#after this john becomes insufferable for a while

[sandflakedraws]

continuing thoughts from This Dream AU

re : why it might have taken the gang a while to find Bruce & Floyd

how about i erase just a little bit of the plot convenience from TBT

what if, bruce's postcard didn't survive unscathed, and they had to go off of john dory's foggy memory of the thing.

so like. they're stumbling their way through a bunch of could-be-heres before they hit on the correct one.

and what if, the Vacay Resort section was legit hard to find.

like, the entire island chain is still at Vacaytioner scale, right? so even if the search party's idea to eventually look there was right, it could still take a long time to navigate thru the tropical jungle on any individual island, let alone many of them.

.... aaaaand what if i drew way too much for a potential reunion anyways because i'm a sap

[brianquinnlvr]

𝐁𝐅𝐁, 𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧

PART TWO ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

SUMMARY you've had a crush on your best friends older brother for at least three years now. but he's always been so far out of reach that the thought of the two of you together just sounded wrong to others. for starters, he's three years older than you. and while that isn't a problem now that you're 19 and hes 22, which is not illegal, it was always a problem at the beginning of your crush. another bump in the road happens to be the fact that you're a pogue, and not just any pogue, john b routledge's twin sister. it wasn't necessarily his distaste for pogues though, it was more of a reputation thing. but after a party one night, maybe he can put his reputation aside.

previous part, next part (coming soon), series masterlist

warnings: suggestive jokes, slight age gap, swearing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of weed

sarah.cam ugh ur so cute

↳ yn_routledge stop playing boy i will kiss tf outta you😭😭😭

↳ jbroutledge 😒😒

↳ yn_routledge boy shut tf up

kiecarreraaa my top in the 4th slide 🤨

↳ yn_routledge whT top? 😅😅

rafecameron7 i like your shorts

↳ yn_routledge i like your wallet that payed for them🙂↕️

jaymaybank69 🔥🔥🔥

↳ yn_routledge npc

jbroutledge trigger warning next time pls

↳ yn_routledge we're twins and somehow ur still uglier! stop talking boi 😐↔️

you dragged yourself out of bed, stretching and rubbing your eyes groggily as a yawn escaped your lips. you'd started to all the boy's i've loved before when you woke up, your tv volume low. your personality didnt really match the way you adored romance. you didn't seem like the type of girl to enjoy cheesy rom coms or a good romance novel. but you loved all of it, yearning for love yourself, wondering when one day your peter kavinsky would come around.

it did become exhausting at times, being the only single one out of your friends. you were constantly 7th wheeling, and it wasn't like you were going to meet anybody on this tiny ass island where everyone knew everyone and was either literally insufferable, or only wanted one thing.

you looked around the room, spotting your overused bong and lighter that was nearly out of juice and sitting at the small desk in your room. this was an often reoccuring morning ritual for you, one of the only perks about having no parents was your dad never complaining about the smell. your mother was never even around long enough to have to witness it.

you got out your bag of weed, placing the buds in the grinder and twisting it as your eyes trained on the tv, the fan in your room blowing on you occasionally as it was on rotate.

suddenly your door flew open, making your skeleton jump out of your skin. you turned around to see a laughing jj. "dude what the fuck is wrong with you, don't just barge in my room like that." he continued laughing, sitting on the edge of your bed as his eyes moved to the weed on your desk. "no invite? this is tragic."

you rolled your eyes, packing the grinded weed into bowl piece. "i didn't even know you were here, i've literally barely opened my eyes." the lighter, now in between your fingers, burnt the plant as you sucked the smoke, clearing it quickly and passing him the glass piece. "yeah well i came here unnanounced looking for your brother. twinkies here, bro is nowhere to be found."

"probably with sarah. pretty sure they had plans on the beach today." he took his hit, passing it back to you. "wanna pull up on them?"

you shook your head, putting the lighter to the glass again. as you spoke again, the smoke flowed out of your mouth, filling the air with the foggy scent of burnt weed. "nah. its my grocery day, plus i have to clean this dirty ass house cus i lost a bet with john b."

"i can go to the grocery store with you if you want. aint got shit to do today." you shrugged. "alright. but you are not driving anywhere and i am dead serious."

"bruh thats not fair. yn, i am a god when it comes to driving high-" "jj please shut up. i'd rather surgically remove my own eardrums than hear any of your crazy high driving stories where you 'almost died' that i've heard a million times." he rolled his eyes. "whatever."

the two of you ripped the bong a few more times, before you kicked him out of your room so you could get ready. you didn't do much, just threw on a hoodie that you'd stolen from your brother and a pair of pajama shorts, your hair going into two braids.

the grocery trip was easy, and after the two of you went back to the chateu and stocked the fridge, you cleaned up quickly and ultimately decided to leave again and sneak up on sarah and john b.

you climbed out of the drivers seat of the twinkie, parked next to sarah's car which was easy to spot due to the stickers on the back window, climbing out and easily finding spotting them.

"no invite?" you shouted, making your way to your brother, your large t-shirt the only thing over your bathing suit as you walked up to him. he turned around to the sound of your voice, crossing his arms. "my apologies for wanting to spend quality time with my girlfriend."

you rolled your eyes, noticing that sarah's brother and a few of his kook friends were there. "you didn't invite me because rafe is here, actually. i'm not stupid."

"well you can't keep your mouth shut when he's around, i didn't want to deal with you being thirsty." laying your towel on the sand and sitting on it, you looked up at your brother, one eye squinted and your hand hovering just above your eyebrows to block the sun from your eyes. "i don't know if i should be offended or honored that you think i have the confidence to be as annoying about him in person as i am over messages."

john b opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything jj finally caught up, uninvitedly sitting on your towel, a bit of sand kicking its way onto you. "what are we talking about?"

you swatted at his shoulder. "you just got sand all over me, so i'm gonna leave you two and go find my perfect angel babygirl sarah." you didn't wait for a response, standing up and making your way to sarah.

"well hi! what are you doing here?" she said, abandoning her conversation with rafe who now stood there awkwardly. "jj decided to bug me so i made him go to the grocery store with me and we got bored."

"well i wanted to invite you but your brother said no." you scoffed lightheartedly. "whatever. i don't like him anyways." you peered your head around her, eyes on rafe for a moment before looking back at sarah. "didn't mention this beefcake was gonna be here." you were just far enough for him to not hear you, thankfully because after your rewatch of your favorite rom-com this morning, you were not in the mood to get subtly rejected.

"beefcake? oh my god, yn you actually make me sick." you giggled softly. "i can't help it. look at him." you said, sticking your hand out to gesture toward him. "trust me honey, i have. its not pleasent and i honestly don't know what you see but whatever floats your boat i guess."

"hater." you mumbled. "well, there is a bonfire tomorrow at the boneyard. maybe you could come and get some action or something to get you to shut up about my brother!"

you pressed your lips together, tilting your head. "no way in hell i'm coming to a party. you know me, i don't even know why you asked that." she crossed her arms. "come on, you're the only one of us that isn't going. and you could actually have fun for once in your life instead of rotting away in the chateu and smoking weed for a living. plus, rafe will be there. i know i said get over him but i'm trying to think of reasons to get you to come."

"okay first of all, i do have fun. my binge watching keeps me entertained, and i'd literally rather die than-" "socialize? yeah we know. you're like rapunzel if she willingly hid in her tower."

suddenly rafe walked over, his attention completely on sarah, not even acknowledging your existence, but still technically speaking to you once he opened his mouth. "top's having me run to the store to get some beer and shit. either of y'all want anything?"

"um... can you get me a pack of high noon? and jj's probably gonna want white claw. can you get twisted tea too? and possibly a watermelon smash buzz ball if you're feeling generous pretty please." sarah listed. you didn't add anything, knowing you'll happily drink a twisted tea or a high noon.

rafe lifted his hand, sticking his pointer finger up. "wait wait wait, slow down." he started, his head shaking back and forth. "i'm not gonna remember all of that shit, dude." sarah sighed, turning to you. "yn will remember. have her go with you, she can help you carry all the shit back too."

you widened your eyes. sarah didn't necessarily love your obsession with her brother, yet she seemed to egg it on in moments like this. "um, i'm good where i'm at thanks."

"come on. i'm gonna need help anyways, and i'd rather not go alone." you also didn't expect rafe to push you further. "um, okay, i guess." you gave sarah a look that said 'i'm gonna kill you', before walking off, trailing behind rafe.

of course you didn't mind being around rafe. if anything you loved it. but being alone with him made you nervous. you barely knew the guy, and there wasn't much to talk about between the king of the kooks and a regular old pogue.

you informed jj and john b that you were leaving, following rafe to his truck awkwardly and climbing in silently. as bold as you were at times, you felt insanely weird being with him alone. "what store are we going to?" you asked, pulling the seatbelt over your torso and strapping it in.

he began pulling backward out of his parking spot, his hand on the back of your seat as he turned around to look behind him. god he was such a slut. "that corner store near the wreck." he responded, settling back into his seat and pulling off.

the ride was silent for a moment, but not comfortable silence. the kind of silence that was so deafening that it drove you insane. so you broke the silence, noticing the aux cord sticking out from his radio. "can i play music?" you asked, not waiting for a response and grabbing the cord, plugging it into your phone.

he sighed. "not if you're gonna play some girly shit like taylor swift or something." "okay first of all, have you met me?"

he chuckled lightly as you put your playlist on shuffle, 'slut era interlude' by rolemodel playing. after a few moments, you noticed rafe mumbling along to the lyrics. your eyebrows raised, shifting your body to face toward him slightly. "you know this?"

he nodded. "toppers girlfriend listens to this guy sometimes when shes in charge of the music. its alright." "you strike me as like.. a tyler the creator kind of guy."

"don't get me wrong, i love tyler too." you laughed softly, facing forward again and attempting not to stare at him. "favorite song?" you questioned.

he thought for a second. "probably lumberjack." "no way, thats my favorite tyler song too. see, we're perfect for each other." you couldn't help but flirt with him. i mean come on, you're alone in a car with rafe cameron. who wouldn't flirt.

he rolled his eyes, but unexpectedly decided to play into it. "right. whats your ring size again?" you chuckled. "no clue, actually. i like diamonds, though."

he soon pulled into the store, climbing out of the truck. "you coming?" you didn't answer, making your way out. once you were inside, he immediately went to the alcohol. "what the fuck did sarah want again?"

"a pack of high noon, white claw, twisted tea and a watermelon buzz ball. not that hard to remember buddy." he grabbed a pack of twisted tea, tucking it under his arm. "yeah, couldn't remember all of that shit even if i recited it out loud several times before i came."

"okay so, twisted tea," he said, grabbing a pack of white claw next. "white claw.. what else?" you grabbed a pack of high noon from the other side of the aisle. "and a watermelon buzz ball." you mumbled, grabbing it and tossing it to him. he caught it with his free hand. "a'ight, lets go."

you made your way to the checkout, the cashier eyeing the both of you as he scanned the stuff. after a moment, he spoke up. "you guys together?" your eyes shot up, shaking your head. such an odd question to blatantly ask. "please. he wishes." you joked, knowing the reality was the complete opposite.

he looked at you, furrowing his eyebrows as he got his wallet out. "really? i'm not the one who-" you cut him off abruptly, not wanting your business spilled. "ookay! give the poor man your ID, i'm sure he could care less about my actions." you forced an awkward chuckle, blush creeping onto your cheeks as he sighed, handing the man his identification before swiping his card.

you guys made it back to the truck in no time. "you coming to the boneyard tomorrow.?" you shook your head immediately, lifting one of your legs to your chest and resting your chin on it. "absolutely not. i don't do parties, i have a hot date with my bong and grey's anatomy."

he grimaced. "that show is ass." you scoffed, whipping your head toward him. "excuse me rafe cameron, i will not take such disrespect towards that masterpiece."

"masterpiece? its a billion seasons of like.. nothing. should've been cancelled years ago." you let out a breath through your nose. "okay, the newer seasons are bad. but the show is good, i don't care."

"whatever you say bro." it was silent for a minute, another awkward tension filled few miles, until he pulled into the beach. "you should come to the boneyard tomorrow. it'll be fun. sarah says you never get out of the house anyway."

"oh sarah was spreading my business! cute!" you were honestly surprised that rafe of all people was the one trying to push you to go, and even making you consider it. "tempting." you said sarcastically. "but i'd rather get run over!"

you climbed out of the car, thinking about it for a minute. it couldn't be that bad, could it? i mean, rafe will be there. except, you didn't really know how to talk to him. its not like he ever flirted back with you anyways, at this point it was only a humerous bit you did because you knew it aggravated your friends.

but it could be nice to socialize. and as you walked back, a bag in each hand, you realized it might actually be fun

v speaks: made yall wait almost a month and then gave u an awful little bunch of words i apologize💔 ive been so busy and then i had the flu for a week, and my writers block was SOOO bad i promise i'll be better in the next part i put this off for so long i was trying to get it over with guys😭 alsooo i will be using sophia birlems photos as y/n but, you can imagine her however you please!

taglist: @my-name-is-baby @dreamybabbyy @pogueprincesa @hypnotizedstarkey

[brain4stew]

HIIII! (Ignore this if this if this has been already sent my last one got bugged so i dont know if it got sent or not😭😭) if its ok can I request for a 1x1x1x1 x reader where it was a valentines event and they were just walking around checking booths but suddenly both of em got dragged into a marriage booth and they both have to act getting married whether they like it or not and yes they have to kiss at the end to complete it, Thank you so much!!

Hehehehe…. We live for this embodiment of hatred, being pulled into things he doesn’t like. 😇

Anyway! I’ll see what I can do with your request anon!

(As always, I do not know the characters exact personalities and so on, so they might, if not most likely will be OOC!!)

That being said, headcanons/something under the cut!! ;

• The other killers would have to quite literally beg, plead and DRAG 1x1x1x1 to the event, and have to make sure he doesn’t go and kill Shedletsky…

• When he is there, he’s most likely closed off. I mean, he’s the embodiment of hatred, what’d you expect from him? To be happy and excited? No.

• He is however, interested in the booths, the games, the decorations and the other things, that are around the event.

• Unbeknownst to him AND you, is that… Noob and Elliot thought you two would be the perfect candidates for their little booth game.

• When you were checking their booth out, Noob has, surprisingly, managed to push 1x1x1x1 to you.

• Which… Ended up with you and him being in on the game… (So much of a fun time for you and 1x1x1x1…)

• He’s distant at first, and you have to just tell him the amount of time it is on the game, and he’ll reluctantly (with hesitation) start to open up, so he can be done with this game.

• You and him start off with doing couple related things from the event. You both do get weird looks, but no one is bold enough to say anything or ask anything, as they don’t want to be on the receiving end of 1x1x1x1’s wrath…

• Noob and Elliot however, told you and 1x1x1x1, that there’s a challenge for you both. That you have to kiss, for the game to actually work! (1x1x1x1 got reasonably mad about that, and almost tried to kill them both. John Doe had to restrain him for a while because of that…)

• But, you and him reluctantly agreed, (with hesitation of course.) and kissed each other, quickly, out of embarrassment. Not wanting to actually full on kiss each other.

• Overtime as the game you and 1x1x1x1 are participating in, you both gradually seem to become more like a… Couple, somehow? (I have no idea how you managed that, but, pop off!)

• Noob and Elliot have told you that, for the game to stop, you have to make out. Yeah, you heard them correctly.

• You both were a flustered and embarrassed mess. 1x1x1x1 however, being reasonably angry at it, just, dragged you somewhere more hidden. Out of earshot and eyesight.

• Once he made sure no one was around, he pulled you towards him, and full on, made out with you. (Unfortunately that fucker is inexperienced, so you took the lead.)

• After a bit of reluctance, after you patted his arm for air, he pulls back. With you and him breathing heavily. (Unbeknownst to you both, Noob and Elliot recorder it secretly.)

• When you both came back to Elliot and Noob’s booth, you were both handed a… Pin? Which said; “Survived an embarrassing game!” You and 1x1x1x1 had to refrain from laughing at the pin…

• When the event ends, however… 1x1x1x1 will not be friendly to you in any rounds whatsoever, especially if you tease him about the game you both had.

• God, you’re insufferable. 1x1x1x1 just wants to put your ego to rest. And under him.

[lilstarkeydream]

Hidden Flames- Chapter 1

Summary: Y/N, a Kook who prefers the company of her Pogue friends, falls for Rafe Cameron. Despite their growing feelings, they maintain a facade due to their conflicting social circles and personal insecurities. Y/N is best friends with Sarah, Rafe's sister, which fuels Rafe's hidden affection. He despises how Y/N hangs out with the Pogues, believing she has more potential, while Y/N can't stand Rafe's for fights and stuck up nature. After a dramatic confrontation, they confess their feelings but must keep their relationship secret, with only Sarah in the know.

