#and i was fighting literally every second of them

[itneverendshere]

i love bitchy!pouge!reader x rafe soooo much! idk how to explain it but the way you write them brings me comfort. i was wondering if you could write what their first fight was about after exchanging i love yous? 🥺

fight so dirty, but you love so sweet - r.c

pairing: bitchy!pogue!reader x rafe warnings: 70% angst

Feelings—especially yours—came barbed, similar to the way you’d grown up.

A girl with no patience for sugarcoated anything and Rafe Cameron with all his kooky contradictions had somehow slithered under your skin. Which made it worse, because you remember who he used to be.

You’re sitting on your porch, feet up on the railing, a melting popsicle between your fingers and your phone in the other hand, scrolling with vague boredom until your thumb freezes.

It’s a picture.

Rafe, at that stupid-ass annual Kook charity event he swore he hated but always went to.

The one he invited you to, told you you should come, even though he knew you'd rather set your hair on fire than mingle with sweater-vested trust fund kids drinking out of champagne flutes like it’s water. You had rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, no thanks. I’d rather get hit by a golf cart.”

And he’d laughed—understood. No pressure.

But now the photo…Your stomach drops.

It’s Brielle fucking Simmons, all pearls and perfect hair and fake everything. Rafe’s ex, standing close, hand on his arm, claiming him.

Both smiling, harmless fun, right? Wrong. You’re already texting him before you know what you’re saying.

You: lol tell Brielle she looked cute latched to your arm tonight. You two looked like a literal J. Crew ad. So wholesome. ❤️

It takes three minutes for the dots to start typing. Then stop, start again, and then he calls.

You let it ring out. 

He calls again. 

“Babe—”

“What the fuck was that?”

“What do you mean?”

“The pictures. Your little date.”

“She’s not my date,” He scoffs, “It was a photo. She walked up, I didn’t—what are you doing right now?”

“Wondering how fast I’d get kicked out if I slapped that fake-ass smile off her face.”

“She’s not important.”

“Oh, but she looks pretty important. All over you, dressed like she just walked out of a Lilly Pulitzer wet dream.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being—” You stand up, pacing now. “Wow. Okay. Let’s unpack that, Rafe.”

Rafe exhales hard. “It was a photo. She came up to me—”

“You sure as fuck didn’t stop her.” You’re pacing now, bare feet hitting the porch. “You look real comfortable. Like old times, huh? Bet she knows exactly where to put her hand.”

He groans. 

“Can you relax for a second—I wanted you here. You didn’t wanna be here, and I respected that. What was I supposed to do? Push you to come somewhere you’d hate to avoid a two-second interaction with my ex?”

“You could’ve told her to back off. You could’ve told the photographer to fuck off.”

“She means nothing. You know that.”

Your tongue kisses your teeth.

“That’s what every man says right before he ends up dicking someone in a monogrammed bathroom.”

“Are you fucking serious right now? She wasn’t even—fuck.” He sighs harshly. “You’re jealous over nothing.”

You stop dead. “Did you just call me jealous?”

“What do you want me to say? That I should’ve shoved her off me at a charity event, my dad’s hosting in front of thirty people and a news crew to protect your ego?”

Wow, okay, that one hurt.

“My ego? My ego?”

“You’re not trusting me,” he snaps. “I love you, and one picture sends you spiraling like I’m cheating on you in broad daylight.”

There it is.

He realizes it too late.

You inhale sharply, eyes stinging. “Right. Got it.”

“Wait—no, I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t do halfway. If you want me, you want me. You don’t let your ex drape herself over you while you're fucking grinning for a photo-op and I’m at home baking stupid brownies for you.”

“You know I want you. I’m not gonna argue with you over one photo,” he grits out.

“Then don’t,” you say flatly.

Click.

You hang up.

You sit back down, popsicle dripping onto your jeans, and feel that sick, familiar feeling settle into your chest. You knew it was only a matter of time before the Kook fantasy ended.

You were just the wrong shape for him.

You toss your phone onto the steps beside you and stare out at the darkness, but all you can see is her. Her glossy hair, her effortless way of fitting into a world you never had a place in.

And he looked like that old Rafe again, the one who looked at you like you were a problem. You feel your chest rip apart, blooming beneath your ribs. You knew this would happen. You fucking knew it. You chew your thumbnail and tell yourself you’re fine.

You told him when things started to get real—when he began looking at you like you were worth more than a secret thrill—that this wasn’t something you knew how to do; you’d never been the girlfriend.

Guys never wanted you like that, not for long. They fucked you, they laughed with you, and they left, never picking you. You’re the girl who wears ripped shorts and tells people to fuck off before they finish their sentence, who drinks out of bottles and picks fights when she’s scared. You’re not polished. You’re not soft.

You’re not someone a guy keeps.

You know the things they used to say about you. Easy. Fun. Drama. A good time, not a long time. You’d hit, but don’t date her. Too much.

Maybe it doesn’t matter that Rafe said I love you, part of you thinks this was borrowed time.

The stars are out, but you’re not looking at them.

You’re still sitting on that rickety porch with your knees hugged to your chest, hoodie swallowed around your fists, and your phone screen dimmed black beside you.

It’s been thirty minutes since you hung up. It feels like years.

Now the anger’s gone. You know what you did, throwing a grenade and watching it blow—on purpose. It’s easier to burn it down yourself than wait for him to walk away. You chew at your thumbnail, heart beating slow and sick in your chest, that ugly lump still pressing up against your throat.

You knew you were being mean, pushing him in the other direction by accusing him of shit he didn’t do.

Better he hates you than pities you.

You drag your hands down your face and groan into the empty air, not knowing how to fix this. You’re not the girl who apologizes first, you don’t know how to come back after you say things you can’t take back.

You’re just starting to get up—arms sore, heart heavier than it was when you sat down—when you hear tires skidding on gravel.

You freeze on the porch step.

Headlights blast through the trees, and then—

SLAM.

Rafe doesn’t try to park right. The truck is half sideways in the grass, one tire up on the edge of the road, he barely remembered to throw it in park before yanking the keys out.

He’s already out.

You don’t say anything while he storms up the path, chest rising and falling, his shirt wrinkled, sleeves rolled, and hair messy—he likes to drive with the windows down.

When he gets close enough to see your face—the red eyes, the guilt and fear still holding your expression hostage—he softens.

“You’re not answering me.”

You glance away, shame washing over you.

“Didn’t think there was anything left to say.”

Old habits die hard.

Rafe steps up onto the porch, right into your space. You can smell his cologne, expensive and warm and unmistakably his.

You give him your best sneer. “How very on-brand.”

“Are you serious right now? You blew up my phone, accused me of God knows what, and then ignored me for thirty minutes. I thought maybe something happened—”

“Yeah. Something did.” You stand up, jabbing a finger toward him. “I realized I’m the biggest fucking idiot alive for thinking this was ever gonna work.”

“Don’t you dare.”

You laugh bitterly, trying to fold your arms over your chest, but it’s flimsy armor.

His eyes flick over your face—reading you like a fucking map he already knows by heart.

“Don’t run your mouth and act like none of this means shit.”

“It doesn’t.”

His eyes narrow. “Liar.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Say that shit again.”

You’ve always been good at mean. It’s your mother tongue. 

He scoffs, disbelieving.

“God, you’re so fucking nasty when you’re scared.”

Your first instinct isn’t offense or surprise. You could pretend to be wounded. Bat your lashes, gasp like a princess in a soap opera, but that’s not you, you’re not built from satin and sentiment.

You’re made of spunk and fight. 

Now it’s your turn: “Say that again.”

He exhales through his nose. “You heard me.”

“Yeah, I did. Wanted to make sure you meant it, Country Club.”

“Stop calling me that. I’m in it with you. Whether you believe it or not. Whether you make it as hard as possible or not. Stop acting like you don’t care when I know you do.”

You scoff, tearing your gaze away.  

“Looked real nice standing there with her. She had her hand on your arm, and you let her. You smiled.”

“She walked up,” He throws his hands up, “She put her hand there for two seconds, and the second I stepped away, the fucking photographer was already flashing. I didn’t invite her to drape herself over me like a fucking accessory, alright?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You used to want her to.”

“I used to do a lot of shit that made me want to crawl out of my skin.”

You shake your head, stepping down a stair, praying the distance will dull the hurting. “Doesn’t matter.”

“You know what?” Rafe snaps, stepping after you. “You know what didn’t feel nice? That text. You sent it knowing it would fuck with me.”

“I was being funny.”

“No, you were trying to hurt me first.” His voice sharpens. “Because you saw something that scared you, and instead of calling me, you picked a fight, convinced yourself I’m gonna leave.”

Your silence is confirmation, and he laughs once, exasperated.

“You think I’m gonna run because some Kook Barbie pressed her fucking nails into my arm? Did I look happy?”

You glare at the porch floor, too humiliated to meet his eyes but too stubborn to admit you’re wrong.

“She looked perfect next to you,” You mutter. “And I-I’ve never looked like that.”

Rafe’s whole chest expands on a rough inhale. “Bullshit.”

Your lip twitches. “You don’t have to lie just ‘cause I’m about to cry.”

“I’m not lying.” He steps closer, and now there’s no space between you, “I want you. I’m with you. I love you.”

