Torch, was one of the last people you’d ever expect to feel any kind of kinship with, but for a few moments, he’d made you feel a little less trapped in the fake world your father had built around you.

And in a night full of forced smiles and shallow conversation, that small bit of genuine connection felt like a flicker of light in a sea of cold steel and polished chrome.

The gala was starting to wind down. The last glasses of champagne had been sipped, the tables cleared, and the final whispers of forced pleasantries echoed through the room. Yet, despite the event nearing its end, the energy hadn’t quite shifted. The jazz band had given way to a recorded track—a gritty, energetic tune that you instantly recognized.

"Play With Fire" by The Rolling Stones.

The heavy, seductive beat reverberated through the room, slinking through the air with a raw, untamed edge. It was unexpected. Unusual for a place that so carefully curated its atmosphere with smiles and good intentions. But there it was—one of the most rebellious songs of the time, now lacing the air, intoxicating and dangerous.

Somehow, as if it were fate, amidst the sea of tailored suits and glittering gowns, Johnny Storm appeared again, walking toward you like he had some kind of magnetic pull.

He flashed you a smile, his eyes gleaming under the cool, metallic lighting, his posture still effortless and relaxed despite the formality of the event. “Didn’t think they’d play this here,” he said, nodding toward the speakers, his voice amused. “I mean, talk about ruining the mood.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the deep growl of the guitar riff matching the beat of your heart. "Definitely not the kind of song you'd expect at a gala like this."

Johnny tilted his head slightly, the mischievous grin never leaving his face. “You know what? I’ve got an idea.” Without waiting for your response, he extended a hand toward you, a playful gleam in his eyes. “Dance with me.”

Your first instinct was to refuse. You weren’t in the mood for any more attention, and honestly, you didn’t dance. However, something about Johnny's easy confidence and charms, the casual way he dared you to step out of the perfectly controlled lines of this polished world, made you hesitate.

He wasn’t asking for anything extravagant, not some perfect ballroom spin or rehearsed routine. He was just... offering a moment.

For a heartbeat, you just stared at him. And then, as the chorus of “Play With Fire” blasted louder, you shrugged and took his hand. "Alright, Mr. Storm. Let’s see what you’ve got."

His grin spread even wider as he gently pulled you toward the center of the floor. The room seemed to narrow around you. Those who had been murmuring and sipping champagne suddenly halted as they took in the scene. 

But you didn’t care. Not now.

Johnny’s hand rested lightly on your waist, his other still holding yours as the two of you moved together. The pulse of the song matched your quickening heartbeat, and, for once, you didn’t mind the eyes on you.

The music seemed to speak to both of you, something unrestrained and reckless—something wild that had been suppressed by all the proper rules of society. Johnny’s movements were smooth, fluid, and effortless. He had the confidence of a man who knew exactly how to make the world bend to his will, and yet, somehow, his presence didn’t feel as overwhelming as you would assume.

You stepped in time with him, your own body moving with a freedom you hadn’t expected. The lyrics about temptation and fire seemed to mirror the electrifying pull between you. There was something present that was dangerous but exhilarating. Forbidden but impossible to resist.

You looked up at him, half in surprise, half in something else you couldn’t quite name. His eyes flickered back to you, almost searching, but not in a way that made you uncomfortable. No, it was more like he was giving you the space to decide just how far you'd go, how far you'd let this wild, reckless moment carry you.

“You know,” Johnny said as he guided you through a slow turn, his voice low, “they say if you play with fire, you’re bound to get burned.”

You raised an eyebrow, the edges of your lips curling upward. "You know what they say about fire, right?" you teased, spinning under his arm. "It can warm you up just as easily as it can scorch you."

He gave you a roguish wink, pulling you close again as the song picked up speed. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

The world around you seemed to fade away as the music built in intensity. The room, the gala, the whispers—everything was irrelevant in that moment. All that existed was the two of you moving in sync to the rhythm, bodies close, the heat of his touch igniting a spark in you that you hadn’t expected.

The song surged toward its climax, the pounding drums pushing the beat faster, wilder. Johnny’s hand slipped lower to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him, and the space between you vanished entirely. You could feel the heat of him. His body was a living furnace against yours, the friction of his energy igniting something within you, something that had always been held in check by the carefully constructed life you’d been forced to live.

You danced like you were both on the edge of a cliff, teetering on the line between control and surrender. Johnny’s laugh was infectious as he spun you one last time, a wild, unrestrained sound that made you realize how much you’d been holding back all night. He twirled you back into his arms, the song roaring in your ears as you laughed. 

The moment lingered there, suspended in time. A brief but intense escape from the world you’d known.

When the final notes of "Play With Fire" echoed through the room, you stood there, breathless and laughing softly, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Well,” Johnny said, grinning down at you like a devil. “I think we’re both burned.”

You caught your breath, a little dizzy from the rush but you didn’t mind. “Yeah. Maybe. But it was worth it.”

He gave you a knowing look, eyes full of something that was both playful and... something more. He was the Human Torch, but in that moment, he wasn’t just fire. He was a spark that could have burned everything or lit a whole new path. 

And maybe, for the first time all night, you felt like you were standing on the edge of something that wasn’t entirely out of your control.

Johnny winked, lowering his head so his lips were resting at the crest of your ear, his voice just above a whisper. “Sometimes, the best part about playing with fire is the burn.”

You smiled, feeling the heat of it in every fiber of your being. You hadn’t expected to find anything real tonight, but then again, you hadn’t expected to dance with a superhero to this song either. It was dangerous. Reckless.

It felt like freedom. That was the best part of it all. 

The last notes of "Play With Fire" still echoed in your ears, even though the beat had long since faded, replaced by the hum of a million voices, all of them too eager to return to the business of looking perfect.

You had somehow ended up on the edge of the dance floor, your breath still uneven, your pulse racing from more than just the rhythm of the music. Johnny stood beside you, his smile more subdued now, a knowing glint in his eyes as if he understood that something in you had shifted—something you hadn’t expected to feel tonight. The dance had been reckless, free, but the moment you’d stepped back, the world around you had tried to pull you back into place.

His presence, however, still felt like a spark. An electricity you didn’t want to let go of. Not yet. 

“Well,” Johnny said, his voice quieter now, the earlier mischievous tone replaced with something a little softer. “That was fun.”

You shot him a look, half-amused, half-skeptical. “Fun? You could say that again.” Your laugh was a little more breathless than you intended, but you didn’t care. It felt good to be this... unfolded for once.

“You know,” he continued, stepping just a little closer, the heat of his body still too tempting, “the night doesn’t have to end here. There’s a spot… a little hidden place I go to when I need a break from all this.” He gestured toward the glittering ballroom, the clinking of glasses and forced chatter drifting in the background. “It’s up on the rooftop. Private. Quiet. I think you’d like it.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore the sudden flutter in your stomach. Of course, Johnny Storm had a “private spot” for everything. He was, after all, the Human Torch—effortless, smooth, always in control. However, there was something about the way he said it, about the quiet invitation in his voice that made it hard to ignore. Maybe you did want to escape the fake smiles and phony pleasantries.

You glanced toward the entrance of the ballroom, where your father was still busy shaking hands with some benefactor from the event, lost in his world of polished deals. You hadn’t been looking forward to more of that tonight.

A part of you, the part that had spent so long just trying to keep things together, felt that pull. You needed to break free, even if just for a moment. And another part of you? The part that had danced with Johnny, felt his heat like an actual flare against your skin? That part wanted to see where this could go.

“Fuck it,” you said, your voice quieter than you expected. “Lead the way..”

Johnny’s grin returned, the familiar flash of confidence lighting up his face. Without another word, he took your hand, guiding you through the crowd with a smoothness that barely made anyone notice. His fingers curled gently around yours, warm, sure, the touch casual yet intentional. It was like he knew exactly how to move in this world—his world—while making it feel like it was all about you in that moment.

You followed him through a door to the back of the venue, into a dimly lit corridor that led to a discreet elevator. Johnny pressed the button without a word, his eyes briefly meeting yours. There was something unspoken between you two, something that felt like it had been building without either of you realizing it.

The elevator ride was quick, almost too quick, and when the doors slid open, you stepped out onto the rooftop.

The air hit you first, the cool night breeze sweeping through the garden, carrying the scent of the city mixed with something sweet and floral. It was a sharp contrast to the glossy, manufactured world of the gala below. Here, on the private rooftop, everything felt different. The towering buildings of Manhattan stretched in all directions, but above, it was quieter. More intimate.

Johnny led you through the garden, where lush greenery contrasted against the stark steel and glass of the city around you. The lights here were soft, golden, hidden beneath the plants, casting just enough light to make the space feel almost like a dream. The far-off hum of the city was muted here, and the distant skyline stretched like a canvas of muted lights.

“This is… nice,” you murmured, taking it all in. The silence, the peace, the fact that for a moment, you weren’t anywhere but right here with Johnny. No cameras, no whispers, no obligations.

“I come up here when I need a break from the chaos,” Johnny said, his voice quieter now, matching the serenity of the space. He stopped beside a stone bench, and you both stood for a moment, taking in the view together. “Sometimes it’s good to just… get away. I don’t know about you, but tonight felt like I needed to breathe.”

You nodded, feeling the truth of that. The gala had been suffocating in its own way. Full of too many expectations, too many eyes watching. Too much of your father’s mask.

Johnny leaned against the edge of a low wall, hands in his pockets, his body slightly turned toward you. His eyes, usually so full of energy and fire, seemed softer in the dim light of the rooftop garden. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually come up here,” he admitted with a small smile. “Most people aren’t exactly keen on leaving the spotlight. But I like that you did.”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool, but the rush from the dance still lingered, making it hard to keep your calm exterior. “What can I say? I needed a change of scenery. I guess you could say you have a way of making people want to step out of their comfort zone. Besides, the spotlight isn’t my thing. Never was.”

He chuckled, and there was a genuine warmth to it. “I don’t know if it’s me, or just that sometimes you need someone who isn’t afraid to break the rules.”

You met his eyes again and for a moment, it felt like the world around you had gone still. The wind was the only thing moving, brushing through your hair and ruffling Johnny’s shirt just slightly. And yet, there was an electricity between you two, quiet but undeniable.

“You’re a rule breaker, huh?” you asked, your voice low and teasing.

Johnny’s smile turned a little more wicked, that familiar mischief lighting up his face again. “Maybe,” he said, pushing off from the wall and stepping closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “Maybe it’s just that… sometimes the rules are there to be bent.”

He was close now, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him, the same heat that had burned so bright on the dance floor. His presence was magnetic, inescapable, and you had to fight the urge to step closer to him.

“Well, I think you’ve already set my night on fire,” you said, voice a little breathless.

Johnny didn’t say anything in response. Instead, he took another step closer, his hand gently brushing against yours. His touch was electric, like he was waiting for you to make the next move.

You could feel the tension building between you—every heartbeat, every breath. The city below, the skyline, and the quiet garden was all just background noise now.

“Maybe we should just let the night burn then,” Johnny said softly, his voice deep and seductive, like he was speaking just for you. 

You didn’t know what you were stepping into, but right then, under the stars with Johnny Storm, you didn’t need to. You let go of the last of your reservations.

And for the first time tonight, you let the fire take you.

Johnny was close, closer than you’d expected. His presence, that electric heat that never quite seemed to dissipate, was undeniable. His eyes were on you, dark and steady, but there was something different in them now. There was now something softer, more deliberate than the playful energy that had defined their banter earlier in the night.

You stood beside him, heart racing, mind whirling. The dance had been the first spark, the moment when something unexpected flickered between you. But now? The air felt thick with unspoken words, each one hanging in the space between you like a slow-burning fuse.

“You know,” Johnny said, his voice low and surprisingly serious, “I don’t come up here often with anyone. It’s usually just me and the stars, you know? The chaos gets too loud sometimes. But tonight… Tonight it feels different.”

Your heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t talking about the view or the quiet of the rooftop anymore. He was talking about you. Something about his tone, about the way his words wrapped around you, sent a shiver down your spine. The fire in him had shifted. The flippant hero, always surrounded by chaos and light, was now speaking softly, his words like an invitation, a promise.

“I get that,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “This is nice. Peaceful. I could see why you wouldn’t want to share it.”

Johnny took a half-step closer, the space between you narrowing until his breath was warm on your face. His blue eyes—those beautiful stormy, electric eyes—searched yours like he was looking for permission, or maybe waiting for you to make the first move. The gravity between you was palpable, magnetic. Everything else faded into the background. All that mattered was the two of you standing there, in the heart of the rooftop garden, this space between chaos and quiet.

