#booker: what are you talking about

[up-in-flames-writing]

In lieu of Stuff Your Kindle day, can we talk about the issue of how the m/m genre of books, romance or not, is almost entirely dominated by women? Can we talk about how the most recognisable gay couples in media are written by women? Can we talk about how queer men can't even write about ourselves, how we are only allowed to exist when it's from the point of view of a straight woman sexualising us?

Can we talk about that? Or am I going to get called misogynistic for pointing out the disparity between who gets the writing deals, & who gets their books turned into movies, & whose shit gets popular versus whose doesn't? Can we talk about how m/m fiction is only allowed when it appeals to a cishet gaze, or is that too much for tumblr to take?

Can we also talk about how trans queer men are even more hated by publishing? Can we talk about how we get shit from both sides? Can we talk about how books about the experiences of being a queer man, written by queer men, never get the same recognition as books written by women on this subject (barring academia which has its own problems)?

Can we talk about that? Can we?

#booker speaks #no bloody clue how to tag this #this is for the tags only but #people would get up in arms if the f/f book scene was dominated by cismen only #why are we not extending this same energy to ciswomen writers of m/m? #why did we forget about the original meaning of own voices? #why are queer men pushed out of publishing in the way that we are? #& im not just talking about romance here #like there are fantasy & scifi & contemporary novels about men loving men that are written by ciswomen who have a very narrow view of what #m/m relationships are like. & this extends towards stuff like manga too but im not gonna get into that cause i dont read mangs/comics #can we talk about how hard it is to find queer masc authors nowadays? #saying this both as a reader & as a writer #can we also talk about how lists of queer & especially trans novels almost always forget to include anything by transmascs & gay transmascs #or if they do include us its 1 transmasc book to 1 enby book to 8 transfem books or books about the 'trans experience' in nebulous terms #can we stop reccing detransition baby & start reccing the spirit bares its teeth? #can we look at works written by queer masc people that arent just red white royal blue & stone butch blues? #go read cemetary boys #read alexis hall & max turner #read bloom if you like comics. or nimona #read my shit too! #im gonna be focusing on my writing blog way more this year #& im working on some projects that may or may not end up being published in physical form #read more queer masc stories by queer masc authors!

[youssefguedira]

Neon a question: what genres of music/artists do you think Joe would vibe with?

i think joe is just generally a Music Fan. he has the most eclectic music taste you've ever heard. he'll play classical and edm and hiphop and folk and heavy metal all in a row and give you genre whiplash but enjoy it all equally. in all seriousness tho i think he just loves that music is so accessible now (he wouldn't have been able to listen to this much for so long!! nicky bought him a walkman when they first became a thing and joe carried it with him pretty much everywhere for about a month until it was damaged during a mission). in their safehouses they have various different selections of cds/cassettes/vinyls depending on what kind of player they have. if not joe has a couple ipods dotted around. he just likes music a lot

that being said i think joe likes blends of folk/traditional music or instruments with modern technology + styles especially, because he likes hearing how music grows and develops and how the instruments and styles he's heard for centuries are built on and adapted. (personal favourite examples are release by afro celt sound system which is a neat blend of electronic/celtic/african music and it slaps, literally any mashrou' leila song but especially taxi, shum by go_a and stefania by kalush orchestra. additionally kai tangata by alien weaponry for the maori metal which barely qualifies as an example but its cool and i'm on a roll.) hes also a big queen fan

i cant come up with an actual list because it will be heavily skewed towards me specifically (as a general Music Enjoyer). but yeah joe and music is important to me. i also think he's a big fan of any kind of love songs even the sappiest most terrible one you've heard in your life. he thinks theyre neat

#neon answers #spacegirlsgang #obligatory i know ive had this ask forever oops #anyway. i know i brought up mashrou leila but it was impossible not to i think joe would vibe with it. also i just think they're neat. i #know i'm projecting here but thats ok #joes actual favourite musician is nicky <3 #nicky i think has a slightly more specific music taste. hes very old man about it. also a Vinyl Guy whereas joe doesnt care what media the #music is on as long as he can listen to it #nile very much likes more modern stuff but there are some classical pieces she absolutely loves #andy will listen to anything with a beat. she's not a slow songs kind of person she needs to be able to hear the drums #she's less of a recorded music person but she does love communal playing #booker is similar to nicky in a way. i think he likes 30s/40s/50s stuff generally but does like some modern things. also a Vinyl Guy #anyway. i like music a lot #the aforementioned afro celt sound system song is really interesting musically. theres cool stuff in there #addition: andy tends to prefer the more upbeat stuff you can move to. not as big of a fan of slow songs but she likes a few #anyway if you want Weird Song Recs or recs in a specific language. i have many #/ specific genre. again i have many #neon talks music #i WILL namedrop meteor airlines tho for the contemporary amazigh stuff. it's awesome. think joe would like it #there's not many english songs / artists named but i do think joe would be a hozier or mika enjoyer. again projecting #anyway in short: please always ask me about music i love talking about it

[cacophonylily]

I am currently reading a 1990 master's thesis analyzing the birth of the French sports press around 1850 just to be sure my depiction of Booker's life and knowledge is as historically accurate as it possibly can be.

Yep, that's right. That's the level of obsessed I've reached today.

#let's regroup tomorrow and see if I've managed to dig even deeper #no but seriously #can you believe this thesis literally breaks the ground on that topic #it had never been discussed before!! press in general yes extensively but sports press?? nothing #and I couldn't find more recent sources either #but you know what's funny? it's just something I'm gonna mention in a fic where Booker is anything but the focus ahahah #no but for real sports press is almost completely irrelevant to the main focus of the fic #it's just a thought I had and I needed to check and turns out the older the author could go back to was the 1850's #that is to say 38 years after Booker's first/last death and subsequent immortality!! #and truth is I can't fathom what it was like to live back then considering all the entertainment and knowledge that are available #to me just with a keyboard/internet reach #it's wild #anyways I love this and by this I mean spending hours reading weird things and looking for sources and info and getting lost in it #if you've ever wandered down such rabbit holes for the sake of fiction I'd love to hear about it #scribe life #talking scribe #also the thesis was obviously typed and has been digitized and there's just a teeny tiny slant just enough to drive me crazy ahah

[lettersofalover]

-> kiss me quick | blurb

paige b. x famous!fem!reader | for @euphternal

genre: fluff

summary: the hard launch of your relationship happens courtside at a nba game because the camera man won’t give up

the camera followed you. from the moment you sat down he was finding angles and sneaky ways to cut to you each timeout or commercial break. you played into it because it was the new normal for your life. with your dads recent acquisition of an nba and wnba team, all eyes were on your family. the media speculated endlessly about your dad, his previous experience, his hockey playing son and you, a model and brand ambassador for multiple luxury brands. you worked alongside you dad in the office with designing the teams public image and crafting more life and energy into the game. the future of quality basketball meant a unforgettable fan experience. you, your friends, and your brothers’ friends always sat front row. you were a loud mouth heckler and famously known for it. there was a video of you that circulated where you told off the referee while simultaneously giving the bird to devin booker after he played dirty.

it was all in good fun, devin would dm you after the game, asking to take you out but you declined - he was 1/2 your type. he was an athletic professional basketball player but he fell short in the most important area. you liked your basketball players to be women, tall and blonde, with a heart of gold. someone who was unapologetic about their loyalty. and that someone, your girlfriend, was paige bueckers.

she was late to the game and when she finally slid into the seat next to you, she held a shirley temple in her hand and a massive smile on her face. she leaned into your ear to say hi and offered you a sip of her drink - she held the straw for you and you took a long swig of the alcoholic drink that she so desperately loved. you couldn’t help but agree that it was delicious. paige leaned back into the seat and placed her arm on the back of your chair, immediately asking about the game. her infamous leg spread made you smile - she looked really fucking good tonight.

“how does dad feel about it?” paige questioned about the teams sudden lackluster performance. paige loved your dad and he loved her right back. he was skeptical of her at first - he assumed she was cozying up to you so that she would get a guaranteed spot on a wnba team. but the more she came around it was clear she loved you and soon, she was family.

“he’s pissed. there’s some disconnect between the coaches and the players and they don’t want to talk through it.” you admitted. paige shook her head in disbelief.

“what are these plays? the guys are reading right through them.” she sighed as the opposing team possessed the ball. the suns executed a perfect counter play to control the ball and lob it to their own player, who dunked and swung on the rim for good measure. he stuck his tongue out in a celebratory fashion and pointed at you - a friendly jab but it didn’t stop the irritation from growing.

the buzzer echoed through the arena and a commercial break ensued and you turned to paige to give her your undivided attention. it had been while since you had seen her last. you crossed your legs and she placed her hand on your knee, listening closely as you tried to talk over the mc announcing a kiss cam. it was in the back of your mind as you talked to her about the meeting you had with your dad but the music overpowered you. suddenly, the crowd whooped and cheered and paige snatched her hand from your leg. you looked up at the jumbotron where the camera man had you promptly placed in a heart with your brothers friend, who sat to the left of you. the both of you laughed and your brothers friend fiend heartbreak as you denied him a kiss.the camera moved on to someone else, thankfully.

the camera bounced between couples, old and young, and you smiled at how interactive the crowd was tonight. even in the midst of one of the worst days of the season, the fans were happy to participate. the crowd grew louder and this time, the camera man settled on paige and your brother who sat to the right of her. he fell over in laughter and she immediately began signaling “no” with her hand swiping back and forth in front of her face. your brother was cackling, pushing her arm playfully and she turned as red as a tomato.

“oh my god they aren’t giving up tonight.” you laughed and your brother said, “i bet yall are next.”

“no shot.” “hell no.” you and paige spoke simultaneously. the camera panned to another couple who seemed to be wearing matching uconn shirts and paige cheered along with the crowd. the buzzer rang again, signaling the end of the break.

“see, i told you that they wouldn’t come back.” you replied but you spoke too soon. the kiss cam was focused squarely on you and paige. the two of you placed on each side of a heart in the jumbotron and to make matters worse the crowd began to chant, “kiss kiss kiss” over and over.

paige looked to you and you looked at her, both of you bursting into laughter. she took the comfortable, easy route, and placed a kiss on your cheek and much to your surprise, the crowd booed and paige threw her hands in the air.

“should we?” she asked as the crowd began chanting “kiss kiss kiss” again, this time louder than the last. you shrugged your shoulders with a smile and bit the inside of your lip and nodded at your girlfriend, who took you face in her hand. she held your jaw sweetly and kissed you. the sound of the crowd was deafening and your heart was beating faster than you knew it could. sneakily, paige wrapped her hand around your neck and pulled you in closer which made you giggle against her lips. you knew it would go viral as soon as the internet got ahold of it. it was an unserious kiss but a kiss nonetheless and you knew that people were shocked to see it. you pulled away from her and waved at the camera before hiding your face in your hands. paige leaned back in her seat once more, a smirk spread across her face.

the crowd was satisfied with the results of their chanting and finally getting you two to kiss. it wasn’t a secret but you kept it private - until now, when you made out with your girlfriend on national television. where there was no back tracking. paige’s phone immediately started to flood with notifications of what just happened, people even sent pictures of the kiss.

“i cannot believe we did that.” you said, “i can’t believe you did that.” you teased. she pulled her phone out and scrolled through the comments flooding her instagram page.

“look,” she pointed at the comments.

user1: always knew she was for the girls but did she have to take my girl smh

user2: paige you didn’t have to break up with me this way

user3: i would die for your gf actually

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers fanfiction #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers blurb #uconn wbb

[titleknown]

So, while we're all trying to fight one of the other terrible "think of the children" bills trying to ram its way through Congress, KOSA, we should also be talking about The EARN IT Act.

Long story short, it's basically yet another surveilance bill using a "protect the children" bill, as a hideous meat-suit, putting restrictions on sites that'll make them even more vicious towards NSFW content, creating a climate where using a VPN might be a crime, and they'll be creating a federal committee to decide how best to spy on us!

Long story long, well, the Linktree is right here.

Beyond the stuff in the Linktree, I urge you to directly contact your congresspeoples and tell them to kill this bill, especially if they're on the Judiciary Committee, which is currently marking up this bill.

The members of the committee are:

Dick Durbin, Illinois, Chairman

Dianne Feinstein, California

Sheldon Whitehouse, Rhode Island

Amy Klobuchar, Minnesota

Chris Coons, Delaware

Richard Blumenthal, Connecticut

Mazie Hirono, Hawaii

Cory Booker, New Jersey

Alex Padilla, California

Jon Ossoff, Georgia

Peter Welch, Vermont

Lindsey Graham, South Carolina, Ranking Member (Ugh)

Chuck Grassley, Iowa

John Cornyn, Texas

Mike Lee, Utah

Ted Cruz, Texas (Double-ugh)

Josh Hawley, Missouri

Tom Cotton, Arkansas

John Kennedy, Louisiana

Thom Tillis, North Carolina

Marsha Blackburn, Tennessee (she cosponsored the bill, so probably not)

So yeah, do what you can, even if it's just boosting this terrible, terrible danger we need to thwart.

And, I will add, as with my previous KOSA poster, this poster is officially, for the sake of spreading it, under a CC0 license.

Feel free to spread it, remix it, add links to the bottom, edit it to be about the other bad internet bills they’re pushing, use it as a meme format, do what you will but for gods’ sake get the word out!

...And yes, for the record I was thinking of the Judas Priest song when I came up with the tagline for this one.

#internet freedom #earn it act #politics #internet #american politics #censorship #spying #signal boost

[spencerreidswifey-13]

The Locket

You and Spencer had been working together forever, had known each-other so long you felt closer to him than your own relatives. You knew you loved him, he knew he loved you; so what was the problem?

