#sometimes I forgot she used to be like this before

[rubywillkins]

Hi there! I was walking and saw your lovely cafe, So I would like to order something for myself and my companion Oscar Piastri if that would be okay

I would like to order a Dark mocha with a shot of espresso and a mix of Almond,Soy and Raw milk

For breakfast I would like to order an avocado toast, Caprese skewers and Meat balls

I would like to order Mushroom risotto,Beef stoganoff and Chicken Nachos as the Main course

and lastly I would like to order Club Soda

That would be all! sorry if it's a long order

Thank You! 💞

Sure Darling ❤

Oscar piastri|

In the Wake of Want

Pairing oscar fem reader

Warning smut fights

Dark mocha dating shot of espresso rough sex Almond milk vaginal Sex Soy milk oral sex and Raw milk mutual Mastrubation avocado toast public sex Caprese skewers breeding kink Meat balls body worship Mushroom risotto “We’re really going to fuck here? What if someone sees us?” Beef stoganoff “You can take it, you’ve done it before.” Chicken Nachos “God, you love it like this, don’t you?” Club Soda pillow talk

“I was feeling insecure

You might not love me anymore

I was shivering inside…”

Oscar's helmet sat heavy on his arm as he stepped onto the pit lane, heart pounding with anticipation. The roar of the engines vibrated through his bones—this was home. But today, as he scanned the paddock, one sight stopped him cold: Lexi, his manager and closest confidant, was walking toward him with that familiar, encouraging smile. Oscar’s pulse jogged—not from the engines, but from something deeper. Y/N would see.

Moments later, she did. Y/N—his girlfriend of two years—stepped onto the paddock in her slim-fit jacket and heels, the perfect blend of beauty and confidence. As she caught sight of Lex embracing him shoulder to shoulder, her smile faltered. Jealousy flickered in her green eyes, and Oscar felt the weight of it before she even spoke.

“Lexi is here?” Her voice was theatrical, but Oscar felt the sting. He opened his mouth, started to explain, but she interrupted.

“She’s…supporting you?” She arched an eyebrow, tone cool.

“She’s my manager,” Oscar said gently. “She’s been with me since day one.”

“Oh, right—manager who’s apparently closer to you than I am.”

The accusation hurt where it was aimed. Oscar’s heart cracked.

“Y/N—” he began.

She held up a hand. “Don’t. I just…don’t like seeing you so chummy with her in front of everyone.”

Oscar looked around—the paddock press, the crew, other drivers—they were all watching. Y/N’s discomfort turned into anger.

“Why’s that?” he asked quietly, stepping so close their shoulders brushed.

“Because I thought I mattered most,” she whispered, voice trembling with pent-up frustration.

Oscar caught her arms. Pressed against her, he replied softly, “You do. Always have.”

Y/N shook her head, tears glistening. “Then prove it.”

Later, in Oscar’s drivers’ room—a usually sparse sanctuary adorned with his racing trophies and visor cases—they stood face to face in the muted glow of victory monitors. Several team members peeked in through the open doorway, but neither Oscar nor Y/N realized—or cared.

Their fight reignited as soon as the door shut.

“You felt replaced,” Oscar said, pacing, breath shallow. “I swear, you’re impossible sometimes.”

“And you felt accused! That hurts too.”

“You want proof?” He scooped her into his arms, nearly crushing onto the leather sofa, startling the engineer who had just opened the door—but stayed out. Pressing his lips to hers, Oscar melted into the kiss, fierce and desperate.

Her reply was even fiercer, hands fisting his shirt. The tension between words dissolved into something primal. Flashing heat, breathy moans—they forgot the world.

Oscar leaned against the tool bench, his Overalls unzipped. The air was thick with heat from the track and something else. Y/n looked him up and down with a smirk, her tank top already gone, and her jeans pushed down to the mid-thigh. Her gaze lingered on the visible bulge of his dick, then dragged up to meet his eyes. "That's quite...." she said.

"You like what you see?" Oscar growled, pushing his overalls down to expose his thick cock, hard and ready. Y/n's eyes darkened, and she stepped closer, pushing her jeans down to reveal a pair of lacy black panties. She rubbed her cunt over the fabric, a smirk playing on her lips. Oscar groaned, wrapping his fist around his shaft, stroking slowly.

Y/n laughed, a low, sultry sound, and mimicked him, pushing her fingers under the lace to quickly massage her clit. They stood there, eyes locked, stroking in sync, the tension between them electric. "It's been too long," Y/n breathed, moving closer, her free hand grabbing his, pressing his fingers to her clit.

"Make me come, Oscar."

He obliged, his fingers working fast. Y/n's head fell back, a moan escaping her lips. She dropped to her knees, pushing him back slightly so she could take his cock in her mouth. But Oscar had other ideas. He grabbed her chin, pulled her up, and forced her to turn around. She braced herself against the bench, her ass in the air. He dropped to his knees, yanked her lacy panties to the side.

He growled at the sight of her wet, swollen cunt, and dove into her with his tongue, licking her from behind. He started working her over, licking and sucking on her pussy. She moaned again and slammed her cunt into Oscar's face.

He roughly grabbed her ass, his fingers digging into her soft flesh, as his tongue flicked over her clit. Her breath hitched, and she reached between her legs, her fingers finding his mouth, pushing against his tongue. He sucked on her fingers, tasting her sweet juices, and tugged her towards him, eager for more.

“We’re really going to fuck here? What if someone sees us?” she said.

Oscar looked up, his chin glistening her wetness. "Who gives a fuck?" he grunted, before diving back in, his tongue lashing against her clit. He reached up, his rough hands grabbing her tits, squeezing hard. She gasped, arching her back, pressing her ass harder against his face. She started pushing her fingers down her front to rub her clit. He let go of her tits, slapped her ass hard, leaving a red handprint.

"Someone might walk in," she panted.

"Let them watch," he growled, his fingers digging into her hips. He stood up, his cock throbbing, pressing against her entrance. "You want this, don't you?" he whispered against her ear, his voice a low rumble. He slapped his cock against her ass and the sound echoed in the garage.

"Not here," she gasped, but her hips pushed back, inviting him in. She let out a soft moan as the head of his cock pressed against her pussy. He teased her, just the tip, before pulling back. He reached down, grabbing her wrists, pinning them behind her back with one hand. She struggled, but he held firm. "You're mine," he growled, slamming into her. She cried out, her body tensing as he filled her completely.

She started moving her hips in circles, grinding against him. "Fuck, Oscar," she moaned. She reached between her legs and started rubbing her clit as he fucked her. His thrusts were hard, punishing, each one knocking the breath out of her. He leaned over her, his chest pressing against her back, his free hand grabbing a handful of her hair. He pulled her head back, exposing her neck. His teeth grazed her skin. She moaned, her body shaking, her orgasm building. She scratched at the bench, her fingers clawing at the metal.

"That's it," he groaned, his hips slapping against her ass. "Come for me. Let them hear you." She let out a scream as her orgasm hit, her body convulsing around him. He groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own release. He came with a roar, his cock pulsing inside her, filling her with his hot seed. She moaned, her body milking him, drawing out every last drop.

He stayed inside her, his cock still hard, pulsing with each beat of his heart. He leaned down, his teeth grazing her shoulder, biting down gently. She shivered, her body still trembling from her orgasm. He pulled out slowly, his cock glistening with her juices. He turned her around, pushing her back onto the bench.

Her legs hung over the edge, her feet on the cool concrete, her ass barely on the worn bench. He grabbed her thighs, spreading her wide, exposing her completely. He looked down at her, his eyes roaming over her body, a hunger in his gaze. "You can take it, you’ve done it before." He growled, and he knelt down between her legs, his tongue running up her inner thigh. She gasped, her hips jerking towards him. He chuckled, his breath hot against her skin. He grabbed her hips, pulling her towards him, his tongue running up her slit, tasting her.