“Yeah,” Johnny said, his lips curving into a slow, unsteady smile. “I’ve been thinking... maybe I’m the kind of guy who can burn things down and fly, but I also know when it’s time to stop and just... feel. Not many people know that about me.”

His words wrapped around you like a firestorm, the heat of them sinking deep into your chest. It was too much and yet it was everything you’d been craving all night. No pretense. No walls. Just the raw pull of the moment, the intensity that was flaring between you two like a flame in the dark.

With no more hesitation, Johnny’s hand lifted, slow but sure, as though he was asking for permission even now. His fingers brushed against your cheek, warm and light, his touch like a spark against your skin. His thumb traced the line of your jaw, the touch so intimate that it made your breath hitch.

“You don’t have to worry,” he murmured, his voice low, just for you. “I won’t burn you.”

You swallowed, your own breath a little shaky. Something wild had taken hold of you, some primal urge that told you not to hold back. You stepped into him, closing the last of the distance between you.

“I’m not afraid of getting burned,” you said, your voice a little hoarse. 

Johnny’s eyes flickered with something hot, something unrestrained. And then, without another word, he pulled you toward him, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger that matched the fire he carried inside. The kiss was everything you’d imagined and more urgent, intense, full of heat, yet strangely soft. His lips were warm, the taste of him a mixture of whiskey and something electric, something undeniably him.

His hands slid to your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. You could feel the warmth of him. His body. His energy. It surged through you like a live wire. You kissed him back, your own hands rising to tangle in his hair, feeling the wild heat of his touch consume you, like he was setting a fire inside you that you didn’t know how to extinguish.

For a moment, there was nothing but the heat of the kiss, the steady rhythm of your heartbeats echoing through your chest. The world had fallen away. There were no rumors, no expectations, no father or gala or fake smiles. There was only the two of you, locked in this perfect, intoxicating moment, a kiss that felt like it could burn down the whole city and leave nothing but the ashes.

When you pulled back, just for a breath, Johnny’s eyes were darker than before, smoldering with something that went deeper than the fire he controlled. His chest rose and fell with each breath, but he didn’t step away. Instead, his forehead leaned against yours, and he whispered your name, like it was a secret he’d been dying to share.

You couldn’t help but smile, your fingers still tangled in his hair, your chest pressed against his. There was a quiet calm in you now, something that had been absent the entire night. Something that told you, even with all the fire and heat, maybe this was just the beginning.

“Maybe you’re more than just fire, Johnny Storm,” you whispered back. “Maybe you’re something a little softer. Less dangerous than you put on. Fire can be beautiful too. It’s not always destructive.”

Johnny’s laugh was low, his lips brushing against yours in a quick, gentle kiss before he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. “Maybe,” he said, voice teasing but tender, “but I still have a few flames left to share.”

As the night stretched on, with the soft breeze swirling around you and the city still pulsing below, you knew one thing for certain: there was no going back. Not after this. Not after the fire had burned so bright between you.

You weren’t sure you even wanted to go back.

The city lights below flickered like a sea of stars, but up there on the rooftop, the night felt different. The soft hum of the wind moving through the plants, all of it was a contrast to the tension crackling between you and Johnny. The kiss you’d shared earlier hadn’t been enough���it was only the beginning of something more. Something you couldn’t quite control.

You needed more. 

Johnny stood close to you. Too close. But you didn’t want him to step back. His scent lingered in the air around you, a mix of the fresh outdoors and something smoky, something undeniably him. His eyes, dark and electric, never left yours, and every beat of your heart seemed to echo between you. His lips were slightly parted, his breath shallow, like he was waiting for you to make the next move.

“Don’t look at me like that, baby,” Johnny says breathlessly. “You’re playing with fire.”

You felt a thrill run through you at the words. Everything about him. From his cocky grin, the edge of danger in his voice, the way his body practically hummed with heat… He was irresistible. You tilted your head slightly, daring him with a soft smile.

“I think you’re the one who started the fire, Johnny,” you said, your voice low, teasing. It wasn’t a challenge, not exactly, but it felt like one all the same. Something between the two of you had shifted and now there was no going back.

Johnny took a step closer, his heat radiating off him like a furnace. You could feel the air between you thickening, crackling with an energy you hadn’t known you craved until now. His hand reached for you, slow and deliberate, but he didn’t touch you just yet. Instead, his fingers hovered near your waist, the slightest of touches, making you ache for more.

“You sure you can handle it?” Johnny murmured, his voice almost playful, but there was an underlying intensity in his words.

You swallowed, your pulse racing. “You’re the one who’s burning up,” you whispered, taking a small step forward, closing the last bit of distance between you.

Your pulse quickens at Johnny's bold words, your  breath catching in her throat. You look up at him through hooded lashes, your heart racing in anticipation. 

“Is that a promise or a threat?” you ask, you voice barely above a whisper. With a sudden burst of courage, you wrap your arms around Johnny's neck, pulling him flush against your body. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, mingling with the cool night air. 

“Because either way, I'm willing to take the risk,” you confess, your lips hovering tantalizingly close to his. You close the final distance, pressing your  mouth to Johnny's in a searing kiss. Your tongue darts out, teasing the seam of his lips before delving inside to tangle with his.

Johnny groans into the kiss, his arms snaking around your waist to pull her tighter against him. He returns your passion with equal fervor, his tongue dancing with yours in a sensual duel. The taste of you is intoxicating, and he drinks it greedily, lost in the heady rush of desire. Breaking the kiss, Johnny trails his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. He lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he presses your back against the cold stone wall. The hard planes of his body molded perfectly against your body. Johnny grinds his hips into yours, letting you feel the evidence of his arousal.

“Tell me you want this,” Johnny said breathlessly, his intense gaze on you.

You cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he pins you against the wall. The rough texture of the stone contrasts sharply with the heat of Johnny's body, making you acutely aware of every point of contact.

“Yes, God yes,” you moan, your hips bucking against his in a desperate bid for friction. “I want this. Burn me alive, Mr. Storm.”

Your words are punctuated by a series of urgent kisses, your mouth seeking out Johnny's with a hunger that borders on desperation. Your hands roam over his chest, feeling the defined muscles beneath his suit. You want to tear the fabric away, to expose the man beneath and claim him as your own.

“That's the spirit,” Johnny praises, his voice thick with lust. He captures your lips again, devouring you with a primal intensity that leaves you breathless and wanting more. His hands roam freely over your curves, squeezing and kneading the supple flesh. Johnny slips a hand beneath your skirt, his fingers tracing the lace of your panties before pushing them aside to delve into your slick heat. Johnny groans, his thumb finding your clit and starts rubbing it in slow, tortuous circles. “You're so wet for me already. I can't wait to taste you.” 

With a swift motion, Johnny rips open your dress, the fabric ripping with ease. He palms your bare breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples until they pebble under his touch. 

“You're perfect,” he rasps, leaning in to capture a pert bud between his teeth.

You cry out, you back arching as Johnny teases your sensitive nipples. The sensation of his hot mouth on your skin sends jolts of pleasure straight to your core, making you throb around his invading fingers. “Oh fuck, Johnny!” you gasp, your hips grinding wildly against his hand. “Don't stop, please…” 

Lost in the haze of desire, you fumble with the fastenings of Johnny's trousers, desperate to free his straining erection. You need to feel him. All of him. As if reading your mind, Johnny relieves you of the task, swiftly shedding his pants and underwear. His cock springs free, thick and pulsing with need. You wrap your hand around it, stroking the velvety length with reverence.

A hoarse cry tears from your throat as Johnny thrusts inside you completely, stretching your inner walls to their limit. The sudden intrusion triggers a wave of intense pleasure that courses through your veins, leaving you trembling and breathless.

“Johnny... oh god, yes!” you moan, your nails digging into his shoulders as you adjust to his size. You start to roll your hips, experimenting with the delicious friction as Johnny remains still inside you. The sensation of his hot, hard length nestled deep within your core is almost overwhelming, stoking the flames of your desire to new heights. Impatient to move, you clench your inner muscles around Johnny's cock, urging him to start thrusting. “Please, Johnny,” you beg, your voice husky with need.

Johnny's restraint snaps at your pleading and he begins to move, setting a relentless pace that has you crying out in ecstasy. Each powerful thrust drives him deeper, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the night air. 

“You're so damn tight,” Johnny growls, his eyes locked on your face as he watches you come undone beneath him. “I can feel every inch of you milking my cock. It’s driving me crazy.”

He leans down to capture your lips in a bruising kiss, swallowing your moans as he pounds into you with increasing ferocity. The rooftop garden blurs around them, replaced by a world consisting solely of heat, hunger, and the primal urge to claim and be claimed. Johnny breaks the kiss to trail his mouth down your neck, biting and sucking at the delicate skin. 

“Come for me, baby,” Johnny mutters into your neck, panting as he kept up with his relenting pace. “Come for me.”

The combination of his rough treatment and the unrelenting rhythm of his thrusts pushes you closer to the edge. Your inner walls begin to flutter and clench, signaling your impending climax. You wrap your legs tightly around Johnny's waist, locking your ankles behind his back to draw him impossibly deeper. 

“Johnny, I'm gonna—!” you scream as the first waves of an orgasm crash over you, your pussy spasming wildly around his pistoning cock. The intense pleasure is almost too much to bear, sending you hurtling into a maelstrom of bliss. Through the haze of your release, you feel Johnny's movements become erratic, his thrusts growing shorter and more urgent.

Johnny's grip on you tightens as he feels your pussy convulsing around him, milking his cock for all it's worth. The sensation of your clenching walls and the sound of your ragged breathing spur him on, driving him to new heights of pleasure.

“That's it, baby, squeeze my cock,”  Johnny grunts, his hips snapping forward in short, brutal strokes. “You're mine, all mine.” 

With a final, guttural roar, Johnny buries himself to the hilt and erupts, painting your insides with his hot seed. Wave after wave of intense pleasure crashes over him, his vision blurring as he loses himself in the sheer ecstasy of the moment. As the aftershocks subside, Johnny collapses against you, his weight pinning you against the wall.

Breathless and sated, you cradle Johnny's face in your hands, gazing up at him with adoring eyes. 

“That was... incredible,” you whisper, your voice trembling with residual pleasure. You run your fingers through his hair, marveling at the way his heated skin seems to glow in the moonlight. The intimacy of the moment, coupled with the lingering effects of their passion, leaves you feeling vulnerable yet deeply connected to Johnny. “I've never felt anything like that before,” you confess, your cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and wonder.

Johnny's chest rises and falls heavily as he tries to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours. He's still buried inside you, their bodies intimately entwined. The sensation of your warmth wrapped around him is almost too much to bear.

“You're something else,” Johnny murmurs, his voice low and husky. “I knew from the moment I saw you that you were trouble, but fuck, I wouldn't trade this for anything.” 

He pulls back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes, and sees the same awe and vulnerability reflected back at him. It's a moment of raw honesty, stripped of pretenses and societal expectations. Johnny brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle compared to the fierce passion they just shared.

Your heart swells at Johnny's words, your soul feeling as if it's been set ablaze by the intensity of their connection. You reach up to frame his face, your thumbs stroking his cheekbones as you search his gaze. 

“It was a good reprieve from all the formalities,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. Your fingers trace the contours of his jawline, marveling at both the strength and unexplored tenderness etched into his features.

Johnny nods, a small, enigmatic smile playing on his lips. 

“Yeah, definitely a nice distraction from all the pomp and circumstance,” he leans in, capturing your mouth in a tender, exploratory kiss. It's a stark contrast to the passionate frenzy that preceded it, but no less potent in its own way. When Johnny finally breaks apart, he rests his forehead against yours once more, his breath mingling with yours. “I should probably get you back downstairs before anyone misses you.”  

Despite the practicality of the situation, neither you nor Johnny make a move to disengage. The moment stretches on, heavy with unspoken promises and the knowledge that their lives will soon return to their usual trajectories.

You sigh softly, the sound caught between your  lips as you reluctantly pull away from Johnny's embrace. The sudden chill of the night air against your overheated skin is a jarring reminder of the world beyond this hidden alcove.

“Yes, we should…” Your voice trails off as you gaze up at him, the moonlight casting an ethereal glow across his face. There's a bittersweet quality to the moment, a sense of longing for something that may never come to be. “But what if I don’t want to?” 

Johnny's eyes flash with a hint of mischief at your words, a devilish grin spreading across his face. 

“Then we stay up here all night and let the world keep spinning without us.”