The problem was neither of you guys were brave enough to say it out loud, afraid the other might not reciprocate.

Whenever Hotch gave orders you always made sure to pair up with him, whenever the team was laughing he was the first person you would look at. You always had your mind on him. So when Hotch needed you to pick a person to find an old file with you, you jumped at the opportunity to spend time with Spencer alone.

“Hey y/n, so we’re looking for the Booker case?” Spencer said as you were walking down the hall into the filing room.

“Yup, the ‘67 one. That’s if we can find it though.” You laugh wryly and Spencer gives you a tight lipped smile in response.

You walk into the room and he shuts the door behind you, Spencer immediately goes to find the shelves that hold the cases from the 60’s (not sure if that’s how the FBI actually organizes it but just go with it). You just watched as his beautiful hands gloss over the labels, his shiny brown hair falling over his eyes.

“Well I think this is going to be harder than I thought. I can’t find it I…I don’t know where else it would be.” He said.

“We’ll find it, its gotta be somewhere here. Maybe it was labelled wrong?” You got a light “hmph” from Spencer. You continued looking.

It had been almost an hour and a half of looking through old boxes. Files were scattered all over the floor and you were starting to get tired and overwhelmed, you could tell Spencer was getting frustrated.

“This is dumb and I’m getting coffee, want something?” You asked.

“No that’s okay, no one gets my copious amounts of sugar right.” He laughes then rubs his eyes and continues pouring over files.

You kept looking, taking occasional breaks and having deep conversations ranging anywhere from star trek to is-there-a-god?

He loved talking to you

You came back ten minutes later with two cups in your hand, one for you and one for Spencer.

“Here.” You hand it to him. “I made sure to fill the cup with sugar before the coffee, should be enough. I really hope it is because if it isn’t you are insane and need help.” You joke as he takes a sip and laughs.

“Perfect.”

“Good.”

A heavy silence filled the room, not awkward or unwelcome but peaceful; just enjoying each others company.

You continued search for another thirty minutes, and still nothing. You were about to give up and leave when Spencer started to speak.

“I like your locket.”

“Huh-oh! Thanks, sorry. Just a bit zoned out.”

“who’s inside it?”

“sorry?”

“who’s photo is in your locket”

“Oh no one’s yet, I just wear it because I think it looks pretty” You say

Theres a pause as you stand up and scour the last shelf to check.

“Wait I found it! Someone put it in the 90’s shelf with double homicides, idiot.”

You go to open the door and give to Hotch but a voice stopped you dead in your tracks.

“Can you put me in your locket?”

huh?

“Uhm, sure…Can I ask why?”

Another pause. You think you’re not getting an answer so you turn again but Spencer finally continues.

“Because I love you.”

Oh?

“Wait you..sorry? I-I don’t understand I..”

“I love you y/n, I’m just sorry I didn’t say it earlier”

The next thing you know your lips are crashing onto his, his hands trail up to your h/l, h/c hair. Your hands start to explore as you trace the hemline of his shirt, one of his hands lowers to hold your hip. The kiss gets more passionate and you can’t help but feel like you’re dazed, in a REM like phase.

You pull away but he goes right back for another kiss. This one was different, more sincere. No trace of desperation or lust, just love. Pure love and admiration.

You both stop and look at each other.

“Do you know how long i’ve wanted to do that?” Spencer says, a little out of breath.

“Maybe. I’d assume probably the same amount of time I’ve been waiting too.”

You smile and he laughs.

“We should really get these to Hotch.” You say with a deep blush on your face and swollen lips.

“Sure”

You gave the file to Hotch, he gives you his thanks for finally finding the missing papers. Spencer is waiting for you outside his office.

“I know what happened what cut short but, do you maybe want to go for a walk or something after work? I know a really good ice cream place…” He suggests.

“I’d love that. Thank you Spence.”

“Don’t thank me, I’ve always wanted to.”

Always wanted to.

The next day you printed out a photo of you and Spencer and the aforementioned “really good ice cream place”, and put it in your locket.

The End.

Authors Note:

Ok guys first story how do we feel..? i def didn’t proof read this so if it’s ass just know i dont even know what happened either lmao

idrk if i like it or nah but lmk if you have any ideas or requests :)

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid #fluff #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #y/n #romance #cute shit #pookie #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst

[samandcolbyownme]

Summary: Reader shows up to inform John B about Ward Cameron and Reader's Father having a deal for moving the gold. Rafe doesn't trust her, so he stays close to her, making sure she doesn't get any info that she can take back to John B, but something throws him off. 

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, enemies to lovers, angry arguing, fighting (physical and verbal), heavy flirting, sexual innuendos, rough hate sex, hair pulling, choking, rough actions, praise kink? Breeding kink? biting, unprotected sex, oral (f rec), cream pie, just filth 

Word count: 9.2K | unedited 

Ever since I see the tiktok of Rafe screaming, "I'm talking now!" It has been ON MY MIND so enjoy my very first Rafe Cameron One shot.

Also, I was high when I wrote this so if it doesn't make sense I'm sorry 

╔═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╗

A feeling of anxiety washes over your body as you continued to eavesdrop on your father's phone call. 

You listen to him sigh, "Yes, Mr. Cameron, I can assure you that it is the same gold that John Booker Routledge is looking for." 

You feel your heart sink. 

You pull your phone out, immediately texting Kiara, Hey. I need to talk to you. Asap. 

You immediately get a text back, Come over. 

You rest your head against the wall again and sigh quietly, still listening. Your dad lets out a sigh, "Yes. I can also assure you that that will not happen." He pauses, "Yes I will tell her myself." 

You roll your eyes, knowing exactly what he's talking about, "You are welcome Mr. Cameron, yep. Tomorrow at 1, got it." 

You stand up, making your way back to your room and quietly shutting the door. You give it a few minutes, and you finally hear him close his office door, 

You open your door, pretending not to have overheard his last phone call, "Hey dad." You smile up at him and he gives you a smile, "Hey, sweetheart." 

You furrow your brows, "Dad? Is everything okay?" 

He lets out a sigh, "Oh yeah. Everything is good here." He gives you two thumbs up and motions behind him, "I have to go get a crew pulled together." 

"For what?" You tilt your head and he smiles, "We got a job. A big, overseas job." 

You widen your eyes, "oh my gosh. That's great!"  He nods, "It's not, going to be an easy.. job. I know that, and as much as I hate to say, we could use the money.."

You nod, "No, I get it. Just, be safe okay?" 

He nods, "What are you doing tomorrow between 12 and 3?" 

You think quickly, coming up with an on the spot lie, "I might just spend the night at Kie's or something." You start to walk away and he nods, "Alright, I'll see you sometime tomorrow." 

You nod, watching as he walks away. You pull your phone out and text Kiara, On my way. 

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

She just stares at you, "Did you tell John B?" 

You shake your head, "I want to." You take a deep breath, "I know in my heart my dad doesn't want to do this but.." you stop talking and look down. 

"But what? Y/n?" She reaches out, "What's going on?" 

You look up, exhaling your breath and your voice is low, "We could use the money." 

You can see her face shift and she frowns, "I'm sorry, y/n." You shake your head, "and I know he's thinking of the money he needs and I'm just.. torn." 

"Hey, hey. It's okay." She moves over behind you, hugging your neck, "It's okay. You do what you feel right."

"He deserves to know. My dad knew his dad and that just.. not telling him doesn't feel right." You take a deep breath, "Let's go to John B's."

"Are you sure?" She asks and you let out a sigh, "John B deserves his chance. This is it." You point to yourself, "I am his chance." 

She smiles slightly and you motion, laughing slightly, "Go ahead." 

"Once a pogue always a pogue." She pokes you and you roll your eyes, "Yeah, yeah." As you stand up you grab her shoulder, "No one else can know about this." 

She nods, "Top secret hush hush. Got it." 

Once you arrive at John B's, you get out and stand there for a moment. 

"What the hell is this?" John B says walking out of the door, "Well I'll be damned. If it isn't the kook princess herself." 

"John B, let her alone." Kie says walking around to you, "You're going to hear what she has to say." 

John B's face drops when he reads the seriousness of the situation, "Oh shit, okay." He walks you inside and you all sit on the couch, "Hit me. What's up?" 

"I know where the gold is." You stare at him, watching as he leans forward. His face completely in shock with what you just said, "What?" 

You nod, "I know where the gold you've been looking for is." He looks at Kie and she nods, "Just wait." 

She motions for you to keep going and you look back at John B, "I overheard my dad on the phone, he doesn't know I'm here, but anyway.." you take a deep breath, "My dad is helping ship it overseas.." 

John B stares at you, "Who." 

You swallow, hesitating to say it, "The Cameron's." 

John B stands up and a second later you and Kie are standing in front of him, "No. no. John B." Kie yells, "Listen."

He steps back, sitting down, "What." 

"You can't just go break into their house, you've already almost got caught last time trying." Kie jabs, "We have to come up with a plan." 

"Get JJ and Pope here. Now." John B stands up, nervously chewing on his finger nails as you text JJ, Come to John B's NOW! 

As you hit send, you get a text from your mom, Are you at Kiara's? You need to come home. 

"Guys." You look up, "I gotta go." You stand up and John B grabs your arm, "No, wait. We need to come up with a plan." 

"I filled Kie in on that plan, she will fill you in." You wave as you walk away, "I'll text you, and if anyone asks, Kie, we were at your house." 

"Okay!" She tells and you run out of the door and to your car. 

Being seen with John B's crew or around anything even related to them is a bad image for you right now. 

Who knows what Ward would do if he found out it was you who fucked up his plan. 

Mainly to say, you value your life more than anything right now, so you're about to tip toe through these next few weeks. 

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

"I'm home!" You tell as you walk in through the side screen door, "Mom?" 

"Living room, sweetie." She answers and you can feel your heart race, getting faster the closer you get to them, "Hey." You say as you walk in, "Everything okay?" 

"Sit down, honey." Your dad lifts his head and points to the chair, "We need to talk." You sit down look at him, "What's going on?" 

He takes a deep breath, "That job.." he pauses, "I told ya about this morning.." 

"Yeah? What about it?" You ask, trying not to show him that you already know. 

"I need to tell you about it. It's been eating at me since you left this morning." Your dad leans back, "The job we're doing.. is for the Cameron's." 

"Why?" You snap, "Of all people?" 

This part wasn't acting, you really did hate the Cameron's, well.. two of them. 

Ward and his son, Rafe. 

He tilts his head, "I know. I know, but that's not the worst part." 

"Oh great. There's something worse than the Cameron's." You roll your eyes, looking at you mom and she gives you a look. 

"What we're transporting is.." your father pauses and you fight back the urge to scream the rest. 

"John B.." he continues, "The gold that he went to hell and back for.. that's what.." you can tell he's getting teary-eyed and you sit up, "So Ward Cameron has John B's gold? The gold that he, literally almost died for?" 

Now you were pissed. 

"I don't.." you stand up, one hand on your chin, "Tell me why you would even-" 

"Because we need the money, y/n." Your father yells as he stands up, "That money will get us back on the water now. Not in a few months. Right now." 

"And that's more important than-"

"Don't ask a question you already know the answer to." Your father shakes his head and you scoff, "Ah I see. Okay." 

You go to walk back out the door and your mom asks, "Where are you going?" 

You stop, letting a sigh, "Kie's. I'm sleeping over there." 

Instantly your father answers, "No you're not." 

"What do you mean? I can't even go to my friends house now?" You scoff and your dad nods, "Sure, but only if they aren't close enough to tell John B." 

You laugh, "This is ridiculous." 

"Actually, y/n. It's really not. It may be like a life or death decision for you. But it's not. You want to know what real life or death decision looks like?" Your father points to himself, "Mine. This is Ward. Cameron we're talking about here." 

"What your father is trying to say honey.." your mother steps between you and him, "..is that we both agree that it would be safer for all of our lives if you stay away from Kiara and anyone else who would tell John B.. okay? But it's only for a few weeks." 

You stare at the floor, "Fine." 

"Please. Be serious about this." Your mom sighs and you look up, "I'm serious. I'm so pissed off right now, but I'm good."

Your mom holds her stare and holds out her hand, "Mhm." She clears her throat and you look up, laughing, "Are you fucking kidding?" 

She tilts her head, "Language, and yes." 

You slap your phone into her hand and roll your eyes, "This is bullshit." You walk over to the door and step out. 

You turn, eyes filling with angry tears as you walk around the house. You make your way over to and then down the steps and step onto the sand.

You walk out a few feet and sit down, legs bent with your chin resting on top. 

You wrap your arms around your legs and sigh. 

You close your eyes as a very familiar, and much hated voice, sounds from behind you, "You look a lot like my new business partner's hot daughter." 

You roll your eyes, lifting your head, "Go away, Rafe." 

"Aw c'mon. I just got here." He sits down right next to you and you look over at him, "Did you watch me come down here you fucking weirdo?" 

He laughs, shaking his head, "No, I just happening to be looking out my bedroom window the same time you walked down here." 

You shake your head, "You're insufferable." 

He laughs, "Well get uses to it, baby. I'm sure I'll be seeing a lot of you in these next week."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." You lay your hands on your forehead, "I just wish people could trust me for once." 

"Once a pogue, always a pogue." Rafe mumbles and you look at him, "You make that sound like it's a bad thing?" 

"I'm pretty sure it is." He nods, resting back on his hands, "Come on, darlin'. Tell me one good thing about that dumbass group of friends?" 

You roll your eyes, "I'm not doing this." 