His tongue flicked over her clit, sending spikes of pleasure through her. She moaned, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. He growled against her, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through her. He slid two fingers inside her, curling them, hitting that spot deep inside that made her see stars.

She arched her back, her breasts heaving, her nipples hard. He leaned up, taking one in his mouth, sucking hard. She cried out, her body writhing beneath him. He moved to the other, giving it the same attention, his fingers never stopping their relentless pace. He looked up at her, his eyes dark with lust, his lips glistening with her juices. He stood, his cock hard and ready again.

He grabbed her hips, pulling her to the edge of the bench, positioning himself at her entrance. He looked down at her, his eyes filled with a primal hunger. “God, you love it like this, don’t you?” he growled. She nodded, her breath coming in short gasps. He slammed into her, his hips moving fast, his cock filling her completely. She cried out, her body arching towards him. He leaned down, his forehead resting against hers, his eyes locked on hers. "That's it," he groaned, his hips moving faster, his cock hitting that spot deep inside her. "Take it all. Every fucking inch... am gonna breed you.. fucking fill you up with my hot seed."

She moaned, her body trembling, her orgasm building. He reached between them, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing fast. She screamed, her body convulsing, her orgasm hitting her hard. He groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own release. He came with a roar, his cock pulsing inside her, filling her with his hot seed. He collapsed on top of her, his body slick with sweat, his heart pounding against her chest. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close, their bodies entwined, their breaths mingling. Her fingers traced patterns on his back, savoring the moment.

They lie tangled on the sofa in the drivers' room, the afterglow of their reunion still humming between them. Oscar’s fingers trace lazy patterns on Y/N’s arm, and she presses her palm to his chest, feeling his heartbeat slow in time with hers.

Y/n (softly, half-smiling): “You know... when you kissed me like that... I could feel your entire body saying you meant it.”

Oscar leans in, brushing his lips against her ear. “I did mean it. Every wordless promise, every touch—I meant all of it.”

Their breaths mingle. Y/n tilts her head back, letting Oscar’s hand slide up her side. “I love how your skin feels—warm, steady… like coming home.”

He smiles against her skin. “I love how your shoulder fits against me. How your hair smells… like lavender and late-night drive adrenaline.” His fingers tangle in her hair. “It’s intoxicating.”

Y/N’s eyes close. “Tell me one thing you want... right now.”

Oscar tilts her chin up. “I want to hold you until my pulse forgets how to race.” He pulls her closer, voice low. “I want to brush these moments—skin to skin, breath to breath—into memory, so I never forget how alive you make me feel.”

She slides an arm over his waist, trailing a fingertip along his spine. “Make me forget everything else,” she whispers. “Just us.”

He kisses the shell of her ear. “Nothing else exists. Not here, not now.” He presses his lips to her collarbone and murmurs, “You’re mine.”

She smiles against him. “Always.”

They drift into that soft, lingering intimacy—no words, just promises whispered in hushed tones, hearts echoing through the night, the outside world a distant echo. This is their pillow talk: honest, delicate, and wrapped in the tender warmth of being truly, deeply together.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

heyyyy love your work and I wanted to request something!

Could I ask for an Erik x reader. She’s a teacher or professor or something like that and having lunch with her colleagues. Erik stops by to bring her her bag she forgot with a textbook or go have lunch. Her coworkers are quiet when he leaves and she asks what for and one of them says “I just didn’t think someone like that would be your type” and she just shrugs and says “I didn’t either”

(This feels a little dumb, but it’s sorta been rolling around my brain like a marble)

The colorful, dark couple in love

Erik Campbell x fem!reader (teacher)

warning : kissing, fluff, no use of Y/n

Summary : A teacher at the local small school and her partner Erik, who works at the local piercing and tattoo studio. Two people who were at opposite ends of the job spectrum, but that didn't stop them from falling in love. A happy relationship that is normal for them is something completely new for their fellow teachers when they find out what kind of type their colleague has...the tattooed, pierced, sexy guy.

info : Hi dear anon! So happy to hear that you like my works, sorry you had to wait, I hope you enjoy reading it (I love the marble in your brain), thanks again for all the support and see you next time :)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Who would have thought that two such different people would find each other?

A teacher who does nothing all day long but teach children, write tests, correct papers, and look forward to the weekend with her fellow teachers and discuss how the children are doing in school.

A social job, one with responsibility and care for others, almost something bright and good...on the other hand, there was him, alone in the dark shop where chains and skulls were a must.

Despite everything, he had very little to do with the customers, just a few words, money, and the needle that went through the body, nothing more.

Maybe it was precisely these differences that brought them together, the mornings between them almost always the same, Erik snoring contentedly in his dark T-shirt while she was already awake and making coffee.

The first quarter of an hour of the day was a blessing, just peace and quiet, her and her cell phone with a cup of coffee and no one around. Until Erik came into the kitchen and kissed her on the cheek with a “Good Morning” as she handed him his black cup.

Erik was a late sleeper and if he didn't set several alarms, he would fall back asleep when she called him and turned on the light.

More than once he had overslept and had to stay longer in the studio, and she picked him up in the evening and just gave him a kiss.

On the other hand, she was an early riser who enjoyed the quiet morning and gave Erik a gentle kiss on the forehead before getting out of bed.

The few minutes between them in the morning were slow and caring, she made Erik coffee and the black-haired man took care of breakfast before they said goodbye.

Despite his tiredness, he was excellent when it came to a quick, tasty breakfast, whether it was toast with eggs and bacon, pancakes or breakfast burritos, Erik always came up with something new, for which she was more than grateful.

When they sat across from each other at the small table, the quiet meal was punctuated by talk about dreams or other things, his hand sometimes landing on hers or her running her fingers through his tousled hair, which he still had to comb.

As a teacher, she had to leave earlier than him, so Erik stayed at home to tidy up when he suddenly noticed the yellow spray can that had been left on the kitchen counter.

A curse escaped his lips as he got dressed more hastily than usual to get to his partner before his shift started, because if there was one thing she needed, it was his support after all the people around her.

The Campbells had a large family, but he also valued his peace and quiet.

Erik would never have volunteered to be a teacher—too many children with too many problems.

The thought alone made him roll his eyes as he turned onto the street leading to the school.

The large building with hundreds of children and several teachers came into view as he parked across the street and arrived just in time for recess.

Clutching the can more tightly, he ran across the street and entered the school grounds.

He had been here a few times before, either to pick her up, accompany her, or just to look at her classroom, but he had left before the others could see him.

Taking the hallway, he quickly saw through the small crowd in the cafeteria that the rest were probably outside, so he followed the nearest sign and found himself on the spacious grounds.

The schoolyard had a few benches, and he quickly found the other adults, who stood apart from the younger children.

The first eyes looked at him questioningly as he came to stand next to his partner. “Hey, you forgot your food, I wanted to bring it to you” he said briefly and held out the food to her, which she accepted with a happy expression and a “Thanks, Erik, I knew I forgot something” as she looked into the box and her hand rested on his for a brief moment.

She felt him squeeze her hand gently, a silent sign of love that he would see her again soon.

His gaze met hers as he nodded and murmured, “Have a nice day” and turned on his heel to return to the car and start his own day.

A day that started for Erik with loud metal music turned into sudden silence for her, his partner, a silence that she didn't notice at first as she took a hearty bite of her sandwich and a sip of water before she felt eyes on her.

Not looks that said a child was coming or watch out, principal—no, these were questioning looks.

Swallowing her bite, she asked, “Why so quiet?” as if something terrible had just happened, she was about to turn around, thinking that a child had fallen or something else.

Instead, her colleague said, “I just didn't think someone like that was your type” and pointed toward the street where Erik had disappeared, but she understood what the others were getting at.