Warnings: 18+ only! Angst, Smut, Adult language, Violence, Alcohol use

Authors note: Hey guys! This is my first time writing any fan fiction, so go easy on me but I hope you enjoy. I am hoping to have another chapter up within the next week, as well as a series navigation. Feel free to send requests if you have story ideas for Rafe (check my bio).

7.1k words

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It was 9 o'clock on a Friday night. Nightfall had crept up before you knew it, and the island was alive with the buzz of another wild party. After a long day working at the golf course, you headed straight to your best friend Sarah Cameron’s white mansion. Known as the Kook princess, Sarah had welcomed you into her world since you moved to the island in middle school. The Cameron residence had become your second home, between sleepovers, getting ready for parties, and just gossip sessions. Despite the bitter fallout between Sarah and Kiara, which shattered your once inseparable trio, you managed to stay close to both, splitting your life between Kooks and Pogues. 

Sarah's boyfriend, Topper, was a constant presence. As her older brother’s best friend, he was also practically part of the family. You weren’t super fond of Topper, as he could be a self-entitled asshole, but he made her happy for the most part- besides their weekly fights and Topper getting mad at Sarah for the littlest of things. He made her happy that’s all that mattered. Rafe Cameron is Sarah's older brother and Topper's best friend, he was also a self-entitled asshole, who you, unfortunately, had to see on a weekly basis, due to the mutual connection. Topper and Rafe also golfed a lot, leaving the interactions unavoidable since you worked as a Bev cart girl for extra cash. Rafe was insufferable, to say the least, he always found a way to make your life a living nightmare. 

Your other time is spent hanging out with the Pogues- JJ, John B, Kiara, and Pope. Both you and Kiara are technically Kooks, but honestly, that lifestyle became too much for you both all the time. Hence how you found your best friends, the Pogues. The Pogues offered freedom, adventure, and a sense of belonging you hadn’t found anywhere else. Your parents disapproved, deeming your Pogue friends as bad influences. They never understood why you would want to degrade your self-worth and reputation, but they don’t understand how intoxicating Kook life can truly be. Your life felt like a constant balancing act, a war between the adventurous and fulfilling life as Pogues and the obligations of being a Kook. 

Now, you were at Sarah’s house, frantically trying to find the perfect outfit for the party, rummaging through her expensive wardrobe. You were caught between wanting to look sexy or slutty, and trying to distract yourself from the anger simmering from your encounter at work earlier that day. Every dress you held up seemed to fall short of the image you had in mind. Rafe Cameron had made yet another one of his insufferable comments, making it impossible to focus. You tried to shake off the previous encounter from the golf course.

Earlier that afternoon, the golf course was bathed in golden sunlight, creating the perfect atmosphere for your shift. As the beverage cart girl, you were used to dealing with the occasional lewd remark or entitled attitude from the Kook golfers, but Rafe always took it a step further. You had just finished serving drinks to a group of older businessmen when Rafe called over, his smirk as infuriating as ever, signaling he only wanted to cause you chaos

"Hey there, service girl," he said, leaning against the cart with an exaggerated casualness with the usually smug grin hung on his face. "Nice to see you finally doing something useful for once."

You forced a tight smile, hoping to get through the interaction without causing a scene. "Can I get you anything, Rafe?"

"Yeah, how about a little respect?" he sneered back, his body language reeking of mockery. "Or is that too much to ask from a Pogue-wannabe like you?"

Your hands instantly tightened on the steering wheel of the cart, every muscle in your body screaming at you to say something back, to put him in his place. If anything he was even worse. But you knew better. Engaging would only escalate the situation, and Rafe thrived on conflict, he wanted you to respond with a snarky comment. Instead, you focused on the task at hand, preparing his drink and handing it to him with forced politeness and a tight-lip smile on your face. 

"Here you go, Rafe. Enjoy your day."

He took the drink, his fingers brushing yours in a way that felt more like a taunt than an accident. "Don't screw it up too badly tonight, alright? Wouldn't want you embarrassing Sarah in front of everyone."

The comment stung more than you cared to admit. It wasn't just his words; it was how he always managed to make you feel small and insignificant- solidifying your existing insecurities. As he walked away, laughing with his friends, you felt the familiar mix of anger and frustration bubble up inside you.

As you were brought back from daydreaming your anger only grew, causing you to blurt out your day's frustration, "I fucking hate him, Sarah. All he does is go around doing drugs and causing fights. I was so close to flipping out today." pacing around Sarah’s room, venting. You already debriefed Sarah on the whole incident, but you couldn’t help but talk about it again. Your usual thick skin was not feeling so intact. 

Sarah looked at you with her empathic face, sighing, trying to calm you down "Y/N, you know he just tries to get under your skin. It’s what Rafe does."

Frustrated, you rolled your eyes, "He doesn't care about my feelings. He thinks I’m a total disgrace to the Kook name. Maybe he’s right. I don’t give a shit about the Kook life and do half of what I do to please my parents."

You continued pacing, finally settling on a black dress that hugged your curves, pairing it with your simple burgundy swimsuit underneath. Leaving your hair down, you opted for simple strap sandals, finally feeling ready for the night. 

Rafe Cameron is a special kind of infuriating. You try to tolerate him, you do, but his constant snarky comments about every aspect of your life makes him incredibly punchable. No matter how tall and handsome he might be, it didn’t matter in this instance. You could handle some comments, but you weren’t a complete pushover.

Sarah trying to steer the conversation to a happier note, in an attempt to diffuse your anger “Let's just go to this party, get blasted drunk, meet some people, and forget about tonight. Rafe isn't worth the stress."

Taking a deep breath, you knew she was right, momentarily letting go of your anger “You’re right. I’m not going to let him ruin our night. Let’s go have some fun." Finally settling down from your pacing, you put the final touches on your makeup sitting down in front of Sarah’s mirror.

“I know I’m right Y/N” giving me a loving side glance “Plus why does it matter what he thinks anyway. He’s always high and pissed off”. She paused for a second, finishing up her hair. “Alright, we're all ready to go and get drunk as fuck?” she said with a smug look on her face. 

You took a deep breath, letting the tension of the day slip away. Sarah's carefree attitude was contagious, and despite everything, you couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement. She might be a little blind to her brother's flaws, especially since she was dating Topper and their worlds were so intertwined, but she was still your best friend.

After a quick car drive and lots of shuffling through Sarah’s mixed-genre playlist, you arrived at the more-than-alive scene of the party. You weren’t even sure whose house it was but hell that didn’t matter. A party is a party. Music instantly fills your ears as soon as you step out of the car. The front yard was packed with people, a mixture of Kooks and Pogues mingling together, the tension of their social divide momentarily forgotten. Almost serving as a symbol for what your pogue-kook life looked like. 

Walking through the front door, the house was a blur of lights and laughter. You made your way to the kitchen, the center of every good party. You hugged Sarah as she wanted to venture off to find Topper, as usual, but you didn’t mind. You needed a little break to gather your thoughts anyway. The familiar scent of expensive cologne and perfume mingled with the heavy aroma of alcohol and smoke, creating an intoxicating atmosphere. Grabbing a red solo cup from the stack, you filled it with a generous amount of a strong mix of whatever was handy—tonight was about forgetting the week’s frustrations. You took a small sip, wincing slightly at the strong taste, but internally smiling at the immediate warmth of the alcohol that spread through your chest.

The drink was strong, probably vodka, but you needed it. As you leaned against the counter, you took a moment to take in the scene around you. The living room was a blur, with loud music thumping in conjunction with conversation and laughter. 

Despite the alive atmosphere, the exchange between you and Rafe still lurked in your mind. Sometimes you felt like a Kook who didn’t quite fit in, you have well-off parents and a promising paved future with privilege and opportunity. Your parents envisioned you with a successful career, bringing pride and status to the family name. Yet, you were never a huge fan of the behavior the Kook lifestyle manifested, often self-centered, ignorant, asshole-like individuals. Rafe is a great example of that.

With your drink secure in your hand, you pushed yourself off the counter and made your way through the house outside to the bonfire. You felt a wave of relief as soon as the fresh ocean air hit your face, heat from the fire mixed with the ocean breeze creating a perfect party atmosphere. You spotted your friends - JJ, John B, Kiara, and Pope, sitting around the fire, laughing about something stupid JJ said. The genuine joy is clear on their faces, contrasting with the pretentious kook attitudes.

With a big grin on your face, you called out, “Hey guys, mind if I join you?”

Kiara’s eyes lit up in recognition of your face, “Y/N! Get over here, come sit down. We were just talking about crazy stuff JJ pulled off last week. “ 

As you settled in, the warmth of the fire continued to provide comfort as well as your friends began to ease your previous tense state. JJ went into vivid detail about his last mischievous adventure, our expressions displaying a mix of disbelief and laughter at his antics. The conversation effortlessly flowed, sharing jokes and stories that had everyone laughing until their stomachs hurt. I could feel the effects of the alcohol starting to take effect. In other words, the night was perfect. For a moment, it felt like everything in the world was right. These moments with your Pogue friends were ones that you cherished most. They made you feel alive, grounded, and understood; something you missed out on in your Kook life.

Eventually, you reached the bottom of the solo cup, signaling a refill was needed. Standing up, you navigate your way back to the kitchen, passing both Kooks and Pogues you couldn’t put a name to. The house became a maze, with more people filing in as the night was still young. As you reached the familiar environment of the kitchen for the bottle of Vodka, you suddenly bumped into someone. Looking up, you found yourself face to face with the one and only Rafe Cameron, his ocean-blue eyes, slightly glazed with alcohol and god knows what other drugs, looking down at you. His presence was overwhelming, you could smell a mixture of his cologne and the sharpness of vodka. 

Rafe smirked down at you drunk, “Well, well, look who decided to slum it with the Pogues tonight. Have you decided you're finally trying to find yourself a real man, Y/N?”

His words were a direct hit causing you to look away, annoyance taking over your face, however, you kept your cool, “Just enjoying the party, Rafe. Not that any of it is your business” 

Rafe took a step closer, lowering his voice for only you to hear, “Everything you do is my business, Y/N. Don't you forget that?” His sudden proximity made your heart race, you felt a mix of anger and something else- something else you wouldn’t dare to acknowledge.

Flustered, you shot back, “Fuck off, Rafe. You don’t care about me.” You angrily push him away, your hands firm against the muscles of his chest, and quickly turn around, making your way back to your friends. The interaction with Rafe left you shaken, the interaction making you once again feel so small yet so noticed. You quickly downed two more drinks, trying to steady your nerves. Taking in Sarah’s words from earlier to just try and enjoy the night.

As the alcohol coursed through your veins, you started to feel a pleasant buzz, hoping the tension was behind you. You felt engulfed by your friend's laughter with the warmth of the fire.

Suddenly, your mood shifted once again, as you saw Rafe Cameron making his way towards the bonfire. This time more drunk and agitated. 

As Rade approaches he spits "Y/N, you think you can just walk away from me like that?"

You stood up, the alcohol giving you a false sense of courage. "What the hell do you want, Rafe? Can't you just leave me alone?"

Rafe rolled his eyes, continuing to mock you “Oh, look at you. Acting all tough in front of your Pogue friends. You’ll never be a pogue Y/N, just give it up!"

The Pogues immediately rose to your defense, with John B stepping forward. "Back off, Rafe. She doesn't need to deal with your shit tonight." John B stepping between you and Rafe. 

Topper, along with a few other Kooks, approached to back up Rafe. "Stay out of it, John B. This is between Rafe and Y/N."

Tensions escalated quickly as insults were thrown back and forth. You could feel the eyes of everyone around you, the entire party was now focused on the showdown. Anxiety coursing through your body, unsure of why Rafe had a sudden interest making his hatred for you a public display.

Rafe's voice grew louder, more aggressive. "You're just a joke, Y/N. You’re pathetic. You don’t belong with us Kooks, and you never will."

Your anger boiled over, you began to raise your voice. "And who are you to decide where I belong? You’re just a spoiled brat who thinks he can control everyone."

Rafe's eyes flashed with anger, and he took a step closer. "You’re going to regret saying that."

Before you could react, Rafe shoved you. The force of his push sent you stumbling backward. The Pogues immediately rushed to your side, while the Kooks moved in to support Rafe. The scene erupted into chaos, with shoving and shouting escalating into a full-blown brawl. 

John B and Topper exchanged punches, while JJ and Pope tried to hold back the other Kooks. Even with the chaos, Rafe's eyes remained locked on yours, his anger still burning. 

You struggled to regain your balance, your head spinning from the mix of alcohol and adrenaline. Kiara was at your side in an instant, helping you to your feet. "Are you okay?" she asked, her voice filled with worry.

You nodded weakly, brushing off your clothes and fixing your hair. "I think so. I didn’t hit my head or anything. I’m just really drunk." You instantly are brought back to reality realizing there’s still a fight going on, in an attempt to break it up, you make your way to John B. and Rafe.

"Stop it, Rafe!" you shouted, trying to pull him away from the fight. "This isn’t worth it!"

Ignoring you, Rafe lunged at John B again, but you stepped in between them, pushing Rafe back with all your strength. "I said, stop it!"

Sarah appeared behind Topper, her face prominent with both frustration and concern. She darted between the fighters, yelling at Rafe and Topper. "Stop it, you idiots! This is so stupid!"

Sarah was still trying to break up the fight, her voice cutting through the air. "Rafe, Topper, knock it off! You're acting like complete assholes!"

Breathing heavily, Rafe finally relented, his eyes still locked on you. He remained silent putting his hands up. Before turning around and walking away he muttered, “Dirty pogues.” You glared back at him, your chest heaving, at a loss for words.

As the thrill from the fight finally died down, everyone began to disperse, the calming party atmosphere now shattered. You turned away from the bonfire, heading toward the beach to clear your head. JJ tried to stop you from leaving telling you to stay with them, all you could do was shake your head, knowing the complexity of your emotions was too much right now. The cool night air did little to calm your racing heart. You began to feel tears prick in your eyes, the emotions of the recent events starting to overtake you. Your chest tightened as you began to silently cry, tears streaming down your face. The alcohol did little to nothing to suppress the storm. 

You were still wondering about Rafe's sudden outburst of emotion aimed toward you. He’s said many rude comments to you in the past about you hanging with the Pogues, and how it’s like you aren’t a real Kook. But never this confrontational. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the drugs. But his anger was more intense, more personal. The same feeling as earlier began to rise, the one you don’t dare to acknowledge, was there another reason for his sudden interest? 

You walked along the shoreline, the sound of the ocean filling your eyes, the waves crashing against the sand. The consistency of the ocean brings you a brief sense of relief from the chaos you were wrapped up in. Despite the beauty around you, the moonlight reflecting on the water, you felt the rage boil inside you, coming with another wave of tears.

Rafe's actions tonight suggested something more, tonight hinted at a complexity you hadn’t quite considered before. You wiped your tears with your arm, frustration continuing to bubble up within you. 

Why did he care so much about who you spent your time with? Why was he always your prying eyes, always judging? The more you ponder these ideas, the more confused you become. You couldn’t deny a spark you felt when he was close, but even if that was true, it was too deeply buried underneath many layers of anger and resentment. 

As you were still deep in your thoughts, staring out into the ocean, looking for some sort of answer, you heard footsteps approaching from behind. You turned to see Rafe following you, his expression unreadable. "Y/N, wait," he called out, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable. 

You crossed your arms, the moonlight glowing over your soft features. Rafe could see your clear hurt expression and tear-stained cheeks. “What could you possibly want Rafe? Haven’t you caused enough trouble tonight” You demanded, despite your voice trembling due to hurt and sorrow

Rafe sighed, looking away, running his hand through his hair, “I don’t know, I don’t know Y/N.” he paused for a second, words hanging heavily between you “Maybe I just… I just wanted to talk”

You scoffed at this almost instantly, and you began to turn around and walk away “You have a weird way of showing it? Insulting me, pushing me, hurting my friends.” you spat back, nothing but bitterness in your voice, unwillingly for him to truly see how deeply his actions hurt you.

But his footsteps continued to follow you, “Please” he pleaded, reaching out to grab your arm gently, causing you to turn around to face him. Your heart skipped a beat despite your anger still present. “Just… give me a chance y/n” 

Your mind raced, surprised by his vulnerability, you paused and looked up into his eyes. In this moment, the resentment you too held for each other seemed to melt away, leaving something raw and unspoken in its place. You hated the way he made you feel so small and judged yet here he was at the same time, his vulnerable voice struck something else in you, making you hesitate. Quickly second guessing if you’d regret giving him a chance to talk to you. Opening the possibility of finding out the motives behind his spite and arrogance. The scene from earlier races across your mind. 

All you could do was mutter softly, “What could you possibly want to talk to me about, Rafe? To hurt me again? To prove that I don’t belong? I thought you made it clear your feelings towards me.” your voice breaking even more with every word. 