"I don't think you have a choice." Rafe looks up at you, "Oh yeah mean talking to me, yeah I get it." He laughs to himself and you walk away, "See you tomorrow."

You continue to ignore him as you walk up the steps to your deck. You sit down, taking in everything that just happened. 

You hear the sliding door open and you look up. Your mom walks out and comes over to you, "You know..." your mom starts out, breaking the silence, "Your father wouldn't be doing this if he didn't have any other choice." 

You nod, "I just.. Kie is my only friend I like to see." 

"Why doesn't she come here?" Your mom sighs, "Just as long as we're home." 

You nod, "That works.. tomorrow?"

"The Cameron's are coming over to discuss the plan for this move, so probably not tomorrow, honey." Your mom tilts her head, "I'm sorry."

You shrug, "It's fine. I guess I'll just go hang out in my room." You stand up and make your way to your room, to which you were in for a long, boring night. 

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

THE NEXT DAY 

"Honey. Can you wear a nice dress today?" Your mom calls from outside your door. You groan, "Why a dress?"

"We need to look nice because they always look nice." Your mom tells back and you groan, "Fine." You get up and rummage through your closet until you come across a white dress that gives you an idea. 

Rafe thinks you're hot, so why not fuck with him. 

You truly belive nothing will happen, it's Rafe for Christ sake. 

You hate him. 

You pull it out and slip it on. The way the top ties, exposing your cleavage in the best way. The split midriff and the way the skirt part of it hugs your hips and drapes down over your thighs, is the absolute cherry on top. 

You put on your black strappy wedges and head downstairs. 

"That's cute. I like that." Your mom point to your dress and you smile, "Thanks." 

You couldn't lie. You thought Rafe was hot, too. But, he was still a fucking asshole. 

"They're here!" Your father says walking over to the door. He opens it and your mom gathers you and your older brother, Maverick, beside her. 

"Hello, Mr. Cameron!" Your dad says as he opens the door. 

"Please. Call me Ward, this is Rose, and my son, Rafe." Ward motions to them as he walks in, "Beautiful home." 

Liar. 

"Thank you." Your mother smiles, you know my kids, Y/n and Maverick." 

"Hey Mav." Rafe says with a nod, and Maverick nods back, "Hey." You smile at all of them, fighting back a smirk when you see that Rafe's eyes are not on yours. 

You shift your weight onto your left leg, then you cross your right leg over. Basically flaunting yourself at Rafe subtlety. 

He knew it. 

"Please, come in and sit. Make yourselves at home." Your dad says leading them to the living room. Rafe turns his head, eyes moving up and down your body as he walks by you. 

You bite your lip and follow behind him. You sit diagonally from him, but it's very telling to your father for if he's looking at you. 

He smirks, hiding it with his fingers as he looks at your father's talking. 

"So, I just want to go over the most important thing here, first if that's okay." 

"Please." You mom says with a nod. 

"Y/n. Sweetheart." Ward starts and you notice Rafe's face twitch, "Yes, Ward." You look at him and he sighs, "My boy here says you're friends with Kiara Carrera." 

You nod, "Yep. But don't worry, my parents did a great job at cutting ties for me." 

"Mm." Ward chuckles, "Anyway, now that we got that out of the way.." 

The next two hours are spent being, basically ridiculed for keeping a friend you grew up with. Yeah, it made sense in the long run, but at the same time, it just didn't. 

You'd just zone in and out, thinking about the possible outcome of this. 

How to get information, then how to get said to information for John B? 

You slowly readjusted your legs, giving Rafe, who is now the only person sitting on that side of the room, a decently good view. 

His eyes raise from your thighs, slowly making their way to your eyes. He tilts his head, licking his lips as he nods. 

You fail to fight back a smirk and you look down. 

"Well, I think we took up enough of their time today." Ward says, standing up with a groan, "I'm sure we'll talk tomorrow." He laughs and your dad laughs too, basically hyping him up. 

You stand up as everyone else does and you happen to be right in front of Rafe. 

"If you're doing this on purpose.." Rafe leans in and whispers just loud enough for you to hear, "Just know that you're going to pay for it later." 

His words send chills down your spine and you follow your mother out, panties growing wetter because you know his eyes are on you. 

You keep it together, breathing through the feelings he gave you. 

"Alright." Ward waves, "Thanks for having us." 

Your mom nods, "Anytime. Please." 

"Yep." Ward nods, "See you later." 

Rafe looks at you, giving you a quick wink, "See ya later." 

You chew the inside of your lip, smirking as you watch Rafe turn and leave, "Bye." You wave as he glances back, giving him a little smile. 

You drop your hand as soon as the door closes and you look at your mom, "Was that nice?" 

She nods, "Worked for me." She goes to the fridge and pours herself a glass of wine. You make your way up to your room and sit on the windowsill. 

You open the window, with major hopes of someone coming to talk to you tonight. 

You walk to your bed and lay down, waiting to waste away another night. 

A FEW HOURS LATER 

You feel a light tickle on your cheek, waking you up, "Mm." You groan, slapping your cheek when that tickle feeling reappears. 

You hear quiet laughter and you snap away, moving up onto your knees, "JJ?!" You whisper quietly, "What the fuck are you doing here!?" 

"I figured I'd come by after hours one of these days to confirm that you in fact, do not have your cell phone." He motions to your hand and he looks at you, "You get bitchy when you're woken up." 

"If you don't like it, don't do it." You shrug, "Easy fix. Now what are you doing here?" He holds his hand up, "First off, I never said I didn't like it, and two.." 

He sits down on the bed and looks at you, "I'm here to collect information." 

You shrug, "I don't have any right now. I mean they met today but it was mainly about prices and shit. He's paying a lot to do this." 

JJ nods, "Well. I mean. Yeah. It's Ward Cameron and his psycho minion Ward Jr." 

You nod, "I don't know how I'm gong to get you guys information. My mom says I can have Kie over, but only when we're supervised." 

You roll your eyes, mocking your mom and JJ laughs quietly, "We can just keep doing this. I'll send someone else next time." 

You nod, "That would be great." He pulls you in for a hug, "Take care of yourself, kid." He kisses your head and you nod, "I will. But just to let you know, Rafe is going to be glued to my side. He knows I'm friends with Kie." 

"Yeah, he isn't going to let you alone. He's our biggest threat." JJ sighs, "We'll make it work." 

Right as JJ stands up there's movement in the hall. 

You both freeze, waiting until it's silent for a little bit, "Okay." You whisper, "Go and be careful getting down." 

He nods, giving you a thumbs up, "I got it." You watch as he climbs through the window, locking it when he jumps down. 

Over the next few days, the Cameron's make their appearance in your home again, actually they were there every day. 

Rafe making his more often, and usually when it's just the two of you. 

As must as you wanted to let it bother you, spending time with him really wasn't all that bad. You'd usually just hang out on the beach or by the pool. 

But you'd spend the days talking. You were honestly kind of infatuated with the way he was when it was just him and you alone. 

He almost seemed like such a genuine person. 

Key word, seemed. 

"Alright, kids. Why don't you run along and play now." Ward chuckles, "The adults need to talk." 

You hold back an eye roll at being called a kid, "I'll just take a walk." You mumble and walk away towards the door. 

"Me too." Rafe says, following you out of the door.  You stop, turning to look at him, "You don't have to. Please. Take a day off or something. I insist."

He laughs, "You're funny." He lays an arm around your shoulder, "Come on." You groan as you walk with him, "This is so boring." 

Rafe rolls his eyes, "Please. You've been walking for two seconds." You laugh, "Wanna go to the beach?" He nods his head, "Yeah. I can go for the beach." 

You smile, "I just need to grab my suit." You turn back around, walking towards the house and Rafe follows you. 

Literally. 

Up the stairs and into your room. 

You pull the suit out of your drawer and look over at him, "Do you mind?" He shrugs, "Only if you do." You laugh and roll your eyes, "Turn around." 

He sighs as he turns around, "what a killjoy." 

You quickly change, throwing on a big t shirt, "Okay." He spins around, eyes moving down your bare legs, "Okay." 

You grab what you need and walk out and down the steps, "I need water. I'll be right back." He nods and you walk to the kitchen. 

You bite your lip as you think of a way to hear stuff, but that's quickly spoiled when Rafe walks in. 

He leans against the door frame, "What's takin' so long?" 

You shrug, "Sorry." You screw the lid to your cup back on and walk over to him. You squeeze between his body and the door frames, "Can you move pleaae?"

He laughs, turning go face you, "Can you say excuse me, please?" You roll your eyes and walk away from him. 

"You roll your eyes way, too much." Rafe laughs, "An I know I don't annoy you that bad." 

You laugh, walking out the back, "I beg to differ." You walk down the steps to the beach. You look around, "So.. I'm going over there. I don't know about you." 

"Hey, that's where I'm going." Rafe gives you a smirk, "Crazy world, huh?" He walks with you over to the spot and sets his bag downs. 

You can feel his eyes on you so you lean down to set your bag on the sand, "can I help you?" 

"In what way are you offering?" Rafe fires back and you scoff, "Not any that you'd like." He pouts, "Oh boo hoo." 

You can't help but laugh, "you are.. irritating." 

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

"You know.. I almost want to tell you that I had a good day.. but I don't think I will." You laugh as you walk up to your door.

"Listen I can be an asshole if I wanna be." He smirks, "I mean, I kinda wanna say that I did, too.. but I don't want you to actually start to like me." 

"I'm going inside now." You point to the door and laugh as you push it open. You turn around, smiling at Rafe, "Thanks for hanging out with me today." 

"Anytime." He smirks and walks away. 

Over the last week, you been trying to collect as much information as you could. Scouring your dad's office, trying to listen in through the walls. 

You found out the day that they're moving it, so that's big news. 

You just haven't found the where part out yet. 

Rafe on the other hand, was a totally different feeling, and you were feeling many of those towards him.

The amount of times he sees you has decreased. You're upset because it's always right when you start to actually like someone.

It's almost like he grew cold to you. 

When they come over for meetings with your father, Rafe barely looks at you anymore. He barely says two words to you. 

It's like you're invisible to him. 

A soft knock on your window snaps you from your thoughts and you look up, smiling as soon as you see Kie. 

"I got the date they're moving it, but other than that. Nothing else yet."  You say as you help her step in. 

She stands up, "We at least have a date. Now we just have to wait for more to come." She sits down on your bed, "You okay?" 

You shrug, "It's nothing." 

"It's something if it bothers you this much. What's up?" She looks at you and you sigh, "Rafe and I were-" 

"Oh no. Please don't say it." Kie closes her eyes and plugs her ears and you laugh, batting her hands away, "No, no. Oh my god. Kie no." 

She sighs, "Oh thank god." 

"We were becoming, almost friends? And then he just.. turned, so I don't know if it was something I did, or what." 

Kie lays her hand on your arm, "You did nothing. I promise you. Rafe is just an asshole who doesn't see how much a girl is worth." She leans in, "He didn't put his hands on you, did he?" 

You shake your head, "No. He never even raises his voice at me." 

"I mean.. it's Rafe. He'll figure it out." She sighs, "I'm gonna go before we risk any more time." You nod, "Oh fuck. Yeah. Tell the guys I miss them. Oh and here!" 

You write down the date on a piece of paper and hand it to her, "I will." She waves and climbs down. You turn around making your way down and out to the pool deck, sitting in one of the loungers. 

You try to convince yourself, over and over again, that it's just a crush because he's the only one you have to talk to right now, and that it will eventually just go away. 

But you can't seem to let it go, no matter how hard you try, Rafe is always on your mind. 

You ended up falling asleep on the deck chair, so you wake up outside. You sit up, looking around and you jump slightly when you see Rafe sitting in the chair on the other side, "Hey, Rafe." 

"I was wondering when you were going to wake up." He gets up and walks over to you, "Are you going to the Barlow Party tonight?" 

You stand up, "I don't think my parents are giving me a choice, why?" 

He shrugs, "I was just wondering." He points, "I gotta go." You shake your head, more stubborn than ever, "No." you turn, "You can't just not talk to me or see me all of a sudden and then just pop up whenever? What's going on?" 

"Y/n. Just-" he stops and you cut him off, "Rafe. Talk to me."

He stares at the ground for a second before turning to grab your shoulders as he rests his forehead against yours, "I'll see you tonight, okay?" 

He pushes himself away from you and walks around the house. You stand there, just shocked at this whole situation. 

You manage to pull yourself together and go inside. 

"You hungry?" Your mom asks and you shake your head, "No. I'm okay." You sat down with a sigh, "Do I have to go to this party tonight?" 

Your mom nods, "If I do, you do." 

You groan, "I hate this." She sighs, "I know. I want you to be able to see your friend, but at the same time, you know we can't risk it." 

You nod, "yeah. I know." You stand up, "You don't need to remind me." You walk up to your room and start looking at what to wear for tonight's party. 

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

You settled on the beige sundress with a maroon flower print. The off the shoulder cuffs and the flowy slit up your leg add the perfect touch of sexiness. 

You put on your shoes and finish doing your makeup and by the time you apply your lipstick, your mother is calling for you, "y/n. We're leaving." 

"Coming!" You yell back, letting out a nervous sigh. You were going to see the group tonight, but you might not be able to talk to them, which is frustrating. 

"Y/n!" Your mom tells and your sigh hard, "Coming!" 

You gather your things and hurry down the steps, "Are you sure it's a good idea for me to go?" You ask, with hopes they agree and let you stay home. 

"You're going, now. Shoo. Out the door please." Your mom waves you with her hands and you groan, "Fine." 

You make your way to the car and you head over to the Ballow's. They're super rich, so their house is absolutely incredible.