Taking a sip of water and shrugging her shoulders, she replied with a slight smile, “I didn't either” and enjoyed her meal while the break lasted.

Yet the pleasant feeling of realizing how much she liked Erik stayed with her as she returned to the classroom, and she could hardly wait to be home with him again.

She had a super cute, black-haired, tattooed, pierced guy as her boyfriend.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@porterroths , @intothesuccourofshar , @monkeydoll5, @starry-eyed-wild-child , @porterroths , @amanfalove1355 , @mythicalcowboyatheart , @rhaenyrathecruell , @fapqueen , @sadslasher13 , @everdxen-mellark

[attabxy]

Hiii <3 could you please write an Erik Campbell x reader fic where Reader is a 'Y2K it girl' (like pink animal print, playboy bunny necklaces, fake tan vibes)

And Julia is like Reader's bestie too? And if you would like, include a song to read along to?

Dating a Y2K Reader - E. Campbell

Pairing: Erik Campbell X Reader (romantic, gender-neutral).

Media: Final Destination Bloodlines.

Content Warning(s): Julia is Reader's best friend, opposites attract, feminine-leaning/presenting Reader (she/her is not used), Erik once had an emo phase, the nickname 'Kiki' is used for Erik, Julia and Reader are mid-twenties while Erik is late twenties to early thirties.

(Author's Note: Hi, Anonymous! Take this heart <3 and brace yourself because I've never written Y2K before! This is the most I've had to research for headcanons because I'm only vaguely familiar with the Y2K aesthetic. I'm not sure if this is explicitly a female reader, so I've written Reader to be gender-neutral but more leaning to being female. I've also taken inspiration from this Erik 'fic by @/multi-fandom-imagine. Show them some love! As well, I included Sexy Drug by Falling in Reverse as the song. It's not exactly Y2K, but I think this would've been Erik's anthem as an emo boy).

Erik remembers the 2000s', for better or worse.

When they were kids, Julia would drag her older brother to see the newest movie that had Lindsey Lohan or whatever chick-flick was playing in theaters.

It was only mildly embarrassing to walk into Legally Blonde in full black, eyeliner, and belt chain.

He completely forgot about those times until you walked in the door with Julia, dressed to the nines in a pink leopard-print crop top, low-rise jeans, and a belly chain.

"Kiki, you remember my friend, right?" Julia asked him, but his mind was taken aback and into 2005.

He thought 2005 stayed in 2005. Y'know, twenty years ago. But no, it didn't come to him at any point that just maybe someone would keep the aesthetic alive.

There's this part of him that's still a teenager listening to My Chemical Romance and frequenting the local Hot Topic. He's also trying to push down that part of himself.

Lo and behold, that part of him was not pushed down when he started dating you.

While forgetting to tell you that he had an emo phase as a teenager, he was entranced by how you embraced the Y2K aesthetic.

Can't help but (not-so subtlety) stare at your figure in the jeans and the jewelry. He's close to biting his lip and twirling his hair at the sight of you.

He helps you DIY and thrift your clothes, and he's really good at repurposing old clothes. The emo phase really came in handy.

Since Erik's pretty clueless about Y2K, he asks Julia about the aesthetic, as well as what to get you. Not only is she more aware of the Y2K aesthetic, she's also your friend, so she helps with gifts that are tailored to you.

Julia played matchmaker with you and Erik. That's it, send Tweet.

He was surprised that not only did you own a flip phone, but actually used it.

His gifts to you (that aren't clothes) are accessories for you flip phone, as well as an iPod he found at a thrift store for thirty dollars.

Another revelation he had was hearing someone squeal. He didn't think people did that until he gave you the iPod.

Date nights tend to consist of watching 2000s' movies and thrift shopping, which he found himself enjoying (he finds a lot of shirts at thrift shops and Mean Girls is a guilty pleasure movie).

Eventually, you find out Erik had an emo phase. It's the opposite of Y2K, but it was a big aesthetic during the 2000s'.

You sometimes tease him about it, but you try to get him to embrace it, or at least come to terms with it and realize that it isn't that bad.

Fine, he thought as you unearthed the old band shirts, chokers, and 15-year-old makeup that he likely stole from Julia.

Yes, he's cringing. Yes, he's remembering some good memories as he looks at old MySpace pictures of himself. How did he think that was cool?

He's not emo anymore (more metalhead than anything), but his emo phase was a stepping stone into him discovering metal music. He now gets weirdly sentimental over his emo phase and appreciates you for allowing him to look at it in a different light...

...until you post a picture of him recreating one of his emo looks. Now his family teases him about it.

(Author's Note: Anonymous, thank you for bearing with me as I was posting this later than expected. My motivation went to the toilet, and I have summer classes starting. Thank you to everyone who requested headcanons and showed them some love, but I think I'm done for now. I was starting to get burnt-out, and on top of school and a job, I figured it was best to close my requests for now. I still love you guys tremendously, and I think this is a great community that I'll continue to interact with! Go easy on me if I totally misrepresented Y2K, I had to ask several people to define it because I neither partake in Y2K nor emo. Let's hope I didn't misrepresent two aesthetics!

Signing off for now,

-Libby)

[bewitched-hours]

Hello there ! first of al you are realy cool writet:D

and second of all can l have small request so l have idea fantasy!forsaken /Yan!azuretime ×lapis lazuli reader like reader is a water gem robloxian and live in water towers whit their kind and azure and two time meet whit them by accident and fall in love whit reader (reader have same traumas like lapis lazuli)

Gonna be honest, I genuinely had trouble reading this but I'll still happily do it! And thanks for the compliment! I love Steven Universe so this is gonna be a lot of fun!

Reader gets She/Her-

Being a gem was never easy.

Sure, your kind were adored for keeping this world in such great condition and bringing balance to the elements but...

Sometimes it got overwhelming.

That's why you preferred your time in the water towers you made with your fellow water gems. You could hide from the public there and relax... Usually.

Hell, you didn't even mind the occasional visitors if they were being polite but maybe that's why you ended up in a mirror.

No... Who were you kidding... You had no fault in this.

It was all the gem war that started this. A war where all of gemkind were wrapped into the chaos and had to choose between fighting and fleeing.

But you took too long to choose and ended up sealed into your gem form to be put into a mirror and show the holder whatever they want from a moment in history.

You never forgot... And you wanted out...

You've been held by many people, told to show them different points in time which forced you to relive those memories even if you weren't apart of them initially.

You figured you could finally rest when you were hidden away from prying eyes and left in darkness after a crack in your gem messed with your abilities. They finally grew tired of you not functioning and left you to rot in your own abyss...

Naturally, it was a shock to see another face again. Much less that of a regular robloxian.

You were confused at first, trying to figure out how much time had passed as they called out to someone to take a better look at your current form.

They creeped you out a bit but you'd take any chance for freedom you could get. You just had to wait and spend enough time with them to hopefully form your own sentences to communicate.

You fortunately- or unfortunately- knew you couldn't access the long-forgotten history anymore. There was no more torture but also no way to call for help because you just knew if you had called for help when you could, those who knew would've only punished you for being unruly.

"Azure! Come look at this!" Two Time called out as they held your prison of polished silver with a reflective metal framed with turtle shell and gold. Back in the times where this mirror was made, it could've sold for a lot. It gave you an odd sense of pride back then.

Another face came into view before both of them seemed to admire your little prison... If only they knew...

Regardless, you were patient. You watched whatever the mirror allowed you to see as they took you away and brought you to a small cabin by the ocean.

Although they didn't place you in a way where you could see the waves, hearing them was just as comfortable as you allowed them to inspect your gem.

"I wonder what happened..." Azure muttered.

Oh, you would've happily shown them the war that happened after robloxians got a little too greedy and decided to spark a war between gems... But alas...