Rafe's grip on your arm tightened slightly, just enough for you not to walk away. He took a deep breath, his eyes searching yours. "Y/N, I know I've been a complete asshole. I know I've hurt you and pushed you away, but... it’s because I didn’t know how else to handle this. Handle us."

"Us?" you echoed, confused and overwhelmed.

"Yes, us," he said, stepping closer. "I can't stop thinking about you. It drives me crazy seeing you with them, with the Pogues. I hate it because I... I care about you." You searched his eyes, looking for a sense of truth behind his words. Could it be that all his hostility was masking something deeper he felt?

His confession left you stunned. You had always thought Rafe hated you. Ever since you knew Sarah, Rafe was only rude to you. Rolling his eyes every time he saw you, purposefully causing hell for you on the golf course, yet being overprotective when it came to you hanging with the pogues. These new emotions were a lot to take in, something you’d never think for Rafe Cameron to admit. 

“Why Rafe?” you spoke, your voice still barely above a whisper, “Why do you care so much about who I’m with?”

He hesitated at this, not sure whether to reveal the truth to his bitterness, “Because… because it’s you y/n” his voice finally breaking at his vulnerability, “Because you’re different. You make me feel things I don’t want to feel. I don’t know how to handle this.” 

Before you could process all of it, still looking wide-eyed at Rafe, he leaned in and captured your lips in a kiss. It was soft at first, hesitant, but then it grew more passionate. A knot in your stomach growing, the sensation of his lips felt like none other. You kissed him back, your heart pounding, swearing you never wanted this moment to end. This new side of Rafe was one you never wanted to end. 

Rafe pulled away abruptly, his eyes wide with regret. "I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I—" Against your best judgment, you closed the distance again, kissing him more passionately this time. The alcohol must’ve taken over the rational thinking of this situation, the four drinks you had taking its full effect. The moment his lips met yours, a surge of heat spread through your body, making your heart race and your skin tingle. His lips were surprisingly soft, a stark contrast to his usual rough demeanor.

His hands gently cupped your face, his touch both tender and possessive, sending shivers down your spine. Every movement of his lips against yours was intoxicating, drowning out the chaos of the party and the world around you. You could taste the remnants of alcohol on his breath, mingling with a hint of something sweet and entirely Rafe.

As the kiss deepened, you felt a mix of emotions – anger, desire, confusion, and an unexpected tenderness. It was as if all the tension, all the animosity between you, had been building up to this moment, where words were no longer necessary. Your mind struggled to keep up with the rush of feelings, but your body responded instinctively, leaning into him, craving more of his touch.

In that kiss, you felt a vulnerability you had never seen in Rafe before. It was raw and unfiltered, a glimpse into the complex layers beneath his tough exterior. The kiss was a silent confession, a bridge between your worlds that had been divided for so long. It was overwhelming, exhilarating, and left you breathless, with your heart pounding and your mind reeling from the sheer intensity of it all.

You both pulled away from the kiss, both breathless, your head swirling with a mix of new emotions. 

Rafe still noticed your still drunken state, leaving you in no condition to stay alone, “Y/n you shouldn’t be alone right now. Do you want a ride? You can stay the night at my house.” 

Despite your best judgment, you found yourself nodding and smiling. “Sure” is all you could muster out. Even if this was just for one night, you didn’t want these feelings to end. The intimate moment between you and Rafe was far from unexpected, and it was probably the alcohol but hell you didn’t want this night to end. You got out your phone and texted Sarah and the Pogues, letting them know you were getting a ride home and not to wait up for you, telling them you just needed some time to clear your head. You felt guilty for lying to your friends but you couldn’t help but wonder what the night held. 

Rafe led you to his truck, and the cold air flushed against your warm skin. Rafe opened the door for you, his touch lingering on your arm, you climbed in, your mind racing. The car ride was silent, but not awkward. You both stole glances at each other, the kiss and the rush of new emotions lingered in the air between you, heavy with unspoken words and possibilities. You couldn’t help but feel torn. On one hand, you saw a side of Rafe that was genuine and sincere, something that made you want to trust him. His body language, the way he carefully watched the road but still glanced at you, and his words from earlier all hinted at a deeper truth.

On the other hand, you couldn’t shake the nagging guilt and doubt. Trusting Rafe felt like betraying the Pogues, your friends who had been there for you through thick and thin. They despised him, and for good reason. His past actions, the way he treated you and others, loomed large in your mind. Was this a mistake? Would you regret this in the morning?

When you arrived at the Cameron residence, you both carefully and silently made your way up to Rafe's room, you were already familiar with the layout of his house due to being here millions of times hanging out with Sarah. Although despite the numerous hangouts, you have never once been into Rafe's room.

When you entered his room, you weren’t surprised by the size but more taken aback by the simplicity yet authenticity of his room. The smell of his cologne filling your nose, being the main aroma of his room. The room was dominated by a king-sized bed, neatly made with dark blue and grey bedding. In one corner stood a large grey sofa, both the bed and the sofa facing a ginormous TV mounted on the wall. His room was so organized, not a spec of clothing on the floor, it seemed like everything had its place. His dresser took you by the most surprise, it wasn’t even the dresser itself but the picture frames scattered on top of it, Rafe looked happy in all of them, yet again a new side of Rafe you haven’t seen.

Pulled out of your thoughts, Rafe comes back from rummaging through his closet and hands you some spare clothes for you to sleep in. You offered him a warm smile in exchange and made your way to the bathroom to change.

As soon as the bathroom door closed behind you, a surge of conflicting emotions hit you like a wave. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, your face flushed from both the alcohol and the events of the night. Questions and doubts flooded your mind. What were you doing here? Why had you agreed to stay? The uncertainty was eating at your stomach, making your heart race.

You began to change into the clothes Rafe had given you, the feel of the soft fabric against your skin oddly comforting. As you pulled his t-shirt over your head, engrossed by his scent, intensifying your internal conflict. Why did his presence, his touch, and his kiss stir such strong emotions within you?

The memory of the kiss flashed through your mind. The vulnerability you had seen in Rafe, the raw intensity of the moment, it all felt so real. The feeling you didn’t want to acknowledge came rising back, feeling uneasy about facing these emotions. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. You were witnessing a side of Rafe that made you question everything you thought you knew.

Once you emerged for the bathroom noticing Rafe already changed into some grey shorts and an old t-shirt, Rafe looked up and said, “You can have my bed tonight.” His voice was low and tired, “I’ll take the Sofa. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

You hesitated at his words, feeling a mix of uncertainty and trust. Despite everything, despite your best judgment and all the hatred you’ve had towards Rafe for years, it all seemed to fade in that moment, you found yourself shyly saying, “Can you sleep in the bed, please? It’s a big bed, plus it would make me feel safer.”

Partially knowing your need to feel safe was a lie, you felt a deeper pull in your gut—a need for his presence. Rafe paused at your response, searching your eyes for any sign of doubt, “Are you sure y/n?”

You nodded at him reassuring him of your answer. Rafe turned off the lights, only the moon illuminating a path to the bed. Both of you got into the bed, lying down side by side. The silence was thick with unspoken words and new feelings, and the room was charged with the intensity of the night’s events. The bed felt enormous with the space left between you, a sharp contrast from your previous closeness.

Lying there, you could feel the heat radiating from his body, a tangible reminder of how close he was. Your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, trying to process everything that had happened. You had always seen Rafe as the enemy, the source of your frustrations, but now he was something different, something you couldn't quite define. The kiss tonight felt like it changed everything you thought you knew about him. You saw Rafe with lots of girls at parties but never seen him touch them or kiss them the way he did to you. 

Rafe turned to you, interrupting your thoughts, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to hurt you tonight. I just... I don't know how to deal with these feelings. I’m sorry"

You turned towards him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes despite the darkness. "Rafe, why now? Why tonight?" The alcohol seemed to be fading from your system.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair and over his face, clearly still confused with his emotions, "I don't know. Maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's just everything catching up to me. But when I saw you tonight, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You looked beautiful tonight y/n, I’ve tried to push it away, but I can’t anymore."

Your heart pounded in your chest, the weight of his words sinking in. You reached out, your fingers brushing against his. "Rafe, this is all so confusing. I've always thought you hated me. I’ve been friends with Sarah for so long, and all you ever did was give me death glares"

Rafe shook his head, his hand closing around yours. "I never hated you, Y/N. I was just too scared to admit how I felt. And I didn’t know how to deal with it. The truth is I’ve always liked you. You’re gorgeous y/n, I can never keep my eyes off of you." You could tell this was hard for him to admit, not being of the emotional type, but his confession tugged at your heartstrings. 

The raw honesty in his voice stirred something deep within you. Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in, capturing his lips in another kiss. He wrapped his hand around your waist pulling you closer. Your hand resting on the back of his neck, feeling the tension in his muscles. This kiss was softer, and more tender, but still charged with the same intensity and emotions as before. 

Rafe pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his breath warm against your lips. "I didn’t mean to complicate things."

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. "It's okay, Rafe. Maybe we both needed this."

Rafe's hands cupped your face, reconnecting your lips with a deeper kiss, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. The kiss was more than just a kiss; it was a confession, a release of everything you both had been holding back. You could feel the desperation in his touch, the way his fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer.

"Y/N," he murmured against your lips, his voice raw with emotion. "I need you."

The words sent a chill through you, and you responded with equal intensity. "I need you too, Rafe. I want you” 

He could feel the warmth of your body through his fingertips, a reminder of how vulnerable this moment was. His hands were steady, yet there was a slight tremor, betraying the storm of emotions he was feeling. Rafe slept with women before but it was never a feeling like this, he never felt nervous. 

As he slid your shirt off your shoulders, his eyes never left yours. There was a softness in his gaze, a silent question asking if this was truly okay. When you nodded, the trust in your eyes sent a wave of relief and gratitude through him. His touch grew bolder, his fingers trailing down your sides, savoring the feel of your skin.

When he finally reached the waistband of your pants, Rafe paused, taking a deep breath. This was it—the point of no return. He met your gaze again, searching for any sign of hesitation, but found only the same longing mirrored in your eyes. Slowly, he pulled your pants down, his hands skimming your legs, committing every detail to memory, not knowing if this moment would happen again. Rafe's breath hitched as he took in the sight of you, every inch of you in this intimate moment. 

"You're beautiful," he murmured, his voice filled with sincerity

Rafe's heart raced as he stood back to take in the sight of you, fully exposed and completely trusting. There was a deep sense of awe mixed with desire, It was a connection, a moment of raw honesty between two people who had spent so long hiding their true feelings. He was nervous, not wanting to mess up this chance to show you how he truly felt, and that nervousness translated into gentleness. As he leaned in to kiss you again, his hands exploring your body with newfound confidence, he felt a surge of emotion he couldn't quite put into words—a mix of fear and excitement. 

At that moment, Rafe realized just how much he wanted this, and wanted you, and he vowed to himself that he would make this night unforgettable for both of you.

As Rafe reached for the hem of his shirt, you felt a rush of anticipation mixed with butterflies in your stomach. The reality of the situation hit you all at once, making your heart race, but you’ve never wanted him so badly. When Rafe lifted his shirt over his head, revealing his toned chest and muscular arms, you couldn't help but stare. The moonlight filtering through the window highlighted the contours of his body, casting shadows that emphasized his athletic build.

Your hands instinctively reached out to touch him, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles. His skin was warm and smooth under your touch, and you could feel the subtle quiver in his body, betraying his nervousness. As you explored his chest with your hands, you were overwhelmed by a mix of emotions. There was a deep, unspoken understanding between you, a silent acknowledgment of the complexity of your relationship. You didn’t know if this feeling would be there tomorrow, both of you silently promising to make the most of tonight. 

Your breath hitched as you moved closer, pressing your body against his. The feel of his skin against yours was intoxicating, heightening your senses and deepening the connection between you. Every kiss and every touch was filled with a newfound intensity, a reflection of the passion and desire that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

In that moment, you realized just how much you wanted this, wanted him. All the years of misunderstanding seemed to fade away, replaced by a powerful need to be close to him, to understand him in a way you never had before. As you lost yourselves in each other, you felt a sense of completeness, as if this was where you were meant to be all along.

Rafe's hands roamed over your body, exploring every inch with a hunger that matched your own. You arched into his touch, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps as he found all the right spots. It was overwhelming, the sheer intensity of it all, but you didn’t want it to stop. Rafe broke the kiss and began slowly trailing down your neck, his mouth latching onto your breast, swirling your nipple, flicking and sucking, while his other hand cupped your other breast, kneading and teasing until you were a quivering mess beneath him.

He seemed to know exactly how to drive you wild, alternating between gentle caresses and firm, deliberate touches. His hand slowly trailed down your stomach, fingers brushing over your sensitive skin, before finally slipping between your thighs. You gasped as he found your entrance, his fingers stroking and circling, applying just the right amount of pressure.

Rafe's mouth never left your breast as he continued to pleasure you with his hand, his fingers moving in and out in a rhythm that matched the quickening beat of your heart. He added another finger, stretching and filling you, his thumb expertly finding your most sensitive spot. The combined sensations of his mouth on your breast and his hand between your legs sent you spiraling toward the edge. 

Just as you were about to tip over into bliss, he stopped abruptly, pulling his hand away. A whine escaped your lips, craving his touch once again. As scanned your eyes from approval one last time, he lined himself up with your entrance. With a gentle touch, Rafe guided himself into you, both of you gasping at the sensation. He moved slowly at first, giving you time to adjust, but soon the urgency took over, and his movements became faster, more desperate. The room was filled with the sounds of your mingled moans and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin. 

Pressing his body deeper into yours, you felt instant pleasure. You could see in his eyes that he felt it too—the same overwhelming pleasure, the same intense connection. You swore on your life you never felt something as good as his. Your moans filled the air and he picked up the pace. Rafe has never felt so exposed, yet so open to another person. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t bear to be even an inch away from you. The intensity of it all was almost too much to bear, but you didn’t want it to stop.

You lost track of time, the world outside fading away until there was only the two of you. Every thrust sent waves of pleasure through you, building higher and higher until you felt like you might explode. Rafe's name spilled from your lips, laced with need and desire. You could feel him getting close, his movements becoming more erratic.

With a final, powerful thrust, you both came undone, your bodies trembling with the intensity of your release. The climax washed over you in waves, each more intense than the last, leaving you breathless and completely satisfied. Rafe collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms as you both tried to catch your breath. His chest rose and fell rapidly, matching the frantic beat of your own heart as you clung to each other.

The silence was filled with a new kind of intimacy, the kind that comes from sharing something profound. As your breathing slowly returned to normal, you became aware of the lingering warmth of his body against yours, and the sound of his heartbeat beneath your ear. It was a moment of pure bliss, that you wished could last forever.

You could feel Rafe's fingers gently stroking your back, his touch tender and reassuring. The connection between you felt stronger than ever, a bond forged not just in passion, but a sense of trust that had developed between you. A feeling you had never experienced before, a sense of completeness that made you never want to leave his side. Your mind couldn’t help but drift to the complexity of your relationship and the uncertainties that the future held. You tried to push the worries to the back of your mind, savoring the moment of how his body felt against yours.

As you drifted off to sleep, Rafe’s arms wrapped around you protectively, you couldn’t help but wonder what this meant for the two of you. You knew that this moment was fleeting, that the reality of your complicated relationship would come crashing back in the morning, but for now, you allowed yourself to savor the feeling of being close to him. You held onto a string of hold that maybe, this could last.

--——----------————- ❥・-------------------------

Chapter 2

Please like and repost so I know to post more chapters:)🫶 Thank you for reading!

[hexxedghost]

Took a little break from drafting the next chapter of Haunt to write a little threadfic for bsky. Price got injured and is the worst at actually resting to heal. Enter Nik.

The 141 had become somewhat infamous amongst the medical staff on base. Enough of a reputation that whenever they brought in, after the frantic panic and life-saving care, there was always a heavy put upon sigh from the nurses, knowing what would come afterwards. 

They weren’t good at healing. Their bodies, yes, flesh and sinew knitting itself back together, bruises mottling and fading. But staying in bed, and resting. 

Well, it just didn’t suit them. 

Gaz at least, stayed within the medical wing, but pushed to get away with as much as he could, not above charming and lying to do so. 

Soap somehow managed to injure himself during recovery on several occasions, normally by pushing himself too much too quickly. 

Ghost just left. They’d find him tucked away somewhere else on base, using his reputation and stature to warn off anyone who’d suggest he go back to bed. 

But it was a well known fact on base, that the worst of them was Price. A horrible amalgamation of all three of his team, he would charm, lie, push himself and escape even to do something as boring as paperwork. 

Ghost had proposed just tying him to the bed, but after the third escape, medical just sort of shrugged and gave up. Price was a force to be reckoned with, and nobody was willing to put up with the headache. 

Well, nearly nobody. 