You remember how his mouth used to curl when you walked into a room. You glance up—and you see none of that. His jaw is flexed, brows drawn, but his eyes are nothing but heartbreak, and it’s you he’s looking at like that. As if you have already been forgiven.

You hate how fast your voice cracks. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

The words hurt him more than the fight did. He moves, hands coming up to frame your face gently, catching your cheeks even as you try to turn away.

His thumbs swipe at the tear tracks, physically hurting him to see them. “I hate that you don’t see it,” he murmurs. “Look at me.”

You do, barely.

His forehead drops to yours, breathing you in, whispering against your mouth. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I’m not.”

You swallow. “I don’t believe you.”

“Tough shit, baby.”

Your throat works around a sob that doesn’t quite come. His hands are holding your face like you’re made of glass, but his grip says you’re not going anywhere, even if you try to fight him on it.

So you do. “You’re annoying as fuck.”

He almost smiles. “I know.”

You snort wetly, and it shatters something between you. He’s still close, touching, and you hate how fast you want to fold into it.

You try one last time. “She probably smelled better than me too.”

“I love how you smell.” His eyes roam your face—eyes red, nose pink, hoodie collar pulled up to your chin. “Sunscreen and salt and that stupid coconut lotion.”

Rafe’s smile comes then, unstrained as he kisses you. You gasp into it, and he uses it as an excuse to deepen the kiss, tongue sliding against yours, one hand curling around the back of your neck and the other grabbing your hip, pulling you into him.

He pulls back for air, ducking his head to your height one more time, his voice dropping to a rasp.

“I wake up and want you. I get through shit days and want you. I think about my future, and—you’re there. It’s you.”

A single tear slips down your cheek before you can catch it. You hate how fast he’s wiping it away.

“You’re gonna get tired of me.”

“I’m tired without you.”

You let out a small, broken laugh, and Rafe smiles like it’s a fucking miracle.

“You’re gonna leave.”

“I’m here.”

“And if you change your mind?”

“I already made it up.” He kisses your temple, your cheek. “Stop trying to scare me of.”

You sag into him, pressing your lips together, “I’m sorry I was mean.”

He exhales through his nose; you wait for the reminder that you were cruel, but all he does is press another kiss to your shoulder.

“Baby,” he murmurs, “I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

Your throat tightens instantly. “Even when I say shit I don’t mean?”

He nods once, serious. “Even then.”

“That’s fucked.” You bite your lip, breath catching. “I didn’t mean it.”

Rafe cuts in, hands cradling your jaw. “I know.”

You bury your face in his chest, fingers fisting in his shirt, hoping it will stop your heart from beating so hard. His hands rub slow circles up and down your back.

“Country Club,” you say, and it’s usually a nickname you usually spit with venom. This time it sounds sweet.

“Yeah?” he murmurs.

“I don’t want to fuck this up.”

“You won’t,” he says. “We won’t. “

Then, without looking up, you mutter, “I was gonna call you a privileged little trust fund reject with a savior complex and no taste in women.”

He laughs, loud this time, bursting out of him. “There she is.”

The porch is dark and quiet and way too far from anyone who would interrupt, and that might be the only reason you let yourself tip your head back and look at him like that—eyes blown wide.

Rafe mouths at your lips, doing what he’d been waiting all fucking night to earn back, groaning into your mouth, hand sliding up the back of your hoodie, palm pressing against the skin at your spine.

His tongue licks into you again, and your knees damn near buckle. He catches you with one hand wrapped around your thigh, dragging your leg up to hook around his. He pins you back against the porch post with his body, hard already, and not shy about it.

“You always run your mouth,” He makes that annoyed teeth-sucking sound against your neck, breath hot. “Always talking shit.”

You can feel Rafe smirk against your skin when you whimper. His teeth graze that spot beneath your jaw, the one he figured out three nights into fucking you, and he doesn’t let up—kisses, bites, and sucks until you’re pressing your hips forward, forgetting what pride is.

“And now?” He rasps. “Still got something to say?”

You tug at his shirt, breathless.

“Get your hand under my hoodie and maybe I will.”

He laughs and obliges, fingers sliding up over your ribs, under the hem of your bra. He cups one breast in his hand, his thumb brushing your nipple until you’re mewing into his mouth again.

He swallows every sound. Your hands are under his dress shirt now, scratching at the small of his back, hips grinding slowly against his.

“Rafe,” you whisper, need soaked into the syllables.

“Yeah, baby,” he breathes, his mouth dragging over your jaw, lips warm and wet. "I know."

You tug at his belt, and he doesn’t stop you, only continues to palm your ass and groans when your hand brushes his zipper. 

Rafe’s breathing is ragged against your mouth, hands still halfway under your hoodie. You roll your hips against him again.

He groans, head tipping back, needing divine intervention.

Your smirk is pure sin. “Problem, Country Club?”

His fingers dig into your waist. “Yeah, you. You’re the fucking problem.”

You giggle, nipping at his bottom lip just enough to make him twitch. “Oh no. Is the trust fund prince gonna lose his self-control on a porch swing?”

He growls this time and presses his hips forward, cock hard against you and very, very aware of the fact that your leg’s still wrapped around him.

“Don’t tempt me.”

“You already look tempted.”

“I’m serious.” His mouth is on your neck again, trailing hot, open kisses down to your collarbone, voice muffled against your skin. “We’re not fucking on your porch. Your neighbors already hate me.”

“That’s because you park like a psychopath.”

“They’ll hate me more when they see me bending you over the railing.”

You whimper before you can stop yourself, and his hands grip tighter, feeling that noise down.

“Baby,” he warns, teeth grazing your throat. “We can’t do it out here.”

Your hand slides between you, palming him through his jeans shamelessly. His breath stutters so hard he chokes.

“Oh, my God,” he hisses, grabbing your wrist, eyes wild. 

You shrug, all innocence, “You sure you don’t want the neighbors to know how well you fuck me?”

“I’ll throw you over my shoulder and take you inside if you don’t stop.”

You flash him a grin. “Promise?”

“Fuck. Fine. Inside. Now.”

You don’t try to hide the smug little giggle as he drags you inside by the hand, he’s a man being marched to war—hard, panting, and completely ruined by you.

If fighting gets him this desperate and needy maybe you'll keep doing it.

You love being his problem.

[custody-if]

CUSTODY is a slice-of-life IF rated 17+ for explicit language, child abuse, substance abuse, self-destructive behavior, sexism, sexuality and more. Inspired by the movie Thirteen. Please avoid if you don’t enjoy reading these themes.

Note: I’m new to all of this so please bear with me!😭 Also know that I don’t condone to any of this, if you see or know a child is being abused please say something or call the authorities!

⟡ DEMO (TBA) ⟢ FORUM (TBA) ⟡ INTROS (TBA)

Step into a life of a teenager, trying to survive along with their three siblings, and with the court system trying to pull you all apart—you must not let them.

You always felt that you’ve been cursed since birth.

You and your siblings being taken away from your parents when you were six by child services due to child abuse and domestic violence really put a traumatic impact on your innocence and child like imagination. And thanks to the court systems and such you and your siblings weren’t split apart—imagine what could have happened if they did…

Moving from place to place and home to home has really put a weight on you, but that’s not the real issue. The real issue is them, your foster “parents” and they are something you can’t really get rid of either. Finally settling in your new home, California Los Angeles, you really thought everything would get better. I mean you just started becoming a teenager lucky number thirteen, by now life should be better right?

No.

In fact it got much worse.

Your older brother stopped coming home more, your sister started bringing a new boyfriend home every week because something obviously went wrong and she won’t tell you, and then there’s your younger brother who doesn’t even know what’s truly going on.

The world along with your body is changing every second.

Your now in the 8th grade where there is significant physical changes and emotions all over the place, your starting to notice things that weren’t as important then they were as before and the main focus is to fit in.

Completely shut down and make your own decisions because you feel like you’re old enough.

Make your foster parents life a living hell, and deal with your siblings.

Deal with running away, drama, fights, teen heartbreak, late-night parties, peer pressure, self-discovery, court systems, small teen romance, and parental relations along with family dysfunction…yea it’s a lot.

Will you be able to keep yourself from breaking?

✦ CUSTODY is highly inspired by the movie Thirteen but will have no spoilers! ✦

Full character customization (with wide-ranging effects on story and gameplay): pick your gender, height, build, personality, and sexuality.

Choose your background such as race and backstory.

Choose your aesthetic and how your bedroom looks.

Choose how you react with your older siblings (such as being clingy, avoidant, dependent, innocent, quiet and more).

Be a parent figure for your younger sibling or let the older ones do the work.

The choices you make affect how others around you look at you.

Customize your foster parents by choosing them to be FM, FF, or MM.

Choose to trust your foster parents or don’t it’s your choice. (You don’t have a choice)

Make your foster parents frustrated by being a rebellious teen or obedient.

Choose the family pet (Cat, dog, parrot, or bunny).

Try to fit in with the other kids in the neighborhood by choosing to do drugs, skip school, or dress more “revealing”. (That’s if you fall into the peer pressure)

Create friendships or be a loner.

Have a small crush, full time relationship (by choosing between 3 love interests)

Create a reputation for yourself in the 8th grade.

Avoid being split apart from your family by behaving or misbehave.

Child services checks in every time once a month (choose how to react when you see them).