"Well, we could try to get it out but it seems stuck pretty deep... It would sell better after being repaired." Two Time's words stuck to you like a needle. They didn't know you were alive but thinking of being sold was... Unpleasant...

It was over the span of the next few days where you could capture enough from them to start your plan.

It started small, grabbing their attention by butting into their conversation with a suggestion you picked up from Azure, using their own morning greetings to wish them a good morning, that stuff.

Once they actually began talking to you did things go quicker.

They'd learn fast that you can only repeat back what they've indirectly taught you and they tried to use that to figure out more about you. It wasn't too surprising but you've been able to explain you were the gem on the back of the mirror and that you needed to be freed.

You promised them you'd do anything for your freedom and they agreed to talk about your end of the deal once you were out. You couldn't thank them enough for it.

Maybe you should've never asked them in the first place. Just stay quiet and wait for another century or two. It would've been easy.

But no, you were too eager to move again.

The real story started when they finally got you out. They somehow managed to put in enough force but still be as careful as ever when they pulled you out and you were able to reform. You didn't have any pupils because your gem was still cracked so your eyes were a little more reflective.

"Oh, thank you! Thank you!" You practically rushed to see them up close and show them your gratitude. "I-I can finally move! I can see freely!"

You spun around and materialized your water wings to make sure your gem was still properly intact.

But you didn't forget your end of the deal.

"What can I do to show my gratitude?" You smiled softly, not realizing they had both been mesmerized by your beauty and quietly agreed on something while you had been spinning and looking at the stars.

"We want you to stay with us." Were the words that sealed your fate. Innocent at first glance and you were too overwhelmed with the feeling of freedom to really deny.

With a simple handshake, your fate was sealed and you were effectively bound to them until the day they'd die.

You could still be around the cabin and play with the water like you used to but they were patient in showing you why they wanted you to stay with them.

From the moment they laid their eyes on you, it was an obsession. They wanted to be the only ones admiring your beauty and gentle nature but they didn't want you to get scared or lose your smile.

It started with convincing you that you would be taken away and tortured if you were found out along with some convenient coincidences where strangers were being pushy with you and they stepped in to protect you... It just helped that you had a more timid nature with strangers now that you were out and vulnerable again.

Then it evolved into little affectionate gestures and convincing you they wanted to make you feel safe and comfortable even though you couldn't figure out where other gems were.

Eventually they even had you convinced that any gems spotted were crushed and turned into jewelry, which further aided in keeping you dependant on them.

It was through all that, all their work, that eventually got them to their goal when you confessed you've felt a strong draw to them and they were quick to reciprocate. It made your heart flutter and you never once considered questioning them, making their prepared excuses for nothing.

Although, you could've sworn that they'd whisper about their obsession with you whenever you dozed off... But they'd always tell you you must be hearing things...

If anyone picked up on the fact I used a mirror specifically from medieval times in this, you get a cookie (⸝⸝> ᴗ•⸝⸝)

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[heestruck]

Bad Desire ; Lee Heeseung [TEASER]

synopsis ; It was never meant to be more than a secret. But between late night kisses, and everything they never said, she fell harder than she should have. And he let her. Now they’re both left chasing something that was never built to last.

In which y/n and heeseung's paths probably shouldn't have collided. with his raging addiction, and her undying love for him, they navigate their way through a love that was never meant to last... or was it?

pairing ; student!fem reader x addict!heeseung

genre ; smut, angst

warnings ; drug use, and lots of it, emotional abuse, lying, kinda cheating if you squint, gaslighting, p in v smut, slight drug glorification, heeseung and reader kinda don't like each other at first, arguing, heeseungs kinda a dick, they yell at each other sometimes, let me know if i'm missing anything

do not read if any of this makes you uncomfortable. minors do not interact. there is a lot of heavy themes in this fic, so please read the warnings carefully before reading.

wc ; tbd

release date ; july 4th, 2025

teaser under the cut !

The bathroom reeks of bleach, stale smoke, and whatever cheap cologne the guy before them doused himself in. Heeseung wipes his nose with the back of his hand, sniffing once, slow and deep. The burn is already fading, replaced with the familiar clarity and a weightless buzz under his skin.

Outside the door, the music thrums like a second heartbeat. Sunghoon leans against the wall, arms crossed, a lazy smirk on his lips. “You know one day your brain’s gonna just leak out your nose, right?” Heeseung shrugs, eyes half-lidded. “Better out than rotting in there.” Jay laughs, pulling the door open to let the sound of the party spill in again. “You two sound like you’ve had this conversation before.” There’s a pause as the two exchange a glance. “We have,” Sunghoon says. “Every time he does something dumb.” His words accompanied by an eye-roll that comes to him naturally, “Which is often,” Heeseung adds with a grin, snagging the cigarette tucked behind Sunghoon’s ear and lighting it like it’s his.

They step out, smoke trailing behind them, the heat and noise of the party rushing in all at once. Heeseung’s eyes flick lazily over the crowd, bodies pressed too close, red cups in every hand, neon lights catching on sequins and sweat. Sunghoon elbows him. “You gonna dance tonight, or just brood in the corner like Batman again?” “I’ll dance when hell freezes and you get laid,” Heeseung mutters, exhaling smoke through his nose. “Ouch,” Sunghoon says with a mock wince. “Low blow. Even for you.”

Jay doesn’t laugh.

He’s staring at something, no, someone. Eyes locked across the room, jaw slightly slack, like he forgot how to act. Heeseung catches it immediately. “Dude,” he says flatly. “You good?” Jay doesn’t respond, causing Heeseung to follow his gaze. She’s standing with a group of girls near the kitchen, laughing at something, her drink cradled in one hand. Her hair catches the light, eyes wide and sparkling in that way that’s too fucking pure for this place. Black jeans. Black top. Sweet face, too clean for the party grit.

Heeseung rolls his eyes. “Jesus Christ, stop staring at her like a fucking perv.” Jay finally snaps out of it. “She’s just… I don’t know, man. She’s got—”

“What?” Heeseung cuts in, tone biting. “That good girl trying to be bad energy? The innocent preppy type who probably says ‘sorry’ when she bumps into furniture?” Sunghoon snorts. Jay shrugs, unfazed. “She’s cute.”

“She’s boring,” Heeseung says immediately, taking another drag. “Can already tell. Probably straight-A’s, runs on caffeine and validation, thinks this party is some edgy detour in her perfect little life plan.”

“You got all that from one look?” Sunghoon raises a brow. “I’ve seen that type before,” Heeseung mutters. “They don’t stay.” Jay watches her again. “Still wouldn’t mind finding out.” Heeseung doesn’t reply, but his eyes linger just a little too long this time. Something about her smile makes him twitch. Like she doesn’t belong here, and for some reason, that pisses him off more than anything else.

[fernsplace]

SECRETS *ೃ༄

summary: you befriend a mysterious transfer student at stanford. after months of hanging out, you still know almost nothing about him. he disappears some days, showing back up worn down and tattered. you've finally had it. pairing: stanford!sam x f!reader (no use of y/n) word ct: 1.9k content: cw: suggestive ending. sam angst. fluff. soft!sam. secret identity trope. she falls first lowkey. mystery. dean mention?

you meet sam on a thursday.

he's new. sits in the back of the lecture hall, tall frame, but hunched over in his book. flannel sleeves pushed to his elbows, fingers wrapped around a coffee cup that never leaves his hand. he never comes in late, but always leaves early. there’s something about the way he listens, eyes focused, lips slightly parted like he’s starving for knowledge.

you notice him because you’re always the first to arrive. and he notices you, because you hold the door when it tries to slam shut behind you. he murmurs a quiet thanks every time. voice like molasses. eyes that linger.

you don’t talk until week three.