[ariestrxsh]

dealer!chris x dealer!reader

💸 content warning: smut/angst (in later chapters; this one's mostly just suggestive), mentions of hard drugs and guns, enemies to lovers, slow burn

💸 summary: you and chris, new partners in crime, start moving your product along.

there will be several parts to this story, and they will contain sex, drugs, violence, use of weapons, and a lot of things that could be triggering if you've ever been apart of the drug world or loved someone with an addiction. i don't mean to glorify drug use, selling, or anything like that, but i wanted this story to be realistic, so it does appear like a somewhat "glamorous" lifestyle to chris and the reader in the first few parts. i want to make it very clear that when you get involved in the drug world in real life, you usually end up in one of two places: the ground or prison.

WHEN SPARKS FLY

chapters: | intro | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |

"Hey, ma. You ready to move this shit or what?" Chris asked, his voice low and rapsy like he'd just woken up.

It was the next afternoon, and you had just pulled up to Daisy's house to pick up your new business partner, who looked like he had just rolled out of bed. He was leaned up against the open window of your passenger side door, a joint tucked between his lips and his grey hoodie pulled over his head.

"Hey, Chris. I was born ready. Get in. You're not bringing that shit in my car, though," you responded, motioning towards his joint. He rolled his eyes and gave you a playful smile. He took a final drag, blew it out the side of his mouth, and dropped the roach onto the ground, snuffing it out under his black Converse shoe and crushing it against the pavement.

He got into the passenger seat, and when he glanced back over at you, his mind flooded with the thoughts he'd had about you the night before. He was afraid he'd crossed a line with you, but it was complicated because it was only in his mind. He quickly pulled his guilty blue eyes off of you, worried that you'd see his fantasies written on his face if he stared at you for too much longer.

"We've got a few of my regulars we're meeting with today. I've already told them all that I'm bringing a colleague. Don't expect to be back home until dark. We have a lot of shit to move, and it isn't going to move itself," you relayed to him as you pulled away from the curb.

"Whatever you say, ma. It's your world, I'm just living in it," Chris replied, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. "We've got a cake to deliver," You pointed out the bakery box in the back seat. "Deliver a cake?" Chris asked, pinching his eyebrows together in a confused expression as he ran his fingers through his disheveled hair.

"It's not really a cake, Chris," you replied, laughing at his naivety. "Here. You look like you're still half-asleep. I got you something to wake you up," you told him, gesturing towards the two coffees in your cup holder.

"Thanks, ma. I love it when you think about me when I'm not around," Chris flirted, playfully winking at you as he reached for his drink. You rolled your eyes and scoffed. "Just drink your coffee," you responded in an unamused tone as you found your way out of the neighborhood.

The weather was cloudy and grey like the day before, but no rain yet, just a humidity that hung in the air and clung to your skin as you drove with the windows down. The two of you made your way through Long Beach traffic, hitting all the green lights until you pulled up in front of a seafood restaurant.

"What are we doing here, ma?" Chris wondered aloud, looking up from his phone as you threw your transmission into park. "Grabbing lunch," you casually stated, cutting the engine and unbuckling your seatbelt. "Hope you like fish."

"I mean, it's alright. You think we could go somewhere else to eat?" He politely asked. "No," you dryly responded, getting out of the driver's side of your Honda Accord. He sighed but trailed behind you.

The two of you waltzed into the restaurant, the smell of lobster and shrimp drifting through the air as you scanned the place. You locked eyes with a cook who acknowledged you with a nod. You elbowed Chris in the side to get his attention.

"That's our guy. His name is Joe. He's going on lunch in about forty-five minutes. We're gonna sit down, have a nice meal, and after we pay the tab, we're gonna meet him in the parking lot," you whispered to Chris.

"How much is he buying? A couple grams?" Chris assumed. "Are you kidding, Chris? Do I look like the kind of person who wastes my own time? I don't sell anything to anyone if it's less than a pound," you quietly snorted.

Chris widened his eyes at you. This whole time he'd been under the impression that the two of you were going to be moving cocaine the same way he moved weed - gram by gram, eighth by eighth, and sometimes when he got lucky, he'd sell an ounce.

"Holy shit, ma. We're gonna make that money back in no time," he mumbled to you with dollar signs in his eyes. "Our guy is buying two kilos today. It's the same order every time I re-up. He's more of a street dealer, so it takes him a little longer to sell the product," you explained.

"Aren't you nervous about doing a deal in such a public place?" Chris murmured, his gaze darting around the restaurant and noting how many people were around. "No. Deals done in secret are more dangerous than the ones done out in the open. People are always expecting drug deals to be happening at night, in dark alleys, at sketchy gas stations. People don't look at you twice in settings like this," you shrugged.

"Table for two?" The hostess inquired as she approached you with menus in hand, and you each smiled and nodded. She led you to a booth in the back near a window that gave you a view of the block that was bustling with life. The waitress stopped by, brought the two of you some waters, and told you she'd be back to take your order before floating off to another table, leaving the two of you alone.

"So, how'd you get into this business? What's your story?" Chris wondered, his gaze glued to the menu in front of him, scanning the various pictures of crab cakes and seafood medley. "You first," you shot back, laying your menu flat on the table and raising an eyebrow.

"Simple. Money," Chris shrugged without looking up. "We all got into it for money, Chris. What was the turning point that finally made you say, 'Okay, I'm doing this'?" You asked, propping your hand up on your elbow. He leaned in and lowered his voice, setting down his menu.

"Look, my mom and I grew up kinda broke, and she was in a bad situation with this abusive, piss poor excuse of a boyfriend she had. She was working three jobs and still couldn't scrape up enough cash to leave him, so I started moving some weed around, just enough to afford us a new place," Chris relayed to you in a serious voice, his piercing blue eyes locked on yours.

"Chris, I'm sorry.." you softly mumbled, reaching for his hand and brushing your thumb against his knuckles. For the first time, you felt some compassion for him. He'd always struck you as your average cocky and shallow weed dealer, but maybe there was some depth to him after all.

"I got us out of that situation. But even when you don't need dealing anymore, the thrill of making all that money, it gets comfortable. Then you want more," he admitted. In that moment, talking to Chris felt like having a conversation with yourself.

You knew exactly what he meant. You'd had that talk with yourself many times before, always saying you'd be satisfied next deal. You just needed a little more, and then you'd be pleased with it. Deep down, you knew no matter how much money you made, it would never truly be enough. You would always crave more.

However, it didn't keep you from hoping that every time, this would finally be the final time, and then you'd finally have enough to retire from this life go back to living a normal one.

"Do you guys still need time to decide?" The waitress asked, appearing out of nowhere and breaking you out of your thoughts. You quickly pulled away and cleared your throat when you realized you were still holding Chris' hand.

"I'm ready if you are," you told Chris, and he nodded, a sly smile lingering on his lips as he watched how quickly you'd snapped your hand back. You ordered the shrimp scampi, and Chris ordered fish tacos. When the waitress sauntered off to put your food in, Chris directed the conversation back to the question he'd originally asked.

"Alright, ma. I told you my story. You tell me yours. What got you into this business?" Chris asked, leaning back in his booth and giving you his full, undivided attention. You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how much to share with him.

"I grew up watching my parents struggle with money. Crunching numbers just so we could afford to keep a roof over our heads and keep the lights on and water running. I swore that I was never going to live like that. I wanted the generational poverty in my family to end with me," you admitted.

"So, when I had a friend who sold weed, and his clientele started growing faster than he could keep up with, I offered to move some shit around for him. A one-time thing became a regular thing. Then he got busted, and I took over the business for him," you shrugged.

"I get that, ma. Nothing lights a fire under you faster than fighting for your survival and sense of security," Chris responded. This time he reached out and grabbed your hand, softly running his thumb along the back of it, a soothing gesture that you secretly liked but would never admit to him.

"How'd you get into selling coke?" Chris wondered. Your body language immediately shifted. You pulled your hand away, leaned back into the booth, and crossed your arms, diverting your eyes to anything else.

"You ask too many fucking questions. You know that, Sturniolo?" You snapped at him with an edge to your voice. "What? So you're not gonna tell me?" Chris wondered, sitting on the edge of his seat.

"Slow down, Chris. If we get to know every little thing about each other now, what will we talk about on the drive to the next deal?" You joked. "Whatever, ma. Keep your secrets. I didn't care anyway," Chris replied, pulling out his phone to respond to a text.

Just like that, the hand-holding, the intense eye contact, and the vulnerable conversation, it was all over. Back to business as usual, like you always were.

It only took a few minutes after ordering for the waitress to bring out your food. "Damn, that was fast. How'd we get our food before half these people that were here before us?" Chris wondered out loud as the waitress set his steaming plate down in front of him.

You flicked your eyes up to Joe, who was still visible from the front of the restaurant, and he gave you a subtle wink. "Joe's going on lunch early. Eat up," you said, lightly kicking Chris under the table as you placed your napkin across your lap.

The sounds of the restaurant echoed around you, silverware clanking against dishes, the many conversations happening all at once, and the unwavering sound of the sizzling grill in the back.

"Mmm. You know, I'm not usually crazy about seafood, but this is amazing," Chris commented, his mouth still full of his lunch as he spoke. "Just because I took you out for seafood doesn't mean I want to see your food," you teased him, but the smile that followed your comment was warm.

Your gaze flickered up, and you locked eyes with the cook who was making his way out the backdoor. "C'mon, Chris. Let's get the check and go," you demanded. "But I'm not done," Chris interjected, giving you a perplexed look.

"We'll get you a doggy bag, and you can eat in the car," you offered him with a smug smirk. "Yeah, you're real funny," Chris snarked back in a dry manner. The waitress came back around with a couple of Styrofoam boxes and the bill, and you handed the waitress $50 and told her to keep the change.

The three you met up in the parking lot shortly after. "This is Chris," you introduced him to your customer. "It's about time you get yourself a boyfriend," Joe chuckled. "She wishes," Chris muttered, cracking a smile. "No, it's nothing like that. We're just doing business together," you said, rolling your eyes and feeling your face grow warm.

"I mean, it's been, what, almost a year since everything with Alex? It's about time you get back out there," he started to say, but you cut him off. "You got my money?" You interrupted, changing the subject, crossing your arms over your chest and raising an eyebrow.

Chris' gaze burned into you out of the corner of your eye. You could tell he had questions for you. What's he talking about? Who's Alex? What happened a year ago? However, this wasn't the time or place to answer them.

"Yeah, got it right here," Joe replied, pulling an envelope out of his back pocket. You took it from him and wandered over to your car, popping open the back door and reaching inside to grab the "cake" you were delivering.

"Pleasure doing business," you nodded at Joe as you passed it off to him. He accepted it, and the two of you were back on the road in no time.

"That was pretty slick, actually," Chris told you, surprised by how quickly the deal went down and how nonchalant it looked to the people in the vicinity. He sat hunched over in his seat, eating his fish tacos out of the Styrofoam box with his hoodie pulled over his head.

"Told you," you answered, checking your rearview mirror just to make sure you weren't being followed, a nervous habit you'd acquired in this business. "Who's Alex?" Chris piped up. "Chris, not right now," you said in a more serious tone than normal, giving him a long, hard stare that begged him not to press you for information on the subject. He got the hint.

"Okay, fine. What's the next place we're hitting? Is there going to be dessert included?" He inquired, changing the subject and smirking over at you. "No. You'll find out," you responded, cranking the wheel and turning down a street Chris didn't recognize.

"So, what are your goals, ma? You trying to become a sexy queenpin? Where do you see yourself in the industry in five years?" He asked, rolling down his window and sticking his hand out to feel the humid breeze. "Out," you responded without hesitation. "Out?" Chris asked, wrinkling his eyebrows and glancing over in your direction.

"Out of the game, Chris. Not doing this shit anymore," you reiterated. He gave you a perplexed look, like he wasn't expecting that. He was expecting you to give him a dollar amount you wanted to be making or a number of kilos you'd like to be moving at one time.

"I mean, think about it, Chris. If you go walk into a casino to gamble and you stay long enough, house is always gonna win. The trick is to make your profit and then pull out before you lose it all. That's what it is. It's a gamble. You just play your cards right, you take your money, and you get out. I wanna get out while I'm still up."

You remained pretty tight-lipped the rest of the day, hesitant to share much more with Chris than you already had. You were beginning to feel safe around him, but you didn't fully trust him just yet.

taglist: @skye-44 @faiyaz555 @idrk2292 @drewswife @trevorsgodmother @sofisturns @milo-the-dog @rockstarchr1s @bluetalia @xaristhings @nomusic-nodreams @sturniolo-girl @theyluvme-2315 @jassturn @brookiecookie-18 @maggot3647 @slut4chriztopher @strnlslvr @sleepysturniolo @lvrsturniolo @sofieeeeex @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @matts-myloverboy @witchofthehour @whoahoahoahoahoa @ilovechrissturniolosposts @smt-obsessed @sturnioloxlver @that1fangirll @hrtz4alex2211 @drewstarkeysdoll @sp3ncerslvt @sturniolo-munch44 @jakewebberswifee @ssturniolooss @thenickgurl @sturniolo-fann @sst7niolo @babysturniolo @chestersturniolo @riowritesitall @camzeecorner @mattsturnixlo @annedebeijer @scorpioosworld @mattlover-00 @sweetlikesug4rvenom @m11rx @sturniolocharms

[beepbeepmfkr]

That is the system we are striving to build. That is literally the end goal. "We must build a system-" the system already exists and could be built upon y'all just keep nitpicking it and demanding an overhaul every time your lack of actual action inevitably leads to shitty people in charge.