⟡ MAIN CHARACTERS ⟢

The Older Brother: Sylas ⟡ he/him, 18 ⟢ The ordinary rebellious teenage boy who literally doesn’t give a shit about you or anyone else in that matter. Sylas who was born first already knows how it all goes, he told you many times how child services had almost taken him away before you was even born, and to be honest it almost sounds like he brags about it. Highly reserved and keeps to himself in his room or is either never home. You wondered why he never tried to save himself and run away. Maybe it’s because you and the rest of his siblings are his last hope in this hell hole.

Personality: confident, rebellious, short tempered, and charismatic. He likes dark humor and is not afraid to tell you how stupid you look.

Appearance: shoulder length dark brown messy wavy hair dyed with black streaks that he somehow makes looks good, with tanned like skin which is weird since he never leaves his room, and dark brown eyes along with his angel bite piercing, tongue piercing, eyebrow piercing, and ear piercings. He wears a black band t-shirt from the 90’s that he stole from a thrift store and wears ripped jeans with a black belt that has silver rhinestones along with black converses. He also has a full tattoo of angel wings on his back, rumor says it’s because it was his nickname back at his old “job” when he was 17.

Your Only Sister: Darcelle ⟡ she/her, 16 ⟢ Darcelle always gotten the spiteful looks from mom every time she was either getting ready for school or just to go hang out with her friends. It was obvious that she was jealous of her, even dad would give her unusual stares. Darcelle was one of the prettiest girls in her whole school and neighborhood, and I mean everyone loved her but that didn’t take her time away from you and the rest of her siblings. She would always take you out along with your younger brother when things in the house got really bad. Now..she doesn’t do that anymore. Maybe there’s something more going on than you realize.

Personality: sharp and quick-witted, she holds confidence on the outside but in the inside she’s emotionally unstable. She treats you and your siblings entirely different than she treats everyone else.

Appearance: long length brown wavy hair with dyed blonde highlights and amber eyes along with pierced ears that holds gold hoop earrings. She wears latte makeup which is what she tells you but you never understood what she meant. She has tanned skin just like your older brother but with moles all over her body. She wears a red polo crop top and jean shorts with long white socks with red stripes at the top and red adidas. She likes the color red which is obvious, her nails are also painted red with gold highlights.

Naive Younger Brother: Ollie or Oliver ⟡ he/him, 7 ⟢ You can’t blame him from being naive, I mean he’s only seven but even you knew what was really going on by the age of five. You guess that happens when neglecting parents choose to live through their youngest child. Your older brother always told you that Ollie wouldn’t survive in a world like this and should just hurry up and put him down before something worst gets to him first, he was quickly put to silence by your sister. What ever happens you will make sure nothing ever happens to Ollie, not while you’re still here.

Personality: shy, quiet, dependent, he has a hard time looking at people in the eyes and always hovers around you when he doesn’t have his toys to play with.

Appearance: short messy dark blonde wavy hair with brown eyes and tanned skin with freckles all over. He has a small scar near his eyebrow ever since he fell from climbing a tree, you can trust that he never climbed a tree ever again. He wears a normal dark green hoodie with a picture of a dinosaur on the front and long jean shorts with brown sneakers and white socks. He carries his stuffed bear that’s nearly falling apart every wear he goes.

(TBA)

[fuddaround]

CLINGY › juju watkins x fem!reader

summary : while hanging out with juju’s team she becomes extra clingy and doesn’t know how to not be touching you.

warnings : literally just fluff

word count : 4.2k

req

kay’s notes : i miss her💔 im sorry this took so long 🙁

juju’s been cleaning since noon.

playlist blasting, mop in one hand, swiffer in the other like she’s going to war with dust bunnies.

your hoodie’s drowning her frame, sleeves covering her hands as she moves around the apartment like it’s the day before an away game day.

she keeps tugging it over her fingers, lifting it to sniff the collar every so often like she’s trying to inhale you straight into her lungs.

her hair’s pulled back into her usual bun, curls bouncing as she bops around the kitchen.

she sways side to side while wiping down the counters, humming to the beat, all domestic and in her bubble.

every five minutes she pauses to glance at her phone, checking the time. then your name. then the groupchat.

the girls are supposed to come by around seven, and juju’s acting like lebron is coming over. she fluffed the couch pillows four times already and threatened to fight deuce any time he gets too close to them.

she set out snacks in bowls like a mom hosting book club. hot cheetos, gummy worms, fruit roll-ups, and those little frosted animal cookies you like.

you called her “extra” last night and she deadass took it as a compliment, “it’s not being extra if you love people,” she said, all smug.

and she does love you.

loudly. proudly.

especially today.

she tugs the sleeves of your hoodie over her hands again and exhales, standing in the middle of the living room like she’s about to present a thesis.

everything looks perfect. but something’s missing.

you.

so she grabs her phone, scrolls to your name, and sends three messages back to back.

then she flops onto the couch dramatically, hoodie sleeves covering her face. she’s not moving again until she hears a knock on the door.

the first knock on the door comes around 6:48.

juju pretends she doesn’t hear it, still curled into a dramatic pile of hoodie and couch. but then another knock, this time followed by rian’s voice—loud, dramatic, already clowning from the hallway.

“damn, y’all see how she ignoring us already? new era juju.”

juju rolls her eyes but drags herself up, hoodie still half over her face like a gremlin. she opens the door with one hand and a sigh, stepping aside so they can all pour in.

rian’s first through the door, grinning like she owns the place.

kayleigh and brooklyn follow right after, all giggles and inside jokes.

and then there’s otto—last as always, hoodie halfway off her shoulder, eyes already on juju like she’s reading a diary.

“finally,” rian groans, flopping onto the couch like she pays rent. “i was about to file a missing persons report.”

“you knocked for like five seconds,” juju mutters, kicking the door shut behind them.

“five seconds too long,” kayleigh says, grabbing a capri sun from the snack table juju spent an hour arranging. “ooh, you got the wild cherry ones. aw you really know me.”

juju shrugs. “figured y’all would drink them like usual.”

“figured your girl would be here by now,” rian says with a smirk, pulling a throw pillow into her lap.

juju’s entire face twitches. blink and you’ll miss it, but otto doesn’t blink.

she watches juju like a hawk. like a best friend who knows every tiny tell. like someone who’s seen her spend ten minutes trying to pick a message to send you, only to delete it and just say “hey :)” instead.

“she’s on the way,” juju says, trying to sound chill. like she wasn’t literally sprawled on the floor ten minutes ago texting “u okay?” for the third time.

brooklyn raises a brow. “so why you wearing her hoodie then?”

“i was cold?”

“you got heat. we all know you keep it on 75 like a grandma.”

juju glares but says nothing. she just tightens the sleeves over her hands again and tries to act normal.

she plops down on the floor, back against the couch, one knee bouncing.

the girls are already making themselves at home—snacking, flipping through the streaming apps, arguing over which movie to put on.

“nothing scary,” kayleigh says. “i’m not tryna pee myself in juju’s living room.”

“no romance either,” rian adds with a look directly at juju. “some of us are single and unbothered. we don’t need to see y’all staring into each other’s souls.”

juju throws a gummy worm at her. “you’re so annoying.”

“and you’re in love,” rian sings, catching the worm and popping it in her mouth. “look at you, all squirmy and shit.”

“i’m not squirmy,” juju lies. total lie. she’s practically vibrating.

otto climbs over the couch and lands next to her with a soft thud, her body warm against juju’s side. she doesn’t say anything at first, just rests her chin on juju’s shoulder.

“you good?” she murmurs, quiet enough for only juju to hear.

juju leans into her. “yeah. i just…”

“you miss her.”

juju nods.

otto smiles. “she’s literally ten minutes away.”

“ten minutes is a long time when you’re in love and dramatic,” juju whispers back.

“we know”

the opening credits to white chicks start playing and everyone cheers like it’s the first time they’ve ever seen it. brooklyn’s already quoting the lines before the characters even speak while kayleigh’s already halfway through her second capri sun.

juju tries to join in. she laughs when she’s supposed to. throws jabs back when rian teases her again. but india’s watching the whole time, clocking every time juju glances at the door.

“what if she changed her mind?” juju mumbles during the part where the twins first show up in disguise.

otto gives her a look. “be serious.”

juju shrugs, arms folded tight across your hoodie. “i’m just saying…”

“you’re not saying anything real right now.”

juju pouts. “okay therapist.”

“well no, just your best friend who watched you fall in love when you call yourself nonchalant.”

she says it so casually that juju actually stops breathing for a second. because it really was kind of like that. like a highlight reel that india studied. like every time you smiled at her, the world paused for just a beat too long.

“you’re in it deep,” otto adds, bumping her shoulder against juju’s. “like deep deep. like, if-she-broke-up-with-you-you’d-move-to-the-woods deep.”

juju laughs, loud and sharp. “no, i’d just cry for like a year.”

“same thing.”

“whatever.”

“you wore her hoodie, ju.”

“i like it.”

“you sniffed it earlier.”

“mind your business.”

“you sniffed it, juju. like a love-sick golden retriever who was left at home.”

juju groans and drops her head into otto’s lap, mumbling curses into the fabric. otto just laughs and pets her hair.

“i think it’s sweet,” kayleigh calls out from across the room.