"hey," he says one day when you're both caught in the hallway traffic. "do you know if he uploads the slides somewhere? i missed monday."

you tell him yes. he smiles a soft smile. crooked. not practiced. not perfected.

he introduces himself as sam.

just sam.

—

you two grow closer. shared notes. study partners. he’s brilliant, but reserved. like his brain is a library and you're only allowed to check out one book at a time. he never talks about himself unless you ask directly, and even then, the answers are vague.

he has a brother, older. he travels a lot. his childhood was “weird.” he likes research. hates when people call attention to his height. doesn’t drink much. hasn’t dated in a while. religious? maybe catholic? ambiguous?

you ask him what he did before transferring here.

he shrugs. “odd jobs.” he doesn’t elaborate.

—

there’s a quiet sort of comfort that settles between you. you don’t push, and he doesn’t offer. still, he always remembers how you like your coffee. he walks you home when it’s late. he listens better than anyone ever has.

sometimes, you catch him watching you. like he's memorizing your features, as if he’s scared you’ll vanish if he looks away.

you pretend not to notice how fast your heart beats when he’s near.

—

you don’t realize something’s wrong until the night he disappears. you had left his dorm after a late night studying, forgetting your textbook on his old rug. you couldn’t be bothered to go back, mental and physical exhaustion overtaking you. so, you opted to send a quick text:

hey, forgot my textbook on your floor. can u bring it tomorrow pls?

but he never shows.

you sent another text. half teasing him for sleeping in, half pissed because you spent the entire class looking over the shoulder of the student in front of you.

a day goes by. then two.

you don’t want to seem clingy, but it’s unlike him.

he shows up again five days later. tired. bruised. there’s a thin cut across his cheekbone and he looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. his under eyes are sunken and dull.

you stare at him in the library, stunned.

"what the hell happened to you?"

he blinks, shrugging his shoulders. "oh. uh. got mugged."

you lift your hand to cup his cheek. thumb brushing lightly over the maroon blemishes. his eyelashes flutter softly. he lifts his own hand, placing it on yours. he tilts his head back, trying to escape your touch. he feels bad, but his pain is seering.

“jesus,” you breathe. “are you okay?”

he nods. doesn’t meet your eyes. "i’m fine."

he’s not.

—

after that, the gaps start to grow. he vanishes for days, then shows up again like nothing happened. sometimes he looks fine. sometimes he looks like he’s been dragged through hell.

he won’t let you question him. he dismisses it, changes the topic, says that he wants to go to bed and he’ll talk later.

one night, you call him out.

"you’re lying to me."

you're standing outside the dining hall, half-finished tea cooling in your hand. he freezes.

"what are you talking about?" he asks softly, eyes blinking rapidly.

“you disappear and come back with bruises. you flinch when people slam doors. you always carry a knife—don’t think i haven’t noticed. and last week, i saw you picking a lock on the back door of the chem lab like you’d done it a hundred times before.”

you had to force your eyes to stay on his. you had to be heard. you needed the truth.

sam’s jaw tightens. the silence grows thick. he shifts his weight from foot to foot. you can tell he’s uncomfortable.

you step forward, voice shaking. “i don’t care if you’re running from something, sam. i can try to help. but if you’re dangerous—”

“i’m not,” he says quickly. “i wouldn’t hurt you. ever.” he shakes his head and he locks eyes with you. he steps forward, a gentle hand mediating between you.

“then tell me.”

his eyes search yours. something breaks behind them. they’re glassy. he lets out a long, shaky breath. his mind is racing. meanwhile, you tremble with worry.

“okay,” he says. “but not here.”

—

you don’t expect monsters. you expect “i’m in a gang” or “i’m running from the cops.” hell, you thought nothing would shock you. you thought you’d come up with every possible justification for his absences.

ghosts. demons. vengeful spirits. shapeshifters. all real. and he’s been hunting them since he was a boy.

you blink at him in stunned silence. he's standing in the middle of his dorm room, fingers clenched at his sides like he’s bracing for you to scream.

instead, you chuckle nervously. has he gone insane? “that’s… absurd. you’re crazy.” he just looks at you.

“you think i’m kidding.” his voice is a bit louder now, getting defensive. your faux smile drops and you weren’t quite sure how to proceed.

he pulls a battered leather journal from his backpack and places it on the bed next to you. you pull it onto your lap and flip through the pages. it's filled with drawings. sigils. yellow notes written in a spidery hand. names, dates, locations. photos.

you brush a finger over a page titled wendigo, heart beating faster. it all seemed so sinister. so real.

you look up at him through your eyelashes, lips parted in shock.

“this is real,” you whisper.

he nods once. solemn. his eyes are almost apologetic. regretful. “yeah.”

“and you kill these things?”

he nods again, taking a slow seat next to you.

you breath a hard breath out and close the journal slowly.

“why the fuck would you come to college? aren’t you worried about like— the fucking world ending?”

you’re breathless. you run your hand through your hair and swallow hard.

he runs a hand over his mouth. “to feel normal. to be someone else for once.”

you believe him.

you shouldn’t.

but you do.

“sam…” you trail off, eyes distant. he places a gentle hand on the small of your back, his thumb brushing softly over your shirt.

“hey, listen to me.” he speaks slow and soft, tilting his head to meet your eyes. “i won’t let anything hurt you. you can trust me.”

—

you keep his secret. and in return, he keeps you safe.

he starts staying over at your dorm more. not in your bed, not at first. just in your room, sleeping on on pile of blankets on the floor, boots near the door. you offered to buy an air mattress, but he claims he’s slept on worse. you catch him murmuring in his sleep sometimes. latin, was it? other times, he startles awake gasping, eyes wide, heart pounding.

you let him stay anyway.

you ask him to teach you how to protect yourself. despite this news of monsters laying heavy on your chest— like your world has completely shrunken, you couldn’t help but be curious.

he doesn’t want to teach you, but he does. slow at first. baby steps. pepper spray. salt lines. a silver knife.

you see more of the hunter in him after that. the part of him that sharpens into something lethal when there’s a threat. the way his eyes darken when someone gets too close. the way his hand always finds yours, grounding, when things get loud.

he saves a family in the next town over. a poltergeist. doesn’t tell you until he’s back and sore and covered in bruises.

“you’re going to get killed,” you whisper, pressing an ice pack to his temple. his hand brushes along your arm.

he doesn’t argue. he thinks somehow, that he always knew god wasn’t watching over him. but it was something much more evil. maybe a demon, the devil, even. or maybe death himself.

he watches you. long and careful.

“you still like me?” he asks softly. a teasing smile sits on face.

“yeah,” you breathe. “i do.”

he leans forward then. testing. you feel his cool breath along your teeth. mint. and when you don’t pull away, his lips brush yours. slow, like he’s unsure if you’re really there.

you kiss him back. his touch is like silk. you feel your cheeks grow warm and your body melts into his. your hands reach for his hair as his move to your waist. he’s tender in his touch.

he parts his legs, allowing you to move your body closer. he needs you close. to feel you near him. you tug his hair lightly and a quiet, just barely audible groan leaves his lips.

you smile against his lips. this boy just keeps surprising you.

in this moment, you feel real. and sam, he feels normal. calm. he’s not in fight or flight. now, he’s here. and he’s yours. tomorrow, he might find himself in the middle of vamp nest, or tied up in a basement. but right now, he’s with you. he vows to himself to protect you. and to not become a monster himself.

—

lowkey not a fan of the ending, but it’s getting late. i love soft sam so much nobody understands.

planning on writing some darker, grungier fics i think!

anyway, send me some fic prompts to angel radio!