It was a silent car ride. No one said anything and they didn't because they didn't want to upset you. 

Once your dad parks, you get out and wait for everyone. Your heart was racing, you really didn't want to be here. 

You really didn't want to see Rafe. 

"Alright. Come along now. Let's go." Your mom takes your hand and you walk in with her. You confirm you're on the guest list and now you were free to mingle. 

You took a glass of champagne off the passing tray and downed it, quickly replacing that one with a full one. 

You made your way through the crowed and you could tell that his eyes were on you. He was in the only spot you didn't look. 

You look up, eyes meeting his. You bring the glass of champagne up to your lips, making sure he watches you take a sip. 

He tilts his head, head nodding as he holds his lip between his teeth. 

You roll your eyes and turn, walking out to the backyard. 

So far, no sign of any pogue. But you did get another sight of Rafe and you could tell right then and there that he was undressing you with his eyes. 

You didnt want to give him any satisfaction. He still had you mad, so you just walked away. 

You walk up the stairs and lead against the wooden fence, looking into the fountain.

You feel someone walk up behind you and then move to beside you. Your heart skips a beat at his voice, "Can you tell me why Rafe hasn't taken his eyes off of me since he seen me walk up to you?" 

You glance down at Rafe, his stare transfers from JJ to you. 

He smirks, raising his cup slightly before he turns around. You shake your head, looking over at JJ, "Just Rafe being Rafe." 

"Listen, I'm not going to sugar coat it, y/n. If you're planning on fucking over John B all because you let the enemy get into your pants.. at least tell me. Right here. Straight up, I'm all ears." 

JJ's words make you straighten your poster, "Excuse me? Where the fuck did that come from, J?" You shake your head, "Rafe and I are not- no." 

He look down, "I just.." he turns to you, placing a hand on your elbow, "It's Rafe. Like you said. I don't want you to be just another name on his-" JJ's voice grows louder,"-list of sluts." 

And all of a sudden he's shoved back, Rafe moving to shove him again. You drop your glass, "Oh my go- JJ! Rafe! Stop!" 

You go to pull Rafe back, but JJ swings, clocking him right in the mouth, "Take that, fucking bitch." 

Rafe huffs and quickly strikes JJ, causing him to stumble back. 

"Okay!" You scream, "Enough. Enough." You push between them, hands flat on Rafe's chest, "Rafe. Please." 

He stares at you, laughing slightly aa he rolls his eyes, "Fuck. Fine." He motions to JJ, "get him out of here." 

A few men drag JJ out, kicking and screaming like usual. Rafe walks out and disappears. You lay your hands on your forehead, "what the fuck." 

You take a deep breath and walk outside, your main goal is finally Rafe. You see him sitting across the street. 

You walk up to Rafe, eyes holding onto bis busted up face, "What the hell was that?" Your eyes move to the lit cigarette he puts between his lips. 

"What the fuck?" You reach up and he allows you to pull the cigarette from between them. You toss it on the ground and step on it, "What's going on with you?" 

Rafe scoffs, "Fuck this. I'm going home." He starts to walk away and you follow him over to his car, "Rafe." 

"Rafe!" You walk faster to catch up to him, "What the fuck?" You yell and he turns to you and nods, "Get in." 

You look at him, "Why?" 

"because I'm not going to yell at you in front of everybody.. now get the fuck in." He points to the car and you sigh quietly before getting into the passenger seat. 

He gets in, staring the car, "Why were you talking to JJ?" 

"Is that what this is about?" You pout, "Honey, that's called jealously." Rafe glares at you and you tilt your head, "He came up to me and asked me why you were watching him as he walked up to me and then he asked if there was things going on between us." 

"What did you tell him?" Rafe asks and you laugh in response, "What do I tell him? Honestly. We become close and then all of a sudden you're gone?" 

"You don't understand." Rafe mumbles. You lean back in the seat, "So talk to me. Tell me what's going on. Don't just leave me hanging." 

He shakes his head, "but that still doesn't answer my question, y/n. What did you say to him?" 

You take a second to compose yourself, "all I said back to him was that I'm not and he said good and that he doesn't want to see my name end up on your list of sluts." 

Rafe pulls into the driveway of his house and sits there quietly, "Do you believe him?" 

You shrug, "I'd like to not." You sit there, waiting for him to say something, but he doesn't. Not for a few moments, "I'm gonna just gonna go inside. You can do whatever it is you wanna do." 

He goes to get out and you do the same, looking at him over the car, "What the fuck do you mean"

He doesn't say one whole word the whole way in. 

It was pissing you off and he knew it. 

You follow Rafe into the office, shutting the door behind you, "What in the actual fuck is going on with you?" 

"Just get out." He mumbles as he walks around to sit on the end of the desk, facing away from you. 

You stare at him for a few seconds, shaking your head gently, "No." 

His head turns towards you slightly, but he doesn't look at you. 

"Hello? Are you going for talk to me?" You hold your hands out to your sides and then drop them with a smack on your thighs, and it's secretly driving Rafe insane. 

He wanted you. But his father said he shouldn't be around you. They said you could be a secret weakness and boy, were they right. 

"Y/n. Just." He sighs, looking down to shake his head, "Go. Please. Get the fuck out." He stands up, turning to face you and you can immediately tell that his vibe is off. 

"I shouldn't have to explain myself to you." He starts, "Fuck." he takes a second to try and cool down, but his mind only can stay on wanting to have his cock buried deep inside of you as you moan out his name. 

"No, actually you really should explain yourself to me." You say slightly louder, "What? I promise to not disrupt this secret little plan you have in the works and that gives you the right to just treat me like shit when you got bored of me." 

He groan, "No you don't.." He runs his hands over his face, "I didn't get fu-"

You cut him off, "I literally have not talked to my best friend in two or three weeks? All because of you." You step towards him, "I've given up a lot for you. And you don't even see it." 

His eyes bounce from your lips up to your eyes, "Did you tell John B?" 

Your heart starts to beat faster, knowing how fast he will get angry, "Why do you think I told John B?" Rafe shrugs, "Friend of a friend told me what JJ really asked you.. so that's what makes me think that." 

Fuck. 

"Rafe." You step towards him and he says loudly, "Fuck. Y/n." He looks at you, "did you. Or did you not tell John B about our father's working together." 

You hold your stare on him, "What are you going to do if I say yes?" 

He balls his fists up and rests them on his cheek, "Fuck. You didn't. Y/n. Please tell me you're fucking with me.

His voice is at the level of a yell, "Did you fucking tell him or not?" You keep your stare, shrugging and Rafe groans, turning away before turning to you again, "You need to under-fucking-stand what you're doing, y/n." 

You nod, "You don't think I know how dangerous your dad is?" You smirk, "Or how dangerous you are?" 

He tilts his head and you step towards him, "I mean, you tell me. Should I be scared of you?" 

He chuckles with a nod, "Goddamn right you should be scared of me." 

You shrug, "I don't really get scared with you." 

Rafe knows that he would never want to hurt you. 

You know it, too. 

Rafe holds his stare, "Y/N." 

"Rafe." 

Rafe starts to laugh and shake his head, "oh fuck!" He crosses his arms over his chest and lets out a dramatic sigh, "You are fuckin.." 

He groans and you tilt your head, "Look, Rafe. I'm just here looking for a reason as to-" 

He cuts you off, "Because.. being good, doesn't get you fucking anything. You of all people should know that, y/n." He scoffs and motions to you. 

You raise your brows, "Excuse me? What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Rafe?" 

He shakes his head, letting out a sigh, "I just.." he laughs, "You should just go." You shake your head, standing your ground, "mm. No." 

"Y/n. Don't fu-" 

You continue to speak over him, "All I want to know is what I did to make you treat me like.." you laugh slightly, looking at him as your tilt your head, "A pogue." 

Rafe looks at you, shaking his head, "Nah, nah." He points his finger at you, laughing slightly as he steps closer to you, "You're not one of those." He leans in, his voice is loud, "You're a fucking kook and you need to-" his voice is louder, "act like one!" 

All of your anger rises up, "Fuck you." You walk over and give his chest a shove. He grunts and wraps his hands around your wrists, "Whoa. Easy now, darlin'." 

Rafe laughing fuels you more and you let out a frustrated groan, "Fuck you." Pushing his chest with each phrase, "Fuck you. Fuck you." 

"Alright." Rafe says, calming you down, but you continue to ignore him, "Y/n." He squeezes your wrists, tilting his head and that was the last straw. 

He clenches his jaw and lets your wrist drop, "I don't understand how you're having an issue here." He shakes his head, "I-I don't understand." 

You stare at him, "I don't get.." you looks up, "How you can say that. Fuck, that's like saying my feelings don't fucking matter."

"They don't." Rafe scoffs, shaking his head with a gentle laugh, "I mean, not to me anyway." 

"Oh yeah? Is that how you felt when you were staring at my tits while we sat in my living room with both of our families?" You raise your brows, "Or how you told me that if I was doing it on purpose, I would pay for it later?" 

Rafe clenches his jaw and stares at you. 

You smirk, "If you wanna play this game, we can play this game." 

Rafe laughs, "Fuck this. Okay. I'm here to see if I need to stop my father from killing your father." He motions to you, "So now please, for fucks sake." He walks closer to you with each word, "Please. Fucking. Answer, so you can get the fuck out of my house." 

You chose to ignore him, continuing to run your mouth to him, "I'm not done, Rafe." You step closer to him, "I think you like me. A lot more than you think you do." 

He scoffs and you laugh, "So what made you punch JJ? Hm. Was it because you thought I was telling him about everything? Or was it because he touched me?" 

It's very telling on which answer is the right answer, his face gave it straight away. 

"Get out." Rafe nods towards the door, his eyes moving back to yours, "Or I'll call my dad right now and tell him that you told John B." 

You stare at him for a few seconds before you speak. 

You know what you're doing, "I don't think you'll do that." Rafe shrugs, "Try me." 

"I'm not the one you're mad at?" You whisper, "Am I?" 

"No." Rafe argues and you continue to argue with him. 

You're basically in his face yelling a few minutes later, then all of a sudden he pushes you back, "Just Stop! Stop! Stop." 

The angry rasp in his voice, not only slightly scares you, but also has you so inappropriately turned on.

"I'm fucking talking now!" 

You're sat. 

The way he looks at you, like he actually fucking hates you, has your walls quivering for him. 

Did I finally break Rafe Cameron, you think as you fight back the wild urge to smirk. 

"You- you think you can just fucking.. come in here, wearing all of th-these.. dresses that you pick out just for me?" Rafe lays his hand on his chest with a laugh, "You're going to bitch and moan about not being trusted but yet you willing still hang out with Kiara and the other dumbass pogues." 

He groans, "Fuck, You just.." he stops, looking at you as he runs his tongue over his lips. 

You tilt your head, hands clasped together behind your back, "I just.. what, Rafe?" 

"You drive me so unbelievably insane." He shakes his head, dropping his hand from his chest, "like I actually am losing it over you." 

You manage to keep yourself calm, "Why?" 

"Beca-" he whines, "I can't have you." 

You step over to him, "Do you think I could cloud your judgment?" 

Rafe sighs, tilting his head back, "I want you, so fucking much that I think I would do just about anything you asked me to." He pauses, "And that's why I'm so fucking pissed because I know you want to help John B and I-"

"I told him." You admit, "They know the day you're moving it, too." 

You were fully expecting him to explode again, but to your surprise, he didn't, "Yeah, I seen JJ climb out of your window the one night." He shrugs, "So I figured. 

He just literally surprised you instead, "Fuck. Rafe, I-" 

He cuts you off, "Partly why I punched him." He mumbles, "But yeah, and before you ask, no one knows." 

You tilt your head, "How do I know you're not lying!" He laughs, "Trust me. If anyone knew, the deal wouldn't still be going through." 

Makes sense. 

"So what are you saying, exactly? Rafe. Do you want me dead? Do you just hate me? love me? What because I would really like to go-" 

"Yes." Rafe says and you laugh slightly, "Huh?" 

He walks over to you, hands on your hips and he nods, "I said yes. Because If you were dead, I wouldn't be standing here, kicking my own ass over what to do." 

Your hands slide to his neck as he shakes his head, "Fuck." He presses his lip to yours. You stumble backwards as he walks you back to the wall, "I want to hate you for telling John B, but you have so much control over me, I can't." 

He takes your hands from his neck and pins them above your head, "I think it's incredibly sexy that you're willing to rebel against my father. Me." He kisses down your neck,"I think about you all the fucking time." 

Rafe's hand moves down your body and slips between your thighs, "The literal thought of anyone touching you, drives me to the point of wanting to end their life." 

"Fuck." You whimper out quietly, lips parting as you feel his finger slip between the thin fabric of your panties and your skin, "You're so wet, baby." 

Rafe presses his lips to your cheek, "This won't be happening again." 

"Uh huh. One and done." You breath out, grinding your hips down to meet his fingers more, "P-please." 

Rafe chuckles, "Whatcha beggin' for darlin'?" He teases as he presses his fingers hard against your clit, slowly rubbing slow circles, "Need someone to fuck you better than a pogue ever could?" 

You let out a sigh, rolling your eyes shut as he applies a little more pressure. He watches your face with a smirk on his, "Did you fuck any of them?" 

You shake your head and Rafe tilts his head, "Ahh, be honest for me." You gasp as he slides his fingers back, circling your aching opening, "I'm.. serious, Rafe." 

"But you wanted to?" He dips two fingers into you and you moan out, "Rafe." 

"Doesn't matter. You wanna know why?" Rafe asks, still slowly teasing you with his fingers hooked inside your pussy. 

You whimper out quietly, "why?" 