“yeah me too,” brooklyn says. “let the girl be in love.”

“oh, she in it,” rian grins, pointing at juju’s curled-up form. “she’s literally the most clingy person when her girl comes into play.”

“i’m not clingy,” juju protests weakly, face still buried in otto’s hoodie.

“girl, you asked me if your breath smelled good before she came over,” otto says.

juju lifts her head. “because gum doesn’t always work—”

“you bought three candles just ‘cause she said she liked the vanilla one.”

“it’s called setting the tone—”

“you shaved your legs. and you’re wearing sweatpants.”

“you’re a traitor.”

“i’m your best friend.”

the girls are all cracking up now, the whole room filled with laughter and warm energy and the smell of popcorn and gummy candy.

but juju’s face is pink and her eyes keep darting to the door again.

it’s 7:06. you’re not even that late. but to juju, every minute feels like forever.

so she grabs her phone again, types out a text. stares at it. deletes it. types it again.

otto sees it from the side and gently takes the phone out of her hand, “she’s coming,” she says softly. “you know she is.”

juju nods, chewing her lip. then she hears it.

another knock.

and this time, she doesn’t play it cool.

doesn’t wait. doesn’t even try to act like she’s not absolutely losing it inside.

she shoots up off the floor like someone lit a fire under her and bolts for the door, almost tripping over rian’s leg.

the girls break into a fit behind her.

“there she goes!”

“run, juju, run!”

“act normal, damn!”

“she’s already smiling, look at her—damn simp.”

juju’s smiling so wide it hurts and she hasn’t even opened the door yet.

juju yanks the door open like she’s been held underwater and finally got to breathe.

and there you are.

standing in her doorway all soft and glowing, skin still dewy, hair slicked back, hoodie sleeves pushed up just enough to show the bracelets she made you. you smell like vanilla and coconut and whatever body wash you stole out of juju’s shower.

juju freezes for a second.

her brain bluescreens.

then—

“hi, baby,” you say, all gentle and sweet like you’re saying a prayer instead of a greeting.

juju practically melts. she’s on you before you can even take a full step in, arms around your waist, nose buried in your neck like she’s trying to disappear into your skin.

“you’re late,” she mumbles, voice muffled.

“was doin’ an everything shower,” you say, rubbing her back. “you know the drill. shaved, exfoliated, deep conditioned, the whole routine.”

“took you eighty-five years,” she pouts, tightening her grip.

“took me two hours.”

“that’s eighty-five juju years.”

you laugh and kiss the top of her head, and that’s when the peanut gallery from the living room loses their minds.

“there she is, finally.”

“miss exfoliated and moisturized for ju.”

“thank you for showing up, juju needs her emotional support girlfriend. she was spiraling without you.”

juju turns her head but doesn’t move from your chest. she’s still wrapped around you like a backpack.

“don’t listen to them,” she grumbles.

“they’re not wrong,” otto calls out, not even looking up from the couch. “she made me check her breath like five times.”

you giggle and run your fingers up and down on juju’s back.

“my dramatic little baby,” you coo, rocking her side to side.

“don’t call me that in front of them,” she mumbles—but she’s nuzzling you now. completely unbothered.

“what? ‘my dramatic little baby’?” you repeat, louder.

the girls explode.

brooklyn wheezes into a throw pillow, kayleigh’s about to cry laughing, rian’s recording on her phone, and otto’s just shaking her head with the most told you so expression known to man.

juju groans into your neck. “i hate everybody.”

you kiss her cheek. “no you don’t.”

“fine. i hate everybody except you.”

“better.”

she finally lets you go just enough to pull you into the apartment, shutting the door with one hand while still clinging to you like you might vanish. you barely make it three steps before she pulls you right back into her arms.

“i missed you,” she whispers.

“i missed you more,” you say, brushing your nose against hers.

she scrunches her face and shakes her head, “not possible.”

“yes possible.”

“no one in the world has missed another person as hard as i missed you in the last hour.”

“you’re so dramatic baby.”

“you literally made me like this.”

the girls are still watching, still commenting, but juju’s tuned them all out now. it’s just you. your face. your hands on her waist. your lips brushing against hers in the tiniest, sweetest hello.

you tilt your head. “can i go sit down or you gonna keep me hostage right here?”

“you’re mine. i’m keeping you.”

“forever?”

“duh.”

you laugh and tap her nose. “c’mon, clingy girl. let’s go.”

you both walk over to the couch, hand in hand, and juju plops down first before immediately tugging you into her lap. she wraps her arms around your waist and rests her chin on your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“you not even gonna say hi to us?” rian teases.

“hi rian,” you call without looking away from juju. “love the bun.”

“i do look cute today, thank you.”

juju buries her face in your neck again. “you smell so good.”

“i told you. everything shower. that exfoliating glove did work.”

“mmm. gonna use it next time i’m over.”

“baby, you already got a toothbrush, bonnet, pairs of socks at my place, and so many outfits. at this point, just bring another drawer.”

“say less.”

brooklyn fake-gags from the other couch cushion. “they’re so in love it’s sickening.”

“like a romcom but with jump shots,” kayleigh adds.

“like a romcom where the main character almost cried ‘cause her girl was ten minutes late,” otto corrects.

juju flips her off without even lifting her head. “snitches get stitches.”

“i’m just saying,” otto shrugs. “you were about thirty seconds away from throwing on sade and staring out the window.”

you giggle and kiss juju’s temple, “don’t worry, baby. i’ll set a timer next time. i’ll exfoliate faster.”

“nah,” juju mumbles. “take your time. just start earlier.”

“you could’ve joined me,” you say with a soft smirk.

her whole face lifts up from your neck. “say less.”

the team collectively groans in unison.

“keep it PG!” rian yells.

“we’re literally watching white chicks, not euphoria,” kayleigh chimes in.

you laugh and press your forehead to juju’s. she looks at you like you hung the moon. like you invented air. like she’s never gonna stop staring.

“you good now?” you whisper.

“better than good,” she whispers back. “i’m yours again.”

“you’re always mine.”

“yeah but now i can see you.”

you brush your thumb over her cheek and smile, “love you.”

she exhales, so soft you barely hear it, “love you more.”

“not possible.”

“don’t start this again.”

you giggle, kiss her, and she just melts right there on the couch, arms wrapped tight around your waist, hoodie sleeves pushed up, legs tangled with yours like she’s trying to fuse you together.

“we still watching this movie?” brooklyn asks.

“yeah,” otto answers. “juju’s too busy cuddling to care, but the rest of us are watching.”

you and juju settle in as the scene picks up again, her fingers tracing little circles into your side.

she keeps whispering things in your ear—soft, silly things like “you’re so pretty” and “i’m never letting you go” and “please never exfoliate without me again.”

the girls keep teasing, but it fades into background noise. the lights are low, the snacks are half-eaten, and juju’s heartbeat is slow and steady against you.

and she’s smiling again. because you’re here. finally.

and for juju, that’s all it ever takes to feel whole.

the room is quiet except for tangled playing softly in the background. lanterns floating on screen, rapunzel swaying in flynn’s arms. the scene’s all golden light and soft music.

the floor’s a mess of limbs and blankets.

rian is fast asleep beside the couch, her hand loosely tangled with yours. she must’ve grabbed it mid-yawn or mid-laugh, but now her fingers are laced through yours like she paid rent to be there.

juju notices before you do.

and she’s not having it.

you feel her shift in your lap—just the tiniest squirm—and then hear her quiet, raspy voice, “um why is she holding your hand.”

you blink. “what?”

“rian.” she whispers, eyes still mostly closed, curls smushed into your hoodie. “she’s holding your hand. what is going on.”

you smile down at her, brushing her hair back from her face, “she just knocked out like that, baby. we were talking. she must’ve grabbed it on the way to dreamland.”

juju makes a noise. somewhere between a scoff and a pout. deuce lifts his head slightly, then settles again, unimpressed.

“do you want me to move my hand?”

juju doesn’t answer right away. she just tightens her arms around your waist and nuzzles further into your chest.

“ yes,” she mumbles finally.

you laugh, real soft, and carefully slide your hand free from rian’s without waking her.

you turn and rest it back on juju’s back, rubbing slow circles over her hoodie.

“better?”

“mhm.”

“you know you’re insane, right?”

“you love it,” she mumbles, kissing your collarbone.

“you’re just being so dramatic right now.”

“i’m not dramatic. i’m territorial.”

“oh, is that what we’re calling it now?”

juju pulls back slightly so she can look up at you. her eyes are heavy, half-closed, but still sharp enough to give you a full baby-faced glare.

“you’re mine,” she whispers, lips brushing your chin. “not rian’s. not anyone else’s. mine.”

“always yours,” you whisper right back.

“so if anyone’s holding your hand while you’re watching disney movies, it better be me.”a

“yes ma’am.”

she smirks. “there we go.”

you snort and lean in, kissing her softly—barely a brush of lips, more air than anything, but she exhales like it fed her soul.

deuce lets out a little huff and shifts in juju’s arms. he’s perfectly squished between you two, warm and content and possibly more spoiled than both of you combined.

“he’s such a traitor,” juju mumbles, petting his ears. “he was mine first.”

“you said that about me five minutes ago.”

“because it’s true. i had you both first. now you’re bffs without me.”