[freyafrida]

rilla of ingleside, chapter three

this turned out to be a long one bc i can't shut up about these kids lmao

This is probably the chapter I've reread the most! After hearing about the Blythe-Meredith kids from the gossipy ladies in chapter one, and meeting Rilla, Walter, and Miss Oliver in chapter two, the war generation all finally shows up in this chapter, and we get a sense of them from the way they talk and interact on the way to the lighthouse dance. Since it's the only pre-war chapter featuring all the kids, I find myself rereading it a lot for fanfic personality/relationship references, haha.

“The latter had come over from Lowbridge the previous evening and had been prevailed upon to remain for the dance at the Four Winds lighthouse the next night.”

Sometimes I forget that Gertrude is meant to be living in Lowbridge for parts of the book because she's at Ingleside all the time anyway lmao.

“It’s my first really-truly grown-up party, Miss Oliver, and I’ve just lain awake at nights for a week thinking it over. ”

Something about this sentence reads so much like young Anne to me (maybe the phrasing of "really-truly"); despite Anne's concern over Rilla's lack of ambition, Rilla is her mother's daughter in that sense of dreaminess and earnest excitement over things she loves.

Inch restingly, it seems like Rilla turns fifteen between this chapter and the last (last chapter was June, she's turning fifteen next month, it's now August, per the events of the chapter and Walter's description of "How beautiful the old Glen was, in its August ripeness"). I have thoughts about this bc I was wrestling with her birthday in a fic and realized -- the book doesn't recognize her birthday at all, not in the four years it spans. You'd think Rilla would've had a fifteenth birthday party before the war, at least, but it doesn't appear so. I don't think Anne has a proper birthday party ever, either, although she's mentioned to attend one or two over the course of the series.

“Of course Carl and Jerry can’t dance because they’re the minister’s sons, or else I could depend on them to save me from utter disgrace.”

Carl swooping in to save Rilla from utter disgrace!!! LMM why can't you let me have these things 😭 (Also, I realize they must see each other often, given that they're from two close families in a small town, but I have to admit I find it hard to believe that Jerry even knows Rilla exists.)

Disappointingly for the Rilla/Carl agenda, the bit abut Jerry and Carl not being able to dance was not in the original draft, per Readying Rilla -- instead, it says "but they're just like my brothers and I'll feel they're only doing it out of charity." LMM sniping me from beyond the grave 😩 Also curious if LMM like...forgot that minister's children shouldn't dance, or if it was more of an expectation that not everyone followed, and she made the decision to use it as a reason. (The bit about it feeling like charity is applied to Gertrude feeling that way about Jem and Walter dancing with her instead -- also, it's initially written that Jem and Jerry will take her out, but Jerry is crossed out and replaced with Walter, presumably due to the above edit.)

“I tried to draw back—and I saw that the edge of my dress was wet with blood—and I woke—shivering. I don’t like the dream. There was some sinister significance in it. That kind of vivid dream always ‘comes true’ with me.”

@batrachised pointed out that Gertrude's (I'm going to start calling her Gertrude instead of Miss Oliver because otherwise I'm going to keep going back and forth weirdly) dreams were actually based on LMM's, which, fair enough! That very much tracks with how seriously (almost) everyone takes Gertrude's visions. Idk -- I'm struggling to articulate why it comes off as almost laughably melodramatic to me -- because the war and death do come to Ingleside and touch our characters, and the shattering of their idyllic world is devastating to them (as it was to LMM); it's not as though her dream is wrong, necessarily. Maybe it's just the benefit of hindsight -- like Gertrude's going on about waves of blood on their shores and I'm just in the future like, "maybe you should save some of the dramatics because it's going to get so much worse." (Buuut I am also melodramatic and superstitious so maybe I just do not like looking in this mirror 😔)

“I think the party promises to be pleasant for young fry. I expect to be bored. None of those boys will bother dancing with an old maid like me. Jem and Walter will take me out once out of charity. There will be nobody for me even to talk to. So you can’t expect me to look forward to it with your touching young rapture.”

lmao jesus christ Gertrude. It's especially funny that she says this while also saying that she wants Rilla to have the "splendid, happy" girlhood that she didn't. Let her live then!!! (Also funny that Cousin Sophia is being portrayed as doom and gloom when she says stuff like this, while Gertrude is ~alluringly moody~)

And of course, the war is starting to become a concern for everyone except Rilla -- Dr. Blythe, Jem, and Walter are mentioned to be poring over the paper (none of the girls, even with their interests in 'ologies and 'isms, seem to care -- which sadly tracks, see Anne basically refusing to have a political opinion in House of Dreams. Gertrude, in fairness, is following the war news and mentions it to Rilla). It's interesting that part of the honor in fighting, for Jem, is entwined with defending the British Empire, considering it a family that they're a part of. Iiii...haven't developed any deep thoughts on this, lmao, I've always sort of taken it at face value that Jem -- and Ken, later -- feel this way as Anglo Dudes From 1914, particularly as there is a streak of...insularity, perhaps, in the books re: Anglo Canada. (But it is equally interesting that later on, characters express that they're fighting for Canada instead, not Britain.)

Walter's reaction to the war is telling -- he not only hates the idea (also, lol/sigh that they're just too civilized in the modern age of the twentieth century to go to war) but is kind of in denial about it, refusing to think of it and trying to distract himself with beautiful things.

“Mary Vance is a habit of ours—we can’t do without her even when we are furious with her,” Di Blythe had once said.”

I suppose it says a lot about Mary's character and general self-confidence/lack of self-awareness that she hangs out with people who talk about her like this, because I would not, lol.

“Carl Meredith was walking with Miranda Pryor, more to torment Joe Milgrave than for any other reason.”

LMAO what did Joe Milgrave ever do to Carl? I can't quite make out what this says about Carl -- it doesn't really jive with any of his behavior in Rainbow Valley; he doesn't particularly enjoy getting a rise out of people (e.g. in the chapter where he's not whipped, he feels bad over throwing the eel in the buggy; in the rest of the book, he's almost like, blissfully unaware that his various critters freak other people out). I suppose you could read him as being a bit competitive, or simply that he still enjoys mildly teasing people (which makes his friendship with Rilla pretty funny, given that being teased harrows her soul). Of course, worth mentioning that there's also not much evidence that Rilla and Carl are still close at this point :(

“Shirley Blythe was with Una Meredith and both were rather silent because such was their nature. Shirley was a lad of sixteen, sedate, sensible, thoughtful, full of a quiet humour. He was Susan’s “little brown boy” yet, with his brown hair, brown eyes and clear brown skin. He liked to walk with Una Meredith because she never tried to make him talk or badgered him with chatter. ”

Shirley being the personification of that "best friend I ever had, we still never talk sometimes" Parks and Rec quote, lol. The summation of him is so good, though -- despite what a nonentity he is compared to the other Blythe kids, you get such a good measure of him just from "sedate, sensible, thoughtful, full of a quiet humour." ❤️ I always go back and forth on the possibility of shipping him with Una -- it's lovely that Shirley appreciates her for who she is, that he likes that she's quiet and unassuming. On the other hand, like...what, do they never talk? Lmao. (Una also strikes me as having a bit of...repressed emotion, see her bottling things up and telling them to her mother's old wedding dress as a child, idk that Shirley would be able to draw that out of her...? But he is thoughtful and wholesome, so, maybe!)

“Una was as sweet and shy as she had been in the Rainbow Valley days, and her large, dark-blue eyes were as dreamy and wistful. She had a secret, carefully-hidden fancy for Walter Blythe which nobody but Rilla ever suspected. ”

MY GIRL \O/ I've seen it said that it seems unlikely that no one but Rilla suspects Una's feelings for Walter, but I actually quite like it -- it hints at Rilla actually being empathetic and perceptive under her frivolity, which she'll grow into over the war.

“She liked Una better than Faith, whose beauty and aplomb rather overshadowed other girls—and Rilla did not enjoy being overshadowed.”