"Because once you get a feel for how I make you feel, no one else will ever satisfy you." His eyes are on you and you shrug, "Prove it." 

He pulls his fingers out and brings them up to your lips. You open without being told and wrap your lips around his fingers 

You hum slightly as you move your tongue to lick your slick from him.

A smirk grows on his lips, "Good girl." He pulls his fingers from your mouth and you just stare at him. 

He made you weak, and he could see it. 

He steps back but you reach out, grabbing his shirt, "Fuck me like you hate me." You walk over to him and his hand lays loosely on the small of your back, "I don't want to hurt you." 

"Take it all out on me." You nod, "I want you, Rafe." 

He quickly lifts you up, walking over to his desk. He reaches behind you, swiping stuff out of the way before setting you down. 

His lips on yours as his hands reach up to yank down the top of your dress. He extracts a moan from you when his fingers twist and turn each nipples. 

"You sound so pretty." Rafe whisper, "Gonna sound even prettier with my cock ramming into you." 

"Please." You whine, pulling your dress up to expose your thighs. Rafe kisses down your neck, and slides his fingers up your thighs. 

He pulls down the band of your panties and you lift your hips for him to slide them down over your ass. 

He pulls them down your legs and over your feet, stuffing them in his pocket, "You might get them back later." 

He winks and slides his hands to behind your knees, he spreads your legs opens and pushes them back. 

Your hands lay over his and you watch as he steps back, giving him room so he can bend down. 

You gasp loudly when his lips connect with your clit.

A hand lifts off or the back of your thigh to you slide your hand in place, "Fuck, Rafe." You moan, feeling two fingers slide into you. 

You bite down on your lip and Rafe lifts his head from your clit, "Don't be quiet now, baby. Keep givin' it to me."

Rafe repeatedly curls his fingers in a way that makes you arch your back off the desk, "Fuck.." you whimper out, "Shit." 

"Tell me who makes you feel this good." Rafe squeezes your thigh and slowly thrusts his fingers in and out of your soaked cunt. 

You let out a loud whine, "You do, baby." 

"Who?" He asks, going back to curling his fingers and your mind is spiraling right now, "Y-you baby." He slowly pulls his fingers out of you and goes to unbuckling his pants, "Flip over." 

You slide down off the desk, turning around to bend over it.

Your heart was racing. 

Both due to the excitement of actually fucking Rafe and the anxiety you're having because you really are doing what JJ told you he was worried about. 

You feel a hand grip your shoulder then it slides over to the front of your neck. Rafe tightens his grip slowly and pulls your head back. 

You lean back as far as you can go and he leans forward, lips right next to your ear, "Say my name." 

He slowly thrusts his cock into, immediately urging you to scream out, "Rafe! Fuck you make me feel so good." 

His grip on your neck tightens and you let out a squeak. The harder he thrusts, the more you're vision is blacking out, "f-fu-" 

You reach up and tap his hand. Rafe's hand immediately loosens its grip and moves to your shoulder, "Doin' so good at takin' me." 

"Fuck, Rafe." You moan, "I'm gon- I'm so close." You push your hips back into his and he leans back, gripping both of your hips. 

His thrusts turn animalistic, so good that it's actually starting to hurt you. 

You whimper out, throwing your head back as the walls that ached for him, squeeze around his cock, "F-Fuck."

"Fuck." Rafe groans out, "So fuckin' tight around me." 

He pushes as far on as he can go and holds himself still. You rock your hips, itching for the high of the orgasm he was just about to give you. 

"Rafe." You whine, "P-please." 

He pulls out, spinning you around to face him. He lifts your leg to his waist and you hold it there as he holds his cock steady to slip back into you.

Your head falls forward and you lean back onto your hand to hold yourself up. Your other hand goes to pull him in by the back of his neck. 

His lips crash onto yours as his hips repeatedly pound against your body, "Such a fucking slut for me." Rafe groans against your lips. 

You nod, moaning out, "Fuck, Rafe. Only for you." 

He rests his forehead against yours and squeezes your thighs, "Fuck, I'm gonna cum inside of that perfect little pussy." 

He looks at you and you bite your lip, nodding as your eyes roll closed to the feeling of his fingers on your clit, "Look at me, baby." 

Your eyes snap open and you look up at him. 

"Do you want that, too?" Rafe asks and you nod. He slides a hand up to the back of your head, gripping your hair tight, "Look at me. Tell me, please." 

His voice is soft, whimperishly hot. 

It unlocked something within you.

"I want you to cum in my pussy." You whimper out, "Fuck, Rafe." You dig your nails into his neck and let out a loud moan.

Your orgasm washes over, ripping strings of moans and curse words from your lips, "Fuck, fuck, fuck., R-Rafe." 

He kisses your lips, swallowing your moans as he fucks you through your high, "Such a good girl." Rafe presses his lip to your forehead, his thrusts slow down, "But I still fucking hate you." 

You smirk up at him, gasping as he thrusts his cock all the way into you, "Feeling's mutual." 

He bites down on his lip, eyes locked on yours, "Maybe I should just hope I knock you up, hmm?" A smirk appears on his lips as he begins to thrust into you again. 

You just stare up at him, chest rising and falling in a quick pace. You tilt your head back, moaning out as he squeezes your boob, "Just-" he lifts his to your chin, tilting your head forward, "Look at me, baby." 

Rafe kisses your forehead, "just thinking about you being pregnant with my baby." He groans, tilting his head slightly, "Let everybody know that you're mine." 

"Rafe." You whine out, feeling another orgasm coming on, "Fuck, fuck." You tangle your fingers in his hair and he leans in, "You gonna cum again, baby?" 

You nod, face scrunched with pleasure, "Fuck. Yes."

Rafe attaches his lips to the side of your neck, earning a moaning you as he sucks a spot he knows for sure will be there tomorrow. 

"Ra-Rafe!" You moan out, squeezing his cock with your walls. You dig your nails into his upper back and drag, earning a groan from Rafe. 

His grip on your hips tighter and you feel him push his cock in as he spills his cum into you, "Shit." He shivers slightly and looks at you, "Damn." 

You smirk, nodding as he sets your leg down, "uh huh." 

He steps back, fixing himself as you put yourself back together. You stand up and you can feel the cum dripping from your beaten cunt, "Shit."

"What?" Rafe asks looking over at you. You laugh slightly, "I'm.." you sigh, "I'm leaking what you left inside of me." 

He laughs, "Hot." 

You roll your eyes, "No because now I have to walk home in-" 

"Who said you're going home?" Rafe furrows his brows and you look at him confused, "I'm not going home?" 

He shakes his head, "Remember how I said this isn't happening again?" 

You laugh, "Yeah, I think I do." 

He shrugs, "Well, I may have not meant that." You nod, "Mm." You smile, "I knew you couldn't do it." 

"Couldn't do what?" Rafe asks getting defensive. 

You laugh, "Calm down. Calm down. I knew you wouldn't be able to stay away." 

"Fuck off." He rolls his eyes, "Come on." 

"Wait, does this effect any of the-" 

Rafe cuts you off, "It's either you get a shower with me or you walk home with my cum on your thighs." He laughs slightly, "Your choices, baby." 

You sigh, "first option please." 

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·

Again, sorry if this sucks. I've never written for Rafe before, so this is new to me. 

Thanks for reading, ilysm! 🖤

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

#samandcolby-ownme #surprise one shot #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #Rafe Cameron imagine #rafe Cameron smut #rafe imagine #rafe smut #outerbanks rafe #rafe x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe Cameron one shot #Rafe Cameron dirty one shot #smut Rafe Cameron #rafe Cameron smut one shot #smut one shot #dirty one shot #dirty rafe Cameron one shot #smut rafe Cameron one shot

[obxsummer]

HEARTFIRST // JJ Maybank

pairing: JJ Maybank x Routledge!Reader

warnings: mentions of abuse, sibling drama, nothing too drastic

request: heyy i have a fic idea! so i thought you could do a secret relationship jj x reader (john bs sis) and jj shows up at her window beaten up and she cleans him up and they go to bed; then he has a nightmare and wakes up screaming and JB sees how good they are for each other? idk if that makes sense hahaha!

navigation 

more from the SUBJECT TO CHANGE series

--

John B was pissed. Fuming. Ready to strangle his best friend of too many years for something so stupid. There had always been one rule since JJ Maybank and John Booker Routledge became best friends: you were off limits. Y/N Routledge was not to be flirted with, dated, looked at, or spoken to unless John B approved it. 

At first, it didn’t matter. Growing up as kids, John B had his friends and you had yours but once your dad dove headfirst into a treasure hunt, everything went to shit. Kiara’s Kook year had really screwed up your relationship, leaving JJ and Pope to fill in the gaps which pulled you closer and closer with your brother and his friends. You were teenagers then and everything felt so important and critical, even if it wasn’t. 

So when John B realized his best friend and his sister were together, there was nothing that could stop him from losing his shit on the two of you.

Met him at a party, accidentally brushed his body On the way to get a drink at the bar I couldn't wait 'til later, talking in the elevator Then we're kissing in the back of the car

The kegger idea had really sounded good at first; it was something to get your minds off your missing father, not to mention the sudden dead bodies popping up from the hurricane. None of it seemed too out of place for you, minus the newfound treasure hunting, but you were always up for a good party. 

“Where the hell did you find a keg on such short notice?” You asked JJ as the two of you hauled the large object down towards the Boneyard. You never really thought about how quickly JJ managed to find alcohol when it was for a party. It was common knowledge that he just knew where to go and how to do it. 

“Don’t you worry about that, Birdie. You know I’ve got my ways.”

The party was in full swing a few hours later. You’d spent most of your time with John B and Sarah before dipping to find the boy that seemed to be taking up most of your mind. JJ had been occupied with beer pong for a good portion of the last hour and you were determined to break him away.

That voice in my head says to slow down But it can't see the way you're looking at me right now It may not be next week, what I need Then again, maybe it might be

The drink in your hand sloshed over the rim of the cup as someone ran into your side in their drunken stumbling. JJ’s attention moved to you instantly. He’d always been so in tune with you and your presence but it only got stronger ever since your dad left. 

The previously occupied beat-up table full of red solo cups was left behind in trade for your company, JJ instantly taking your hand in his as he twirled you. He would give up so much to watch you smile like that every day. You deserved every bit of happiness that came to you because it certainly didn’t come often. 

Your laughter was infectious and JJ was drunk on it. He didn’t know who made the move or who threw the back door of the Twinkie open but shit, your skin was so soft and JJ just couldn’t stop kissing you. 

The line between friends and more slowly disappeared between you and JJ. At some point, your bed became his, and his clothes blended with yours. The thrill of hiding from the Pogues was exciting, sneaking moments when the two of you could to enjoy the one thing you had to yourselves.

JJ was everything to you and yet, it terrified you. You’ve never had a person to connect with in the way you did with him. The thought of your friends, of your brother, being pissed about what was going on was suffocating. What if this fucked up the group? What if JJ left you for someone else when he got bored? JJ was always quick to shut that idea down. 

“We’ve grown up together, Birdie. Kinda stupid of them to think something wasn’t gonna happen within the group at some point, right?” Which was always followed by: “You’re it for me. Now get outta that pretty little head and let me love on you.”

He had a point, but then again when JJ was pressing kisses down your neck, you never could think clearly.

Could be forever or we might break That's just the kind of risk that we take My head is yelling that I could get hurt But I'm gonna jump right in Baby, with my heart first

“You wanna tell them?” JJ’s voice was muffled as he spoke into the skin of your shoulder. The two of you were sitting on the porch of the Chateau, watching bemused as Kiara and Pope challenged Sarah and John B to an intense game of cards out on the dock. 

You sat beside the blond boy. To any observing eyes, it would just look like two friends having a civil conversation. To you, JJ’s hand was behind your back, fingers gently moving across the skin of your hip that wasn’t covered by the t-shirt over your swimsuit. 

“No.” Your answer didn’t have any anger or harshness behind it. You simply just loved having JJ all to yourself, with no judgment or prying eyes. No pressure to make it something neither of you wanted. It felt selfish to a point to keep something from your friends, from your brother. 

“Get out of your head.”

A smile made its way onto your face as you took the risk of leaning your head against JJ’s shoulder, tucking further into his side. JJ was so warm, his tan skin from constant surfing smooth against your cheek. It scared you sometimes, how comfortable everything was when it involved him. 

JJ’s heart skipped watching you be so relaxed, so vulnerable around him. He’d been so used to living on the edge and being tense for so long that it was so… vulnerable, so healing to have someone feel protected and safe enough to be by his side. 

Who knows what'll happen, ain't that always kinda magic When you don't know who's holding the cards Could be a wish I never knew ya or permanently tattoo ya Only the moon knows what's in the stars (what's in the stars)

You were pissed. You don’t know at what point John B thought he could parent you when the two of you were so close in age. Who was he after all this time to think he could boss you around?

“How long? How long has this been going on?” John B’s voice almost rattled the windows, echoing around the space surrounding you and JJ. The two of you stood there awkwardly like kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar. 

“Three months,” Your whisper was almost incoherent. Your eyes were trained on the ground, heart thumping in your chest so loud you figured JJ could probably hear it. This was the risk that came with not telling them, with keeping secrets amongst Pogues. God, there were so many stupid rules. 

John B’s hand slammed against the counter. “Three-Three months? God. I just…There was one rule. One fucking rule JJ. You promised!”

JJ visibly flinched at the anger in John B’s statement. That was true; JJ did promise John B he’d never get with you, never hurt you. All of that flew out the door the moment JJ saw you at that kegger. He had to risk it.