-

“Don’t fucking start, I don’t wanna hear it Nik.” Price warns, pointing at him. Nik holds up his hands, chuckling, as he enters the room.  

“It was surprise. I have not seen you without the beard in a while.” he gestures to Price’s cleanly shaved face, currently giving him a very unimpressed look. He huffs, staring at the window. 

“I’ve already had them lot go on about it. Soap and Gaz did a whole bit with asking everyone where their Captain had gone.” he glares at Nik’s laugh, but there’s no real heat to it. Underneath it all is a fond exasperation he knows holds true for his squad.  

“Ghost?” Nik questions. 

“Asked me where to find the Captain so he could sign some paperwork.” Price mutters bitterly, the betrayal clear in his voice. Nik snorts, and Price goes to cross his arms, stubbornly, but growls when he’s stopped by the cast on his arm. 

The last mission, Price had gotten caught between an armoured vehicle and a low retaining wall. His arm had been crushed between his body and the barrier, but at least it had stopped short of crushing his head. There’d been a scramble, with hostiles swarming their location, managing to extract the Captain. It wasn’t until they were in the helicopter that they’d noticed the wound on Price’s neck. It was superficial, at least, and hadn’t caught anything vital, but it would most likely need stitches, no matter how much Price insisted he’d ‘kept most of his blood on the inside’ over the roar of the engine. 

He was partially right, at least. Most of his blood had been on the inside. And the bone had been set easy enough. Though he liked miserable with the cast, given it was his dominant hand. 

John Price hated relying on other people, hated not being able to do things himself. So Nikolai can’t imagine he was pleasant to deal with if they’d had to shave off the beard. 

“Kate’s sent you to babysit me, then?” Price asks as Nik settles into the seat by the bed. 

“I sent myself,” Nik corrects him, but he can’t hold back the grin as he continues, “though she was very grateful. She said the shovel would be murder on her hands, so it would be a shallow grave.” Nik jokes, relishing in the twitch of a smile he sees briefly on Price’s face. 

Laswell wouldn’t. But she would definitely threaten to. Price was insufferable when he was injured, and Laswell had long carried the torch for trying to corral him into actually taking care of himself for once. 

She’d complained about it once over drinks, Price and the rest of the 141 away on a mission. Nikolai had offered to help offhandedly and after giving him a searching look that seemed to pierce him to the core, she’d picked up her drink, mumbled something to herself and told him to have at it. And to prepare for the worst. 

Preparation was key, he felt, when it came to attempting to wrangle the stubborn force that was John Price. He had a plan, of course. He’d given it a decent amount of thought. The major things that tended to drive Price were work, and others that need taking care of. Nik thought the best path was to…remove them from the equation. Mostly by removing Price from the area. 

Laswell had been surprisingly helpful in that regard, insisting the old man needed a break, and it would be a good idea to let him relax. 

Price, it seemed, disagreed. 

“Nik.”

“Captain.”

Price turns to him, eyes sharp with suspicion. “What is this?”

Nik hum’s thoughtfully, shifting his weight to one foot and gesturing casual in front of them. 

“Hm, if I had to guess. I would say a cabin.” he grins at the filthy look Price gives him, striding forward over the dirt track and fishing out a set of keys. 

“Kate knows I’m here.” Price says, it’s not a question. 

“She insisted.” Nik says, glancing over his shoulder and shooting him a quick smile, “She’s also handled your work, Ghost is taking care of the paperwork, the other two are handling training and duties on base.”

Price seems to deflate. “I’m supposed to be stuck out here and rest, then?”

Nik gets the door open, the hinges well oiled so it swings in smoothly. “She said at least a week.” he heads back to the car to grab the bags, “And I believe the suggestion was to ‘actually relax for once, you stupid man’ or something to that effect.” 

There’s a crunch of dirt underfoot, Price moving in to survey the cabin. Or his new ‘prison’ as he shouts from inside, making Nik chuckle as he shuts the boot. 

-

It’s near evening now. Nik had fired up the wood stove, explaining the cabin was off the grid. It would normally be an irritation for people, but Price seems to settle with it. Knowing that he isn’t being coddled. 

Though he had glared at the food.  “What the ‘ell is this?”

“Kasha. Good, filling.” Nik says, placing the bowl in front of him. Price takes a bit and wrinkles his nose a bit. 

“It’s like salty porridge.” he says, poking at it curiously. 

“I can make something else” Nik offers,

“No, no” Price says in a rush, “I’m just...complaining for the sake of it.” he raises a spoonful into his mouth with a suffering sigh, resting a chin on his hand after chewing, “Miss steak though.”

“When you’re better, we’ll go hunting for some. There is deer in the area.” Nik answers smoothly. 

“This your place, then?” Price asks, looking around the room curiously. 

“One of them,” he answers cryptically, chuckling when Price grumbles. 

The cabin itself is fairly plain, but functional. Nik mostly uses it for hunting, but it’s a good holdout if he needs to hide out for a while. There’s a fold out bed, books, and hunting gear. Along with a desk in the corner. 

“I need your help with something tomorrow.” he says casually, managing to keep his face neutral at how fast Price’s head snaps up. “But, it was a long drive. We sleep first.”

It’s probably a little cruel, to prolong it. But in his experience, once Price knows of a task, it's hard to talk him down from undertaking it in that instant. In most circumstances, it’s admirable, Price is someone that can be relied upon like that. Unless the task is resting, it seems.   

They settle down for the night not too long afterwards, the colder weather causing the dwindling daylight to be a distant memory of hours before. 

-

“What you need my help with, then?” Price pesters him in the early hours, while Nik is washing the dishes from breakfast. There’s an odd motion to his arm that Nik recognises it as a habit of grabbing the straps of his tacvest when they’re in the middle of a debrief. Price seems to notice it at the same time and gives a hard stare to the cast. 

Nik puts the rag down and gestures to the desk. There are maps spread over the well-worn wood, notes of red ink scrawled in margins. Price nods to himself, eyes scanning and assessing in rapid fashion. 

“Just intel or a goal in mind?” he asks, giving a curse when he goes to cross his arms again. Nik takes pity, figuring a task to do is better than sympathy. 

“Familiarity more than anything. Good to know what terrain you can use against your enemies.” Nik says, voice strained as he digs under the desk to find what he’s looking for. He holds out a camera drone for Price to inspect. “I’ve mapped some of the area, but it would be easier with two.”

Price takes it in his left hand, squinting at it curiously. “Drones?”

“You know how to handle them, to some extent? I know Sergeant Garrick is quite good with them.”

“I meant more that it’s battery powered. This place is offgrid right?” 

“Ah. There is a generator for it.” he points outside to where it’s tucked against the house. 

“You took the time to make sure you’ve powered your drones, but I can’t have a hot shower?” Price raises his eyebrows, but there’s a glint of humour in his eyes. 

“Priorities, Captain.” Nikolai says simply, the chuckle behind him letting him know he’d hit the mark. “And the radios.” he adds, gesturing to the comms units on the desk. 

“Whats the plan then?”

“You survey, I check, you make notes.” he taps the maps with a callused finger. Price works his jaw, but Nik knows he’s got him. There is only one thing worse for John Price than injury, blood or and gunfire. And it’s boredom. 

“Fine.” 

-

It was nearing the autumn months, the air brisk and fogging in front of him as he moves through the trees. There’s a barely audible whir of the drone nearby, as he sees it flit ahead. 

“Zippy little bastards, aren’t they?” Price’s voice crackles over the comms, sounding pleased with himself. Nik laughs to himself, moving over a gnarled tree root as a leisurely stroll. There was a certain boyish charm to the way Price’s voice lit up that even the static of the radio couldn’t quite hide. 

They’d quickly realised that it was easier for Price to just hot mic, since constantly having to activate a switch required a working hand he didn’t currently possess. 

Nik had been making notes as he’d travelled along the route Price was scouting for him. Most of it he expected, but it was still useful information. He hadn’t considered the river, though Price had swooped low over the rushing water and mumbled to himself about fishing. It was incredibly endearing, Nik just sitting back and letting the words wash over him. 

Although, it had been a few hours since he’d set out, and the sun was sinking lower in the sky. He should consider heading back soon.  

Price’s voice cuts in suddenly. “Nik…”

“Hm?” 

“Why are you taking care of me?” It’s not the question Nik was expecting, but it’s an easy enough one to answer. 

“Someone has to.” he gets to his feet, stretching stiff limbs as he listens to the chuckle over the radio. 

“Drew the short straw eh?” Price jokes. Nikolai straightens up.

“No.”  he says firmly. “Someone should take care of you, and I would rather it be me. I know I will do it right.” 

There’s a pause, the sound of evening birds weaving through the quickly cooling air. “Who takes care of you then?” Price asks. 

“Whoever is willing to shoulder that burden, I suppose.” Nik replies easily, picking up the drone and tucking it safely into his pack. 

Price hums quietly, but doesn’t say anymore on Nik’s trek back. Even at dinner that night he is uncharacteristically quiet, not even a comment about the food. 

-

“Wouldn’t be’ y’know?” he says suddenly after they’ve finished lunch. Nikolai scratches at his beard, trying to find the thread of the conversation he’d lost.

“I don’t think I do?” he says curiously, resting his elbows on the table. 

“A burden.” Price says simply. For once, Nik doesn’t know how to respond. He didn’t realise Price had been thinking about that throwaway common for so long. 

“I…am not an easy man to deal with.” is what he settles on. He had taken precautions when thinking of how to deal with Price in his recovery, but he hadn’t planned for this conversation. It’s odd to find himself completely out of his depth.

“How’d you figure that then?” the captain insists, that keen glint in his eye reminding Nik that Price is far more observant than most give him credit for. It’s something he respects, so as much as it would be easy to dismiss he tries to give the answer some genuine thought. 

“I am difficult to know.” he ticks off on his fingers 

“Reckon I know you pretty well.” Price interjects, smiling when Nik looks over to him and gestures to put the finger down.   

“You do, yes.” he raises another finger, “I am secretive.” 

“Cause you have to be.” Price counters.

Nik shakes his head, but finds himself smiling. He can see the game now.  

“Sometimes, security is a necessity, yes. I put people at ease, but I think they know it is because I am a danger to them. Like a lion placating the sheep.” 

“Lions work together, though.” Price points out, scratching at the edge of his cast and frowning when Nik bats his hand away. 

“True, but it's often the females that do all the work”

Laswell’s name remains unspoken, but as they share a look, it may as well have been said. There’s a glint in Price’s eye that looks like mirth and Nik grins into his drink.

“Should put those down though.” Price says, nodding to the raised fingers. 

“I am still a dangerous person.”

“Surrounded by other dangerous people. Where you’re meant to be.” he sits back, and even though the cast hampers it, there’s that squaring of the shoulders Nik associates with Price gearing up for a final blow. 

“Was supposed to be about you not being a burden. Haven’t heard a good point yet.” he says seriously. 

“To some I would be.” Nik offers, clearing away the table. 

Price shrugs, “Maybe. To me you're not though. Reckon my opinion might count for something.: 

“You’ve given this a lot of thought.” Nik says, turning to him, resting a palm flat on the counter. 

“Haven’t had much else on.” Price lifts the cast for emphasis. Nik rolls his eyes, hip checking him in the shoulder as he goes past and chuckling at the feigned outrage following him from the kitchen. 

The words seem to fill the space between them for the rest of the day, though they don’t speak much. Just quietly existing in a comfortable silence together, filling in details on the maps, adding notes of good spots for the future plans of a hunting trip that's taken form over the last few days. 

It does feel like something has shifted, slightly. But, Nikolai is a patient man when it comes to these things. He’s willing to wait, to match Price’s pace, if he chooses to walk the same trail. Things that like were worth the wait. 

-

Later, in the quiet dark of the night, as Price clears his throat. “Why’d you take me out here?”

“To recover, I thought that part was obvious from the start.’ Nik says, the grasp of sleep slipping away as he sits up on an elbow. 

“Not what I’m really asking.” Price says, sitting up entirely and cursing at the cast as it gets stuck in the blanket. 

“Here specifically? Or why me?” Nik says, politely ignoring Price’s struggles. 

“Either. Both.” he grunts, finally freeing himself. 

“I like the idea of you being taken care of.” he says, “ I already said this.” he adds pointedly afterwards. 

The dark outline of Price shifts, the constant motion a familiar sight even in the dark. “Are only you allowed to do that then?”

“I would hope you would start taking care of yourself.” Nik points out dully. 

“Rather take care of you.” is the quick reply. 

Ah, he’d forgotten. Nikolai was a man willing to wait for things, no matter how long they take. But, Jonathan Price is not a patient man. If he sees a task to be done, it will be, stubbornly and immediately.   

“You would be the first.” he says gently into the darkness. 

“Rather be the last,” Price says, and it sounds like a promise. 

-

A few weeks later, the cast comes off. 

And a few years after that, after listing off all the reasons why on their fingers, they match them together with bands of gold.

[laswells-ashtray]

Omega Kate? 👀 I don't think I've seen anyone write for that before, would love to see your thoughts

I'm watching a MW 2 playthrough right now and my grandmother walks through to grab something, stops, looks at Kate and goes "oh, this is the lesbian you like." which is stupidly funny because yeah.

Big fan of Omega Kate and Omega John solidarity.

Kate already had to fight for the respect she so rightfully deserves because she's a woman, but also being an omega meant that for her the job had to be the priority if she wanted to do anything worth while.

She had to work and fight for even a shred of consideration when she was younger but through years of fucking dedication and spite, she got herself into a position where noone would ever ask her secondary gender because she's the woman in charge.

She briefly considered throughout the years that she isn't favourable to an alpha, she isn't submissive and she has no intention of ever having pups. She's strong, stubborn and determined. She'd never throw away everything she worked for to have a family like so many omegas do.

And then she meets her wife. A gentle, warm and loving woman. Kate doesn't think she'll ever have a chance with her. They're the exact opposite personality wise and the woman comes from money, Kate has no family left and her closest friend is an English man. She doesn't have much to offer. But the woman so clearly wants her.

Kate tries to push her away, it seems like the smartest thing to do because they have no chance together but the alpha is persistent. She never tries to force Kate into a position that makes her uncomfortable, she just... gets to know her. She takes Kate out to lunch and listens to her complain about the men at work. She doesn't think twice about the fact Kate is dressed for her work more often than not or that she has to walk away to take a phone call for the job.

And then they're at the alpha's house and her heat starts, she'd been so busy at work that she'd had no time to prepare and forgot to expect it. The other woman leads her to the spare room and tells Kate to yell if she needs anything.

Kate lasts 40 minutes before she heads back downstairs to the alpha and asks for her. Initially, the other woman says no, she doesn't want this to be a decision made lightly in the heat of the moment just because Kate's judgement is compromised.

Then Kate lets slip that she's never spent her heat with someone else before and that she means it. The alpha agrees but only if they do this under her terms, Kate has to lead everything and as insufferable as it might feel for Kate, they're taking it slow.

They do and it's clear that the alpha is holding herself back but she spends the entire time making sure that Kate's needs are met and that she's comfortable.

After that they move quickly, they talk and Kate very quickly realises that she might not be the typical omega but this alpha certainly isn't looking for a stereotypical omega either. Kate is firm about the fact that she won't change and she won't step back from her job. It's never a point of contention.

But Kate does change, she takes time off of work that she never had before. She becomes less stressed and stop grinding her teeth at night because she's sleeping with her head on her alpha's chest. And when they have a scare over pups, her alpha tells her that they can book an appointment for a termination whenever Kate feels ready to and they'll spend the next few days at home together while she recovers. It never comes down to that, it's just a vague illness and not pups but that's the moment Kate decides that the other woman is her alpha.

[homestuckreplay]

Liberty. Reason. Justice. Civility. Edification. Perfection.

(page 1116-1128)

As it turns out, there’s no such thing as a DEAPPEARIFIER. Such a machine is actually called a SENDIFICATOR, and funding for this technology drastically improves the postal service’s ability to carry out their work, as gloriously demonstrated by PM. This machine is presumably why things keep appearing, as well as disappearing, around Jade’s house (p.770).

I shed a real tear when PM successfully delivered the package – it’s only been a few hundred pages since her first mail spiel (p.894-6), but AR’s erratic shooting and the clear danger of the current situation mean this still feels like an earned victory. There is a song called ‘The Courier’ by Richard Shindell that I’ve been obsessed with for years and this is PM’s theme song to me. I’m actually so taken with this broader theme of mail and with this drive to carry information and items between people even in a world that’s not set up for it, that I want to explore other media that has this theme, and maybe even base my next D&D character around this.

Thinking about AR’s characterization, they’re mad at themself for shooting incorrectly, bonking themself on the head for it (p.1119) meaning they are not above their own laws. This doesn’t make them less dangerous, but it makes their moral code more consistent. The same is true with their attraction to PM – AR has this urge towards forbidden romance with the opposing side, but isn’t going to make a legal exception even for this carapaced hottie. AR is also extremely stubborn and doggedly convinced of things that are factually untrue – for example, they ‘don’t give a shit about’ their weapon being magazine-fed and not clip-fed (p.1101), they think of themself as a ‘crack shot’ despite not landing a single bullet (p.1119), and they think Serenity is a ‘little blinking bee’ (p.1122).