“you’re literally in my lap.”

“and he’s in my arms. i just want everyone to know whose we are.”

you giggle and kiss her temple, “you’re so clingy right now and make no sense.”

“do you want me to be quiet?”

“no, i love you like this.”

she grins sleepily, “you baby me so good.”

“you make it easy.”

she hums again and squeezes you tighter, “you smell like the expensive body wash.”

“i used the expensive body wash. you said you like when i smell like a cupcake.”

“i wanna eat you.”

you laugh too loud, and kayleigh stirs slightly from the floor.

“shhh,” you whisper, pulling the blanket up a little higher around the both of you. “you’re gonna wake them up.”

“so what,” juju mumbles. “wanna tell the whole room i love you.”

you raise an eyebrow. “you said not to ruin your rep.”

“they already know. otto’s been giving me the look all night.”

“what look?”

“the ‘damn, juju’s whipped’ look.”

you glance at otto, who’s dozing with one headphone in, arm slung across a pillow. she’s not even pretending to be part of the conversation anymore.

“baby,” you whisper, “you are whipped.”

juju presses a dramatic hand to her chest. “and proud.”

you kiss her cheek, then her jaw, then the soft skin just beneath her ear.

she wiggles a little. “mmm, that tickles.”

“good.”

“you tryna put me to sleep?”

“trying to get you to relax.”

“i am relaxed. ive never been so relaxed.”

“or clingy.”

“same thing.”

deuce yawns. it’s big and dramatic and almost human.

“he wants to be the little spoon,” juju says, readjusting him gently.

“thought you were the little spoon?”

“no, i’m the medium spoon. and he’s the little spoon.”

you grin. “what does that make me?”

“the pot i’m tryna keep all to myself.”

you stare at her. “that didn’t even make sense.”

“shhhh. cuddle me.”

you do exactly that—tucking her tighter into your chest, brushing her hair back again, letting your fingers trail down her spine like you’re playing a lullaby.

her breathing slows even more. deuce wiggles, sighs, and gives in to sleep again.

the song on the tv changes. the lantern scene is fading.

and juju, just barely awake, whispers—“don’t let anyone else hold your hand, okay?”

“never,” you whisper back. “just you, baby.”

“’kay,” she sighs. “love you.”

“love you most.”

you wake up to sunshine slicing through the blinds and juju practically wrapped around you like a weighted blanket.

her arm’s across your stomach, her leg’s thrown over yours. her face is buried in your neck and her grip is tight like she’s afraid you’ll vanish if she loosens it even an inch.

you wiggle a little.

nothing.

try again.

nope.

“baby,” you whisper, gently brushing her curls off your cheek. “i gotta pee.”

juju makes a low groan, somewhere between a dying animal and a dramatic soap opera star.

“no you don’t,” she mumbles, voice muffled by your collarbone.

“juju, i literally do. like literally.”

“hold it.”

“i’m not holding it.”

“then pee right here, i dare you.”

“what’s wrong with you.”

“you’re comfy. shut up.”

you laugh softly and try to shift again, but she tightens her grip like a clingy little koala, still half-asleep and absolutely unbothered.

you glance down at her — puffy eyes, sleepy pout, hoodie sleeves bunched at her elbows — and shake your head.

“you’re annoying.”

“you’re warm.”

“so is the sun, but i don’t see you clinging to that.”

“can’t kiss the sun.”

“would you die if you weren’t kissed?”

“yeah. but i would also die right here if you leave me.”

you groan and give in, settling back under the blanket with a dramatic sigh.

“good,” juju whispers, nuzzling your neck with a smug smile. “you learnin’.”

it’s quiet for a beat. then—

click click click.

little paws patter across the floor.

you lift your head just in time to see deuce trot past the couch, tail wagging, tongue out, absolutely no loyalty in sight.

“is that deuce up this early?”

juju groans and turns her head. “bro. not the walk of shame.”

you snort. “where was he even—”

“i watched him cuddle up with rian and brooklyn last night like he ain’t got a mama. a hoe.”

“he’s a dog.”

“he’s a male. not shocked.”

you both watch as deuce struts right past the people knocked out on the floor and pads into juju’s room like he owns it.

“oh wow,” juju mutters. “not him leaving me to go lay up with otto.”

you laugh into your pillow. “your son’s out here switching teams mid-movie night.”

“hoe behavior. can’t raise ‘em right.”

“you raised him to be clingy. just like you.”

juju gasps. “i am not clingy.”

you arch an eyebrow. “you wouldn’t let me go pee.”

she pauses. “okay. but i’m romantically attached. there’s a difference.”

“uh huh.”

“shut up.”

another pause. quiet now except for the hum of the fridge and the occasional sleepy sigh from the girls on the floor.

then, softly, “…i just hate being away from you.”

your heart tugs.

you glance down again — she’s still holding you, face soft now, less pouty, more vulnerable. voice smaller.

“like,” she adds, “not in a weird, codependent way. i just… i get scared sometimes.”

you run your fingers through her hair, gently. “scared of what, baby?”

“of waking up and you not being here. or you changing your mind. or just, you leaving.”

you go quiet. not because you don’t have words, but because you feel all of hers in your chest like a bruise.

“juju…”

“i’ve never had someone be my safe space before,” she whispers. “like, actually. not just fake-cute. i melt when you hold me. i breathe better.”

you press your lips to her forehead and let them linger.

“it’s not that i don’t trust you,” she says quickly, like she’s scared she’s said it wrong. “it’s just i trust you so much, it makes me afraid. like, if you left, i’d be lost. not ‘cause i can’t live without you. i can. i just wouldn’t wanna.”

you exhale slowly and pull her tighter.

“i’m not going anywhere,” you whisper.

“promise?”

“promise.”

she nods and sniffles once, real soft. “okay. cool. that’s all i needed.”

you cup her cheek and tilt her face up toward yours, brushing your thumb gently across her skin.

“you’re my safe space too, ju,” you whisper. “you get that, right?”

she stares at you for a second, then leans in and kisses you like she believes it now.

like she feels it in every inch of her skin.

after a beat, she pulls back with a little grin.

“you still gotta hold your pee, though.”

you groan and fall back into the pillows.

“you’re the worst.”

“no? i’m the best. your best.“

“you’ve held onto me all night.”

“who cares?”

“you trapped me.”

“with love, pretty.”

“you play so unfair.”

she giggles and curls up even tighter, leg now fully wedged between yours.

“i’m not lettin’ you off this couch ‘til i get pancakes and more kisses.”

“what if i have to pee again?”

“pee after pancakes. priorities.”

you kiss her forehead again. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

“i know.”

you both go quiet again. the kind of quiet that feels full, not empty.

and just when your eyes start fluttering shut again—you hear otto’s voice echo from the bedroom, “ju! why is deuce in here spooning me like i’m his mom?”

juju bursts out laughing into your shoulder, voice muffled and delighted, “that’s what she gets for taking my son.”

you giggle and pull her close again.

and in that moment — tangled blankets, scattered friends, a hoe dog, and your clingy, sleepy, annoyingly perfect girlfriend in your arms — there’s nowhere else in the world you’d rather be.

© fuddaround

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

New Atheism was a political movement in the aughts and tens. It formed in response to the religious (mostly evangelical Christian) backlash against a handful of scientists and activists who were prominent figures in the Skeptic movement (a whole other thing, if you want to get into that I hope you like reading about magicians) and their fans, who were, like most skeptics, either atheists or at the very least strong proponents of keeping religion out of government. Many people in the movement were oppressed or at least regularly ridiculed and bullied for their lack of religion and they found a common goal in a) supporting people trying to endure or escape from religious environments, b) fighting to keep religion out of government policy decisions and to ensure freedoms that the evangelicals were trying to keep from people, such as same sex marriage and access to abortion, and c) fighting to keep science in schools. (The evangelicals, particularly in the USA but in many countries in general, were trying to ban teaching evolution or paleontology or anything that said the Earth was more than 6,000 years old. You know all the anti-trans stuff they're trying to push through now, all the silly laws about not using childrens' nicknames and not letting trans kids play on their sporting teams and not teaching kids that gender is a thing in health class? They were doing that with evolution.)

It fell apart in a very predictable way after a decade or two. Well, 'fell apart' is the wrong term; it more evolved into or merged with other forms of activism as the threats changed. There were New Atheists from everywhere and from every demographic, but the largest demographic (at least of the ones hanging out and talking with each other) were young men who lived in the US bible belt. The second largest was probably scientists facing discrimination or pressure from religious groups. And when hanging out online, we'd constantly get bombarded by creationists showing up to tell us that "the eye couldn't have evolved!" and "evolution is fake because Darwin married his cousin! Do you want to follow a gross person who committed incest?"

For those who haven't seen these arguments before, this is the level of "the earth is flat because if it wasn't, people would fall off the bottom!" Eight year olds can, and regularly do, debunk these "arguments".

Do you know what happens to groups of angry young men who are forced into religious rites of another religion at home to avoid getting thrown out onto the street, who spend a lot of time hanging out online with professional scientists so they naturally start to talk in big words and get seen as smarter than all their meatspace friends, when fed a steady diet of religious bigots with arguments so easy to destroy that literal random children could do it?