“I’m..I’m sorry, man! It just happened, okay? And-and we didn’t want to tell you guys because we didn’t want something like this to happen!”

“Well it’s happening,” John B scoffed with a shake of his head. The disappointment on his face was suffocating and you felt like you would burst into tears at any second. It wasn’t fair. Being forced apart when you knew you loved JJ? How is that fair?

John B shifted further into your line of vision. “Get the fuck out. Now. And don’t let me see you two near each other until I figure this out, got it?”

You looked up in a panic. “John B-”

“Do not argue with me right now. I don’t want to talk to you.” The look in your brother’s eyes left no room for argument. You’d never seen him this mad, especially toward you. 

JJ’s fingers squeezed your wrist lightly before he shuffled out the door behind you. The creaky hinges filled the room as you and John B stared at each other, waiting for the other to break. 

The fridge door popped open when your brother finally decided to move to grab a beer. Part of you wanted to run after JJ, to prove to John B that you didn’t have to listen to him. The problem was, you knew JJ respected your brother too much to let you do that for him. 

“You didn’t have to be so harsh on him,” You mumbled when you mustered up enough courage. John B tended to be… touch and go when he was angry. There was a risk of setting off another fuse if you didn’t watch what you said. 

As kids, JJ always picked on your brother for inheriting your dad’s temper. John B hated that it was true. To your relief, your brother let out a sigh and placed both of his hands on the counter. He felt instant regret watching JJ flinch at the noise level, knowing exactly what happened in the Maybank house when nobody else was around. “I know.” 

“I can’t tell you that I’m gonna stop being with him,” You admitted, holding your ground while you had the chance. You crossed your arms over your chest. “I respect your opinion a lot, Booker, but if it means staying away from JJ, I’ll learn to live without it.”

 It was a little more aggressive than you intended for it to be but it needed to be said. You moved through the kitchen to your room without another word. 

Mm, that voice in my head says to slow down But it can't feel your hands on my hips right now It may not be next year, what I need Then again, maybe it might be

JJ felt horrible for doing this. He knew he was playing with fire but as he pushed up your bedroom window, he couldn’t really bring himself to care. He could deal with John B later. Right now, he really needed you. 

He was a little less than graceful stumbling through your window in the darkness, but he found his way eventually. You shifted awake from his rustled movements and caught a quick glance at his silhouette before turning to flick the light on. “JJ? What’s wrong? Do you need-”

“Nothin’. Sorry to wake you, Birdie. Just wanted to see you.” You could tell he was avoiding meeting your eyes as he kicked off his shoes. The coloration of bruising was beginning to show through his abdomen and you shook your head slightly. JJ didn’t like to explain when his dad treated him like this. He kept quiet and you didn’t push him because he would always talk when he wanted to about what happened. 

So, you turned the lights off and cuddled up next to him, hoping you would wake up before John B saw anything.

JJ didn’t always have nightmares when it came to his dad, but whatever happened was terrible enough that he did. Half the time they weren’t even about his dad hitting him; it always involved his dad hurting you. 

The blond’s sharp movements woke you up before the screaming did. You didn’t hesitate to pull him closer, his hands grasping your hips to hold as you settled across his lap. His shirt puddled on your thighs as he let his fingers drift across your bare skin above your pajama shorts. JJ tucked his face in your neck and just listened to your heartbeat, reassuring him that you were right here and you were safe.

John B couldn’t say he was pleased to be woken up at 5:00 in the morning. Even less so when the alarm clock involved screaming. It wasn’t your voice though, and he didn’t know if that was a relief or something to be worried about. 

You didn’t flinch when your brother threw your door open to reveal the sight within. You knew he could see the fact that the two of you were fully clothed and clearly, everything was okay… well, as okay as it could be. 

Eyes moving to look at John B, you prayed he wouldn’t say anything while JJ was so upset. To your surprise and gratitude, he didn’t. He stared at both of you for a moment as the realization settled in. The realization that you were old enough to make these decisions for yourself and as much as John B wanted to protect you, to protect you and JJ, he couldn’t keep you apart. 

John B gave you a small nod and mouthed to let him know if you or JJ needed anything. You gave him a forced smile back, a barely there ‘thank you’ leaving your lips as you hugged your boyfriend tighter to your chest. 

As your bedroom door closed, you had this overwhelming sense of relief that maybe…maybe it would all work out after all. 

I gotta have ya, gotta see if this works I gotta have ya, wake up in your t-shirt I gotta have ya, diving in heart first

#obx3celebration #jj maybank #outer banks x reader #obx3 #obx #outer banks #outer banks imagine #jj outer banks #jj maybank x routledge!reader #jj maybank imagine #obx x reader #jj x reader #jj maybank fanfic #jj maybank series #stc series #routledge!reader #outer banks angst #jj maybank angst #outer banks netflix

[diorsluv]

feather , part 16

“ floating through the memories ”

series m. list previous chapter next chapter

( socialmedia!au )

yourusername

liked by jamie.drysdale, jackhughes, adamfantilli, and 76,954 others

yourusername a lil photo dump from this month :)

view all comments

jamie.drysdale that pic of me on fort makes me look homeless

→ yourusername i mean u were the one that stole my guest room

_alexturcotte yoooo it’s a cat

→ yourusername yes booker has 2 🥰🥰

→ _alexturcotte yoooo it’s two cats

username36 the guys r trying so hard to be nice LMFAO

username23 okay but tbh the way he looks at her… 🥹🥹🥹

lhughes_06 damn i didn’t make it in the dump

→ yourusername you’ll make up half the pics in the story lu i promise

→ lhughes_06 you promise?

→ yourusername i’ve never broken a promise before 🙄

trevorzegras i thought we all collectively decided to forget about that pic of me and turcs

→ yourusername well i did not collectively decide that!

→ trevorzegras i’m collectively deciding for you

→ _quinnhughes so did we all forget what the definition of “collectively” is or???

→ jackhughes yes quinn we’ve all collectively forgotten

username1 our mini drysdale seems a lot happier and i’m here for it!!!

liked by yourusername

rutgermcgroarty i don’t think it’s safe to be taking pictures of yourself in the side mirrors while driving

→ yourusername i was parked. at the beach. you were there.

→ rutgermcgroarty see i’ve collectively decided to omit that from my memory so no i wasn’t there actually 😒

→ _quinnhughes that’s.. still not what collectively means rutger

edwards.73 will i ever make the photo dump 😕

→ yourusername ethan sweetie you were just in my last one

→ yourusername and i’m posting all our vacation pics on my story 😭😭

→ edwards.73 that’s not good enough

→ yourusername you never post me 🤨

→ edwards.73 OK THATS DIFFERENT THO

luca.fantilli i bet u suck at bowling

→ yourusername YOU’VE SEEN ME BOWL

→ luca.fantilli that’s been collectively forgotten

→ yourusername um WHAT????? I’M BETTER THAN YOU

→ luca.fantilli that’s also been collectively forgotten

→ yourusername oh but u admit to me being better, u just happened to collectively forget

→ _quinnhughes you’re all using collectively wrong just to spite me aren’t you

yourusername

liked by bookerburke_, adamfantilli, _alexturcotte, and 41,002 others

yourusername when he takes you to paint in a field of flowers 🥹🥹

tagged: bookerburke_

view all comments

bookerburke_ hope i’m living up to the expectations 😅

→ yourusername wdym?? ofc u are ☹️

→ bookerburke_ no i’m just saying tho, like you must have high expectations from all the guys you must’ve dated before yk

→ yourusername what i barely dated anyone, i told u this before already 😭

→ bookerburke_ yea but i doubt it lmao

→ yourusername i don’t think we should be doing this in my public comments

→ jamie.drysdale uh?? she’s only dated two other guys and they were a lot less of assholes than you

this comment thread has been deleted

username57 um… we all saw that thread right

→ username11 yes but let’s not talk about it

username63 yo those comments were so uncalled for??? what happened to the “good guy” or was it all just an act??

username44 wtf? the switch-up is crazy and bro CANNOT be talkin to lil drizz like that

username18 don’t tell me he started acting like a dick just cuz she started giving more attention to luke again

adamfantilli the stuffed animals yay

edwards.73 ooh painting 👀

trevorzegras the cowboy hats… are you turning texan

lhughes_06 nice hat

rutgermcgroarty show the finished painting don’t be scared!

colecaufield man where’s all the replies from our lil drizzy 🥲

_quinnhughes kid if this is your attempt at being aesthetic then you’re failing pretty bad

this post has been deleted

next chapter notes ) first off i wanted to say THANK YOU FOR 200 FOLLOWERSSS!! i’m glad at least some of yall enjoy this series lmfaooo and I KNOW I KNOW it was kind of a really quick and sudden shift but there’ll be more development (at least i see it as more development) later on i also know you’re all thinking this is messy as shit but um.. it gets messier! (edit: i changed the layout to make it easier to read LMAO)

tags: @aliaology @hockeyboysarehot @absolutelyhugh3s

#luke hughes #luke hughes fanfic #luke hughes fic #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes x reader #jack hughes #quinn hughes #alex turcotte #cole caufield #trevor zegras #jamie drysdale #mark estapa #dylan duke #mackie samoskevich #ethan edwards #adam fantilli #luca fantilli #rutger mcgroarty

[vvatchword]

In Defense of BioShock Infinite

Although I had preordered BioShock Infinite with all its bells and whistles, I did not actually play it until January 2023. And lordy, I had me another Experience with a capital E. How the hell a bunch of urban Yanks could capture my experience as a queer democratic-socialist atheist struggling with her roots as a rural evangelical-cum-fascist is kinda magical, honestly. As to the game itself, it didn’t hurt how good it looked—the kickass skyhook gun battles—that novel setting—the complex characters—that delicious historical setting—that bloodthirsty critique of America—and to top it all off, they had pulled yet another Cassandra. Hell, speaking of which—not only was the game fun, it was fucking smart. It was intelligent, memorable, and meaningful in a way I hadn’t experienced in video games for years.

Now, back in 2013, when I had realized that I would be spoiled for Infinite, I left the BioShock fandom. After completing the game, I headed to Tumblr to re-engage, wagging my whole body like an excitable golden retriever, only to discover that BioShock Infinite was remarkably absent, and when mentioned, brutally derided. 

“I hate BioShock Infinite and all my friends do, too,” someone said in the tags under a post. 

I was utterly befuddled and deeply sad. I wanted to talk about BioShock Infinite! I wanted to dig into it, uncover unexpected ideas, learn new things, talk shit, make new friends—the full fandom experience. And instead I kept stumbling into hateful diatribes and super-charged disgust.

Obviously, I first looked at myself and my own judgment. Had I missed some obvious problem or misread some theme or dialogue? This wouldn’t be the first time I’d snapped down on a hook. But the more I thought about it, the angrier I got.

There are two parts of BioShock Infinite that are unquestionably terrible: the fridging of Daisy Fitzroy and the false equivalence of violence between haves and have-nots (lol what are the have-nots supposed to do, ask nicely?). Additionally, one could look at the use of real Native American tragedies as tasteless. Personally, I do not—in the same way that I don’t find it tasteless that real war victims were used as inspiration for Splicer deformities. This is what really happened; this is commentary on events that really happened to real people. 

At this point, I’m sure I don’t have to explain why two of these themes are Unequivocally Bad. 

Anyway, I thought that perhaps these were the reasons BSI had been condemned to Super Hell.

I was wrong.

How Criitcsim Werk

This wasn’t the fandom I’d made friends in over 2010. Hell, this wasn’t the fandom of 2013. This was a fandom made up of Babies. They were making their first coltish stumblings into media criticism and with it, dredging up the same brain-dead bullshit from Tumblr circa 2008.

Suddenly I was brought face to face with people who seemed to think that if a character couldn’t be likable or good that the story itself couldn’t be likable or good; that one bad element means the story is unsalvageable (lol u pussies); the implication that one is bad for liking it; the destructive juvenile insistence that media accurately measures its fans’ moral qualities en masse like an astrological sign. This goes far beyond simple like or dislike and plunges head-first into Puritanism: praying loudly on street-corners instead of quietly in a dark corner where God might hear you.

At one point I had a kid go off about how they wouldn’t take time to understand Booker DeWitt’s perspective because he had (fictionally) taken part in a genocide. (That same person said the Native American element had been employed for shock value, a thought that sometimes keeps me up at night, because it is legitimately one of the dumbest criticisms the game has ever received.) At another point I saw someone acting personally offended that (fictional person) Dr. Suchong’s (fictional) data was being stolen (in a fiction) by a (fictional) racist who would (fictionally) take credit for (fictional person) Suchong’s (fictional) inventions “while calling him slurs”. Sure, a better question would have been, “Why would the creative team opt to do this” rather than assume intentional racism from a Jewish creative director with an in-office multi-ethnic team in the year of our lord 2013, but why not handwave the choice with prurient moral dismay so your audience won’t beat you to death with bats? 

It was as though fans were treating these completely fictional characters as real people whose personal gods had opted to torment them, and that their tormentors merited the kind of censure that psychopaths should receive. As I hope all of you understand, this is fucking madness.

More than once I saw people posting about hating the studio or the creative director in ways that seemed intense, unreasoning, and excessive—notably an “I Hate [Irrational Games creative director] Ken Levine” stamp (rofl the more things change amirite). People get so performatively moralistic about it that I started wondering if I missed something big along the way. Was there some secret Voxophone I missed swearing fealty to baby Hitler or some shit?

Double Standards

At the same time, I was utterly confused. BioShocks 1 and 2 both featured some absolutely ghastly bullshit based on real-life horrors and a thick mix of complicated human beings—many of them victims who have become monsters. The fact they are grounded in historical tragedies is a huge part of their appeal. Hell, I don’t think those games would have had half their meaning without World Wars I and II and the threat of a third.