I think black and white thinking, strict ideals and no mercy for those who disrupt them, have to be more traits programmed into all chess pieces (for all its intellectual complexity, chess does not have much nuance to its lore). So this next part might be a reach and might be confirmation bias, but I wonder if these folks have similarities to the kids they command. WV was socially inept at first, prone to flights of fancy, and not great at prioritizing, which are also some of John’s flaws. PM is focused on her delivery tasks to the point of putting herself in danger, and Jade is behaving similarly as she harpoons herself across the ruins and evades Bec’s protection to deliver the time bait as per Skaia’s will. AR’s stubbornness and refusal to question their own biased perspective could fit with either Dave or Rose, but their immediate resorting to violence is a better fit for Dave – the kid who was so mad about being named ‘insufferable prick’ that he destroyed the input box (p.310).

Pretty fucked up that WV just sacrifices one of his pawns. One of his beloved citizens, martyred for the cause. Pour one out for- shit nevermind wrong phrase.

One complaint: there is no possible way WV and PM have read Sweet Bro & Hella Jeff. Even if they could access it from their command terminals – and I do NOT believe Skaia has programmed that functionality – they do not exist in the right cultural moment to appreciate the humor. When the narrative text references SBAHJ during the kids’ sections (for example, p.915) it works for me, because it’s an actual thought they might be having. It doesn’t work for me here on pages 1123-4, because the narrator’s inserting it where it wouldn’t naturally fit, using SBAHJ to distract me from the much better comic I’m currently reading.

UNLESS. I have been interpreting the scribbly pages like 1118 and 1124 (above) as Jade’s understanding of events upon waking, the way a dream that seems perfectly crisp and clear while asleep becomes vague and blurry after waking up. Again likely a reach, but I could buy that the SBAHJ is Jade editorializing on her own visions as she creates this note and draws the map for WV and PM to follow. That feels neater to me, at least.

> AR: Shoot at bass guitar to repair elevator.

[yuniemaki]

Lacuna

Spoilers for: Sherlock Holmes Chapter One & Sherlock Holmes: The Awakened @fwfanweekend prompt: Past / Present / Future Cross-posted on AO3.

No one expects to lose their mind over a missing persons case.

No one takes on a simple mystery with the expectation of becoming a broken shell of themselves. A man accepting a job too good to be true, perhaps, may do so aware of the risks; that they may be sold into slavery, or exploited for their naivety. Even then, the chances are minuscule. But a man once broken and barely held together by the seams will grasp at any lifeline in the name of distraction, uncaring of the consequences.

All this is to say: I gave Holmes this case. I should know better.

I had been foolish; there is no use denying it any longer. I was driven by a doctor’s curiosity to witness the remarkable mental faculties of my flatmate, as much as his bright, immolating curiosity drove him to pursue the case far more doggedly than I had anticipated. 

He’s not well, Mycroft had said, You should know he has had episodes in the past. Detachment from reality. And the next thing we knew, we were adrift on a flimsy piece of flotsam for a boat, headed for a wretched lighthouse at the heart of a ruthless storm. 

In truth, I think neither of us came back whole. 

I commit our adventure to paper over and over in the dark of night, as if writing it a thousand times will save my wretched soul from the horrors no man should ever see. I burn the manuscripts each time I am done, as if the flames may scorch our bedraggled selves clean.

Holmes scoffs at my feeble attempts at redemption. He sinks instead into the darkness, tossing and turning on the sofa, mumbling of ‘insignificance’ and ‘old gods’ and ‘the Abyss’. He wakes drenched in cold sweat, and I make sure to call for him the way I did in the damp depths of that terrible cave. 

Holmes! Holmes? Where are you?

In his lucid moments, I make us both a pot of peppermint tea. He takes it with a trembling hand, and the warm drink helps to soothe his frayed nerves. 

I wish I could do more. But alas, I am trained in the science of the body, and not the ways of the mind. Even so, I would sooner return to war-torn Afghanistan than commit Holmes to an institution. If there is a way to put him back together, I want it to be done here, by my own hands.

Our first breakthrough must have happened about a month after our return from the Ardnamurchan Lighthouse. I remember the day well—we had spent it in the comfort of our apartment. Holmes sits on the sofa with his legs drawn up, cradling a cup of peppermint tea. I sit across from him on a wooden chair. The fireplace crackles; I listen to the soft pitter-patter of rain on glass. Thankfully, while often wet and gloomy, London rarely sees full-blown storms of the sort one finds at sea; I fear I have developed an aversion to lightning and thunder myself, after the events of that fateful night. 

“Watson,” Holmes begins, his voice surprisingly steady.

“Yes, Holmes?”

“Do you remember the question you asked, when we first returned to Baker Street?”

Oh, heavens. I do not. I must have asked at least a hundred questions, if not to Holmes, then to his brother Mycroft, who is far more pompous and insufferable than Holmes can ever be. “I’m afraid I… do not recall which.”

He takes a sip of tea. “You asked, John, if I wished to speak about what I saw.”

In the port, at the bayou, in the cave beneath the lighthouse. I give a stiff nod. Holmes has oft evaded my queries on this, and I have long burned away the need to know. But if he will speak, if he is ready to reveal a truth only he knows—then I will wait, and I will listen.

He begins, his voice slow and measured, with a hint of hesitation unbefitting of the intelligent man I know. “Let us start with the simple facts. Each time you ventured into a cultist’s lair, you have always found your way with your trusty lantern, yes?”

“Always. The path is straightforward, even. One can hardly get lost when the walls are so close.”

“Indeed. I, however… found myself… for want of better word, I was elsewhere.”

I fight the urge to reach for my pen. When we first returned, Holmes had said I should record none of this, for all would believe it to be the ramblings of a madman. I have come to realise he is right. “A powerful hallucination, perhaps?”

Holmes gives a half-hearted shrug. “Rochester called it the Abyss. I found it impossible, that he too should know of what I saw. Yet his words atop the lighthouse rang true.”

I know not of what they spoke, only that Holmes managed to buy enough time for me to shatter all of the Khaelid lenses and free the victims from their deep trance. It is yet another piece of the tale that he refuses to speak of, and I do not wish to press him further. So I focus on what Holmes is willing to divulge. “What did you see?”

He does not answer.

“Sherlock?” I try again. 

The words halt in his throat, and he pauses before finally answering. “I… do not quite know what I saw, John. I saw a world all at once so alien and so familiar. I saw dead men speak. I felt the… agony of death, yet I lived. I felt the weight of a gaze so piercing it seemed to see… through me. And I think, truth be told, I should not have witnessed, or felt, what I did.”

I have come to realise that when Holmes is deep in thought, or when he is uncertain of a truth, there is something of a vacancy in his eyes—but now his gaze is dark, and guarded. I do not believe he is lying, yet the words that hesitantly fall from his lips are nothing short of fantastical. Were it the Sherlock Holmes I know—he would have scoffed, and chalked it up to a combination of drugs and hysteria. 

“When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth,” Holmes continues, “I considered it all. Narcotics, mass hysteria, delirium—but I have never been more certain in my life of this: what I saw, what I felt, despite its incomprehensibility—was real.”

“As real as you or I?”

“Quite.”

I know not what to make of this. I shift my chair a little closer. Holmes’ gaze is downcast, his grip on the cup so tight his knuckles are white. I can only hazard a guess at the fierce debate that rages now in his head, the brilliant and logical man that he is.

Holmes snorts, derisively, when the silence stretches a little too long. “You must think me madder than ever, Watson.”

“Holmes!” I do not. I—

“A man whose most treasured possession has been lost. A man whose mind has gone soft—”

“—I believe you.”

Holmes stops mid-sentence, jaw agape. I steel my nerves and look him in the eyes. He is watching with all the alacrity of a blade, studying every twitch of my body, searching for a hint of a lie. But, I know he will find none. 

He lowers his voice, as if what he is about to say would sound ridiculous at a reasonable volume. “It is impossible. It cannot be the truth.”

“Truth can be impossible.”

“Nonsense. For something to be truth, it must be understood. Otherwise, it is mere conjecture, subject to the whims of perception.”

“I posit this query to you, Holmes.” I cross my arms. “Suppose I see a man, who has unfortunately passed away overnight. Can I say for certain what he dies of?”

“Of course. A careful analysis of the corpse will reveal hints as to his cause of death.”

“What if the symptoms match no known cause?”

Holmes furrows his brow. The debate has provided an excellent distraction for his mind to latch onto, and for a few moments, I glimpse the brilliant detective I know. “Even should there be no visible wounds, I would have to rule out poison, narcotics, and other invisible means of death.”

“Let us presume, in this theoretical scenario, that you have done so, and this man has no external wounds nor enemies we are able to uncover.”

“That is impossible.”

I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “Humour me, Holmes.”

He sighs, and takes a sip of tea. “Then, however improbable it may be, my only conclusion is that he has indeed died of an illness, though I cannot say for certain what it is.”

“Precisely. The truth is he died of an illness, even if you know not what it is. Perhaps some day you—or someone else—will discover what truly killed him. Take tuberculosis for example, Holmes. Long before we named the disease, it has been killing people.”

“I see your point, Watson, but how does this pertain to madness?”

I sigh. For all the intelligence the man possesses, he can be infuriatingly stubborn to accept what he already knows. “What you saw, what you felt—I believe it to be truth, Holmes. It is simply a truth you do not yet understand. Like an illness that has yet to be discovered. Not knowing an illness does not mean it does not exist.”

Understanding dawns in his gray eyes. Holmes cradles his teacup, staring through it, deep in thought. He has spoken at length of what he calls his ‘mind palace’, a place he retreats to when he seeks a conclusion. I return my attention to other matters, such as our bags, simply left in a corner after our fateful trip. While I have obtained our bare necessities, I have yet to find the strength to unpack the rest of our belongings.

Perhaps this is a good time, now that Holmes is finding a way back to himself again.

I believe I must have gone through a good two-thirds of our bags before Holmes finally clears his throat. “Watson?”

“Yes, Holmes?”

“You may be right,” he begins, hesitantly. “A truth… may still be truth, even if I… do not quite understand it.”

“Yet,” I say, moving back to the chair, “It is only a matter of time.”

“I am not sure I wish to understand what I have seen.”

“Then do not pursue that avenue. There are other things you can put your mind to, Holmes. Other truths you can uncover.”

He nods; lifts a hand to grip the edge of the sofa. “But what of my nightmares, Watson? I dream of falling into the Abyss every night. I dream of dying, as I did, in that… other world.”

Ah, yes. The nightmares. Even I, with all my knowledge, can scarcely help with his suffering. I had tried to intervene when he was cracking. I was too late. But I have faith, if it is worth anything, that Sherlock Holmes will come back this time, just as he did the last. 

“Jon?”

Holmes’s voice is quiet, small. He rarely calls my name in this manner, and I must confess, I sometimes wonder who it is that Holmes is calling. When I first introduced myself, he had been astonished. 

Jon? he had asked, in sheer disbelief. Yes, John Watson, I had replied, utterly baffled. John is a common name.

Indeed, Holmes had replied, but there had been a hint of a smile in his voice. 

I wonder, but I dare not pry. Mycroft knows, that slimy snake—but I’d rather eat my fist than approach him without Holmes’ explicit permission.

“My apologies, Holmes,” I reply, “I was lost in thought for a moment.”

“So you were.” He places the teacup on the side table. 

“I would propose a sedative once again—”

“No. As much as it offers respite, I do not wish to have my mind addled.” There is a note of finality in Holmes’ voice. I dip my head in acknowledgement. It occurs to me that, despite all the time we have spent together, I know little of Holmes’ past beyond the tragedy that befell his mother, and the bittersweet time he spent in Cordona. Even Cordona is a fog in my mind, for Holmes rarely reminisces on it. I have the nagging suspicion that it was more painful than pleasant. 

“I wish I could help, but beyond drugs, I can do little. I can only offer my hand for comfort, if you will have it, Holmes.”

“Please. That would be most appreciated.”

I look at him, surprised. 

“The jingle of your keys is not often sufficient to pull me back, Watson.”

“And my hand might?”

“I believe it is a worth a try.”

I pull the chair closer. Holmes lies down with a sigh, lower lip quivering ever so slightly. He dreads the nightmares that come with sleep, but he must rest. I take his hand—it is warm—in mine, and squeeze it gently. 

He closes his eyes and falls asleep.

[green-planets]

StEx Appreciation Month Day 23: The Nationals!

🇩🇪🇨🇵🇮🇹🇬🇧🇷🇺🇯🇵🇨🇵🇩🇪🇨🇵🇮🇹🇬🇧🇷🇺🇯🇵🇨🇵

Favourite Song/Scenes: This answer is going to be the same for all of them so the races, Rolling Stock, and Coda of Freight! They all have super fun background interactions too!

In addition, I also believe Bochum could probably get away with gender blind casting for all of the national engines

🇩🇪🇨🇵🇮🇹🇬🇧🇷🇺🇯🇵🇨🇵🇩🇪🇨🇵🇮🇹🇬🇧🇷🇺🇯🇵🇨🇵

Ruhrgold!

Face Claim: Josh Crowther, George Olney, or Will Luckett

Favourite Costumes: ICE RUHR SUPREMACY FOREVER AND ALWAYS

Favourite Ships/Friendships: Ruhrgold x Carrie, Ruhrgold x Joule (as exes). He's friends with all of the nationals but closest with Coco and Espresso, after he and Carrie start dating I could see him hanging out with some of the coaches, and he becomes friends with Rusty post-canon

Headcanons: He's extremely charming. Whenever he's late, all he has to do is smile and apologize and most people forget why they were upset at him in the first place

Unpopular Opinion: I don't have any!

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Bobo!

Face Claim: Fraser Fraser or Darren John

Favourite Costumes: Orange Bobo!!!

Favourite Ships/Friendships: Bobo x Espresso.

Headcanons: Bobo started flirting with Espresso as a power move (trying to psyche out his rival with mind games). Over time, his flirting became more and more genuine until he finally confessed his feelings

Unpopular Opinion: I like Coco way more than Bobo (but I don't think that's unpopular lol)

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Coco!

Face Claim: Molly McGuire!!! or Clare Maynard

Favourite Costumes: I love her costume! I know girl=skirt is a bad design philosophy but unfortunately Coco slays. I wouldn't be sad if they swapped the skirt for a pair of shorts or something though

Favourite Ships/Friendships: Coco x Pearl, Coco x Brandi, Coco x Volta. She and Zero are bitch buddies, of the nationals she's closest with Ruhrgold and Brexit (he may be a twerp but he's HER twerp), she has no problem hanging out with Bobo or Espresso separately but thinks they're absolutely insufferable when they're together, she's also friends with Greaseball and Brandi

Headcanons: She's the same Coco from the Japan/Aus tour! Trans Coco real!!

Unpopular Opinion: Not unpopular, but the Chanel references need to go

🇩🇪🇨🇵🇮🇹🇬🇧🇷🇺🇯🇵🇨🇵🇩🇪🇨🇵🇮🇹🇬🇧🇷🇺🇯🇵🇨🇵

Espresso!

Face Claim: Noah Jordan or Darius James

Favourite Costumes: Current Bochum! I really like the red and green split!

Favourite Ships/Friendships: Espresso x Bobo!!, Espresso x Zero (more of a one-sided crush on Zero's end), Espresso x Bidecker (as exes)

Headcanons: He finally realized that he was gay while dating Bidecker. She was planning on breaking up with him anyway because their personalities were too incompatible as romantic partners, so their split was fairly amicable and they stayed friends afterwards

Unpopular Opinion: I don't have any!

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Brexit!

Face Claim: Kevin Köhler!!! (Born to play silly little guys!!) or Anthony Cragg

Favourite Costumes: I really like his costume (minus the tie)! The flat cap is so cute

Favourite Ships/Friendships: Brexit x Rocky 1!! The other nationals like to pick on him the most but they are friends! He also befriended Memphis Belle and I could see him getting along with Rusty

Headcanons: Brexit was going to apologize to Rocky 1 for dropping out of the race but when he saw how upset he was, he chickened out and hid. He ended up meeting Memphis Belle in the freight yard. She made them some tea and they had a very pleasant chat (she also gave him advice on how to approach Rocky 1)

Unpopular Opinion: Also not unpopular, it would be so sooo easy to change his name to something silly like Biscuit and give him a different tie. And they should totally let him race with Rocky 1 at least once

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Turnov!