What people need to understand is that none of the actions stripping people of their rights have been legal. None of what is happening is legal. It Should Not Be Happening. The system was set up to avoid this from happening. But, unfortunately, humans are flawed creatures and shitty stuff happens. Also - when you've had generations of people who willingly ignore their RIGHT TO VOTE due to grievances that could actually be solved or mitigated with regular organization and civic action... Then... Yeah. The fascists show up. That's literally how it has always worked in History. The fascists show up because the people who ARE engaged with politics either arent paying enough attention, or they genuinely want the fascist end goal. While everyone else complains about how nothing ever works and decides that the answer MUST be to convince as many people as possible to also abstain from any actionable behaviors.

How do you solve this? Engage with the system. Organize your peers. Go to town hall meetings and see what's happening in your county government. Use the power of the Majority and actually Do Something instead of looking around at a system that is breaking down due to lack of maintenance and declaring "oops. It's broken. Throw it away and let's get a new one"

Governmental structures aren't a pair of shoes you toss because they don't look the way you like. They're active establishments that can be influenced by people if they just looked around and accepted it. You're doing absolutely nothing by spouting off rhetoric that was literally created to keep people from getting involved and informed.

When things break, you fix them.

You fix fascism by getting involved in the fight against fascism at all levels available. You don't fix it by telling everyone to stop engaging with a system that literally requires people's attention and action in order to actually function for the people.

Listen, if a Bad President can come in and take away our rights and we're dependent on a Good President replacing them in four years to give us back our rights, then we do not have any rights.

If politicians can take or distribute them, then they're not "inalienable" and they're not "rights."

We don't have inalienable rights we have conditional privileges, divvied out according to the whims of whoever currently holds the reins.

And if we want to have actual rights, then we must build a system in which no one has the power to take them away to begin with.

[theodorenmyth]

Traitor.

Pairings : Theodore nott x GN!Reader

Summary : Theodore Nott once promised to love you forever, but when a new girl arrived, he forgot. Neglected and broken, you couldn’t take it anymore. Days later, your friends found you lifeless in his dorm, blood staining the sheets. Regret came too late—Theo lost you, and now, all he has left is the unbearable weight of your absence.

A/N ; enjoy the angst teehee, listen to Traitor or Reckless while reading this :3

Warnings : Heavy angst, betrayal, mention of blood, major character death, graphic descriptions, emotionally abusive themes, implied self-harm, grief, regret, cheating.

Word count : 1.7k+

Soft candlelight flickered against the walls of the Slytherin common room, casting long shadows over the green and silver decor. It was late, past curfew, but neither of you cared. You sat curled up against Theodore on the couch, his arms wrapped tightly around you as if he never wanted to let go. His scent—cedarwood and fresh parchment—filled your senses, grounding you in a warmth you never wanted to lose.

"I promise you," Theodore whispered against your temple, his voice filled with quiet conviction, "I will always love you. No matter what."

You pulled away slightly, just enough to look into his deep brown eyes, searching for any trace of hesitation. You found none.

"Always?" you teased, a small smile playing at your lips.

His fingers traced along your jaw before cupping your cheek. "Always," he confirmed, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against your lips.

The world outside could burn for all you cared—right here, in his arms, you were safe. Loved. Cherished.

You believed him.

But promises are just words, aren’t they?

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

It all started with her. The new transfer student. Eleanor fucking Rosier.

She arrived at Hogwarts in the middle of the term, stepping into the Great Hall with her perfect smile and charming laughter. The moment she was sorted into Slytherin, things began to change.

At first, it was small things. Theodore missing study sessions with you, brushing off your hand when you tried to hold his in the corridors.

Then, it got worse.

He stopped waiting for you after class. Stopped sitting next to you in the common room. Stopped kissing you goodnight.

And then came the dagger to the heart.

You had walked into the courtyard one day, searching for him, only to see him laughing with Eleanor—his hand on her waist. The same way he used to touch you.

You froze, the world blurring around you, nausea clawing at your stomach.

"Theo?" Your voice barely carried over the chatter of students.

He turned, his laughter dying when he saw you. Guilt flickered in his eyes for only a second before he schooled his expression into indifference.

"Y/N, what are you doing here?"

Your heart shattered at how casual he sounded, as if you were just some acquaintance interrupting his conversation.

"Looking for you," you admitted, your voice breaking despite your best efforts.

Eleanor gave you a smug smile, stepping closer to Theodore, her presence screaming he’s mine now.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "Can we talk? Alone?"

Theodore sighed as if this was some great inconvenience, but he nodded. "Fine."

You walked a few steps away from Eleanor, far enough that she couldn’t hear. But you knew she was watching. Waiting.

"What the hell, Theo?" you whispered, fists clenched at your sides.

"What?" he asked, feigning innocence.

"Don't do that," you snapped, voice trembling. "Don't act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You’ve been ignoring me for weeks. Pretending I don’t exist. And now I find you with her—"

"It’s not like that," he said, but the words felt empty.

You let out a humorless laugh, blinking rapidly to keep your tears from falling. "Then what is it like, Theo? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like I’ve already lost you."

His jaw clenched, eyes darting back to Eleanor for the briefest second. That was all it took for the final crack in your heart to shatter completely.

"You promised," you whispered. "You promised me."

Theodore exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. "Things change, Y/N. People change."

Your vision blurred, a single tear slipping down your cheek before you could stop it.

"Not this easily," you choked out.

But he just looked at you, silent. And that silence told you everything.

You turned and walked away.

He didn’t follow.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

You stopped showing up to the Great Hall for meals. Stopped going to the common room. Stopped talking to anyone.

Draco, Blaise, Mattheo, Lorenzo, and Pansy noticed, of course. They asked if you were okay, but you just forced a smile and told them you were fine.

They didn’t believe you.

But they didn’t realize how deep the wound had become until it was too late.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

It was Draco who suggested it.

"We should check on Y/N. They haven’t been to the Great Hall in days," he said, looking between the group.

Pansy frowned. "I tried earlier, but their dorm was locked. I just assumed they wanted space."

Lorenzo shifted uncomfortably. "What if something’s wrong?"

The group exchanged uneasy glances before Mattheo spoke up. "Then let’s go find out."

Together, they made their way to Theodore’s dorm—the one you used to spend so many nights in. The door was slightly ajar.

"Hey, Y/N-" Draco pushed it open.

The sight inside made Pansy scream, a strained scream.

You were there, on Theodore’s bed. But you weren’t moving.

Blood pooled beneath you, staining the white sheets in sickening contrast. Your wrist—slashed open. A letter, clutched in your lifeless fingers.

Blaise stumbled back, hand over his mouth.

Mattheo cursed under his breath, voice shaking.

Lorenzo just stared at your lifeless body, his whole body trembling.

Pansy sobbed, pressing a hand to her mouth as if she could hold in the pain.

Draco was the first to move, ripping the letter from your fingers. His hands shook as he read it aloud, voice breaking:

"Theo,"

"You promised me forever."

"You lied."

Silence.

Then, chaos.

"Get Snape!" Mattheo barked, already bolting out the door.

"Find Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore!" Lorenzo added, voice thick with emotion.

Blaise couldn’t stop staring at you. The warmth was already draining from your skin.

Pansy sobbed harder, whispering, "No, no, no..." over and over again.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

The professors arrived in a whirlwind of robes.

Snape’s face was unreadable, but his hands clenched at his sides.

McGonagall gasped, hand over her heart. "Merlin..."

Dumbledore’s usual calm was shattered, his blue eyes filled with sorrow. "Too late," he murmured.

Too late.

Theodore arrived then, panting, confused. "What’s going—"

Then, he saw you.

And the world.. stopped.

His breath hitched, his body locking in place. His gaze fell to the blood-stained letter still clutched in Draco’s hands.

"You promised me forever."

"You lied."

A strangled noise escaped his throat as he staggered forward, but Snape blocked him with a firm grip. "Don’t," the professor warned, voice deadly quiet.

Theodore’s chest heaved, his mind racing. No. No, no, no.

This wasn’t real.

You weren’t gone.

You couldn’t be gone.. right?

But the silence screamed the truth louder than words ever could.

And somewhere in the background, the soft hum of magic played a familiar melody—

"God, I wish that you had thought this through before I went and fell in love with you."

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

A day after your death.

The world kept moving. The sun still rose, the students still laughed, and Hogwarts remained the same. But for Theodore Nott, everything had stopped.

Your funeral had been small, private—only those who had truly loved you had been allowed to attend. Pansy had sobbed into Draco’s shoulder, Blaise had stared blankly ahead, Lorenzo had refused to speak, and Mattheo… Mattheo had nearly punched Theodore in the face when he had shown up.

“You don’t deserve to be here,” he had spat, his voice thick with fury. “You let them die.”

Theodore had taken the hit, let Mattheo’s fist hit his face because he deserved it.

Because Mattheo was right.

As the coffin had been lowered, Theodore had gripped the edge, his entire body trembling. "I'm sorry," he had whispered, too soft for anyone to hear. "I'm so sorry."

But the dead did not listen.

Day Four.

Your dorm had been left untouched.

No one dared enter—not even Pansy. But Theodore had. He had slipped inside in the middle of the night, hands shaking as he reached for the sweater you had always worn.

It still smelled like you.

He clutched it to his chest, burying his face in the fabric as sobs ripped through him. "Why?" His voice cracked, broken. "Why didn't you tell me how bad it was?"

But deep down, he knew you had tried. You had begged for his attention, for his love, for something—anything—but he had been too blind, too foolish.

Now, the only thing left of you was the ghost of your scent and the unbearable weight of silence.

Day Seven

The Great Hall felt different without you. The chair beside Theodore remained vacant, untouched, a reminder of the space you had once filled.

People whispered. They stared. But no one spoke to him.

Even Pansy, who had once been his closest friend, refused to look at him. Draco had barely spared him a glance, Blaise had turned his back, and Lorenzo had muttered something under his breath about how some things were unforgivable.

And maybe they were right. Maybe he didn’t deserve forgiveness.

He pushed his plate away, appetite long gone. His hands were cold, his chest tight. No amount of warmth could shake the chill that had settled into his bones.

"You’re mine," he had once promised you.

But he had let you go.

Day Twelve

He had written it a hundred times. Over and over.

"I'm sorry."

"I love you."

"I was an idiot. I should have seen it. I should have held you. I should have stayed."

But what good were words now?

You were gone. And he had to live with the fact that he had driven you to it.

He folded the letter, pressing his forehead against the parchment. "I wish I could trade places with you."

But wishes were just words, and words meant nothing anymore.

Day Thirty

He had avoided it. Avoided your name, your memory, the way his heart clenched every time he walked past the places you had once stood.

But that night, alone in his dorm, he broke.

"Theo," you had once whispered, tracing his jaw with your fingertips. "Promise me you’ll never forget me."

And now, as he sat in the dark, your blood still staining the edges of his nightmares, he whispered back:

"I could never forget you."

And for the first time in a long time—Theodore Nott wept.

[yoongelectric]

Blame it on the vodka - LN4

— part 2 of drunk in love

genre: angst and fluff

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

warnings: lando is an asshole at the beginning, curse words

notes: english isn’t my first language, i don’t know if there’s gonna be a part 3

tags @htpssgavi

"You know we'll have to talk about this tomorrow, right?"

"Tomorrow, I promise" Lando kissed your forehead and soon you were both asleep.

-

Lando woke up with his arms around your waist and the smell of your hair invading his senses. As soon as his eyes landed on you he thought about how much he would like to have a pause button to stop time at that exact moment. He knew that when you woke up he would have to face what he’d done under the influence of alcohol and he had no idea what he would do.

The battle in his mind was already giving him a headache, how could he go on with his life once he knew how it felt to have you, make love to you, wake up with you in his arms and finally treat you as something more than just a friend, it was like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. But how could he ask you to be his girlfriend if he knew that you would have to make so many sacrifices, you had your life here, your job, your family, your friends, how could he make you choose between leaving that to follow him or seeing him only a few times a month? Could you keep a long-distance relationship or had the impulsive decision he made the night before ruined what the two of you had?