The vast majority of the New Atheists are still fighting the same fight in different groups. A lot of the same political goals transfer to feminist groups or communist groups or international aid groups. But a small handful of them fell into that old trap of assuming that they were smarter than everyone else, and that if something they saw seemed stupid and vapid to them at first glance then it clearly was stupid and vapid and that their duty was to disprove it and mock the perpetrator of this nonsense off the forum. After your fourth or fifth "the eye couldn't have evolved!" yelled at you by somebody who doesn't know evolution, doesn't care, and isn't going to listen to you no matter what you say, you quickly learn that taking them seriously is a waste of time. A small handful of these boys had youtube channels, and they were used to feeling smart by dunking on these arguments and explaining to their audience why evolution does indeed work. And then they found other groups, like feminists -- specifically, they found them through anti-feminists, who made their arguments seem stupid and vapid and like they didn't understand anything and wouldn't be interested in a real logical discussion.

And that's why a handful of ex-New Atheists got involved in Gamergate.

There's similar stories for the ones who became transphobes and islamophobes and soforth (often the same dudes). Islamophobia was pretty prominent even during the days of the movement because of the Iraq War and soforth and the prevailing idea that Islam is evil because Islamic theocracies oppress women (theocracies in general tend to be very oppressive), so it slotted nicely in with the fight for women's rights that was always at the front of New Atheist politics. ("Now you don't have to feel bad that you were nervous when sitting next to a brown guy on the bus, because that just means you're a good person who supports women!") And I'm sure I don't have to explain how somebody conditioned to prove their own intelligence (and worth) by dunking on things they think are silly and fake can be pulled into transphobia. But most people just moved their New Atheist activism into their other activist circles, as feminists or queer rights activists or education proponents or whatever political points that the movement fought for were most important to them. or simply folded back into the Skeptic movement. If there are any New Atheist groups out there who still call themselves that (there might be), I don't know anything about them or what they're doing now.

There's something about atheism that I've repeatedly tried and failed to put into words on several posts on this blog but I think I finally got it.

Atheists are the only religious minority who, even (or sometimes even *especially*) in ostensibly progressive spaces are not allowed to ever act like they're sure of their beliefs.

[heartsiebyul]

hii!! I really love your writingg!!><

can i request deuce and ace (separate) having a HUGEEE crush on gn!reader? 😓🙏

Deuce and Ace when they’re harboring a huge, painfully obvious crush on you.

— Heartslabyul : Deuce : Ace x reader!

Deuce Spade

Deuce doesn’t just have a crush on you. He’s in it, completely smitten, like his heart’s been hijacked and he's still trying to act like nothing’s happening. It’s the kind of crush where his whole demeanor changes when you’re around — soft, attentive, and so awkwardly endearing it hurts.

His hands fidget, his voice stammers, and he tries so hard to be chill... but he fails every time. When you talk to him, he goes stiff like a soldier, then blurts out something like, “Your eyes— I mean! Uh! Did you need help with your notes!?”

Carrying your things? Yes. Walking you to class? Absolutely. Punching a guy for talking to you too familiarly? Only if you asked. He frames everything like it’s “just being nice,” but the way he beams when you say thank you is proof enough.

If you're even slightly in danger or uncomfortable, he’s instantly in front of you. “Are you okay?” he asks, clearly ready to throw hands in your honor. That delinquent side still peeks out — especially if someone flirts with you.

Talk about you constantly. To his mom. To Ace. To literally anyone who will listen. “They were laughing at something today, and I couldn’t stop smiling, it was like... like the sun came out.”

His day is made when you say his name. Bonus points if you say it fondly. He’s absolutely down bad. If you ruffle his hair? He’s walking into walls for the rest of the day.

Daydreams constantly. About confessing. About holding your hand. About being worthy of you. He’s convinced he’s gotta “get stronger” first — emotionally, magically, whatever it takes.

🩵 Crush Level: 100/10. Deuce has a full-blown, heart-thumping, “I’d jump in front of a spell for you” kind of love.

Ace Trappola

Ace is a mess when he’s crushing — like really crushing. His whole personality does a backflip. He still acts cocky and snarky, but he gets flustered at the dumbest things, and he’s not slick about it at all.

He’ll tease you like, “Don’t get too obsessed with me, okay?” but the second you flirt back? He short-circuits. “Wha— I didn’t mean it like that!” Cue the blushing, eye-rolling, and him storming off with a red face.

He's a Jealous baby. If he sees someone else being too friendly with you, suddenly he’s all, “Wow, didn’t know you liked boring guys,” while internally screaming.

Surprise softness. When no one’s around, he lets it slip — asking how your day really was, gently fixing your hair, offering you the last piece of candy he was definitely saving for himself.

His brain just. Shuts. Down. If you compliment him or touch him — like a brush of the hand or pat on the back — he plays it off, but later he's lying in bed, staring at the ceiling like: “They touched me. On purpose. I’m never washing this hoodie again.”

Denial, denial, denial. If someone says “You like them, huh?” he’s like “WHAT? Pfft, nah, as if. I just think they’re—... nice to have around, I guess. And funny. And— SHUT UP!”

Picks fights to get your attention. Nothing serious, but he’ll compete with you over everything: quiz scores, eating spicy food, card games. It’s not about winning — it’s about you looking at him.

♥️ Crush Level: Exploding. Ace is deep in his feelings but too stubborn to admit it until it bursts out of him one day in the most chaotic confession ever.

[pricegotmedickmatized]

may request some Nikolai?

imagine if Nikolai, methodical and calculating to a T, met someone who's forgetful, chaotic, and just fully disorganised at a coffee shop or something when they tripped on their own foot and spilled their overly sweet (thankfully cold) drink on his clothes and they're so flustered and embarrassed and he's jyst thinking "aww, poor thing needs me"

ANYWAY NO PRESSURE BYEE

UM YES ABSOLUTELY I LOVE (also sorry this took me literally forever to get to, i had to exorcise graves from my brain first haha)

lets break this down, shall we?

nikolai has one true vice. sure he smokes, and he fucks, and he drinks, but he doesn't treat any of those like vices, like things that if he were denied he'd tear apart entire countries for. no. his vice is control. and he controls everything around him. and he can't understand, doesn't even bother to pretend to understand, why other people don't get the same satisfaction out of it he does.

nikolai is careful. he's smart and he's careful and he uses both of those things like weapons, because in his business if you're not careful and smart you're dead. it's second nature to him now, the methodical sweeps of all rooms he enters (only after he's researched the building it's blueprints and history and ownership etc the night before), the triple checking of intricate locks (that he made with his own hands or under his supervision because there's no such thing as too careful), all of it.

nikolai has every moment of his life planned out, every year, every month, every day, every minute. and he likes it like that. he's got built in failsafes for when those plans get shot to smithereens, especially as situations develop and blow up in his or the 141's faces. but that's only to be expected, in his line of work. he prepares for multiple possible shit shows, he's got plans for a hundred different types of apocalypses, the man views life as a chess game, one that he is indisputably winning.

nikolai loves a routine, and especially he loves his new morning routines when he turns into his coffee shop and finds a new face tucked away in the corner of the shop at four forty each morning, studying on a lilac ipad with matching headphones and an external keyboard. she's fascinating, because it just took one morning for him to realize she was his exact opposite. the papers she pulls out from her bag are crunkled and crumpled and disorganized. her pretty hair is always slipping out of the haphazard knot she's stuck it in on top of her head. and she's clumsy. she got up to ask for a refill the first morning he noticed her. it wasn't a tiny shop, and there were just the two of them in there, if he hadn't known better to pay attention to her hands he would've thought she was just a pickpocketer when she tripped over nothing and landed hard against his chest.

nikolai might have a new vice. because it's plain to see, watching her shuffle anxiously through her papers and try to find hastily scrawled sticky notes she's left for herself (the one she's looking for at the moment is stuck to the bottom of her shoe), that she needs some order in her life. that she needs discipline. and nikolai is going to give it to her. going to fill her life with structure, not to suffocate her, sweet little chaotic whirlwind that she is, but to give her the proper environment to truly blossom. to ease that tearful panic in her face when she realizes she can't find the note, that vanishes into a blinding smile when he offers it to her between his fingers after a careful extraction.

nikolai definitely has a new vice. because she likes to fight his changes to her life. his being in it permanently, for one, was something she tried to fight, though it lasted an amusing six minutes before he had her cumming on his fingers. she's a stubborn, willful thing, but that just makes it so much sweeter, so much prettier when he can get her to bend to his will. and he always, always gets her to bend. at least when it's important. the other things, like whether or not she can keep her own apartment after they're married, he lets her have free rein over. it makes her happy, and it's not like she's going to be spending any time there anyways. not when he's got her addicted to the taste of his praise on her tongue as he forces her tight pussy to take his fat cock for the third time in a row.

[lightsoutmatthews]

hi lovely! i need some angst in my life lol can you please do william nylander breaks up with reader for literally the stupidest reason and then realizes his mega mistake a little later and tries to win her back

I debated so much with myself if this should be a happy ending or not because you didn´t say what you wanted and now I hope you´re happy regardless 😂

What was I thinking – William Nylander

You knew something was off the second William walked into the apartment. He wasn’t talking. Not like he normally did. No casual joke, no teasing kiss on your cheek, no annoyed muttering about Toronto traffic. Not one word about how practice went when he was usually raving on about something hilarious Mitch did or what kind of “insane goal” he scored on Joseph or Anthony. 