Face Claim: Chris Southgate or Joseph Connor (but Jayred Lempriere Turnov slayed)

Favourite Costumes: Current Bochum costume, I like the red padding he has under his chest and shoulder boxes more than the dark gray

Favourite Ships/Friendships: Turnov x Hashimoto (platonic or romantic, I just think they're close). Hashimoto is his closest friend out of the nationals, he also hangs out quite a bit with Brexit and Brandi

Headcanons: Turnov and Hashimoto were perfectly content to sit in silence with each other and do their own things, but after the race they spend a lot more of their time together bitching about a certain caboose

Unpopular Opinion: He could be cut and I wouldn't really care. He's the national I think about the least :/

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Hashimoto!

Face Claim: Mayo Kawasaki

Favourite Costumes: I prefer the blue costume but I don't mind the current Bochum one

Favourite Ships/Friendships: Hashimoto x Turnov. He's closest with Turnov, but friends with the rest of the nationals

Headcanons: He's usually pretty reserved, but really cuts loose during the races and after-parties. He likes to spend some one-on-one time with each of the other nationals before they all have to part ways again

Unpopular Opinion: Also not unpopular but holy shit stop casting white people to play him </3 And stop giving him stupid names!!

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[hotdilfs11]

Mafia Boss-Thomas Shelby x Reader pt6

Rest of the parts

✩summary: The Shelby knew this girl when she was very little. However, when her mother passed away (at 16) everything changed and everyone drifted away from each other. Now after seven years Veronica is a mafia boss in her fathers business. Her father sent her to Birmingham on business, will this play off well?

✩pairings:girl named Veronica(POC) x Thomas Shelby

✩warnings: Alcohol, lots of cursing

---------------------------------------

I started to blink rapidly while leaving Thomas' office as tears welled up in my eyes. I felt weak and distressed as I started marching away from Tommy's office, trying to look for Dante so I could leave and never be bothered by Thomas. I walk into the brightly lit room full of happiness and laughter, tears running down my cheeks, pushing through the crowd, still looking for Dante.

I stop and gather my thoughts, scanning the room rapidly until someone walks up behind me.

“Hey Veronica, have you seen Thomas?"

I turned around quickly, realizing it’s fucking Grace. My eyes narrowed, forming a piercing glare as my anger starts to boil over. I looked into Grace's emerald green vivid eyes in disgust. “Fuck off Grace," I forcefully said as I watched the happiness drain out of her face. I walked away quickly, not caring about her or anyone else; I just needed to find Dante. I rapidly swarmed through the crowds, pushing everyone out of the way, until I bumped into a familiar figure. I look up to see that it's John.

He looked confused, but then he looked at my face to see that I was crying. His eyes grew soft. "V, what's wrong, dear?” he said while wiping a tear from my face. I pushed his hand away. “I just need to find Dante John and go home." I demanded

John nodded his head like he understood what I was going through. "Okay, Veronica, calm down, and I’ll help you."

I gave him a half-smile as he put his hand on the small of my back, guiding me through the heavy crowd. I walked up to him, telling him I needed to leave immediately. I said my goodbyes to John as Dante guided me out of the insufferable crowd of people. As I’m about to walk out, I hear someone call my name. “Ronnie!” they yelled. I looked back to see Tommy chasing after me. Dante turned around as his body started to tense up. He started to become overprotective as he pushed me behind him, but I touched his shoulders and looked up at him. "It's okay, Dante, go get the car." He looked at me, unsure about my decision, but I gave him a nod, reassuring him. Dante walks away from me, going to get the car.

I started to feel a sense of sadness overcome me when I saw Tommy come closer to me. "Ronnie," he says, slowly stopping in his tracks. He kept a fair distance, trying not to upset me even more. I looked down at the floor "No, Tommy,” I said quietly.

“I want you, Veronica, please." He looks at me desperately. He looked scared and emotional when he said those words. I want him too, but I don’t know if he’s actually going to commit, be a good boyfriend, or maybe a husband. I keep telling myself this isn't good for business, but as I keep looking into his icy blue eyes, and my thoughts fly out the window. I just want him and only him. I try to fight it, but I don’t know if I can handle it anymore.

I looked at him, unable to even spit out my words, staring deeply into his gorgeous eyes. "Tommy..." I sighed. I looked away from him, unable to control my emotions, but I felt Tommy's forceful hand gently tilt my chin over to look at him. “I love you and only you." I felt breathless when he said those words. Butterflies started to form in my stomach as I started to inch over to Tommy. I got so close to him that I felt the heat radiate off his body.

"I love you too." We both got lost in each other's eyes, and time seemed to slow down. Our hearts raced in synchrony while desire filled our eyes. I could feel his warm breath brush against my lips, and his hands lock gently around my waist. Our eyes locked in silence as he pushed me into his warm and firm body, feeling the tension rise in his body. Our faces drew closer and closer, not paying attention to the world around us. Our lips started to linger open, touching but not kissing, but when we looked into each other's eyes, we said fuck it as our lips crashed together. I wrapped my arms around his neck, bracing myself for his kiss. Tommy's hungry lips started to deepen the kiss as my tongue danced on his. His lips were so addictive and intoxicating that I couldn’t get enough of them. I tried to catch my breath, but Tommy grew hungrier and hungrier. Our bodies pressed together as Tommy grabbed my waist tighter and tighter as my hands tangled in his hair. We pulled apart from each other; we were both breathless and full of lust. “Only you,” he said breathlessly.

notes- Thank you for thee support. I love you all I will be taking any ideas(well please give me an idea😭). Anyways my next stories will be about twd or spn so stay tune for that.

[ofgarnett]

( monica barbaro / cis female / she/her ) — CAITLIN SILTSHORE has been living in Port Leiry for HER WHOLE LIFE (BUT RECENTLY RETURNED AFTER A FEW YEARS AWAY). They currently work as a SILTSHORE MAUSOLEUM (OWNER), and are TWENTY-SEVEN years old. No one is sure if they’re actually a WITCH or if they’re connected to GARNETT COVEN (LEADER) They tend to be quite SELF-DESTRUCTIVE and ICARIAN, but can also be CURIOUS and AMBITIOUS.—

( tw: death, murder )

tl;dr: cait comes from a bloodline of witches who made some mistakes centuries ago and found themselves cursed as a result. the siltshore bloodline gets picked off one by one over the decades, and now here's cait, the last of her name. the curse comes with a haunting - cait grows up having to handle it. she tries to get rid of it in her early twenties and it backfires, badly. she leaves her ex-fiance for dead. cait goes off the grid. she comes back to port leiry when she learns her uncle, leader of the garnett coven, has been murdered died. her uncle leaves her the coven and the mausoleum. cait is a dark witch who is struggling to stay good. she goes down a dark path with her magic, tangos with necromancy just a little too hard, and paid dearly for it. now she is reconsidering her decisions as she steps into a position of leadership that she inherited - all the while still very much struggling to quell her darker urges and satiate an unchecked god complex.

about under the cut I penned by rey

ORIGINS

name: caitlin sitlshore

age: twenty-seven

creative touchpoints: cait is inspired by a few characters: edward elric from fullmetal alchemist in that cait is a walking cautionary tale and yet still has a certain ambition driving her. she has the rough edges and self-destructive tendencies of jessica jones. You might even see a little dark urge from baldur’s gate iii in there thanks to her latent violence. She’s any character you think of to be a godkiller, any character that can be described as icarian. god/john from the locked tomb is another touchpoint. in her heart of hearts, cait is an inventor - it wouldn’t be out of place to think of her as a mad scientist or a frankenstein. definitely an insufferable know-it-all, necromancy prodigy. “unkillable rat” are also good words to describe her. annoyingly, cait believes she is the closest thing to a god. her ultimate hubris is believing that she can tinker her way out of anything; that the laws of the world and the natural order of things do not apply to her.

alignment: chaotic evil (the faintest flicker of chaotic good can be seen on the darkest of nights)

species: witch (necromancy, nature)

hometown: port leiry

affiliation: garnett coven (leader)

occupation: siltshore mausoleum (owner)

family members of note: brennan siltshore (npc, uncle, deceased), jameson roy (ex-fiance whom she left for dead)

BACKSTORY

i. there is a nightmare in her blood, it's been there for centuries, moving from one siltshore witch to the next - eroding their mind and their marrow, putting them in the ground long before they are due. the siltshore curse blooms in cait when she is thirteen; it strikes her at the midnight hour and follows her wherever she goes. from them on, cait's body isn't her own.

ii. cait becomes familiar with the spirit that haunts her, but for a long time she refuses to hear its name. the spirit takes many forms. it's a malevolent whisper in her ear that sways like the tides. it's a shadow in her mirror that stares back at her. it reigns over her body when it wants to, slumbers when it wishes. it becomes her keeper and her teacher in all things necromantic. it calls itself 'dorian.'

iii. despite dorian's existence, cait's uncle brennan raises her. as leader of the garnett coven, brennan pulls his magic from the world around him. he's a good teacher and he does the best to bring others in. his magic hums with the vibrancy of life, he threads fate between his fingers. brennan's magic is good - brennan is good - and he seems to think cait is capable of such things too. he knows the weight of the curse she is carrying, his mother carried it too. but brennan believes cait can rise above it. cait tries, but dark things come too easy to her.

iv. cait leaves port leiry for college - a chance to further develop her magic and keep building out her grimoire. a chance to maybe find herself, in the way that all cursed witches aim to do. there's a boy at college - one who doesn't know he's a witch, one who says he's seen her in his dreams. he's a necromancer too. cait takes him by the hand and shows him what she knows. curiosity pulls jameson and cait together, ambition keeps them stitched there. she doesn't tell him about the curse.

v. what jameson and cait do instead is talk about plans. a new coven maybe, something for the necromancers. there's that ambition again - and it is so bright at the center of her. so electric. sometimes it's hard for cait to remember the sound of her own thoughts, to understand where hers end and dorian's begin. but she wants this - she wants to build, and grow, and discover, and learn. she doesn't really mind how she gets there. she doesn't mind a little blood. she does know though, that when she does it, she wants her body to be her own.

vi. love is so strange - strange in the way that you can let a person get so close to you. strange in the way that you can let them get to know you. no person should be allowed to take that knowing and turn it into a knife. jameson and cait get engaged and that should mean something. and yet, when cait tries to get rid of her curse and it costs her jameson's life, she pays the price and leaves him for dead.

vii. for two years cait runs, leaving behind her choices and building out her grimoire. for the first time, her mind is silent. a place to call her own. she still has big plans - but they all come to a stop when she hears about brennan's death.

viii. warily, cait makes her way back to port leiry.

ix. now - cait heads up the garnett coven and owns the mausoleum. she wants to build the coven to a certain sort of greatness. she doesn't really mind spilling a little blood to get there.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

tbd - but really anything and everything. let her be the devil on your shoulder; be the one to keep her in the light. my god, cait is so quick to make enemies, but she is fiercely protective of those in the garnett coven. if you need a morally questionable witch to invent you a spell or a curse, she's your gal. if you need someone to commit cold blooded murder, she is also unfortunately your gal.

[cantsayidont]

Teevee haterating:

BANDIDOS Season 2 (2025): The gang returns for more Indiana Jones-ish antics, this time in a race with another old enemy (Ximena Lamadrid) to find a legendary diamond that's part of a centuries-old cache of native treasure. The story this time focuses primarily on Lilí (Ester Expósito), but while Expósito is easily the best actor of the bunch, giving her more opportunity to emote sacrifices the deadpan nonchalance that made Lilí so much fun to watch in the first season, and the busy, contrived plot gives the other characters precious little to do. As before, the mood is light, but the plot is only incrementally less culturally insensitive than THE MUMMY (1999); the story's actual indigenous characters are treated very brusquely. CONTAINS LESBIANS? We finally see the woman for whom Inés the bisexual bent cop (Mabel Cadena) left her husband. VERDICT: Much too scattershot to satisfy if you actually try to pay attention to it.

LAID (2024): Stephanie Hsu squanders all accumulated goodwill with this incredibly awful Peacock comedy, adapted from an Australian series, about a romantically frustrated, singularly insufferable party planner named Ruby Yao (Hsu), whose former lovers start dropping dead in the order in which Ruby slept with them. Yet another entry in the lexicon of unfunny comedies about Millennials whose sole personality trait is boorish self-absorption, costarring Zosia Mamet of GIRLS as Ruby's equallly unbearable true-crime-obsessed roommate AJ. Scattershot and offensive, and the characters are so incredibly unsympathetic that there's no reason to stick around long enough to find out what's really going on. (Spoiler alert: It's not actually explained, and ends with a cliffhanger.) CONTAINS LESBIANS? Ruby has dated a couple of women, who are not immune to her death curse, nor is a gay guy she once hooked up with — because for shows like this, what's funnier than dead gay people? VERDICT: Dire. Has Peacock ever made anything good?

THE OLD MAN (2022–2024): Uncomfortable, racist FX espionage drama about a long-retired covert operative called Dan Chase (Jeff Bridges), who finds that U.S. intelligence is once again looking for him after 30 years off the radar, with his one-time handler Harper (John Lithgow) now forced to play both sides against the middle. Amy Brennerman plays a middle-aged divorcée who ends up as Dan's de facto hostage and putative partner, with Alia Shawkat as Harper's FBI protégé. Lithgow and Brennerman are excellent, but Bridges seems miscast — he was never a tough guy even in his 30s, and a gravelly voice alone does not an elderly badass make. It takes forever before the needle even twitches on the "Who cares?" meter, but once the Season 1 climax finally (sort of) reveals what's going on, it all falls apart: The second season immediately loses all narrative momentum for a double helping of awful Orientalist horseshit — not only does it refuse to treat any of its Afghan characters as real people, it becomes so racist that it stops making any sense at all. Shawkat embarrasses herself in what proves to be a truly dreadful part. CONTAINS LESBIANS? Obliquely? VERDICT: The first season's fleeting moments of promise are discarded early in Season 2, which quickly becomes unwatchable. I came away feeling that everyone involved should issue a public apology.

SKYMED (2022– ): Undemanding, very cheesy CBC medical drama about the heroic flight nurses and pilots of an air medevac service in northern Manitoba. A likable cast (Natasha Calis, Morgan Holmstrom, Aason Nadjiwan, Praneet Akilla, Mercedes Morris, Kheon Clarke, Thomas Elms, Rebecca Kwan, and especially Sydney Kuhne), the usual dose of contrivance and melodrama, and an eye-rolling lack of narrative subtlety — it might as well slather each major story or character beat in hi-vis orange. CONTAINS LESBIANS? Not until Season 2, when it begins to make up for lost time. VERDICT: Check your brain at the door, but there are worse ways to spend 44 minutes.

VINCENZO (2021): Broad, sometimes violent, sometimes ridiculous K-drama satire of the endemic corruption of modern South Korean society, about Vincenzo Cassano, a slick Korean-Italian mob consiglieri with nerves of ice (the incongruously babyfaced Song Joong-ki) who returns to Korea in search of a cache of mob gold and ends up going to war with a ruthless corporate conglomerate called Babel, which is trying to acquire and demolish the building where the gold is hidden. Vincenzo soon becomes entangled with the building's eccentric tenants and their idealistic lawyer (Yoo Jae-myung), whose temperamental daughter Hong Cha-young (Jeon Yeo-been) is an attorney for the firm that represents Babel's pharmaceuticals business. An unsubtle but infectious mixture of ripped-from-the-headlines topicality, goofy comedy, and grandiose melodrama, its biggest flaws are that it tends to draw things out more than it needs to (especially given how eagerly it telegraphs its major story beats) and that the delightful supporting cast doesn't always get enough screen time. CONTAINS LESBIANS? No. VERDICT: Not always convincing, but consistently endearing, although the brutality of the finale doesn't sit quite right, even considering the villains' over-the-top barbarity.

[plainlo-inthemorning]

Jeb Tyler: Motion Approved

Warnings: Smut. Pairing: Jeb Magruder (Gaslit) x John Tyler (Tell Me Your Secrets). M/M. IYKYK. Words: 4k

A drabble I wrote in June of last year (!), peak Jeb Tyler era, then forgot. Rediscovered it today and though it’s somewhat incomplete, I thought I’d rather let it live than sit on the dusty folder shelf.

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.

.

.

Two hours and 13 insufferable minutes.

That’s how long the meeting at the tiny, local community centre has dragged out, inexplicably, when Jeb slowly reaches for JT’s thigh under the table.

Half because he cannot stand being this close to his lover for this long without any physical contact (especially after the morning they had).

Half because he may collapse from excruciating boredom face first onto the plastic tabletop if he doesn’t do something drastic to jolt his senses awake. 

He never was very good at staying focused in meetings longer than thirty minutes, not here nor anywhere else. A shortcoming that didn’t exactly serve him well in his previous life.

Now, the other man stiffens in his seat as Jeb lightly touches him with the back of his hand, a single finger tapping teasingly at the sculpted muscles under JT’s khakis.

They involuntarily flex.