Lol, it is very on-brand for early Rilla to feel she's in competition with Faith -- and I'm sure Faith doesn't think about Rilla at all, being 4-5 years older than her. (That said, I sympathize with Rilla not being a Faith enjoyer -- even though she's set up as getting into Anne-like scrapes in RV, the books lean a little too hard on how charming and intelligent and beautiful she is; she loses the flawed, earnestly trying vibe that made Anne endearing imo.) (Also, I love Rilla and Una, but it cracks me up that Rilla basically just likes Una better because she doesn't see her as a threat.)

“ bell was ringing in the little church over-harbour and the lingering dream-notes died around the dim, amethystine points. The gulf beyond was still silvery blue in the afterlight. Oh, it was all glorious—the clear air with its salt tang, the balsam of the firs, the laughter of her friends.”

I haven't been mentioning the nature descriptions because I don't really have anything to say about them other than they're lovely! Such a good sense of those moments when you're just happy, everything around you feels beautiful and you don't mind your problems in that moment -- and of course, the moment here is poised to be shattered very shortly.

“And how humanity responds to the ideal of self-sacrifice!”

Oooooh the foreshadowing! Also a very good summation of the theme of this book, in general -- there are other moments later that I think illustrate it more clearly so I won't go on too much about it now, but -- yeah, there's such a sense in this book of trying to understand and justify the pain of the war as a worthwhile sacrifice.

“We know the real charm of night here as town dwellers never do.”

Hey, leave us town dwellers out of it >:( (I do have a city girl story of visiting family out in the country when I was twelve, and being shocked by how dark it actually got at night, lmao.)

“Rilla flushed. It did not matter to her if Kenneth Ford walked home with Ethel Reese a dozen times—it did not! Nothing that he did mattered to her. He was ages older than she was. He chummed with Nan and Di and Faith, and looked upon her, Rilla, as a child whom he never noticed except to tease.”

First mention of Ken! The funniest bit about this is that his name was originally "Selwyn", and the first like 2/3rds of Readying Rilla have every single mention of him written as "Selwyn Ken". Anyway -- there's kiiiind of a set up for Rilla and Ken here; he teases her and she hates it while secretly liking/wanting more of his attention. There's a short story in TBAQ that adds on to this (honestly, it reads a bit like it's still trying to explain Rilla/Ken twenty years later lmao) -- it mentions that Ken and Rilla fought a lot as children, implying that he liked getting a rise out of her, sort of in a "pulling on her pigtails" kind of way. (Also, again, Nan and Di are set apart from Rilla here 👀)

some stuff from the glossary (minor frustration, the glossary isn't footnoted and is in alphabetical order, so you just kinda have to flip through it and try to remember what each entry is referencing):

More Readying Rilla bits:

After Rilla mentions that Jem and Faith will sit out on the rocks all evening, the next sentence starts with "They're", which is then crossed out and Rilla just starts talking about sailing to the lighthouse. While I'm sure it wasn't a big deal, it reads like someone being cut off right before saying something juicy lmao, tell meeee the Jem/Faith gossip

The line about Rilla being the only one unaware of the worry over the war originally said "only Rilla and Susan", lmao.

Miranda Pryor's name was originally Jennie.

Shirley's originally described as being "full of humor and quiet fun" (instead of "full of a quiet humor"), which does read as something a bit different to me -- the final version makes him sound like more like a quietly amused observer than someone that actually gets into hijinks.

Re: Rilla's silver slippers, the book says that Mrs. Ford (Leslie) sent them to her. The original draft says "Jean gave", which like...who tf is Jean?

[emaaa3210]

''Run, Boot. Run!''

Tim Bradford, The Rookie - 1x02

[lystring]

I still can't get over the way me and my bf met. "like a fucking romcom or something" as my friend put it.

[spirestar]

The only man. Snake's right about that, that's what Adam wants to be--The only man who's brave enough to push Big Boss too far, the only man who lies through his teeth and outmaneuvers legends, the only man to see John for what he really was Before, before he was anything other than another government tool to be discarded. The only man, because she did too--

He scoffs into Jack's face and it's pure vile, mocking and cruel toward the idea of the woman mentioned (not even the actual person, the idea, the concept of comparison). "She," different she, EVA this time, not--"can't help you with this one. EVA's falling out of your pocket, Big Boss."

This in itself isn't a lie; Adam has no reason to make things up about EVA when she's already making her own choice and slowly aligning herself against him. In another life he might've admired her. He's jealous of her but he knows what she is. And he's outwitted her before and he'll keep doing it with the way things are going, and the most he consciously chooses to hold against her are the skills she can use that he can't. They're what he credits how much favor she's curried with the Patriots to--And, yeah. Sometimes he lets himself spend time hating her more than anyone else for how much attention she gets from Snake. But he's a liar. So maybe he doesn't hate her at all. Lying is easy so working with her is easy and being honest with John is easy, too.

"You can't tell me she'd do even half the things I've done for you anyway." His voice lilts dismissively, scoff extending into every breath. Ocelot knows he's letting himself be distracted by barbs and he doesn't care. He's the one leaning into Snake's press of a hand to make the threat real, to dare and dare / He knows he's lucky, was born by sheer luck and he practically knows that too, but he also believes he's exactly what he was always meant to be. Calculating and pretending he isn't when it suits him, lying and slipping himself into any situation like the ghost of whoever might've belonged there before him, risking everything because he knows he'll win. There's no chance involved but every chance is his to take. Adam can take John's hands around his neck and he'd be more likely to survive the fallout of a Metal Gear than a fucking cockroach.

And for as much as John has changed, it still feels like he's as transparent as cellophane. The world goes on and Big Boss remains. Ocelot takes stock of every little grim detail each time they meet and now none of it can surprise him; He'd see if Snake missed a button on his fatigues, he'd recognize a different fabric blend to his bandana on sight, he'd know just how many months it's been since John had a haircut by the way it clings to his forehead. He smirks and the leather of his gloves kisses warmly where he has them wrung around Snake's arms, even though none of it shows in his complexion. "But you should ask her. Maybe you'd catch her for once." Like I always do. He croons, sarcastic and obvious at once, his smile still nasty, waiting to get John wrapped around his finger once again so he can get him as close to begging on his knees as John gets anymore--or maybe to get crushed against the wall again. It's a roulette spin. "She's not like Zero, though. She won't lie when it counts. I forgot."

"Come on Ocelot. Don't act like you're not having fun. You're the only man who has fun lying when they've got Big Boss's hands around their throat." Snake's voice is cool, using the title he so blatantly hates in this moment just to prove a point that he knows Adam is acutely aware of, knows that Adam is exceedingly glad to be able to be 'the only man' to 'Big Boss' and that he's always reveling in being able to stand up to the legend because he got lucky and was able to know him when he was just Naked Snake and when he was John and when he was Jack. Not the After. The Before. Snake really yearns for that Before now. Adam is the only tie he has to it these days. Well, and that bandana-scarf that Jack just lost to Ocelot during their round of poker, but whatever, it's more about the act of tying that bandana in his head than the material thing.

Things move and the card sails in front of Snake's one good eye and Ocelot suddenly takes advantage of Snake's looser stance to flip around onto his back so he can look John head-on, his teeth bared in a smile that he's grown into since Groznyj Grad, features no longer marked by the prideful nature of being a youthful prodigy but now it's simply the face belonging to a damn good spy. He's even got some stubble going for him now. And the twinkle in Adam's eye is more malicious than arrogant. Snake readjusts his grip so he's got an arm braced across Adam's chest, firm but still not firm enough to be a real threat. "What, so you're bluffing about the information? You're better than that." Of course Ocelot's not bluffing. Ocelot toys with information like he's really a cat playing with a mouse but ultimately he gives up everything to John and that's just how it goes. Suddenly Snake grins, low, wide, malicious. "Guess I'll have to ask EVA to verify. She's just as good as you are." This is true, but Adam hates being compared to her, which is why John brings it up.