You woke up with a piercing headache and the strange sensation of someone looking at you, although your confusion lasted only a few seconds as you remembered the events of the night, a smile spread across your face as you turned to face your... should you say best friend yet?

"Good morning," you said, looking at him lovingly and moving to leave a kiss on his cheek.

But your brows furrowed when you saw that Lando was not looking at you with the same smile or the same joy you had, he looked a little worried, even upset you would say.

"Is something wrong? Or should I get used to you being in a bad mood in the mornings?" You asked, with a smile, trying to ease the tension.

"Sorry, I'm still a little sleepy" Lando smiled but you knew him, you noticed how forced his expression was. You were going to ask again but he got up and started getting dressed.

"Are you going somewhere?" you asked a little worried, you didn't want to be annoying but lando's actions were giving you a sinking feeling in your chest.

Why did he seem to feel the same as you yesterday and today he treated you like a stranger?

"I have to go home, y/n" he said as he rushed around the room looking for his things.

He didn't know why he was doing this, he knew it wasn't the most mature thing for him to do and it definitely wasn't the right choice. But he needed to think, he needed time, a few more moments before facing the possibility of hurting you.

He didn't want to admit it but he was terrified, and he had to force himself not to look at you, to not meet your disappointed gaze, because he knew that if that happened he wouldn't be able to leave.

"You promised me we were going to talk today," you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

Maybe you were imagining things, Lando could be behaving the same as always and you were just sensitive, but the way he avoided your gaze, how it seemed like the mere fact of being in your house bothered him and how cold he was being towards you confirmed that it wasn't just in your head.

"Yesterday you asked me to stop avoiding you, to go back to how I was before, but now you’re the one pushing me away"

Lando knew you were right, that a real man would face you and tell you all his worries, but what would happen next?

"y/n I really have a lot of things to do today, I don't have time for this" Lando took his keys and headed to the door.

You didn't know what to feel, your heart was breaking into a thousand pieces and you were mad at him at the same time, how could he play with you like that, how could he tell you that he loved you and now leave you all alone?

You followed him hoping he would choose to stay but the person next to you seemed to be a completely different person than the one who went home with you yesterday.

"I asked you not to use me just to get your dick wet, Lando, I thought I meant enough to you to at least respect that."

Against all your will your voice broke, and you couldn't help but think of all the times you had cried and he had been there to comfort you, how could it be that he was now the reason for your tears?

Lando stopped in his tracks as soon as he heard you cry, and he hated himself for all the decisions that led him to hurt you.

"y/n don't say that, you mean the world to me, but last night was a mistake, we both know it" he said trying to grab your hand but you took a step back.

"We both know it? No, Lando, actually no, it felt perfectly fine for me, and no, I didn't know i was a mistake for you" your sadness turning into rage.

"You are not a mistake for me, last night i told you i loved you and I stand by it, I love you more than i love myself, but what's the point? I can't be with you, pretending that i could was the mistake"

"Why can't you be with me? I'm not pretty enough? Or famous? Or rich enough?" Your tears made it difficult to speak "I should have known, you don't consider me worthy of your love."

"I don't give a shit about your fame or your money, y/n, actually, I'm the one who's not worthy of you" Lando grabbed his head in exasperation and took a deep breath "you’d never be happy with me, we barely see each other, and I'm always busy with work, I could never give you the attention you deserve and I wouldn’t be the boyfriend I want to be for you."

"Who are you to decide what makes me happy or not, Lando?" You took a step forward and pointed at him with your finger "don't use time and your job as an excuse when the truth is that you're not willing to be the boyfriend you say I deserve" you yelled at him, your face red of anger

"Actually, I would do anything to be that man, y/n," his shoulders drooping in defeat, "but what if I can't? If I ruin everything and you end up hating me? I can't let that happen, don't you understand?"

"I don't know what's going to happen, Lando, I can't promise that everything is going to be okay and that we're going to live happily ever after" you grabbed his hand trying to calm down both of you "but what we feel is on the table, and what I can promise you that I am going to hate you if you leave now and leave me with my heart in my hand."

"I don't even know how to be a boyfriend, y/n. what if I'm not what you want?" Lando rested his head on your shoulder and you wrapped him with your arms, the anger was still inside you but the love you felt for him was stronger, you couldn’t see him in such distress.

"love, it's not like I don't know you, I'm know you're what I want, you don't have to change anything" you kissed his temple while caressing his hair

"i’m so so so sorry, baby, I didn't mean to make you cry, I didn't mean to be such a pussy” he took a deep breath “if we actually do this, will you be patient with me?" you felt him lean into your touch and knew he was finally opening up to the idea.

"I'm not asking you to be my boyfriend right now, we'll go as slow as you want" you held his face so he could look you in the eyes "the only thing I'm asking you is that you don't hurt me, don't leave without explanation, because I spent a lot of time thinking that you were never going to see me as something more than a friend and this is all new to me too."

Lando nodded and gave you a soft peck on the lips.

"forgive me, I don't know what I was thinking, I love you, I'm going to do everything I can to make this work."

and for the first time since you admitted that you were in love with him, you were sure that he felt the same, you weren't stupid, you knew it would be difficult, but you would both make it work, at the end of the day you were made for each other.

[ladysherreeamore]

Nic and Luke are a couple of shit stirrers

They wanted us to believe they are "just friends"

after they heard us saying it's what we needed to hear to stop shipping them but it's too late for that, we've invested 8 months of countless breadcrumbs and some were far too obvious to think it was just a coincidence or that it was about anyone else.

Here are some of the breadcrumbs we can't get over:

-Nic has worn Lukes milk shirt (pretty intimate and shady for her to do if he was dating A

-Luke has posted a Spain dump that is 100% Nic coded

-Nic said "people want me to marry Luke" in her Times article instead of saying he's just her friend

-Luke did his entire People Nic coded including Mimicking Nicola's poses, color coordinating with her, and doing his this or that interview which was Nic coded and also mentions marriage just days from when Nic mentioned marriage

-Nic wearing her claddagh ring (which is Luke coded) in the position in the position of being in a relationship then switching it to her left hand in the position of being married

-Nic has a polaroid of her and Luke on her phone as if they were in a relationship, which would ve weird if either of them were dating other people

-Nic already called it a relationship twice when talking about Luke

-They both liked multiple post from people who were friends to lovers and married

-Luke only going online to post about Nic, like, or comment her post

-Nic including a Kate Spade box that was Luke coded

-Nic posting old photos (suspicious)

-Nic disappearing as soon as Luke came back from Rome

-They both disappeared for Christmas and NYE and the adjacents and friends were shown to be with other people.

-Nic showed herself at dinner at an Italian restaurant (what looked like a date for 2) on her birthday but didn't show the other person or tag them

This is when things started to look suspicious:

-Luke's mom commented on a distant relative's Facebook post convieniently asking about cyprus and Spain (both places connected to Luke and A) and his mom just happened to mention "my son Luke's gf is from Cyprus" like she doesn't know who Luke was 🙄 why did she wait days just to make this comment? Would she say gf instead of girlfriend?

- Deuxmoi posting pap pictures of Nic and Jake that were obviously old and staged

- In an interview, the man just so happened to say "People want you to get married" 🤨 So he didn't know you mentioned that in the Time article? The PR team didn't tell him not to mention that? Why those exact words? I think Nic wanted that question to be asked to try another way to get people off the ship she kept going all this time.

- Luke was away from the spotlight so long and when he finally appears he just happened to bring the one person that would stir some shit up in the fandom and play like he's actually dating her

-Luke didn't post Antonia to his grid and the only way he would somewhat post her to his grid was with a black screen with a black heart and a link to a tiktok (not assiciated with her at all) to Boss business page that had a video of them where she isn't even tagged in 😂🤣💀💀

-Nic just happened to have an audiobook that she supposedly didn't write while it relates to her life with Luke? Are we sure she didn't write it? She does have an english degree! Are we sure this isn't a biography? Why did she showcase this out of all of the audiobooks? Why was it released the day before Luke's birthday? If she wanted the shipping to stop, why agree to this book? She isn't helping her case 🤭

Mr. and Mrs. Shit Stirrer

They have been listening to what we say on our post and on the lives so if you don't want them to know something, don't share it publicly

Things they heard us mention and have done:

- Some have said"Nic and Jake might not be a couple because they aren't holding hands with interlocked fingers" then they started holding hands with interlocked fingers in the next pap photos

- We all said Nic has never said "Just friends" so she said it in her interview after almost 8 months 😂

- Lukola's said "Nic must be in Luke's interview with him because he keeps looking to his left" he looked to his left in a video during the boss event

- We said "Luke may not be dating Antonia because he looks miserable and they aren't acting like a couple" after he goes inside and is abke to look at his phone he started looking happier and acting like a couple while he knew the cameras were watching them

If Luke starts doing anything he wouldn't normally do after we've mentioned it online, i'll know it's because they were watching us 👀

I think some of us may have been too close to the truth or they wanted to distract us from something 🤔

whatever it is i'll play along until the truth comes out

[the-tin-dog]

Hey all good and whatnot but like.

Maybe your movement would be more effective if you educated rather than attacked. I'm an old school punk. I've never used Temu, but one of the issues here is this... Reinvented classism. Like you are a better punk if you don't use Temu or Shein and that's not it babes.

EVERY and I do mean EVERY corporate fashion brand uses sweatshops. Every one. Fast fashion wasn't invented by Shein and Temu. Your docs and your Levi's and your leather jackets were made in a sweatshop. The point of punk fashion isn't "never use a sweatshop made clothing item" because that's literally impossible (no ethical consumption...) the point is to reduce it as much as possible. And Tbh almost no brand today holds up.

But scolding people and playing "holier than thou" on Tumblr dot com slash dashboard isn't how you get people away from the dirt cheap wholesalers-turned-apps. You have to TEACH people things. You have to be *kind* about it. I don't have all the time today to make a full instructional post but here are my easiest DIY, Reduce-Fashion-Waste tips.

- thrift as much as you can. Paying a little bit more for jeans made in the 2000s will go a lot further than a new pair. The denim was heavier weight and higher quality.

- use animal products. Sorry vegans but your plastic jacket will ment after one season. Just use leather. It's way more ethical in the long run. Humans have been using animal products since the beginning of civilization. THRIFT your leather. I have a leather coat that I've had since I was 12. It was adult sized (my parents were smart) so I grew into it and still wear it literally every single year. It's weathered beautifully, and has had minimal repairs made.

- LEARN. TO. SEW. this is the single most useful skill. Hem things that are too long. Take in seams if it's a size too big. Learn how to finish edges so if you change sizes and take out a seam you can add material (big fan of adding a side stripe or laces in the sides of pants I've put grown.)

- don't fear a patch. If you don't want it to look like a traditional patch, get fun ones. Local bands and artists everywhere have fun patches. Or get fabric scraps you like. Got a shirt you don't wear anymore but like the print of? Slice that fucker up and patch the hole in your favorite pair of jeans.

- safety pins are not just accessories. The reason safety pins exist in punk fashion is because when you don't know how to sew, get caught without a needle and thread, or just want a more DIY aesthetic, you can Pin your clothes together!! It's cool and fun and easy.

- everything. I mean literally EVERYTHING can be jewelry. Spark plugs. Scrap chains. Nails. Screws. Paperclips. Bottle caps. Soda tabs. Junk and trash and trinkets are tour friends. Get a punch and a pair of needle nose pliers and some craft wire and your opportunities are endless. I made a necklace out of a spark plug and a hair bow out of old wires from my project car. Go nuts.

The real core of punk fashion is "wear the clothes you have as long as possible. Fix them in whatever way you can" it can feel intimidating at first but it's really easy. There aren't any rules.

Moral of this- don't condescend or gatekeep. Educate and Inform. Noone is bad for existing in the system we have. We have to *HELP* people learn better ways. Shaming people doesn't work

you can't be punk and get your shit from temu

[cece693]

You're Just Jealous of Me

pairing: the salvatore brothers x male reader tags: reader knows he's manipulative and a slut, you just don't care tbh, Elena has an aneurysm from not being the main character, the brothers know they're getting played, you're just that hot/beautiful/perfect for them to give you up, Elena bashing, no incest

"I can't believe you." Elena exclaimed, her eyes growing misty as you were getting ready to head out with Damon on a date. It hadn't even been a week since they broke up (something about her needing stability or some other bullshit) and you didn't care. All that mattered was getting through yet another 'poor me' moment without killing her and making it seem like an accident.