It was just silence after the door shut down behind him with a quiet click.

You looked up from the couch, your laptop on your lap, the spreadsheet you were looking at uninteresting within seconds.

“Hey,” you greeted him. “Practice go okay?”

He dropped his keys into the ceramic dish near the door, a gift from you a few months ago because he told you he kept misplacing his them, then toed off his sneakers a little too aggressively.

“Yeah. Fine.”

That wasn’t a good sign, but you weren’t sure if it was something that happened at practiced that bothered him or if it was something else.

You closed your laptop slowly. “Okay. So, what´s up?” you questioned carefully.

He didn’t answer right away. Just walked past you into the kitchen, opened the fridge and stared at it like he had forgotten what food even was.

After a few seconds, he shut the door without grabbing anything and leaned on the counter, arms folded.

“I´ve been thinking,” he started slowly.

You stood up, your stomach tight. “Okay…?” you replied. “About what exactly?”

“This isn’t working anymore.”

For a second, you actually laughed. It was too abrupt, too ridiculous to even consider. “What?”

“You and me. I don’t think it is working anymore,” he repeated.

Your heart dropped straight into your stomach. “You´re joking.”

William didn’t meet your eyes. “I´m serious, I wouldn’t joke about stuff like that.” The seriousness in his tone dropped your heart a little more.

There was no warning. No fight. No growing distance. You literally had dinner two nights ago and talked about going to Sweden together in the summer. “Why?” you breathed out. “What the hell are you talking about, William?” The use of his full name made him flinch.

He ran a hand through his hair, that nervous tic you had learned to recognize early on. “I don’t know, I just… every time I come home, I feel like I can´t breathe. It´s too much. You always want to talk, you´re always asking me about how I feel, what I want, what I´m thinking. I don’t get space around here.”

You stared at him, trying to make sense of that supposed explanation. “You´re breaking up with me because I care about you?” you huffed.

“I didn’t say you didn’t,” his jaw tightened. “I just think maybe we´re too different. Like maybe we´re not compatible, you know?”

You felt like the wind had been knocked out of you. “You´ve been with me for a year and a half and you´re only just realizing that now?”

“I don’t know,” he snapped. “I´m just telling you how I feel.”

“No, you´re saying something and not backing it up with anything real,” you shot back. “You said practice was fine, what actually happened?” you pressed, still trying to make sense of him.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again a few seconds later.

“I´m not stupid, William. You´re not like this unless something else is going on. You don’t just bail on people you love because they ask you how you´re doing,” you argued.

“I just don’t think this is heathy for me right now,” he said, voice flat. “With my career, and all, I can´t do this.”

And just like that, he turned and walked out of the kitchen. And a minute later, the front door opened, then closed.

You stood there for a long time, processing, trying to make sense of what just happened.

Then you started crying, out of confusion, frustration and most of all heartbreak.

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

Two weeks later

William wasn’t doing great.

He was sleeping like crap, eating even worse. On the ice, he was going through motions, did his job, acting like he was supposed to, but off it? He was a mess.

He was crashing at Auston´s, who hadn’t really said anything, just gave him a look that said, “you better figure your shit out fast.”

The thing was, William hadn’t even meant to break up with you.

That sounded insane, even in his own head but it was true. It was like something just short-circuited in his brain. Practice that day had been brutal. His like had been off, Craig had been on him when he was usually leaving him alone most of the time, and when the media started poking about his “consistency” it just built and built until he walked through the door and…

BOOM.

He felt overwhelmed and you were there, ready to talk to him, ready to listen and for some reason his idiot brain interpreted that as “suffocating” instead of the thing he always used to appreciate the most.

He had hurt you. For you reason. No good one, anyway.

The worst part? You hadn’t texted. Not once. He kept checking his phone even though he knew you wouldn’t. At the same time, he sure as hell couldn’t reach out until he had something more to say than “I was being stupid”.

So, he sat with it. Let it eat him form the inside.

Until finally, Auston sat down across from him on the couch and asked, “You good?”

“No,” he answered honestly.

Auston paused the game they had started playing after dinner. “Are you gonna finally tell me why you broke up with her?”

William didn’t answer.

“Because, like, not that I don’t enjoy having your company, but you´re moping around my place like a depressed teenager and you´re not even playing well enough to justify it.”

William scowled. “Thanks.”

“I mean it,” Auston said, leaning forward. “What did she do? Cheat on you? Lie to you?”

“No, nothing,” William sighed.

“Then why did you do it?” Auston pressed.

“I don’t know. I panicked. I got overwhelmed with all the shit that was going on that day, and I said some stuff I didn’t even mean.”

“So, fix it, you idiot.” Auston said, rolling his eyes.

William robbed his face with both hands, if it only would be that easy. “What if she doesn’t want to hear from me?”

Auston huffed. “Well, then that´s what you deserve but you should at least try.”

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

Three weeks post breakup

You hadn’t cried in five days.

A small victory, considering the first week you couldn’t go two hours without falling apart. But you were healing now. Slowly.

You weren’t trying to understand it anymore.

William had said it wasn’t working, out of nowhere, without warning and now you had to deal with the reality that he hadn’t fought for you. That he had rather walked away instead.

Even though it still hurt like hell, you were working through it. You had even started telling your friends not to bring him up anymore.

And then, of course, the text came.

His contact name stung in your eyes. You couldn’t bring yourself to completely delete his number, but changing “Will 💕” to “William Nylander” hurt and reading the changed name now, hurt even more.

William Nylander: Hey. I know I´m probably the last person you want to hear from, but I really need to talk to you. Please.

You stared at the message for a long time. Then locked your phone. Unlocked it again a minute later.

You shouldn’t respond, you really shouldn’t.

But you did.

I What could you possibly have to say that you couldn’t have said before you broke my heart?

It was a low blow, but he deserved it.

His answer came within seconds.

William Nylander: I was wrong. I´m not asking to forgive me right away, but please, let me explain.

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

You agreed to meet in a public place. Just in case you needed to walk away.

He said you should decide so, you chose the small coffee shop around the corner from your new building. It was quiet and familiar. Safe.

He was already sitting at a table when you got there. Hoodie, hat pulled low. He looked like he hadn’t been sleeping.

You didn’t sit right away. Rather stood next to the table, shooting him a glance. “You´ve got five minutes,” you said.

He stood up immediately, “I deserve that.”

You crossed your arms. “So, talk.”

William nodded and took a breath before he spoke. “I made a mistake. A huge one.”

You rolled your eyes in annoyance. “Yeah, I got that part.”

He flinched a little at your harsh words but nodded again before he continued. “I was stressed. Like, really stressed. With the team, the media, everything piled on top of me. And then I came home, and you were being you. Kind and present and you wanted to make sure if I was okay. instead of being grateful like I should have been, I told myself I was being smothered.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “Because I asked you how you were doing.”

He let out a loud sigh. “I know. It was dumb but I didn’t even realize how messed up it was until you were gone, and I kept looking for you and you weren’t three anymore. I just panicked that day and then I took it out on you.”

You finally sat, slowly. And you could immediately see that the tension left his body. “Why did you say it then?”

“Because I didn’t even understand what I was feeling. I lashed out and for that I am sorry.”

You were quiet for a long moment, carefully considering what you would say next. “You really hurt me.”

“I know.”

“I trusted you. I thought we were building something solid, we were one and a half years in and then one bad week and you ran,” you explained to him.

He swallowed hard. “I´m not proud of it.”

“Do you even want to be with me? Our are you just here because you´re lonely?”

That punched him straight in the gut. Hard. You saw it in his face.

“I want to be with you,” he immediately answered. “Because I miss the way you make me feel. I miss you laugh. I miss talking to you. I miss how you see through my crap but most of all I miss you. Not because I´m lonely. God knows I bothered Auston way too much since that day. I want to be with you because I was better with you in any aspect.”

You blinked, fighting back emotion, while trying to figure out what to say to that. “You broke up with me because I care too much, William. That´s basically what you said to me that day.”

“No, I broke up with you because I didn’t know how to accept that kind of care and that’s on me. You didn’t do anything wrong. You gave me more than what I deserved that day.”

Another pause.

“And what happens the next time you get overwhelmed?” you questioned. “Are you going to leave again? Because I won´t be able to go through that again, ever.”

“No,” he replied. “Because I´ve been talking to someone. A therapist. I should´ve done it a long time ago so I asked some of the guys who are already doing it for help and recommendations. I´m trying to be better. I want to be better.”

You looked at him, really looked, for the first time since entering the coffee shop.

“You´re not getting off easy,” you said finally. “You´re going to have to earn this back, and it is going to take time.”

He nodded. “I know. I´ll do whatever it takes, I promise.”

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

Three months later

He kept his word.

There were no grand gestures. No dramatic Instagram posts with love declarations or public apologies. Just consistent effort. Showing up. Listening. Talking things through. Therapy. Space when you needed it and accountability when it mattered.

You didn’t make it easy for him, but he never asked for easy. He never complained either.

Somewhere along the way, you started smiling again when you saw his name on your phone and “William Nylander” was changed back to “Will 💕”.

Then, eventually you let him back into your home and a little later, into your heart.