A gay man who feels so cursed by his orientation that he is incapable of intimacy and systematically destroys his ex-lovers—including the man he loves the most. A Korean who survived Japanese occupation and a Jewish Holocaust survivor repeat the violence and traumas exacted upon them and their people, subjecting a new generation to agonies unthinkable. Chasing the shadows of Bolsheviks, a Russian citizen becomes the brutal tyrant that he loathed. A rich lawyer with an easygoing drawl designs a concentration camp and systematically harvests hundreds, if not thousands of political prisoners, selling them out to medical testing for a quick buck.

But a Native man who destroys his own people and class to ensure his own survival and social acceptability is too far? This character is where people drew the line, so much so that the entire game is disavowed? Hell, if you’re just talking about Booker (rather than Comstock), he doesn’t have anywhere near the largest bodycount. If we were to judge on the metric of human misery alone, Booker wouldn’t even hit the top ten. 

Keep in mind that the most-discussed BioShock game on Tumblr is BioShock 2, and that one of the biggest fandom favorites is Augustus Sinclair—the easy-talkin’ Georgia lawyer who sells your character into horrors past all human comprehension, as he sold hundreds before and after you. Sinclair is a motherfucker so vile that BioShock 2 gives you no choice but to murder him. But Sinclair is also pleasant; good-looking to some; spends the whole game making sweet love to your ear; is one of the only true positive experiences you experience in a horror story. Unlike DeWitt, a man who is brutal and awful from step one, Sinclair is smooth and sweet. Unlike DeWitt, Sinclair’s victims are faceless, completely fictional, and carry no political or social baggage.

People fuckin’ ship this guy with Subject Delta, his explicit victim. He’s usually described as a squishy cinnamon roll. In most fanfiction, he often gets to escape to the surface and fuck Delta while helping raise Eleanor as Dad 2. It is rare that I find fanfiction that acknowledges his monsterhood in all its glory. In fact, I can only think of two.

Literacy Comes in Levels

My problem with the over-the-top hatred of BioShock Infinite is along the same lines as my confusion at Twilight and Harry Potter hate: there is so much worse out there (how much do the haters actually engage with media if they think this is that bad—yes, even considering the shitty creators themselves!), the hatred far outweighs the sin committed (in BioShock’s case, the truly bad bits are not central enough to derail the larger narrative), people don’t seem to hate it so much as they want to be seen hating it, fans want to enforce an unspoken rule hating it (bitches this is poison. Stop this), and there’s something about the hate that stinks of poor reading comprehension.

A great metric for general literacy is the newspaper. In journalism, you’re writing for the lowest-common denominator, which for years here in the USA has been about a fifth-grade reading level (about 10-11 years old, for my non-American readers). The AP posted an article a couple years back about how the general reading comprehension of Americans needs to be dropped to a third-grade one (8-9 years), and baby, I’m here to say it’s true. 

Most of the problem is that the American education system is shitty as fuck. The rest of it is from an extremely American disdain of intellectualism and the arts. People are not taught how to interpret art or literature—a difficult and subtle skill which involves accepting such truths as “multiple contradictory readings can exist and yet be simultaneously correct”, “the author can be a complete tool and still be right about things”, “the author can be a great person and still write horrifyingly incorrect bullshit”, and “worthwhile works can be ridiculously long and it really is your fault for not having an attention span”. 

Media criticism must be learned through trial, error, asking questions, confidently swaggering into a public space to announce your brilliant insight only to have your ass handed to you (usually by your older self ten years later), being willing to admit you swaggered confidently into a public space to state bullshit and then amending your bullshit only to produce more bullshit, and otherwise making a complete and utter cock of yourself. We are taught to fear and flee pain and failure, despite the fact this is how we learn and improve. Because we judge our value by whether or not we are “smart,” we are afraid of displaying that we don’t know something or might be mistaken–better not to try at all than to reveal ourselves to be fools. And yet the best way to learn is to crash up against someone else and be proven wrong!

American parents are terrified of hurting their children to the point that they spare them cognitive dissonance of any kind, disavowing difficult art—without any appreciation for the fact that art is how we provide safe spaces to explore key human experiences, better preparing us to face those difficult subjects when there are real-world consequences (sex, gender and social expression, grief, violence, predation, illness, interacting with people of different ideologies, whatever new issue is pissing off some smooth-brained old motherfucker somewhere). 

If parents and teachers aren’t teaching us how to interpret art, we’re probably never going to develop the skill at all, or crash unsubtly into it in a piecemeal fashion (hello it me). Another unfortunate side effect is that these readers tend to be blitheringly superficial: they are literally intellectually incapable of reading deeper than the uppermost layer of a text. The curtains are always blue.

And let’s not forget the role moral performatism plays in media criticism, which although faaar from new, has reached hilarious levels in the age of social media. What’s important isn’t understanding something, it’s finding something to symbolically burn at the stake so everyone knows God loves us: please keep loving me, please don’t hurt me, please don’t throw me on the fire—for performatism is not for outsiders. We long for human connection so fucking much that it’s more important to destroy what might point out our fallibilities than it is to let ourselves stand in the furnace and burn out the dross.

What do you think the point of BioShock Infinite was?

Emotional Machines

Let’s face it. Human beings give a lot more credence to how something makes them feel than they do its complex invisible reality. We are not logical creatures; we are emotional ones. Our logic is too new a biological mechanism to override something as powerfully stupid as our primal lizard brains.

Knowing this, let’s take BioShock’s most popular characters. The first two are Subject Delta and Jack Wynand, the protagonists of BioShocks 2 and 1, respectively; and why not? They’re the characters we play. In the first two BioShocks, whether or not you kill Little Sisters determines the ending you receive. In other words, Delta and Jack can only be as “wicked” as the players are. 

How do people want to see themselves? As good. What do people want to see around themselves? Good. (What is “good”? Uh, well,,,,,,) What do they want? Simple moral questions with simple moral answers. And in the first two BioShocks, what is moral is obvious: don’t kill little girls. It’s actually kind of insulting once you say it out loud.

In-fandom, Jack and Subject Delta are almost never painted as murderers or monsters, but as victims and heroes; I saw someone musing about putting Subject Delta on a “gentle giants” poll and I nearly choked on my own tongue. I only saw that musing because someone put Subject Delta and Jack in a “Best Fathers” poll. Nobody in-fandom really considers the “evil” or “complicated” endings as canon choices, despite those versions being fully understandable alternate readings, with a story that doesn’t make sense without them. (I don’t believe Burial at Sea is necessarily canon; in fact, I would bet good money that it is a huge middle finger lol, mostly because a number of brain-dead motherfuckers won’t take unhappiness for an answer.)

Most fandom art and writing is gentle, sweet, good: the symbolic healing of the damaged, the salvation of innocents, the turning of new leaves. These things are not just saccharine sweet—they tend to be unrealistically sweet. Now, far be it from me to demand these works cease. There’s a reason they exist. People write them because they need hope and happiness; I have enjoyed them greatly myself and intend to enjoy them in the future. But if y’all get to have your dessert, I demand the right to have my dinner.

The Colours Out of Earth

Let there be media where the opposite can also be true: where everything is unbelievably complicated and unforgivably fucked-up. Let there be characters who slide slurs into their speech without thinking. Let there be characters who destroy themselves in a thousand different ways, not all of them obvious, some of them horrifying. Let there be well-meaning people struggling with all their mights to do what is right only to destroy everyone around them and then completely miss the fact it’s all their faults. Let there be wickedness painted as goodness, superficial appearances accepted over essential and inherent values, denial of change and transformation, failure to accept that what is old must die and what is new must live, human stupidity and short-sightedness and cruelty in all their flavors. Let’s smash it all together and see how it plays out. 

Oh, badly? No shit! But “badly” isn’t the point. How does it play out?

Let there be a world of gradients—a place I can float from color to color, hue to hue, value to value, while attempting to figure out where, why, how, and by whom they transform—to taste concepts in a hundred different ways, test their textures by a hundred different mediums, insert them into a hundred different contexts. I need to understand why I feel the way I do; I need to understand morality in all its hideous, fragmentary glory. For I have been sold to a ideology of blacks and whites, and let me tell you: it prepares you for nothing, and it will always destroy what is most precious about human life.

I can no longer believe in a world where what is lost always returns, because that world does not exist. I have a reflexive need to come to terms with Finality: what I have lost, what I have destroyed, what will never return, what will never be better. I have a reflexive need to understand Transformation: what I am now, what is as of the present, what has risen shambling from the ashes, what turns to gaze upon me in the darkness. I need to understand what is wretched about me as much as I need to heal myself. How can I heal if I can’t understand how I have hurt and been hurt? 

I need to shine a light in the dark. Not to remodel it, not to destroy it—because I also can’t believe in a world where the wicked is destroyed forever—but to behold it, to learn from it, to view my own impact upon it, to accept how it has become a part of me, to learn how to do my best (because that’s all one can do). I must learn to love people more than causes, I must learn to love people rather than the act of winning, I must learn to love people rather than battle. I need to stand in that endless black with the lamp off and my eyes closed, letting the agony roll over me, burning with a fire that throws no light, rolling back and forth from an intense self-loathing to a fury at a society that destroys what is most valuable because it didn’t make them feel the way they wanted.

The Unforgivable

I believe that there are only two differences between Booker DeWitt and his equally cursed cohorts.

In the Hall of Whores: The Unmarked Slate

First, unlike the previous two games, where you enter the world as a tabula rasa and might roleplay as what you perceive as a good person, you are explicitly put into the shoes of a monster, and nothing you do can save you.

With other shitty BioShock characters, you are passively watching other people, and you are able to hold yourself apart. Sure, everyone else is crazy as fuck from using biological Kryptonite, but you’re too smart to end up a crazy fucking asshole like them! Sure, you are now technically a mass murderer, but those fuckers deserved it, damn it! 

“Look at this crazy bastard!” you say, rolling your eyes at the Steinmans and Cohens and Ryans and Fontaines. “It sure is a great thing I’m not a crazy bastard!”

You are able to escape acknowledging that you, too, in certain circumstances, might be the crazy bastard. You are being challenged to stand in the body of a person who has committed unforgivable sins. Imagine if you yourself committed those sins. Imagine what sins you have already committed. Imagine what brutalities you cannot take back. Imagine what horrors you have wreaked just by breathing.

“Ahhhh!” said players, probably. “What do you mean I’m not allowed to be good?”

Because that’s what the game was designed to do. Because “good” is a fucking cop-out and if it’s how you live with yourself wait until you find out you’ve been doing horrifying bullshit all your life without question. You can be evil by association through no fault of your own.

Original Sin

Second, the plight of Native Americans is a sin that non-Natives will always carry, and the socially conscious are aware of this even if they don’t know how to put it into words. The state of affairs being what it is, it is unlikely that First Peoples will ever be treated humanely, much less have their land returned. They must struggle for scraps of what is rightfully theirs while we lounge on their corpses. We cannot help but benefit from their destruction; we are made unwitting partners with our forebears; we steal the fruits of their lands and make mockeries of their faiths and identities. We have destroyed part of what made this world fascinating and unique and most of it can never be returned. Even if everything were to be made right tomorrow, their genocide is a sin that we will carry until we die, because the only reason we could be here at all is because they were killed. 

The obvious solution stands before us, but the powers that be are so much greater than we that we are effectively powerless, and achieving anything less than total restoration smacks of anticlimax. 

This is unbearable.

How can one think of oneself as a good person if one sees the good that must be done, but cannot achieve it? If one’s actions are meaningless? Goodness without action is pretension.

We are all Booker DeWitt. We have all set fire to the tipi. We swept the ashes away, we ignored the sizes of the bones, we built a CVS on their graves, and then we made statues and holidays commemorating Native Americans like the world’s cheapest “Thinking of You” card. We have de-fanged them, transformed them into cardboard cutouts, and set them up as cute little side characters in our sweeping American dream.

Booker is not a man. Booker is America and Americans—and America and Americans are monstrous: one part hypocrisy, two parts incessant violence, three parts constant peacocking, and four parts dumb as a stump.

The Monsters We Make

Outside of the message about “choice,” an enormous part of BioShock’s thematic ensemble is the creation of monsters. How are monsters created? Who or what is responsible for creating them? What do the monsters think made them the ways they are? Can a monster be saved? How? Is it enough to acknowledge you did wrong and want to be a better person?

Maybe most people are aware on some instinctive level of what facing one’s own monsterhood means. No one wants it. It’s not fun. It hurts. It’s embarrassing. It’s destructive. It’s admitting you don’t have it all together and might never, ever—that despite your best actions, you can have it horribly wrong at any point. In an age where we demand moral perfection, it demands vulnerability: you must admit that sometimes you’re the racist, the transphobe, the sexist, the nationalist, the classist, the homophobe, the violent, the wrong, the dumbfuck. 

Human beings are not built to be moral; human beings are built to survive. We so rapidly learn how to deal with our contexts at such young ages that we don’t have the time or capabilities to question why those contexts are the ways they are or why it is demanded we perform the ways we do.

In a very real way, BioShock Infinite demands vulnerability of us. It demands you look in the mirror and see what is monstrous in you—how you have been created—manufactured—a tool, a machine, a trained animal. It asks you to recognize that you can be a monster simply by association. And if we can’t look into the mirror and truly acknowledge that monsterhood, we run very real risks of becoming or enabling those monsters in one way or another.