Seriously, what did your sister expect? That Damon was going to stay single for the rest of his days until she made a fucking choice between him and Stefan? Perhaps some of her betrayal stemmed from the fact that Stefan had also rejected her ass and had made it clear he didn't feel anything for her anymore. So now poor Elena had no one while you played with both brothers.

And it wasn't even 'playing' per se if they knew about the whole situation. You could fuck any of them, and they'll be fine with it—a thing you made clear to them when this whole thing started. You liked both brothers, but having to choose just one was unfair—they both had traits that attracted you, and if you couldn't have both, then you'll settle for nothing. Like eager children they agreed. The arrangement was abnormal to others, but for you it worked—you dated both brothers, they still hated each other (entertaining fights arising from their competitiveness on who you liked more, who was 'rocking' your world, etc.) Simple really.

"Save the tears for the pillow, sister. I’m really not in the mood—nor will I ever be—to entertain your pity parties." Pulling on one of Damon’s leather jackets, you smirked. You were a sight to behold—not only would Damon be eager to rip the clothes off you, but half the population would, too.

It was fun stirring the pot, watching Damon bare his teeth at anyone who thought they stood a chance. Jealousy was his kryptonite, and while a part of you hated targeting one of his insecurities, you always reassured him in bed of your devotion, loyalty, and love.

Yes, because at the end of the day, you loved both Salvatore brothers. This wasn't just some passing fantasy, nor was it some revenge scheme against your sister (though you did love tormenting her with the fact that you were dating the two). You were willing to throw away your human life to become a vampire—to spend eternity by their side.

"Why are you doing this to me? What have I ever done to cause this!" Now there was the Elena you knew all too well—the one who constantly placed themselves as the victim, putting blame unto you because who could ever hate a girl who lost her parents?

You let out a humorless laugh, crossing your arms over your chest. “You really want to go there?” you snap, not bothering to hide the derision in your voice. “Fine. For starters, you’ve always made Jeremy and me feel like shit, and the few times you did act like a decent human being were just so you didn’t look like a total bitch.”

“That’s not true!” she protests, anger tightening her features.

“It is, Elena,” you spit back. “When our parents died, you didn’t do a damn thing to help us cope. You were so wrapped up in your own grief, your own fucking melodrama, that you never once checked on Jeremy or me—unless, of course, it was to nag us about how we were coping. When Jeremy started doing drugs, you freaked the fuck out. Not because you cared, but because you were afraid of how it might make you look. God forbid anyone sees that the 'perfect' Elena Gilbert can’t keep her family together or help her brother kick his drug habit.”

She flinches, but you weren't done. Oh, no. You were just beginning to go down the list of why you hated her ass. "Then, when I began to hook up with Damon, you acted like I was the cause of our parents death—no, that's on you because Elena couldn't help herself and got drunk, needing a ride home at midnight. Sleeping with Damon was like I'd personally betray you."

Her cheeks flush crimson. “Well, you did! You—”

“I did what, Elena?” You take a step forward, towering over her. “I moved on? Found something that might actually make me happy? Meanwhile, you’ve been stringing both Damon and Stefan along for God knows how long. You made your choice—you dumped Damon, tried getting back with Stefan, when he told you to fuck off, you tried going back to Damon and he said the same thing. So now you’re standing here, arms crossed, lip trembling, trying to put the blame on me because you lost your backup plan.”

Her lips press into a thin line, eyes brimming with tears. But you’ve seen this act before—she’ll blink prettily, glance away like a wounded animal, and wait for you to console her. Only this time, you won't.

“You are an asshole,” she hisses, eyes narrowed into slits. “He was mine first.”

That makes you laugh, a harsh sound echoing off the hallway walls. “Right...possessive much? People aren’t property, Elena. He’s not a damn handbag you lend out when it suits you. If Damon wants to be with me, that’s his call. And if I want to keep him, that’s mine.”

She trembles, either from anger or heartbreak—you can’t tell, and frankly, you don’t care. “Why would you do this?” she asks again, her voice cracking. “What have I ever done—”

You rolled your eyes so hard you got a slight headache. "Did you even listen to me? I have every reason to hate you, so does Jeremy and the rest of Mystic Falls. Those who continue to stand by you are either stupid or hope they'll get some attention from your desperate ass. I'm done. I’m done letting you guilt-trip me. I’m done tiptoeing around your precious feelings. I’m fucking over it, Elena.”

Just then, Damon appears in the doorway, that trademark smirk on his face. “Ready?” he asks, taking in the tension between you two. His gaze flicks to the tears glistening in her eyes before returning to you. “I’m guessing we’re skipping the family therapy session?”

“Therapy? More like the mandatory guilt trip, which I’ve politely declined.”

Elena’s voice wavers, “Damon, how can you just—”

He cuts her off with a raised hand, posture casual but his eyes dangerously dark. “Stop, Elena. What we had is over. You made that choice before, remember? I’m done letting you waltz in and out of my life whenever it’s convenient for you.” You can practically feel the hatred radiating off her in waves. She’s not used to being shut down, especially not by Damon, the semi-reformed bad boy who once hung on her every word. It must sting. Oh, well. Her loss.

“As much as I loved talking to you, sister, I do believe we're running late. Don't wait up and please, if you're going to continue crying, leave my room. Keep wallowing if you want. Hell, cry yourself a fucking river. Just don’t stain my carpet.” Without another glance at Elena, you brush past Damon, and he steps aside for you to lead. He follows, closing the door behind you both, leaving your sister alone in her silence.

You descend the porch steps and greet the night air with a sigh of relief, reveling in the silence that isn’t tainted by Elena’s incessant whining. Damon slips an arm around your shoulders, guiding you toward his car parked beneath a streetlamp. His touch is warm, confident—like he’s proud of the chaos you’ve left behind.

“She’ll get over it,” he says, glancing at you with one of those trademark smirks that used to make Elena weak at the knees. Now, it just fuels your own sense of dark satisfaction.

“She’d better,” you mutter. “I’m not putting up with her drama anymore. If she wants to play the victim, she can do it alone. I’ve got better things to do.”

Damon’s grin widens. “That’s the spirit. So, where are we headed, anyway? We never actually nailed down the specifics.”

You shrug, placing an arm around his waist and snuggling closer to his side. “Anywhere but here. Got a craving for something stiff—drink or otherwise.” The innuendo doesn’t slip past him. His eyes flash with interest, and you can’t deny that thrill you get from watching Damon Salvatore light up over you instead of your sister.

“Sounds like the Grill for starters,” he suggests with a casual tilt of his head. “They might have a halfway decent bourbon I can drown myself in. As for the ‘otherwise,’ well…” He lets the sentence hang, the possibility of later events sparking arousal for the both of you.

You’re about to respond when you spot Stefan leaning against Damon's Camaro. Typical. Even without super-hearing, you know he’s probably caught every word you exchanged with Elena. Damned vampires. "What are you doing here?" Damon was the first who spoke, hand tightening over your body. As if he was a child preventing his favorite toy to be taken away from him.

"Nothing, really. I was just walking around the neighborhood and saw your car parked. But now that I see you're here with my boyfriend, I guess I have time to join you two at the grill."

"Our boyfriend."

You simply laugh at Stefan’s innocent tone, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all. Just a few minutes ago, you were telling off Elena and storming out of the house. Now you’re pinned between two vampires—both of whom are technically yours, and you are theirs. Welcome to the wonderful, fucked-up world of Mystic Falls.

“‘Our’ boyfriend,” you echo, looking from Stefan to Damon. “Are you two seriously going to argue semantics right now? Pick a damn fight over who saw me first?” A scoff escapes you as you shrug off Damon’s possessive grip just enough to stand on your own. You’re not some chew toy they get to tug-of-war over.

Stefan cocks a brow, his expression cool but laced with a hint of smugness. “I’m not here to fight,” he says, his gaze flicking to Damon. “Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t excluded. Last time I checked, this was a joint arrangement.”

Damon’s jaw clenches. Clearly, he remembers crashing your date with Stefan last week—and how you’d had to smooth over the tension in ways that involved very little clothing and a lot of apologizing on his part. “We’re not excluding you, Saint Stefan. But we do have plans that don’t involve your pensive brooding.”

Stefan straightens, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh, so your plan is to get drunk at the Grill and then…whatever else…” He waves a hand dismissively, “doesn’t appeal to me?” He tilts his head in mock curiosity. “You sure about that?”

You snort. “Children, please. If you both really wanted to rip each other’s heads off, you’d have done it ages ago. Let’s just go. All this talk is making my head hurt.”

Damon lets out a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes. “Fine. But if Stefan starts preaching about morality or—God forbid—Elena, I’m leaving him to pay the tab.”

Stefan’s smirk grows. “I’d pick a better conversation starter than Elena, trust me.”

You give an unimpressed half-smile. “Don’t even mention her name. As far as I’m concerned, she doesn’t exist unless she’s blocking my path to a stiff drink.”

That shuts both of them up. They exchange a quick glance—some silent vampire communication or whatever—then Damon jerks his head toward the passenger door. “Shotgun’s yours,” he says to you, ever the gentleman when it comes to seating. To Stefan, he adds begrudgingly, “Guess you can squeeze into the back...or the trunk.”

Stefan’s lip twitches like he’s fighting off a retort, but he says nothing. Instead, he silently moves to the rear door. You can’t help but grin. It’s absurd that they both share you yet still bicker like five-year-olds over the smallest shit. But hey, maybe that’s part of the charm.

Once inside Damon’s Camaro, you sink into the leather seat, adjusting your legs as you feel Stefan’s presence behind you. The tension is thick—crackling with desire, frustration, and that constant competition. You kind of love it. Damon revs the engine, and the car peels away from the curb.

“Any chance we can make this a quick pit stop at the Grill?” you say, your gaze shifting between them. “I need something to eat, maybe a drink or two, but I’m not really in the mood to fraternize with the entire damn town.”

Damon flicks you a sidelong glance. “Someone’s impatient. Looking to skip straight to dessert, sweetheart?”

A grin tugs at your lips. “I’d just rather not get cornered by whichever idiot wants the latest gossip on Elena’s meltdown.”

Stefan leans forward, resting his forearms on the front seats. “We can be in and out in under thirty minutes. Grab some wings, maybe a bourbon—or three—and leave.” He lowers his voice suggestively. “After that, I wouldn’t mind some privacy.”

Damon makes a sound of reluctant agreement. “Deal. But don’t whine when you realize your tolerance is way lower than mine, Brother.”

Stefan just smirks. “Don’t worry about me, Damon. Worry about yourself.”

The quick banter settles into a charged silence as the lights of Mystic Falls blur by. The neon sign of the Grill soon comes into view, and Damon maneuvers into a parking spot with practiced ease.

“Let’s get this over with,” you mutter, pushing the car door open. “I’m not about to waste my entire night entertaining half-drunk townspeople.”

Stepping onto the sidewalk, you can already see a few familiar faces through the window—Caroline, Matt, maybe Tyler. You can’t be bothered to care. The only drama you want tonight is the kind that ends in moans, not tears. And if Elena hasn’t slithered over here yet, you might just get your way.

Damon slides an arm around your waist possessively again, and Stefan eyes the gesture with an annoyance that’s as old as time. You sigh inwardly. No matter how many times you remind them you belong to both, they still can’t help but try to stake their separate claims. Vampire pride, maybe.

As you head inside, the ambient chatter and smell of bar food envelop you. A few heads turn—this is Mystic Falls, after all, and you’re making a very public entrance with both Salvatores. Let them stare. Let them talk.

“Your usual table?” Damon asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” you say. “Let’s just grab a seat and order. I’m fucking starving.”

The three of you slip into a booth. Damon slides in beside you, Stefan on the opposite side. A cute server looks mildly flustered as she hands out menus. You can see her eyes flick between Damon and Stefan, likely recalling the messy history each has with Elena. If she notices you’re with them in a more intimate sense, she doesn’t comment. Probably for the best.

“So,” Damon says, flipping open the menu, “bourbon and wings? Or do we want to start with something stronger?”

Stefan doesn’t bother with the menu. “I’ll have what you’re having,” he says with a forced casualness, drumming his fingers on the table. He’s clearly aware eyes are on you three. You can practically feel the tension rolling off him—like he’s waiting for the next potential disaster.

You roll your eyes at the both of them. “Bourbon’s fine. Then if someone pisses me off, we can move on to whiskey shots until I forget this entire night.”

Damon flashes that trademark smirk. “You, pissed off? Shocking.”

Stefan snorts, finally cracking a faint smile. “I’m sure we’ll manage to avoid any drama.”

A short, barking laugh leaves you. “In this town? With the three of us in the same damn booth? Doubtful.”