At the other side of the table, Mrs. Collins (whose young son has been parked in a corner, the poor child) is still making her passionate case for why they simply must put up more official signs around the neighbourhood reminding dog owners to keep “their mutts” from doing their dirty business on the (hers) manicured front lawns so that people (she) won’t have to worry about unwelcome “surprises” while trimming their (her) rose bushes.

It’s a minute and a half proposal that has somehow turned into a long-winded, indignant speech about the individual’s right and private ownership. Her cheeks have reddened with fiery fervour, her peroxide perm bouncing when she looks from one attendee to the next. 

And this on top of the similarly arousing speeches on recycling and speed bumps that went before it, delivered with just as much Shakespearean zest by Mrs. Spangler and Mrs. Altmann, respectively. 

No doubt this is the highlight of the month for all of them.

Mrs. Collins in particular ought to have become a politician, Jeb thinks, and looks down to hide his snicker, not for the first time. 

Then again, no one’s stopping her, least of all him and JT who, after just six months of small-town living, are still making every effort to be on their best, most disarmingly charming neighbourly behaviour when around the middle-aged-to-retired matrons who basically run the town like a mafia during the day.

The key to enjoying a peaceful existence is to get on their good side, to never give cause for suspicion or complaints, and Jeb and JT want to fit in.

Have to fit in if this new domestic life of theirs is to stand a chance.

If not, the road it is.

Again.

Or perhaps another country, even.

Jeb, for one, is not particularly nostalgic for the days of being fucked on worn-out motel mattresses with squeaky springs.

Crucially, acceptance from the knitting mafia equals acceptance from their spouses.

Spouses who, save for one or two, did not immediately warm to the two handsome bachelors sharing a house out of “convenience”.

But so far so good:

After moving in on a scorching hot Thursday in June, it hadn’t taken the unfailingly polite, striking gentlemen long to woo the top dogs (or should one say…? No. One shouldn’t) of the neighbourhood. Without any of them recognizing Jeb, thankfully (still, he’s going to keep the beard and slightly longer hair a little longer. JT approves).

And so here they are, patient participants in monthly meetings with their fellow caring citizens that very rarely include other men save for when an unlucky husband is dragged in to throw his “masculine authority” behind a squabble important solely to the matrons.

As much as they can, Jeb and JT smoothly avoid taking sides, and instead listen and nod and frown in great concern over the lack of bins on the corner of Keannely St. and Ellis Ave., and are thus adored by all, being fed home-baked goods and cooed over as they in return provide the eye-candy and compliments and cheeky winks that turn the women to mush.

To have two such capable, good-looking men take the matters of this little town seriously, and who want to do good for the community. Every little hungry housewife’s pride and joy.

But sometimes the clothes do not make the men…

When Jeb starts mapping little circles on JT’s thigh, well-hidden under the table, he spies out the corner of his eye how JT’s jaw tightens. 

He’s still looking straight ahead at Mrs. Collins, and Jeb knows it’s so stupid - really, really stupid - to risk drawing unwanted attention to the actual nature of his and JT’s closeness, but he cannot help himself.

Between the two, it’s rare that he’s in control, and touching JT under the table suddenly feels thrillingly rebellious. Usually, it’s JT who makes Jeb squirm in public by sneakily teasing parts that should not be teased, or worse.

Like that time in the changing rooms at the department store when …

Despite his initial protests back then, Jeb feels his cock growing hard just at the memory of JT slipping past the curtain into the small booth, as Jeb was buttoning up another pair of Levi’s (he had never owned a pair before. The fabric felt weird and youthful and like it may turn him into another man entirely). 

Jeb, fretful, already imagining that every store assistant will have seen JT enter: “Um, can you.. can you wait outside? Please?” 

JT, features completely neutral as he kneels in front of Jeb, and proceeds to unbutton the new jeans: “No.”

Jeb, panicked at the risk of exposure yet dizzy with pleasure, trying not to moan while JT gives him the (then) blowjob of his life. Fisting at JT’s short, silver-streaked hair.

JT, dark eyes locked on Jeb’s blue ones, managing to smirk even with Jeb’s cock in his mouth. “Good boy,” is what they’re saying, his wolf eyes. 

They had left the store with an unaffected air, shopping bags swinging by their sides (at the last minute, JT had picked out yet another one of his beloved short-sleeved check shirts). 

No, that is a half lie. 

JT had seemed unaffected by their dangerous little tryst. 

Jeb had been sweating profusely from both anxiety and the heat of his climax in the other man’s relentless mouth. 

Still, lust begets lust. 

And so, on the drive back to the hotel, Jeb had found himself in the passenger seat wanting more, wanting to be touched without fear of being caught until he had said as much to JT who had, without a word, made a sharp turn onto a deserted country road, parked the car, walked around to the passenger side, opened the door and basically ripped Jeb out by the collar of his trench coat.

Afterwards, while Jeb was doing up his pants and stuffing in his shirt, JT had perched himself on the hood, a cigarette balancing languidly between his long fingers.

“John?”.

“Yes?”,

“Get off my Oldsmobile”.

JT had not attempted to conceal his grin. The day was too good, the sun on them too warm.

“I think you’re the one who just got off on your Oldsmobile”.

He winked. 

A most delectable monster, alright. 

Somewhere halfway through reminiscing, Jeb’s hand seems to have found JT’s crotch on its own accord, and now JT shifts uneasily on his chair, trying to shake Jeb off. 

The latter merely leans forward a bit, pretending to look through some documents in front of him, while his hand under the table rubs over JT’s cock that is - of course - already responding to the ministrations. 

JT clears his throat and tries to cross his legs, but there’s no room, and the feeling of Jeb’s palm now cupping his hardening length is making his own hands clammy. 

He’s good at remaining calm under ‘duress’, and even better at never unwillingly advertising to the world what he’s feeling, be it physical pain, anger, or fear. Unlike certain blue-eyed individuals who cry at the push of a button. Not to mention the opening of one.

Even so, Jeb’s hands on him is making JT feel slightly out of control. It’s uncanny, frankly, the hold the former President’s man has on him. 

In more ways than one.

He wants to grab hold of Jeb’s wrist, force him down on the floor, yank his head back by that delicious, thick, dark hair, and watch him open his mouth in obedience, like JT has taught him.

But of course, JT cannot do that. 

All he can do is try to sit still as the blood slowly leaves his brain in anticipation of a release he will not get.

Oh, Jeb is going to get it as soon as they get home.

JT suppresses a wince. Now that’s a line of thought most unhelpful at containing the situation at hand. 

In Jeb’s hand.

And Jeb is enjoying himself. 

What a weird little power rush it is to make JT ache in this of all places.

Yes, there will no doubt be punishment later, but watching the corner of JT’s eye start to twitch with desperation as Mrs. Collins drones on, and the rest of the attendees are seemingly either half asleep or lost to their knitting, is making Jeb giddy.

He presses his palm firmly down on JT’s cock, then squeezes it gently, and JT gasps so sharply he has to fake a coughing fit. 

When Mrs. Spangler quickly pours him another glass of lemonade and hands it over from the other side of the table, and JT thanks her in a strained voice while still being worked under the table, a giggle escapes Jeb which he then has to pass off as a cough.

“Oh my, I hope you boys aren’t coming down with anything.” Mrs. Spangler leans across the table, not exactly elegantly, to pat Jeb’s arm. Only the tips of her red nails reach his white shirt sleeve. 

He’s her favourite. She’ll take any excuse to touch him, and Jeb loves how it makes JT roll his eyes. 

Right now, though, there will be no eye rolls. JT is clearly making an effort to not move a single muscle on his face.

We’ll see about that.

Jeb squeezes his partner’s cock harder. 

JT’s mouth falls slightly open. He has stopped blinking.

Satisfying. And enough. 

After all, JT’s light khakis won’t conceal a multitude of sins, as Jeb’s dark jeans would have been able to. 

Jeb removes his hand, and JT lets out an inaudible sigh of relief. 

The meeting goes on for another ten minutes, in which JT betrays no emotion, but Jeb knows he’s secretly seething. 

And turned on. 

It’s never spoken out loud, but in the rare instances where the power dynamic is flipped on its head - such as when Jeb has to lead the small talk on ‘official business’ with the likes of realtors or financial advisors - excitement and pride swells in JT in a cocktail of emotions commonly resolving in an animalistic need to tear Jeb’s clothes off at the earliest convenience if not sooner. 

Often sooner.

Still, Jeb has never advanced on him in this way. The audacity.

Someone keeping tap might find it quite fair, but JT is not one for playing fair, and so obstinate behaviour will be dealt with.

The hairs at the back of Jeb’s neck are already standing up when they rise from the meeting (JT without any difficulty, thank god), and he feels the air beginning to cackle with electricity between their bodies before they have even said their final goodbyes and good evenings to the matrons, who once again express their delight in the men’s “commitment” to making the town a wholesome little haven, far from the grime and the sleaze and the moral depravities of the big cities. 

“See you at church on Sunday!” trills Mrs. Altmann after them (having told them of the arrival of a new, young pastor approximately 43 times by now. “Let’s see how quickly we can make the good Father question his faith, huh?”, JT had whispered conspiratorially to Jeb when they were first informed, and Jeb had known exactly what he meant. And felt jealous. Even if JT was only joking). 

Now, JT puts the Oldsmobile in reverse, a little too roughly than warranted, and Mrs. Collins drags her chronically sullen, curly-haired son off with one hand while waving gayly with the other. 

Then they’re on the road, and none of them are speaking, and Jeb knows that something is definitely coming. 

They pull up into the driveway of their house. Their house. Sometimes Jeb still cannot believe it, while to JT, who has never before lived in a house he wasn’t afraid to come home to, number 13 Branca St. is even more. 

So much more. Something to be fiercely guarded.

Both men get out of the car, and Jeb, whose heart is beating out of his chest in anticipation of whatever lurid repercussions JT is going to concoct, is somewhat surprised and maybe a little disappointed when the man doesn’t jump him the second they enter the hallway. 

Nor does JT berate Jeb, or scowl in the menacing way he does when he’s about to explode. 

No, JT simply removes his red windbreaker and kicks off his boots, placing them nicely on the mat next to the front door (he is very strict about upkeeping a No Shoes policy in the home) and disappears without a word down the hall and into the bedroom.

Jeb can hear him turning on the light in the walk-in-closet.

“John?” 

After removing his own shoes and jacket, Jeb follows. Surely it cannot be that JT is actually sulking?

Up until now, Jeb has only ever known JT to properly sulk when he loses at a board game, or when Jeb is displaying what JT perceives as a lack of respect for the presentability of their home - i.e. Jeb being a little too careless with where he tosses his still-wet towels and used socks.

Jeb enjoys neatness as much as the next suburban male, sure. 

JT, however, is obsessed with it, scolding Jeb if he leaves an empty soda can out on the kitchen counter until the next day, or if he forgets a candy wrapper on the bedside stand. 

Jeb pushed back in the beginning, good-humouredly, but quickly sensed something else lurking underneath JT’s incessant need for keeping a clean house when a strange, shrill tone would sneak into his voice as he waved empty packs of crisps accusingly in Jeb’s face, perhaps hinting at yet another ghost from his past. 

JT’s past. 

JT’s past is a nightmarish void Jeb is rarely comfortable peeking into. But he’s even more uncomfortable with the thought that JT may turn around one day and decide to take another look himself. 

“John, what are you doing in there?”

No reply.

Jeb stands a little awkwardly in the door to the bedroom, while JT rummages around for something on one of the top shelves of the walk-in-closet (one of the first things they re-did when they moved in). 

The muscles of his broad back are visible under the brown checks as he moves, and Jeb wants to go to him and wrap his arms around his waist, and kiss his neck, and have JT punish him for behaving badly at the meeting, but he’s very unsure of JT’s mood.

Whenever JT turns truly unreadable, Jeb’s insecurities flair like a chilly mist rolling in from the sea. 

He’ll get on his knees and take his punishment. He’ll take the petty arguments, and the sulking, and the infuriating way in which JT will in one minute mock Jeb’s love of The Beach Boys, then in the next whisper every word of God Only Knows into his ear as he fucks him against the kitchen counter.

But the silence makes Jeb antsy.

However, just as he’s about to say something again, JT turns around. He’s holding a cardboard box that Jeb doesn’t remember having seen before, but which JT obviously must have kept somewhere in the closet.

“What’s…”

“Get on the bed.”

JT’s voice is calm. Even. But his stare? His stare is wicked. 

Jeb shivers with bubbling excitement. Of course, JT wasn’t just going to give him the cold shoulder. 

Still, given JT’s unpredictability, the box worries him a bit. 

“Jeb…Bed. Now.”

JT is waiting, and so Jeb goes to sit on the edge of the large bed, straightening his back as the mattress dips under him, and trying to muster as much cool as he can with JT’s eyes burning into him. 

The bedroom is one of two in the house, of course. The guest room is always ready to be presented as JT’s, should a neighbour drop by and ask for a tour.

“On your back.” 

JT is motioning for Jeb to move up the bed, and he does as he’s told. But when he reaches up to remove his tie, JT holds up a hand. 

“Leave it. Arms above your head.”

Ah.

Jeb knows what that means, and sure enough, as he brings up his arms, JT puts down the box on the mattress, then opens the bottom drawer in the dresser next to the bed. 

The rattle of the metal buckles on the leather cuffs is a familiar sound that makes Jeb’s cock throb and his ass clench. 

JT means business tonight. 

The last time they came out, Jeb could hardly walk the next day.

Despite the usual preparations, he had been almost as sore as the time they fucked in the walk-in closet on the day the realtor had shown them the house. Of course, that time there had not even been any oils, no nothing. 

Just too much fire and frustration and pent-up tension to not do it anyway. 

Since then, JT has always carried a small bottle in the inner pocket of his jacket. Not just in case, but for the many, many cases that came after. 

In theory, Jeb finds the concept of carrying something like that around downright perverse and is terrified on a daily basis that it will suddenly fall from JT’s pocket and onto the floor or the street for all to see (JT rolls his eyes at this, too). 

In reality, he’s thankful for it, as he remains pathetically unable to stop JT from making him half mad with need where and whenever JT feels like it. 

Now, JT gets on the bed too and straddles Jeb’s waist, leaning over his torso to clasp the cuffs around his wrists, and fasten them to the bedpost. 

Then he sits back on his heels and surveys his bound prey with a smirk that makes Jeb involuntarily bite his bottom lip.

“Oh, don’t look so worried, now.” JT smiles and cocks his head to the side. A hungry smile. “Don’t I always make you feel good, Jeb?” 

A rhetorical question for the present day. As for those first few, chaotic weeks all that time ago…? 

They don’t go there. 

JT’s long fingers slowly pull Jeb’s shirt free of his pants, revealing a toned midriff (he’s not wearing an undershirt today. Scandalous). The first buttons of the shirt are opened, but JT leaves it at that, instead pushing the garment up so Jeb’s chest is revealed.

Next, JT moves back a bit, and unbuckles Jeb’s belt, then his fly. The jeans are pulled down only enough to reveal Jeb’s boxers. 

It seems JT wants him half clothed for whatever session he has planned. The wolf licks his shapely lips as he looks from Jeb’s face down his chest and to his already hard cock pressing against the thin fabric, and Jeb swallows, digging his fingernails into his palms. 

His eyelids are already fluttering rapidly, as they do when he gets flustered, and JT’s smile widens as he leans forward once more, this time to place a closed fist on the mattress on either side of Jeb’s head. 

JT lowers himself down on strong arms till his face is hovering inches above Jeb’s, and the latter automatically cranes his neck up to meet his lover’s mouth.

But JT doesn’t bite this time.

“Now…my little politician who has, apparently, completely forgotten how to act in public.” His voice is slow and husky. A shiver runs through Jeb from the base of his skull to his toes. 

“Since you have a new affinity for teasing, I thought I’d indulge you…”

“What are you…?” 

Jeb doesn’t get a full sentence out before JT suddenly dips his face to play-bite at the left side of his throat, worrying his teeth over the sensitive skin, and making Jeb gasp with surprise and pleasure. 

Whispered words: “You’re about to find out.” 

Then JT is pushing himself off Jeb again, leaving entirely too much cool air and empty space behind. But before Nixon’s disgraced campaign manager can mourn his lover’s absence, JT positions himself on his knees between Jeb’s legs, pushing them wide apart, and grabbing the cardboard box that has been sitting on the mattress next to their bodies. 

JT discards the lid, and then he’s holding a thing Jeb immediately recognizes, although he has never seen one in real life. Only in one of those basement movies, that he once went to after not having had sex with his wife for eight months, and desperate for…something.

The dildo is large, roughly the same size as JT’s own cock, by the look of it from Jeb’s vantage point, and perfectly smooth. 

No life-like veins or curves. A streamlined model in a dusty purple (it must have been the only color, or JT would never have chosen it). 