Because some mistakes are stupid, but some people really do learn from them. You experienced it yourself and sometimes, that makes all the difference.

[ghouljams]

hi ghoul :) i remember seeing that you have a degree in gender studies and i’m taking a class in that right now so i just wanted to ask if you had some book recommendations about gender! fictional or nonfictional! if not then that’s totally fine and thank u anyway <3

"The Essential Feminist Reader" collected by Estelle B Freedman is a great collection of feminist and proto-feminist essays that I truly believe everyone should read in their first gender studies class. It's going to show you where the movement started and how long people have been fighting for gender equality. Also it's always fun to read Mary Wollstonecraft, an icon. It's also a good showing of the men who participated in proto-feminism, because I think we forget that not every man opposed gender equality (even waaaaay back) and it's fun to see them talk about how great women are and how they should be treated like goddesses lmao

"Assata" by Assata Shakur is a really fantastic memoir about being a black woman during the height of the Black Panther movement. It's also a really gripping look inside the revolutionary groups that were gaining traction during the 60s/70s and the way the US government attempted to sabotage, infiltrate, and eventually dismantle both Black and White led groups. I found Assata's voice to be refreshing and also incredibly unapologetic in the way she addresses both her alleged crime as well as the crimes that were committed against her. This one focuses more less on gender and more on race, but there's definitely a lot of intersection going on.

"Stone Butch Blues" by Leslie Feinberg is an essential read if you want to look at the intersection of sexuality and gender. It's a fantastic look at the way we present ourselves as well as the way we are perceived, especially by people who are supposed to be our allies. There's a really great discussion in this one about how sex is used to define gender for certain marginalized groups and how queer spaces both embrace and reject the "other" within them. I think every queer woman should read this book (not assigning you any labels, just a general recommendation) because it picks apart so much of what it means to be a woman who is also queer.

Literally anything by bell hooks, but that's a given. I like "Feminist Theory from Margin to Center" a lot because she's incredibly frank with her look at the feminist movement and some of the exclusionary politics that go on within it. She has two books exploring masculinity that are from the early 2000s which have been on my list for ages as well. Love bell hooks.

I'll try to think up more but I always enjoy looking back at second wave feminist books. They're less afraid to address the elephants in the room and call out full stop the racism and trans/homophobia that is latent in the movement of the time. I am also of a belief that learning the history of a movement is the only way to truly progress forwards within it. So much of what we see in fringe/conservative "feminism" is failing to address (and often direction contradicting) many of the issues that people were fighting to push past in the 80s. I think about my mom and how she asked me "I was fighting against 'defining' womanhood, why are people so keen to define it again?" and idk I carry that with me often.

Anyway I'm a gender abolitionist because of my degree so like... take my opinion with a grain of salt.

[adoriels-tears-if]

Ok screw it I see so many people rambling about their MCs imma do it too!

This is Bell! Their name is Naryu, but they got nicknamed Bell after running full force into a metal fence. “Her head rang like a bell!” The rest is history lol

Afab! But ultimately nonbinary! (They/them she/her)

As it stands in the story they really are good at hiding (hide n seek being their favorite game) and ignorantly keep believing that if they do good enough maybe their father will come and say hi. They are very very desperate to prove themself and they want to do what’s best for everyone around them, but this.. need? To shoulder responsibility is eating away at their positivity. They try very hard to be “normal” but the need to hide away is making that pretty hard. It sucks too to fully know why at such a young age, prior to the kidnapping, and perhaps having those around you underestimate how much you understand that it’s simply that important.

During/post kidnapping they sortof lost hope finally? They love everyone, even begrudgingly accepting Arthur despite initial impressions (never mean, but very much as stoic as they can manage) but when they were taken there was a tiny part where they hoped that, if their family couldn’t find them, that they at least got to live more normal lives afterward. Cuz they know how much they adjust around them. And seeing Tobias take in Arthur, Cecily begin the orphanage, and feeling others drift into more obvious norms and wanting to do other things, how could they blame them? I think the kidnapping snaps a lot of things into perspective, and they try really hard to be at peace with it despite how afraid they were.

And.. they might have gone and tried to save the familiars. How could they let them all go?

They’re gonna grow up to have something to prove. A chip on their shoulder, but not *simply* because they’re angry. They’re angry at the system, a deep seated (and perhaps true) belief that it needs to be dismantled and rebuilt from the ground up. Defensive and ready to throw hands not because they’re inadequate, but because simply having your existence questioned repeatedly (if not threatened) develops a harsh fight or flight response. Bell happens to be a flightless bird.

They want peace; but that ain’t what the world is giving them. So they’re gonna fight back every second until they earn that peace, much to the dismay of literally just about everyone around them.

I love Bell's hair! They already have something in common with S!

And they seem to have a good heart despite the circumstances!

I bet they ran into that fence because of Tobias! He probably wanted to race them and that was it!

[mittenlady]

found some custom brushes for medibang paint

[milimeters-morales]

ATSV Miles: i only recently learned to use my palms to amplify my venom-

Comic Miles about to summon a venom-saber, send out concentrated energy beams, throw lightning balls, and just generally fuck around: hola mi nombre es Spider-Man y esto es Jackass 💯⚡️💥💥🔥🔥

[saixria]

Kinda funny how ruthlessness = fire one liners in Epic

[tacagen]

one of the things that fascinate me about thawne: yes, he CAN be normal with kids! surprisingly normal!

((not at all times, though. his mental illness still spills through and as usual he, in trying to manipulate or hurt others, spits out at them the exact stuff that would hurt him (or have in his childhood/barry's rejection interpretation) the most in the first place lmao))

but at the same time. his like second instinct when doing his bullshit is FUCK THEM (as) KIDS

(and, well. whatever this classifies as)

[bylertruther]

yk. the resistance ppl have to so much as considering the idea that mike might not jump to immediately and enthusiastically engaging in obvious n indisputably gay shit with will publicly is kinda funny in a puzzling way when season three and season four, where he does exactly that the entire way through, are literally right there for us all to watch on netflix.com. like. Okay ❤️

[fishareglorious]

barely scraped on tuesday baby hard mode boss everyone was just a breath away from dying but my homegirl marcus managed to do a 10k crit to finally take it down thank god

[memento-morri-writes]

whump wednesday - part iii

tw / tags: concussion, blood, bleeding out, loss of consciousness character: Rook (who else?) status: canon (took place several irl months ago as part of Rook’s first “Horrible, Very Bad, No-Good Weekend”.) wordcount: 525

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Another continuation from earlier. The party has now made it back to the Winters' manor. Having lost a lot of blood since being revived (on top of his concussion), Rook is in pretty bad shape. His mentor, Sigmar, is attempting to get him to the Winters' healers.

Rook’s eyes drifted closed, the oblivion of sleep calling to him. A sharp prod at his side dragged them reluctantly back open.  “Rook, you need to stay awake. Just a little bit longer, until a healer can have a look at you.” Sigmar’s voice was serious as he half-dragged, half-carried Rook down the hall of the Winters’ manor.  Rook groaned in response. He was exhausted, and every inch of his body ached. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and fall headlong into unconsciousness. Sigmar prodded him again. “Tell me what happened to you. How you ended up in this state.”

Rook thought hard for a moment. How had he ended up like this? He remembered Celestia, and healing the party, and then- Oh, right. He started to explain, his words running together as he spoke. “This werewolf guy showed up. Deadringer?” Sigmar’s body tensed but he said nothing. “And he wanted Warren. Warren and Cherry, I think.” He paused, trying to remember what had happened after that. “He… he wanted to hurt them. So I told him he’d have to go through me first. And he said ‘Deal.’ and threw me across the room. I… I think one of his werebeasts killed me.” He felt rather than saw Sigmar shake his head. “I should never have left you. If I’d known she’d bring Deadringer into this… I shouldn’t have let you go off to fight someone like him without me.” Once again, Rook was surprised at the weight of the emotion in his mentor’s voice. He wanted to say It’s not your fault. Or maybe, I would have done it anyway, but his mouth wouldn’t cooperate. So instead he just rested his head on Sigmar’s shoulder. The damp chill that had come over him on the way here was getting stronger and he leaned into Sigmar’s warmth. “‘S cold,” he mumbled. Sigmar picked up the pace a bit, a worried edge creeping into his voice. “Come on, come on. Just a little further.” Rook’s eyes were heavy, and his awareness of the world was fading. He heard a door open, was vaguely aware of a brightly lit, white-painted room, of being laid down on a bed. He could hear people talking urgently, unfamiliar voices joining Sigmar’s. His muddled mind only caught fragments of their words. “Concussion… Severe… Significant blood loss… Not enough… ”  Sigmar’s raised voice cut through the fog. “Help him, damn you!” It sounded very far away, as though coming from another room. Multiple sets of hands touched his skin, and the familiar warmth of healing magic (when had being healed become familiar again?, he wondered dimly) flooded his body. The cold, clammy feeling faded away. The constant pain he had stopped registering some time ago subsided, leaving blissful neutrality in its wake. His head cleared slightly too, blurred reality coming back into focus for a brief moment. Distant voices reached his ears, borne by that momentary clarity. “It’s safe for him to sleep now. He’ll be fine after some rest.” As if his body needed no further reassurance, Rook’s mind relaxed, and within seconds he sank into a deep sleep.