But you push aside the building dread. Because at least you’re here on your terms, Elena’s sob story is miles away, and you have both Salvatores at your side—bickering, sure, but ultimately yours. And that realization, twisted as it might be, makes a satisfied grin curl your lips. With a raised brow, you signal the server for your order. Let the vultures talk, let Elena sulk. You’ve got bigger, better things to do tonight—and two vampires to do them with.

“Bring on the bourbon,” you say, leaning back. “I’ve got all fucking night.”

[softlypaintedseafoam]

🍓ー thank you for your patronage at the strawberry witch’s bakery! here’s your order!

requested by: a lovely anon 🍓 -> law + strawberry tart (making up after a fight)

It's 2am when you drag yourself out of the sleeping quarters and Law is already in the kitchen. A small ache of discomfort forms in your chest, the two of you watching one another warily.

Your mouth opens, lips dry and stiff, but not one sound comes. Not a single word. With a grimace, your mouth closes again. It isn't until Law raises it that you notice the coffee pot nestled in his hands, "want a cup?" In spite of the question, his voice is strained and his brown eyes seem black.

It's bait, hesitant as it may be, it's bait.

Knowing this fact, it's difficult to make yourself ignore it and turn around promptly. Maybe it's how his eyebags seem more prominent in the Polar Tang's lighting and how his hair is messy at all sides. Law's isn't one who tosses and turns in his sleep. No, he sleeps much like a log once he's surrendered himself to sleep. A quick breath escapes you before you step forward, gently nudging Law away from the cupboards.

"2am isn't the right time for making coffee," you murmur, reaching for your collection of chamomile tea. "Doctors are the worst patients; you never listen to your own advice."

There's a pout in his voice when he replies, "I'm not sick, so there's no advice I'm breaking right now."

Your response is a subdued snort of disbelief. "Regardless, you won't get to sleep with coffee. We don't even have decaf." Another bold-faced lie that Law doesn't have the desire to press. The crew never buys anything decaffeinated coffee beans; it'd be a nightmare if Bepo and Shachi got their hands on anything but. "So put that thing down. Let the real kitchen master do their thing here."

With your orders, it's as if you're roles have switched and you're the captain of the Heart Pirates. Law steers clear of your way, far enough you won't bump into one another, but close enough. You don't feel the desire to snip at him because of it, not even as you awkwardly wait by the stovetop watching the kettle.

Close enough to feel one another's presence, but not so close you're pressing against one another either. Like there's an invisible line preventing the two of you from fully indulging in one another's touch. It's an uncomfortable feeling that not even a warming pot water can fix.

You're a couple that seldom has arguments. Regardless of how many battles you conquer, however, you'll never get used to this energy. You'll never get used to the feeling of not knowing how to function properly in this odd period after a fight's taken place. You wish your mind would stop going over the 'I could have done this differently's. You didn't do those things differently and no amount of reflection will take you back to that moment in time before things escalated.

A sigh escapes your mouth. There's no time like the present, at least. "Law-"

"I'm sorry," the dark-haired man says before you're able to truly start. You look to your left, eyebrows knit and lips pursed. "You were trying to help. I was being stubborn."

"I shouldn't have called you bullheaded and insensitive," you reply, your voice feeling too loud for the quiet of the kitchen. Even if Law can be stubborn, you know better than anyone Law is sensitive. There's too much care of his in that tall body of his than he knows what to do with. "I just worry sometimes that… you might go overboard. Like when you were dealing with Joker."

Separating himself from the crew to deal with the Warlord on his own was gut-wrenching on its own. Now with Wano on the horizon and an Emperor of the Sea along with it, your anxieties only feel heighten. "I just want you to rely on us more. We all do. No more trying to make yourself the only casualty; just trust that we'll be able to rise to the challenge once it's here. Please."

You're not sure what thoughts are swimming in the doctor's mind, watching carefully how his face contorts with your every word. Law cares. Too much at times. "I'm not asking you to change overnight," you start again, brushing the back of your hand against his. "But some baby steps would be nice, don't you think?"

His smile is tired but it can't hide itself, "baby steps are doable."

[noxiousgrace]

I'm not sure who said it first, but the theory that krs is the red dragon has been on my mind for days now

And it would make so much sense if that was the case

Like what's a better twist than finding out the man who ended the white stars bullshit is also the same being who was used to start it all?

And the fact that krs was able to be affected by white stars curse is so much worse now

Imagine sherrit finding out her child was hurt by the same thing she created to protect him 😭

This also places immense suspicion on the god of death, i mean it never made sense to me that the white star was just able to "pass his curse around" like a sickly virus just because he stole someones body. It sounds more plausible to me that the god of death never added the rule "this curse cannot affect anybody else" and then used it as a loophole to curse KRS.

The curse was a punishment for an oath only dragon slayers have made, what the hell could be more targeted and specific than that??? And now you're telling me this random guy from raon has to live with it in korea cuz the white star took his body before that soul got to inhabit it??

The only person who can break a curse is the one who made the curse and the person who wanted it to be made (in this case the GoD and Sherrit)

And in the sealed test choi jung gun says "the god of death is trying to hold the curse back from affecting you"

Excuse me??? He can't dispel his own curse?? I don't believe that at all. Also krs had nothing to do with the white star since he was born, so why is it impossible to remove him from the effects of it?? The god of death had about 36 years to figure out how to make it go away, and he just couldn't?? I smell bullshit

Sherrit also said that the red egg was affecting it's surroundings before it was born, the dragon inside would've been powerful to extents she probably couldn't even comprehend

It makes more sense to me if the GoD just wanted to get rid of any competition/ "wrench in his plans" and used the excuse of protecting sherrits children to create the perfect scenario to take out 2 birds with one stone

GoD does seem kinda stupid when we see him but it's always the mfs with that kind of act that are the most suspicious, also he literally became a god?? If he can do that, then he's more than capable of setting up some kind of intricate plan to get what he wants

Anywho, there's also other things I've noticed:

1) never accepting park jin tae as king until he proved himself, krs has never submitted to anyone without a valid reason for doing so. Which would seem kinda weird cuz he spent 90% of his upbringing being beaten into submission. I've only ever seen an attitude like that in dragons or just stronger creatures in general (coincidence? I think not)

2) this has been stated before but his affinity with dragons is crazy + he's constantly being mistaken for one 😭

3) the GoD called krs a mutant, we don't know why yet but being a human with the soul of a dragon is a pretty valid reason to call someone a mutant. (Especially if that mutant was able to activate a small % of its attribute)

4) i don't have anything to back this up with, but instant being his attribute instead of a power he got on earth would be pretty cool, just using it for a little bit is enough to injure him because it's meant to be used by a dragon as powerful as the Red one.

----

Imagine eden finding out that the heart he ate to become a chimera belonged to the person who saved him 😭

Imagine the rest of the dragons finding out cale henituse is a "dragon" that will literally die from using his attribute because he's living in the wrong body 😭😭

---

Cales honest reaction to that information:

[energ00n]

Hey, Jazz anon here. Before I begin, I just wanna say I'm sorry. I was way too confrontational in my original ask because I was angry at the time, and as such I think it muddied my original point about tactness I was trying to make lol.

I'll try to keep this as short as I can, but I'd also like to go in more depth than my original ask so that I hope my point is better understood.

The point I was trying to make is that the writing choices we make in our narratives will always be indicative of the real world since we are real people writing from our own experiences. It doesn't matter what the setting is, or that "they're robots!," especially if we are dealing with a character that has parallels with the real world like Jazz. As such, it's very easy to fall into stereotype pitfalls when writing since everyone has been exposed to media that pushes stereotypes. I think we should ask ourselves why we are putting an unequivocally black character in a situation that is similar to real-world stereotypes of black men being used as an obstacle or road block in a relationship.

That is to say, I don't think you're racist. At all. I don't know why you said that I accused you of racism since even in my original spiteful anon I specified that I didn't think you were intentionally leaning into negative connotations about a black character. I just wanted to make you aware, but I admit, it was a poor explanation.

I'm going to address a couple quick points here that I have seen:

-"you just don't like jazzop!" No? Jazzop is unironically one of my favorite ships right now, which is why I want it to be portrayed well.

-"the AU isn't about racism" That's true, it's not. But that doesn't take away Jazz's blackness either, so I don't really see why the setting would change that.

- "Why did you not bring up Megatron?" I originally considered doing that in my original ask, but I was mainly too lost in the jazz sauce to include it in my original ask. But you said it yourself: Megatron is black, and as such, we should also be writing him with the same tact that Jazz deserves. I could divulge into the way that black men are similarly written to be hyper possessive in fiction, which also rubbed me the wrong way, but my ask is getting way too long and I think that it all ties back to educating yourself on common harmful tropes directed at black people.

I really hope this doesn't come off as pretentious because that was the furthest thing from my intention. Also sorry if I scared you with a freakishly long ask, I just wanted to have a dialogue properly. Thank you

I just woke up and my brain my be straying but I do commend you for coming back to expand upon your point. However you’ve still yet to answer my question: What tempting Jazz did to Orion?

If you’ve read my work beyond a few words, you’d know by now that this “love obstacle” doesn’t exist. Do you see your partner/crush having friends as an obstacle? Are you projecting? Jazz doesn’t “steal Orion’s away” (Doesn’t count if you turn off your brain and read everything through 3-word tropes). Not once did he take the initiative. It’s Orion who understandably wanted to hangout and catch up, it’s Orion who wanted to borrow the visor and took it before Jazz answered, and it’s D who suddenly views Jazz as an opponent upon sight. The whole thing wasn’t about Jazz being a home-wrecker, it’s about D and his emotional constipation, his insecurities.

Now that you actually mentioned Megatron, it’s extra ridiculous. Megatron, not TFO Megatron, MEGATRON, has been perceived as an angry possessive mf for years before TFO came along but the only thing you got out of it is this how we’re badly portraying black men. At this point I have to ask why are you so obsessive with racial stereotypes to such an uncomfortable degree? Did you think the movie was racist for making Megatron so aggressive and eventually became the villain too? You had to have because I’d start thinking you’re playing pick and choose.

I think I’m slowly seeing how you view things anon and it’s… pretty gross. You view them as their races before they’re characters. You diminish characters’ personalities, motivations and values just because they’re black-coded, you wouldn’t have a damn issue if I flip the table and draw SG!Orion being grossly possessive. To your own logic, black-coded characters should never be intense or have strong emotions, they should all be mild-mannered and I think that has a much more disturbing implications.

I want to clarify there’s a time and place where characters can really be used to harm folks of the minority group, like shit, I’m Asian, I know how it goes. But is this really the one? Really?? This AU? This AU even before I actually delve into its actual topic of racism in the story?? Dang.

I’ve said it a hundred times and I’ll say it again, I do not like cheap tropes, leave alone racist stereotypes. And you’re sitting here accusing me of not only tactless writing but also indulging in this ugly thing that’s not even a part of my culture. It’s not fun. You didn’t directly call me a racist but really, if you can conclude that Jazz was being portrayed as a picture of racial stereotypes from the handful of time he’s actually appeared, I can easily take how the previous ask pinned me as someone ignorant to my racism. Easily.

I think it’s high time we parted ways, anon. Clearly my story isn’t for you and I personally don’t want you around. I hope you’ll find a different media you’re more comfortable with

[mj-iza-writer]

Whumpee sighed and rolled their eyes as Whumper's friends commanded them to sit. They half-heartedly sat down. Sloppily, the way they knew Whumper hated, but these idiots weren't Whumper.

"No, do it like you're supposed to", one of them crossed their arms, "what was Whumper's command."

Whumpee shrugged their shoulders. They weren't going to talk regardless, not without permission, but they had zero plans on helping these fools with that freaken command anyways.

"It was sit something", a friend thought out loud.

One of the friends got down into Whumpee's face.

"You know what we are asking you to do, so do it already", they spoke gruffly, "I'll tell Whumper you're misbehaving."

Whumpee sat like a statue, looking straight ahead, not bothering to make eye contact.

"Whumper, I think your pet is broken. They won't listen to us", friend D complained.

"What is your command where they sit really nicely?", friends B called.

Whumper came out of the kitchen carrying drinks.

"Whumpee, sit pretty for me", Whumper commanded while passing the drinks to their friends.

Whumpee adjusted how they sat to be more straightened. They puffed out their chest, pulled their knees up, and placed their hands on the floor, palms down. This pose was extremely uncomfortable and took forever to learn. Not from Whumpee being difficult, but their body not liking the stress position.

"That is one of their special commands, meaning I'm the only one they have to listen to for it", Whumper sat down, "Whumpee release."

Whumpee released with a gasp of relief, and sat down their normal way, the way Whumper wanted.