[phagodyke]

yeah I'm not gonna talk abt it am I...

[keeperofthebees]

not sure if i ever posted my psychoanalysis of Lilo on here but here we go.

Lilo is neurodivergent. She might have autism, she might have OCD, she ABSOLUTELY has PTSD. These all have very many overlapping symptoms, so it's easy to get them mixed up.

Lilo rarely brings up her parents after they die, only to protect stitch. "Dad said ohana means family." She tells stitch about what happened to her parents before he leaves. She doesn't talk about her mom until she's brought up, and compares herself to her.

Lilo feeds Pudge, and that Used to be for fun. When she forgot to feed Pudge, her parents died. She decided therefore that Pudge controls the weather, and creates intricate rituals to make sure she does it Correctly. The harder the ritual, the more effort she has to put into it. If the weather gets bad again, it's easy for her to say she must have messed up the ritual with the wrong bread or the wrong filling. Maybe Pudge doesn't like peanut butter anymore. She's taking control of the only thing she can.

She's also EXTREMELY morbid for a girl her age. I know everyone says she's just like them for real, but there's a difference between playing pretend that you're dying and telling your sister to leave you alone to die. Some kids play dead because it's a concept they can't understand and they use that to figure it out. Lilo KNOWS what death is. She experienced the death of the two most important people in her young life. She's well aware of death. She mentions Picasso's blue period, his time of severe suicidal depression. She says that that's what her painting is. This is worrisome. She knows Picasso's blue period, words like abomination, asks Bubbles if he ever killed anyone and tells Nani to leave her to die. I know some of you think that's relatively normal for a little girl, but it is not, not the way she behaves.

She makes a doll, and claims that she's sad because she only has a few more [enter time period] before she dies. Why would she make this doll have such a tragic story? Well, that's what she knows. People die. It happens. Of course she's sad, but if it's everywhere, she can be less sad about it. Her doll is going to die.

She's also well aware of pain, which is why she's so violent. She doesn't understand that people don't have to forgive you when you're mean and violent, because her sister ALWAYS forgives her, and is sometimes mean in return. This is family. It's not her parents, but this is how it is now. She's mean to Nani, and Nani is mean back, and then they eat dinner. She's mean to her friends, and they're mean to her, but they don't let her play dolls so they need to be punished. Stitch is mean to her, and she desperately tries to prove that he isn't that bad. She knows that she shouldn't be so violent, so mean, but she doesn't know how not to, and she knows that her behavior is part of the reason she might get taken away.

Lilo projects heavily onto Stitch. She likes him because he's a weird little freak, but he's also HER. he's alone. He has one person who wants him, who cares. One person who gives him chance after chance and tries to get him to be good. If she can prove that Stitch can be good, then she can be good. She can get better, and not be such a burden to Nani. If Lilo can keep Stitch, then Nani can keep Lilo.

Lilo wants to stay with Nani, but she can't stop being the way she is. She can't stop screaming, and being violent, and running away and nor doing what she's told. She has very little emotional regulation due to the trauma she's endured, and she sees that in Stitch. She can teach him to control himself. She can be good. She can stay here with her one and only sister, all she has left. She begs Nani to like her more than she would a rabbit. I'm gonna cry

[yume-no-miya]

look i love making sae be the one who's so in love and showering hajun with so much love and affection but it's much more fun to think that HE fell harder than her

[emmafallsinlove]

i love when my friends gives me specific nicknames.

[shinoko-oshi]

Simon’s sweet wife

seen other people talk about the task force finding out about Simon’s bird at first in subtle ways so I made this

It started with the lunches.

At first, no one thought much of it. Simon had brought the occasional sandwich before, nothing out of the ordinary. But then it changed. Out went the basic bread and meat, and in came proper meals. Lasagna. Curry. A neatly packed container of something warm and homemade, tucked right beside a little folded note Simon was far too quick to snatch out of sight when Johnny leaned over, grinning.

“C’mon, Simon,” he teased, voice full of curiosity. “Just let us have a peek. We wanna know who’s makin’ you lunch like that, eh?”

Kyle nodded, snickering.

“Piss off,” Simon grumbled, big hand curling protectively around the note like it was a classified file. He didn’t care that they were watching, didn’t even look up. Just reread your words, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth beneath the mask.

“Ay, Johnny, look! you can see a heart through the paper!” Kyle laughed, catching the way the light hit the thin paper just right, revealing the faint outline of a heart signed with your name.

After that, it became a bit of a running joke. Not that Simon gave them anything to work with. But the mystery only deepened when, during a three week deployment at another unit, a care package showed up with his name on it.

To say the guys hovered would be an understatement. Johnny and Kyle practically sat on either side of him like vultures, trying to act casual. Price stayed back in his chair, cigarette between his fingers, looking disinterested but Simon could feel his eyes, just as nosy as the others.

The box had all the essentials: snacks, cold weather gear, a familiar blanket from home. A couple of your sweet notes, some of his favorite tea in bulk. But what really got them going were the Polaroids tucked in between the layers of stuff.

Kyle caught a glimpse of one. Simon sitting on a porch step with you in his lap, your smile soft, his arm wrapped tight around your waist.

Johnny elbowed him. “Alright, Simon. When ’re we gonna meet this mystery missus of yours?”

“She wouldn’t like you.” He grunted in response 

“What is she, a grump like you?”

Hardly.

The real surprise came a few weeks later, when a sweet bird showed up at base asking for Lieutenant Simon Riley.

Price was the first to see you. He’d expected someone with a set it glare, reserved, maybe a little sharp around the edges. Instead, you walked right up to Simon with a warm smile, kissed his cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world, and handed him a jacket. 

Simon knew Price, Kyle, and Johnny were watching from around the corner. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if half the rookies and a few of the other sergeants were too.

But none of that mattered.

Not when his sweet girl was standing in front of him.

“Why are you here, baby?” he asked, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“You forgot your jacket,” you said, brow furrowed. “And I heard it was supposed to be cold today. I didn’t want you to get sick.”

Your voice alone cracked something in him, and it was impossible not to smile under the mask.

“Y’know I would’ve been fine, love.”

Still, he took the jacket from your hands with a quiet “thank you,” promising to wear it, walking you down the hallway before watching you turn and head back out.

Well— not before Johnny and Kyle caught you at the corner, peering over the wall like a couple of kids up to no good.

They didn’t say much, but by the time Simon heard about it later, you’d already agreed to let them come over for dinner sometime.

He just shook his head. Not even surprised by their antics. But he didn’t say no either.

Because you’d said yes.

So next Saturday, he guessed he’d be setting an extra few plates at the table for Johnny, Kyle, and probably Price, too. 

[pearwaldorf]

Well. Apparently I was much more stressed about the election than I thought because I watched this and started crying.

I forgot what it was like to have actual charismatic politicians campaign. I know we talk a lot about parasocial relationships with them, but one of the things successful leaders do is inspire their people.

We have not had much to be inspired about. Biden is the unflavored tofu of the political world. I was going to do my duty, but nothing beyond that.

Watching other people be hype about her? So hype a majority of the people on ActBlue are first time donors? That 40K Zoom call? (They held another one for Black men and there were 20K on that.)

That fucking means something.

She doesn't have it in the bag (and honestly I'll be anxious until it's over), but I feel like we have a much better chance than before Biden bowed out.

In a lot of liberal/leftist circles there is this unspoken expectation that Black women will do the work because it is necessary but backbreaking. And sometimes I think non-Black people understand and are grateful. But also a lot don't and aren't.

With that in mind, I am absolutely serious when I say I think Kamala Harris might prevent the US from falling to fascism.