With a cord attached. 

Why is there a cord attached? 

When JT puts down the box, Jeb sees why. 

As JT is holding the dildo in his left hand, thumb rubbing idly up and down the polished form, in his right hand, at the end of the cord, there seems to be a…remote. 

Oh, god.

Electricity? Is that even safe? 

Jeb fidgets, but with JT between his legs, and his arms bound above his head, he cannot move far. 

“John, is that…is that an approved, um, electric appliance? I really don’t think it’s advisable to, um, to…”

JT interrupts him. 

“Quiet. How amusing that you’d think you have any say in this.”

He flips a tiny button on the small, black remote. The dildo starts vibrating in his other hand with a low humming sound that reminds Jeb a little too much of a dentist’s drill.

“You’re going to lie there, Jeb, and don’t speak, and take what’s coming, until you’ve learned your lesson.”

JT is already enjoying himself immensely.  

“But John, really, I just…” Jeb’s voice has gone up to a pitch some might qualify as whining (many have), and JT’s eyes dance with delight at the sound. 

“I said no speaking, Jeb. Not until I allow it. If you cannot follow that simple instruction…” JT glances at the dresser.

The leather cuffs are not the only piece of ‘equipment’ stored in the drawer, Jeb knows. And so he holds in his protests and only squirms when JT proceeds to use the tip of the vibrating dildo to draw slow eights from Jeb’s stomach and up his chest, as if JT were a tattoo artist mapping out a design.

It tickles horribly, and Jeb can’t keep from thrashing on the mattress when JT, wearing an evil little smirk, drags the dildo down Jeb’s ribs on his right side. 

He’s got goosebumps all over, and wherever the dildo touches his skin, the vibrations send little, not entirely unpleasant waves of sparks through his nervous system (and it is, truly, a very nervous system).

As JT moves back up to circle the areola, Jeb throws his head back and closes his eyes, trying not to moan too loudly as it’s exactly what JT wants.

But when the tip of the dildo makes light contact with his already hardened nipple, the vibrating sensation is too much and a much too lustful gasp leaves his lips as his eyes fly open again - just in time to see JT regard him with a look that tells him he’ll most likely be screaming into a pillowcase before this ‘session’ is over.

JT presses the length of the dildo flat against Jeb’s right nipple, and he keeps it there as he puts down the remote control and instead places his other hand over Jeb’s cock that is now straining to escape the waistband of his boxers. 

Jeb tries to thrust his pelvis upwards into JT’s hand, hungry for friction, but JT shakes his head. “No, you don’t”. He removes his hand. Then the dildo from Jeb’s chest. 

JT turns it off and the bedroom suddenly seems ominously quiet without the electrical hum.

He bares his canines.

“I think we ought to flip you over after all, hmm?”

Jeb swallows. Again.

That was quick.

His hands are untied. He is flipped on his stomach. His pants and boxers are pulled down.

Jeb wants to tell John to just take it all off, that it feels humiliating to be half-clothed like this, but he also knows it’s part of the game. 

JT could easily remove his clothes. But where’s the fun in that when he can have Jeb sweating through a nice white shirt?

“Now, Jeb … can you say please?”

…

“...Well?”

“... please”.

“Please what?”

“...please punish me”. 

“Good boy”.

The humming resumes. 

.

.

.

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Thank you for reading!

Masterlist

[mimisempai]

With you, anything is possible

Summary

Greg, annoyed by Sherlock and John, gives in again and agrees to look after Rosie for the third night in a row. Mycroft realizes that the idea of being a father is growing on him.

Notes

Mystrade Monday  1.0  #42 - "For the hundredth time, I'm not your babysitter."

@mystradepromptsandscenarios

On AO3

483 words - Rating G

"For the hundredth time, I'm not your babysitter." 

Sherlock stood in front of Greg and replied cockily, "But you are, aren't you? What my dear brother asked you to do when he asked you to keep me occupied is a sort of babysitting."

Greg sighed, "I mean, I'm not Rosie's babysitter!"

John stepped between the two men in a pleading tone, "Please, Greg. Just for tonight."

Greg sighed again, "That's what you've been telling me for the last two nights. I like Rosie very much, but has it occurred to you that Mycroft and I might like to spend the evening together?"

Sherlock interjected, "Oh come on, like you've got something planned."

"Sherlock..." John sighed, "You're not helping."

Greg, tired of their bickering, interrupted, "That's all right, John, I'll take care of Rosie, if only to get the two of you off my back."                                              

Moments later, Rosie in his arms, Greg closed the door on the two men. 

He turned the little girl around in his arms and said softly, "Here we are, just the two of us, honey. We're going to wait for Uncle Mycroft. He'll be so surprised... or not."

The little girl babbled back as Greg sat down on the sofa. Then he bounced her in his arms, which made Rosie laugh, so Greg did it again.

A quarter of an hour later, while he was having fun with the little girl, he didn't hear the apartment door open and was surprised to hear Mycroft's voice say softly, almost with admiration in his voice, "You're good at this."

Greg smiled and took the tired little girl into his arms.

Mycroft came and sat down beside them, putting his arm around Greg's shoulder and watching fondly as the little girl fought sleep and finally gave in, burying her head in Greg's neck.

Greg dropped his head to Mycroft's chest and Mycroft kissed his hair.

He then whispered so as not to wake the little girl, "I'm sorry, I couldn't refuse again."

Mycroft shrugged and replied, "Don't say anything, my brother's been insufferable again."

Greg nodded. Mycroft continued, "Then don't apologise, and besides, Rosie isn't the most troublesome of children."

He gently brushed aside one of the little girl's blonde curls that had fallen across her face, and the little girl continued to sleep, unperturbed.

He added, "Let's take advantage of this quiet moment to rest, after all it's not too different from what we would have done tonight."

Greg chuckled softly in reply before leaning back a little more against Mycroft.

In the sweetness of the moment, Mycroft found himself wishing that one day it wouldn't be Rosie in Gregory's arms, but their own child. For the first time, the thought of becoming a father didn't frighten him.

He knew he wouldn't be alone.

Leaning his cheek against Greg's hair, he sighed with contentment at the thought of a possible future.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Mystrade masterlist here

Mystrade Monday 1.0 : here

[tranquilspot]

John: Check message.

Heeello 4th pesterlog!

TT: I understand you have recently come into possession of the beta release of "The Game of the Year", as featured in respectable periodicals such as GameBro Magazine. EB: that's an ugly rumor. EB: whoever told you that is a filthy liar.

'Respectable' eh? Nice one. John isn't all innocent and 'pure' as much as some people believe. He too can play at the Strilonde game. He has no reason to lie or be in denial about the game, right? Yeah they're just having fun.

EB: and you should probably stop hitting on him all the time or whatever. TT: I can't control myself. TT: I must have a weakness for insufferable pricks.

See Lalonde's sarcarm is a bit like Strider's irony. It's not sincere, but there is nonetheless a part of sincerity in her jokes. She's a lesbian obviously, but maybe she meant more on an intellectual and psychological way. She loves psychoanalyzing his behavior and dreams after all.

TT: John. EB: what? TT: You're wearing one of your disguises now, aren't you? TT: You are typing to me right now while wearing something ridiculous. EB: no, why would you even think that?? EB: that's so stupid. TT: Ok. TT: Why don't you go get the game from your father? EB: alright, wish me luck.

Ok first of, she's really good and observant to be able to pin out exactly what and when John's doing by remembering his mannerism.

Second, it just came in my mind, but isn't John disguising himself with a pipe (and soon with a bowler hat) a way to emulate his dad. Unconscious roleplaying and such? Each kid have a guardian which they look up to, a 'role model'. But there's a conflict inside him, he aspires to become a man/dad, and at the same time there's something that blocks him. His relationship with his dad which also impact and correlate in a echoey way with the relationship John has with his sense of self and dadhood. Does that make sense? That's why Rose gently guides him to interrogate the source of it. And because she has her reasons to play too, of course. TT: Why don't you go get the game from your father? Well she has an inkling, and her trying to unravel his issues unknowingly help her starting to untangle her relationship with her mother. Now that I think about it. Is John nervous about playing the Game? He 'seems' quite neutral, if not irritated. But only because Dad is getting in the way. The Game, for now, symbolizes fun and nonchalance. Is Dad holding, almost hostage, the discs a brutal step into the rite of adulthood? Sburb is a cruel bait, promising fun, meeting your friends, escapism.. But in reality, it forces them to grow violently, prematurely, and more isolated.

EB: alright, wish me luck. EB: oh, btw... EB: jk I was wearing a funny disguise this whole time. EB: gotcha! hehehehe TT: I know, John.

I like their dynamic :) I also like how the pesterlogs are short for now haha —>

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

Hallelujah South Park!

By Maureen Callahan 16 Feb 2023 - 17 Feb 2023

Will their delicious take-down of privacy-hungry Harry & Meghan FINALLY make them see what insufferable hypocrites - and global laughing stocks - they've become?

Well, she said she wanted to be a cartoon princess. Now, thanks to the brilliant minds at 'South Park,' Meghan Markle is one.

In 'Worldwide Privacy Tour,' which aired Wednesday night, Meghan and Prince Harry were savaged as hypocritical publicity hounds who nonetheless demand to be left alone. After promoting his memoir, here called 'Waaagh,' the 'prince and princess of Canada' move to South Park, whose children cannot abide their insufferability. At one point, the outraged prince flashes his frostbitten penis — to a child! — while defending his wife.

As the animated Harry and Meghan toddle around the globe, holding placards that read 'STOP LOOKING AT US!' and 'WE WANT OUR PRIVACY!,' their entitlement, stupidity and lack of self-awareness was sliced through by a cartoon talk-show host with, in my view, better questions than Tom Bradby or Anderson Cooper.

Appearing on 'Good Morning Canada,' Harry and Meghan — the latter speaking inanities with a Valley Girl accent — sit down to a chorus of boos. The impeccable line of questioning beings.

'Let me start with you, sir. You've lived a life with the royal family, you've had everything handed to you, but you say your life has been hard. And now you've written all about it in your new book, 'Waaagh.'

Harry: 'Yes, that's right friend. You see, my wife and I —'

Meghan: 'I was like, totallllllly, you should write a book 'cause your family, like stupid, and then [unintelligible] journalists.'

Host: 'So you hate journalists.'

Harry: 'That's right!'

Host: 'And now you wrote a book that reports on the lives of the royal family.'

Harry: 'Right!'

Host: 'So you're a journalist.'

Yes! Exactly right.

Meghan: 'We just wanna be normal people. This attention is so hard.'

Waaagh!' indeed. You have to wonder what the mood is in Montecito this morning, the online reaction from us 'normal people' nothing short of a rousing standing ovation. Do Harry and Meghan get it now? Do they understand that they are laughingstocks not just around the world, but in the province Meghan values above all others — Hollywood?

'South Park': Grade A+. Chef's kiss. This was a perfect episode. The only possible criticism: What took Trey Parker and Matt Stone so long?Granted, it seems every week does bring a brand new hypocrisy. One must work hard to keep up. 'Because I'm from the States, you don't grow up with the same understanding of the royal family. And so while I now understand very clearly there's a global interest there, I didn't know much about him.

'That was Meghan Markle in November 2017, seated next to Prince Harry as they gave their first interview to the BBC as a newly engaged couple.A fair number of people — myself included — found it near impossible, laughable really, to believe that Meghan, creature of Hollywood and student of fame, had little idea who Prince Harry or the British royal family was. Or that this self-professed smart, savvy, well-cultured woman had not so much as Googled her fair prince before their first date. No social climber she!It all sounded very Yoko Ono, who, upon meeting John Lennon, claimed to have never heard of him.Now — could it possibly be — that Meghan was insincere? A newly resurfaced post on her late blog The Tig (think Goop, but more basic and obvious) reveals that Meghan was very familiar with the British royal family and with William and Kate's nuptials. She even wrote about the type of princess she, Meghan, dreamt she might someday be.

Hey, Harry: Don't feel too bad. Even Lennon fell for it. As he told Rolling Stone in 1971, Yoko had 'only heard of Ringo, I think.'Ringo! Not the world-famous half of the most celebrated songwriting duo of post-World War II Western civilization. When you're that well known, it seems, nothing is as refreshing as someone who claims not to know who you are or what you do or why people care about you. The implication, of course, being that said ignoramus sees through the veneer of celebrity to you. They like and love you for you, not the attendant wealth or social status or privilege or refracted fame that comes with being your other half. Here's Meghan in her 2014 blog post, fantasizing about becoming a princess while also mocking the entire idea, because she's just that cool and just that above everything, even a storied institution dating back over eleven centuries.

'Little girls dream of being princesses,' Meghan wrote. 'I, for one, was all about She-Ra, Princess of Power. For those of you unfamiliar with the '80s cartoon reference, She-Ra is . . . a sword-wielding royal rebel known for her strength. We're definitely not talking about Cinderella here. Grown women seem to retain this childhood fantasy. Just look at the pomp and circumstance surrounding the royal wedding and endless conversation about Princess Kate.

'Well, well, well. How will Meghan explain that away? Or as recounted by Harry, that upon meeting Prince Andrew she thought he was the Queen's handbag holder? Or, as she told Oprah in 2021, 'I went into [my marriage] naively because I didn't grow up knowing much about the royal family'?

By the way, Meghan's 'grow[ing] up' would have been at the height of the royal family's coverage in global tabloids: Princess Di's supernova fame, the first future king ordered to divorce, Diana's death and the subsequent wall-to-wall 24/7 media coverage of her funeral.

Meghan would have to have spent her formative years in the Yanomami Amazonian tribe, thoroughly cut off from the modern world, to have known so very little about the royals.

How will Meghan explain, as she claimed in last year's insipid Netflix doc, that she had no idea how to curtsy or why it was important to show respect to the Queen? As she sat beside her husband, who looked pained and humiliated, Meghan characterized her first meeting with the late Queen Elizabeth, one of the world's most admired women, thusly:

'I mean, Americans will understand this,' Meghan brayed, because 'we have Medieval Times, dinner and a tournament. It was like that.'

What must Harry, who wrote in his memoir that Meghan knew 'almost nothing' about the royals, be thinking now? Will he think to himself that his now-wife knew well and good who he was? As Andrew Morton wrote in his 2018 biography 'Meghan,' her friend Ninaki Priddy said that the future duchess 'was always fascinated by the royal family. She wants to be Princess Diana 2.0'

This seems to be the root of Meghan's self-obsessed rage, does it not? She married the spare. She'll never be the next Diana. If anything, Catherine, Princess of Wales, is carving out a similar beloved place for herself amongst the British people. Meghan is the also-ran, attempting to run a rival court out of a soulless Montecito manse while decrying the uselessness of all things royal.

But don't you dare not call her the Duchess of Sussex!

Lest we forget, Meghan's overarching message since joining this family has been the smug, insufferable, disingenuous utterance, 'Be kind.' It's what she said in that first interview with Harry, claiming that she made it very clear to their matchmaking friend she had one non-negotiable quality in a potential mate:

'And so the only thing that I had asked [our mutual friend] when she said she wanted to set us up was — I had one question — I said, 'Well is he nice?' 'Cause if he wasn't kind it didn't seem like it would make sense.'

We all know now that Harry isn't very nice. You don't take millions from your father and cling to your titles while disparaging and insulting him, then tell the world — for years — that they're a family of racists before taking it all back and blaming the press for your woes while revealing all manner of your father and brother's private pain and intimate information and get to call yourself a nice guy.

On top of all that, we're meant to feel sorry for Meghan and Harry.

You don't mock the physically disabled female teacher at your boarding school for kicks, as Harry did, and get to call yourself nice. You don't double-down and name this poor woman in your memoir, blame her for not being attractive enough to make you 'horny', then recount the serial humiliations you subjected her to without ever expressing an iota of remorse or guilt or shame and get to call yourself nice — let alone a humanitarian and a thought leader in mental health.

Mental health advocates — these two! It's just amazing. No matter how many discrepancies, these two evince nothing, not so much as a blushing cheek or a head hung in shame. They're like two dead-eyed sharks, moving ever forward through the chum in their wake. They don't seem to understand that credibility and authenticity is paramount when trying to launch themselves as personal brands.

They also don't seem to understand what laughingstocks they've become. After the priceless Jimmy Kimmel bit about Harry and his todger, after Stephen Colbert mocked the royal family to Harry's face during his appearance, 'South Park' — a show that gleefully flays hypocrites of all stripes — has focused their ire on these two professional victims. No one deserves it more.

As the young animated character Kyle exclaimed, 'It is seriously driving me crazy. I'm sick of hearing about them but I can't get away from them! They're everywhere. In my f***ing face.'

A cri de coeur for us all. Alas, Harry and Meghan seem to lack the one quality that might possibly redeem them: A sense of humor.

MAUREEN CALLAHAN: Do Harry & Meghan see they're now South Park jokes?