"It's a stress pose and shouldn't be used for a long period of time", Whumper smiled at their pet, "that's why only I can give it to them, so they don't get injured."

Whumpee sighed in relief that Whumper made it clear that Whumpee only needed to listen to them.

"Why do you care if they are comfortable?", friend A kicked at Whumpee playfully, "the little fucker shouldn't be treated so well."

"They're a pet. You wouldn't treat your dog so poorly. Whumpee is no different to me", Whumper frowned, "it takes a while to learn these tricks. Mostly because their body needs to be trained to do it. It would waste the time I've spent on training them if I broke them. You all know I don't like wasting time."

"What's another special trick they know", friend B asked.

"Whumpee", Whumper waited for them to look up. They made their hands into the shape of a gun and pointed it at Whumpee, "bang."

Whumpee dramatically fell to the floor and closed their eyes. They pushed their tongue out of their mouth as a finishing touch.

"Good job Whumpee", Whumper laughed.

His friends also joined in and laughed.

Whumpee popped their head up and looked at Whumper for another command.

"What's your favorite trick?", Whumper looked at Whumpee happily.

That was sneakily a command for Whumpee.

Whumpee got up and crawled away and laid down on their dog bed.

"Wh... what did they just do?", friend A frowned.

"It's a sneaky trick to tell them to go relax", Whumper grinned, "it's just funny to watch them crawl away after asking what their favorite trick is. The command combines bed and at ease."

"Whumpee, do you want a slice of pizza?", Whumper set their plate on their lap.

Whumpee looked up and nodded.

"Come here, I grabbed an extra slice", Whumper grinned.

Whumpee quickly got off of their bed and crawled to Whumper.

"Sit", Whumper waited until Whumpee was right in front of them, "good Whumpee."

Whumpee sat excitedly and looked at the pizza.

"Here, don't make a mess please", Whumper handed them the plate.

Whumpee excitedly grabbed at the pizza and took their first bite.

"What food do they eat normally?", one friend watched curiously.

"Normal human food. I'm not a monster. They need to eat food that gives their body nutrients", Whumper watched Whumpee, "normally it's a strict diet. That's how I eat, so it only makes sense to feed them like that as well. They occasionally get a treat though."

Whumpee licked their fingers happily after their last bite. They looked at Whumper, then at their hands.

"You may have another slice if you like", Whumper stood, "but you won't get any more food tonight. Two slices will definitely be enough for your dinner."

Whumpee quickly nodded, and happily crawled behind Whumper as they went into the kitchen.

"Here you go", Whumper handed them a big slice, then patted their head, "my friends will gone in a little while, then we can relax."

Whumpee looked happily at the slice as Whumper talked.

"I may even allow you to eat a cookie tonight", Whumper chuckled, "how does that sound?"

"It sounds good Master", Whumpee giggled.

"Did that thing just talk?", all of the friends yelled.

"Yes, Whumpee can speak. I just don't think they like you guys. They talk to my other friends just fine", Whumper yelled out the kitchen, "my other friends don't call them mean names though or kick them."

"Oh, come on", the friends poured into the kitchen, "make them talk again."

"Whumpee, what's your favorite trick", Whumper turned to grab a drink from the counter.

Whumpee placed their half eaten slice of pizza in their mouth and crawled between the groups legs and to their bed.

"Oh, come on", they complained dramatically.

Whumpee giggled as they sat in their bed and ate.

Whumper came out and sat down.

"I can't get them to do anything", they jokingly sighed, "such a bad pet."

"You're a liar", their friends stared longingly at Whumpee.

"Speak", one of them commanded.

"That's not the command", Whumper laughed loudly.

Their friends turned to glare at Whumper.

Whumper shrugged.

"Should have been nicer to them", Whumper sighed playfully, "maybe next time."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@weirdthingweee @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

@whumpbump @everythingsscary

@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

@theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

@candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers

@starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

@lumpofsand @watermeezer

@indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains

@risk606 @electrons2006

@paperprinxe @whumprince

@kaz-of-crows @mis-graves

@decaffeinatedtimetraveler94 @sausages-things

@isikedmyself878 @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud

@valravnthefrenchie @glennemerald

@jasperthecapser @does-directions

@jumpywhumpywriter @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @thenormalestever

@whatwhump @galatic-worm

@starmoon-constellation @bacillusinfection

[nugatorysheep]

What your favorite SU character says about you but it's just mean as fuck

Steven — How is being a mentally ill, people-pleasing queer going for you? Did your mommy issues and anxiety resolve themselves yet or are you still avoiding therapy?

You either disliked or were neutral about him until he got a neck. You think Future is peak cinema (correct) and can't understand why everyone else hates it. You have a better grasp on this show's characters and themes than most of the people who watched it.

Connie — You were likely the gifted kid in school but a total burn-out now. You either see a lot of yourself in this character (How are those helicopter parents of yours doing? Have you gone no-contact yet?) or you're a normie and boring to sandbox with. Probably both.

You've got a lot of Feelings™️about her and if people don't agree it causes Problems™️. In case no one has told you yet, stop caring what other people think. Your constant virtue signaling to appeal to other normies is a crutch that's just holding you back. It's okay to have fun!!

Stevonnie — You want to fuck this character, though you'd never say that out loud. You like Steven and Connie; maybe you like one more than the other, but you like both at least a little. If you're using them for shipping you're the only person in the entire fandom doing whatever hyper-specific ship you've latched onto.

Rose and or Pink — You really suck as a person! Or you used to suck but you've gotten a lot better and we stan! If you're the former you almost certainly have terrible takes on this show (but not in the way people might think), sorry, I don’t make the rules. Either way, you gotta stop finding ways to bring her back, dawg. She's gone.

Greg — You're a man (positive) and gay as hell. Gentleman on the streets and a fucking freak in the sheets. We stan. Pop off king <3

Garnet — If you headcanon her as acespec she is not actually your favorite, Ruby and Sapphire are your favorite, but you like them both equally so you just say you like Garnet. If you headcanon her as anything else you're definitely shipping her with one of the other gems, probably Pearl or Jasper.

Amethyst — Super chill person. Would be in most people's dream blunt rotation. You're a live and let live kinda guy and I respect that, but you also have no hills you'd die on so you're not the first person anyone goes to if they need serious support. You can get away with misinterpreting this character (on purpose or accidentally) because it's hard to say things about her that most people won't just shrug at and go "yeah that sounds right I guess"

Pearl — You're annoying as hell. You see yourself in this character and that's not a good thing. Your social media presence gives off the same energy as every white woman's Instagram profile. If being a victim was a contest you'd take home the gold.

You think everyone is out to get you. They're not.

You think you're being persecuted. You're not.

Most people who see you from a distance and don't know better think you're alright, so you're probably pretty well-liked in public. The only people you will get along with in close quarters are all walking mean lesbian stereotypes.

Peridot — You're annoying as hell for a different reason. You see yourself in this character too and that is a terrible, terrible thing.

She's your pfp on every website and app that will allow it. Your lifeblood is this fucking character and e v e r y o n e will know it. You're weirdly possessive of her and the hyper specific headcanons you made for her (even if you don't say that) despite every grass-fearing autistic person on the internet projecting onto her, so ironically you don't like other Peridot fans, which always ends up with you sitting alone even on websites with millions of people on them.

90% chance you're a furry, otherkin, therian or think you have DID. You think you're misunderstood, and in some ways you are, but the reality is most people don't speak dog and don't have the time or energy to learn. You need to go outside and learn to speak cat whether you want to or not

Lapis — You don't like Peridot fans or kinnies, which is weirdly in-character. You're the biggest hater but you don't hide it and I can respect that. You think Lapis is a victim, but you're only half right. You would probably fall for propaganda if it was dressed up fancy enough.

Jasper — You want to fuck this character, full stop. There's a 50/50 chance you're chill af or the most insufferable person on the planet. If you're the former you're friends with a lot of people. You float easily from one group to another, but a jack of all trades is a master of none, and you're no one's first pick if they're looking for someone close. You probably hate Lapis and her fans but you should really just let that shit go ngl

Spinel — You need therapy (derogatory) and you're making that everyone else's problem. Despite the clown aesthetic you're not very funny to be around and you should get a better sense of humor. You project onto this character way too hard and it shows in your fandom habits and headcanons, but most of the time that's fine

Like Spinel, you're a little two-faced. Some people pick up on that right away and some don't. The people who do hold you at arms length until you make it clear which clown you'd rather be. You hate it when people ship Spinel with any character besides your favorite pairing, but you'll never say that out loud unless it's a ship the people you're talking to don't like.

Blue Diamond — You're a man (derogatory) or a minor who doesn't actually understand anything about this character yet, and would immediately fall for any and all forms of propaganda

Yellow Diamond — If you think she is wearing a helmet you're a man (derogatory) and you expected things out of SU that were never gonna happen. If you think it's just hair you have a much better grasp on this character than 90% percent of SU's fandom and I'm platonically kissing you on the mouth.

White Diamond — You're a man (derogatory) or an incredibly based and sexy queer.

The Zircons — You like Ace Attorney, or would like it if you haven't played it yet. You're making them kiss sloppy style. UwU

Lars — You probably didn't like him until after he died. You will defend this boy with your fucking life. Also you should just…. go watch Star Trek if you haven't. Seriously what are you doing—

Sadie — You're an oddball. Very lax though. You have complicated feelings about Shep

Peedee — You're a little quirky, a little freaky, but you're too scared to just say that. You desperately need some fun in your life, but the people around you make that difficult. Eventually you'll find the folks that are worth hanging around. See you on the flip side :)

Ronaldo — You're the type of person this character is based on and you take it in stride. If you're shipping him with Lars, you're the only person who's opinion on this character matters.

Kevin — I dunno who hurt you but you have a terrible taste in men. You only have fun in bed if it involves a damn near human rights violation

Mayor Dewey — You're normalbirb

Any other townie — This is a trick question! No one has these as their favorite lmao

[olderthannetfic]

I mean, I do feel like if someone was traumatized by their religious upbringing, helping them to recognize that as a bad thing and helping them to be free of it is arguably the right move? Yeah just telling them “god isn’t real, get over it” is most likely insensitive but arguably freeing them of their self hating beliefs is the ideal outcome?

--

Man... I was raised to despise religion, but a steady diet of nerdy youtube and really weirdly anti-intellectual takes on tumblr has forced me into repeatedly defending religion. I did not ask for this, but here we are.

Personally, I find most religion kind of dumb, but it is a key part of a great portion of humanity's search for meaning. It's the backbone of so many cultures in so many places and times. Knowing about it is useful for everything from being more politically informed to making up better fantasy world building in fiction.

When a person has religious trauma because they were told that their religion, in this context probably Christianity, hates them, telling them to ditch religion is like telling them they're not allowed to ever have a birthday party again because their abusive parents did something awful at their past ones. Ah yes, cut yourself off from major celebrations and cultural experiences, not to mention community. That's sure to fix things!

It would be far more effective at 1. making them feel better and 2. making them stop adhering to a shitty religion if we introduced them to better religion.

The history of Christianity is one of the most studied subjects on the fucking planet. There are a multitude of progressive scholars who have explored things like how the early church very possibly had major female figures that later asswipes tried to downplay and cover up. I think Religion for Breakfast has some interesting videos that at least touch on this.

There's a whole complex conversation to be had both about how the early church actually handled same-sex relationships and about why a given prescription is even in there from an anthropological perspective. Take the pork thing: it's probably about taxes. Some of the others are about differentiation from nearby groups at the time. Understanding the historical cultural context helps dismantle the idea that this or that specific prescription is a vital core part of the religion that must remain unchanging thousands of years later.

"A true Christian wouldn't have abused their gay kid" is a far better message than "Give up everything you know", and it has plenty of support from scholars who are deeply religious but not dumbass textual literalists who can't grasp that even if a holy text were the word of god, English language edition such-and-such is subject to human interference in the form of All Your Base-level translators.

If Christianity or whatever religion is the issue is a no go due to the traumatized person's past experiences, plenty of people would still be happier finding a different religion than going without.

I really, really cannot emphasize this enough: Religion is a key part of many people's lives the same way, say, sex is.

A lot of people around here seem to fundamentally not get this in the same way that you see people who haven't realized how ace they are going "But whyyyyy?" over the central role that horny plays in somebody else's life. You don't gotta get it, my dudes. Doesn't mean it's going away.

Even just understanding the parameters of what counts as religion and all the different flavors that exist out there will help put the trauma into context for many people. Your asshole parents are in a cult not because all religion is lies but because this Christianity has been perverted into a vehicle for abuse. Other religious people like the scientific method, research, logic, and evidence. It's just your church that's atrocious.

Shitty religion leads to self hate.

You can pick another religion.