Worst of all: perhaps monsterhood isn’t optional. Perhaps the monster was inside of us from the very beginning. It’s not a matter of if you become a monster, but when, under what circumstances, by whose hand. What is more, believing the “right” moral stances will not save you. Monsterhood can afflict anyone, in any ideology, any political stance, in any social movement, in any faith. The only element that can save you is to truly love other people, and even then, you can fail, for there can be states where there is no winner and ways to misread how best to treat another person.

Environment and Society: Context Will Not Be Denied

BioShock 1’s original ending is Jack-as-monster, regardless of how many children he saves, regardless of your feelings as player. He passes through the gauntlet of Rapture, but he has supped of its poison. And he wasn’t poisoned when he entered Rapture the second time—he was poisoned the minute he was conceived. He was born of it. He had no hope of ever escaping it—he never could have—he’d never had a choice to begin with.

No matter what choices you make in BioShock Infinite, Elizabeth will always kill you. Why? Because she has seen every world—every context—every limitation—every boon. And there is no way to stop what has been; there is no way to undo what has been done. The minute you have committed to a decision, you have split the universe; there is no telling what kind of person it will make you. In fact, there’s no telling which of your decisions will matter at all. Only Elizabeth can see because she is the unlimited future: your offspring stands before you, judge and jury, and you will have no choice but to accept her verdict, for despite your name, you are incapable of controlling how you are interpreted. 

Elizabeth sits across from you in the boat and stares without blinking. She sees a million million similar Bookers. Some are a little bit taller, some a little bit shorter, some a little heavier or lighter. Some more-resemble one grandparent or another. They have different colored ties. This one blinks when rain hits him in the eyeball. That one took a brutal beating back on the airship and one eye is swollen shut. That one can’t stop shaking; this one is unable to speak at all; one hasn’t yet lost hope, although even he doesn’t realize it.

They all lowered the torch to the tipi.

The baptism determined Comstock; what determined Booker?

Why Booker Is

In BioShock 1, characters are often stand-ins for larger concepts. Thus Ryan stands in as Ayn Rand’s Objectivist Ubermensch; Bill McDonagh as Andrew Ryan’s conscience; Diane McClintock as the citizenry of Rapture; Captain Sullivan as law and order; Frank Fontaine as the truest expression of Objectivism in its distilled form.

Who is Booker? Most importantly: why is he?

Booker is a fictional character with a brutal background based on historical events, alternative and true. Booker might be Lakota; Booker might have undergone forced Anglicization; Booker might have been ripped from his parents; Booker is a product of violence, perhaps literally. Booker is American exceptionalism distilled. Booker is the past in constant judgment of itself, unable to live with itself and unable to die. Booker destroys what is best in him and around him in exchange for belonging. Booker has sold the future to absolve his sins. Booker has sold his daughter because he is a fictional character in a work of fiction who needs to be propelled.

Booker is a shell, a sluice, an environment. Booker is the broken shape you are meant to fill, horrified. His internal shape should torture you as it has tortured him: the messy slaggy soul of a shitty tin soldier.

Does Booker take the baptism and become Comstock? If so, it might be his second one. His last name literally means “the white.” His first name can mean “author.” It is most likely his second name: an attempt to rewrite himself. And when he was unable to rewrite himself the first time, when the cognitive dissonance boiled at the edges of his skull, he found there was only one way to cleanse himself the second: to remake the world entirely. To force transformation on everyone else. To take vengeance on a world that could never love him, never want him—to create a world that has no choice but to love him. If he can’t change the world’s mind, he’ll change the world.

Note what he opts to do: to take the fight to the environment–to the unyielding universe.

Context Is Everything

It is no mistake that BioShock Infinite occurs in 1912: the sinking of the Titanic is often credited with ending an unfettered optimism, a period when the Western world believed technology had brought the human race into a golden age. With World War I—which would follow a mere two years later—came modern warfare and all the horrors thereof, not the least of which was the realization that humans had created a kind of war that could destroy the entire world. World War I also seeded the rise of the United States: much of the wealth of warring Europe—itself fat on the blood of subjugated peoples and stolen lands—would rattle into America’s coffers.

It is also no mistake that BioShock 1 directly follows World War II. With WWII came a heightened terror—that this war is not the last war, that there will never be an end to war, that war will go on expanding and expanding until it has consumed us all. World War III would not be denied: prettily packaged in the ideals of its children, it simply followed the utopians down to their underwater tombs. According to BioShock 1’s original ending, World War III is not a matter of if—it’s a matter of when.

But even more important than the history in the BioShock games are their settings. Mute leviathans, Rapture and Columbia determine all of your behaviors: from where you can exist in space to all of your desires and goals to how you choose to present yourself to how you opt to behave. Isolated in extremism—whether that extremism is the crushing depths of the ocean or the unbearable lightness of the air—most of their power is that they simply cannot be escaped. You can’t outrun them. They are everywhere. They are everything.

Like Lovecraft before it, BioShock acknowledges the greatest horror of all: you cannot escape your context. Your context does not only involve your immediate surroundings. It is also historical; contains zeitgeists from various cultures and subcultures; is filled with pressures both personal and impersonal, human and nonhuman. Many of these forces can hurt you. Many more can destroy you. What you do to survive depends very much on where, when, and with whom you must live.

Human beings are not built to be moral.

The Death of the Future

In the film Operation, Burma!, a soldier asks Errol Flynn: “Who were you before the war?”

“An architect,” says Flynn.

Who were you? Because that “you” doesn’t matter now. That “you” is irrelevant. So you’re an architect. What the war does to you; what these deaths mean to you; your past, your education, your loves and desires and forward motivation, the you that could have been outside war, the you that slogs alone into the brutal future—all completely irrelevant. Your forebears don’t care so long as you can bleed. 

Children are the manufactured tools of their creators—helpless before the enormous strength of their elders and the zeitgeists that enclose them, poisoned by their parents’ insecurities and flaws, utilized like weapons regardless of the cost—often with great love.

Consider something more than the traumatized culture: consider the society filled with traumatized children; consider the traumatized society. Consider channeling children through that trauma over and over and over again, if you can. Poisoned—poisoned—poisoned—all of us poisoned. Poisoned by those who loved us most. Poisoned by the people we trusted. Poisoned by the people who meant to make a better world.

I believe it is notable that creative director Ken Levine is Jewish; I have read from multiple accounts that the European Jewish diaspora was uniquely traumatized from the Holocaust and passed that trauma down upon their own families. I sometimes wonder if he saw that firsthand.

The fathers eat sour grapes; their children’s teeth are set on edge.

Choice: Player Expectations and Entitlement

For players who experienced BioShocks 1 and 2 with their multiple endings (Good, Bad, and “ok bye then I guess” respectively), it must have been jarring to suddenly reckon with being a monster. How often I see players grousing that nothing they do will change their wicked pasts! These players completely miss that the only meaningful choice had already been made, that it had nothing to do with the player at all, and even if they had been there, DeWitt was still unforgivable. The only way to go on was to bow out and allow the future to redefine herself.

Nobody was ready for that shit. 

Like it or not, BioShock 1 had set a precedent. Not everyone’s going to read up on creator intentions. If any keyword came blaring through the noise, it would have been “choice.” Most players only recognize choice by the ability to make it, not the absence of it, and most of them weren’t equipped to recognize that its lack was the point. The meaningless choices were commentary, and they were as much about the player as they were about DeWitt himself. Not every choice will be meaningful, will it? And there will be choices you make that will be momentous, but they will seem very small when you make them.

Because most players had experienced what they thought was a basic moralistic tale in the first two games, and would see Infinite not as reflection upon America’s destructive personality, its obsession with a meaningless Good/Bad duocracy, and the infinite, cyclical nature of violence, they saw Booker’s death as corrupted artsy claptrap.

“I did the good schuut,” they say. “I want the good schuut end. Where happy end??? Where treat :(”

Bitch the future is here. 

Time to die.

It’s Not Me, It’s You

Generally I despise essays that end with, “But the real fault lay with the clueless motherfuckers who played the game!” Often, if enough people complain, there’s something to it; the message has been obscured somehow. Details or explanations weren’t clear or intuitive enough, some mechanism isn’t working somewhere, some character needs to talk more or less, some setting needs to be transformed. O artist: stop whining and get cracking. If everywhere you go smells like shit, it’s time to look under your shoe. 

But sometimes it’s true that a piece of media is on a level folks aren’t equipped for. Think of every literature and art class you’ve ever had, if you’ve been fortunate enough to have one. There’s always someone scoffing in a back row, like here are all these jokers making more of something than they should. Similarly, some of you have been arguing with me this entire time, saying: “I just wanted a video game. I just wanted to shoot something and feel better and instead I get this bullshit ending that makes no sense.”

First of all, smart bullshit (and even fucked-up attempts at smart bullshit! Hi BioShock 2) gets to exist on this Earth along with Gmod and Roblox or Schuut Big Tits 84 (there are 84 tits and you must shoot them all. They explode into smaller tits) or whatever-the-fuck-else you think is a worthwhile gaming experience. Second of all, miserable bullshit also gets to exist, and what did you fucking expect if you played through either BioShocks 1 or 2? When you hear a football player quavering out in the darkness for his mom to pick him up, how’d that make you feel? What did you think was going to happen to Jack after pounding back the entire Plasmid library, the cancer cocktail that explicitly destroys the fuck out of its users? Third of all, if you missed the smart bullshit going on in BioShock 1 and didn’t think BioShock Infinite might be larger in scope in more ways than one, that’s on you. Fourthly, if you were simply satisfied with saving like, 15 kids from a violently-perishing city of thousands and call it good, I mean… is that really where your thoughts end? Are you really that fucking small?

It’s Not You, It’s Me

You ever meet those motherfuckers who talk shit about Shakespeare or modern art? And you’re just left there staring with dead eyes at this poseur who mistakes playing devil’s advocate for intelligence, cheek resting on your fist, thinking about the fanfic you’re writing, wondering who it’s for, remembering that all your smut-writing friends get ten times the viewers, and considering throwing yourself in front of a bus.

Yeah, there’s a personal element to this: the fact that BioShock Infinite is the kind of art I like and long for and want to make myself, the fact that the game was successful and yet the studio was closed, the way its DLC was so rushed that the story plopped out like half-baked mystery meat—realizing that the same forced rush was at 2K’s behest for BioShock 2, as well, and wondering how good art can ever be made in this unforgiving capitalist hellscape. The game was weirdly niche and I’m not 100% sure I’ll ever experience anything quite like it again. And with the whiners in this fandom, the loud ones controlling the narrative, some fresh brain-dead exec in some brain-dead publisher might be like: “We must keep it safer and simpler for these fuckin babby adult!”

Nah bitch nah. Naaaah. Cry some more while I enjoy me my fucking dinner. I’ll eat it while making loud smacking noises and keeping unbroken eye contact. Come here. Let’s look at each other. It’ll be like Lady and the Tramp but we want to punch each other. What truer form of love can there be here in the modern world?

I keep having to remind myself that this response isn’t new. I keep having to remind myself of my place. I keep having to remind myself why I write, why I read, why I like to experience art to begin with. It’s not for the reasons other people do it. Oh, I want the same emotional release as everyone else, I want the same rollicking plots, I adore the same tropes. I seek out everything and anything for a good time; I’ll read Moby Dick today and a smutty 5,000-word abortion with the world’s most suspect grammar tomorrow. I don’t give a shit if it’s low- or high-brow; there are all kinds of ways to have fun and there are all kinds of ways to engage with art, and lord knows I’ve done my share of smooth-brain criticism. The problem is that I’ve always wandered off by myself, sunk into an all-consuming reverie, on tracks that no one else ever seems to be on, and then looked up to talk excitedly about something only to realize I’m alone. And whose fault is that?

By the same token, maybe I haven’t talked enough. Maybe I spend too much time with my mouth shut. Maybe I haven’t stood up enough for things that are worth our time, worth talking up, worth setting on pedestals.

I tell you, BioShock Infinite will stand the test of time. It’s too good for this. It’s too good for you, warts and all. Some of you will grow to understand that; some of you won’t; many of you will shrug and go on with your lives (and this is fine; it is only a video game). But I’ve truly not seen anything like it. I can’t believe a mainstream video game was allowed to be so fucking brutal about the American juggernaut, and what’s more, that it sold like hotcakes. Plus, I can’t think of any works in recent memory that have struck me so close to my own heart. No creative work has made me start beating a monster’s face into a washbasin for ten hours only to lift her by the scalp and see my own eyes looking back.

Look into those eyes. See your own stupid impulses pouring out. Your own stupid excuses, your violences, your sins—your claws, your teeth, your costumes, your hilarious attempts at interpretive dance. The beast doth protest too much.

O, monster—behold thyself—and tremble.

#bioshock #bioshock 2 #bioshock infinite #bioshock infinite burial at sea #booker dewitt #subject delta #jack wynand #augustus sinclair #essays #video games #spoilers #vvatchword #vvbsreceipts

[wrishwrosh]

re: tags on labor in historical fiction post, would be very interested to hear what the four examples you mentioned are!!

ok u know what that tag WAS bait, thank you for taking it. technically speaking these aren't works dealing strictly with labor in historical fiction, they are my four treasured examples of BUREAUCRAT FICTION (so not NOT about labor in history?) i was gonna try to make this post pithy and short but then i remembered how extremely passionate i am about this microgenre i made up. so sorry.

bureaucrat fiction is not limited by genre or format but criteria for inclusion are as follows: long and detour-filled story about functionary on the outside of society finding unexpected success within a ponderously large and powerful System/exploring themes of class and physicality and work and autonomy and what it means to hold power over others beneath the heartless crushing wheels of empire/sad little man does paperwork. also typically long as hell. should include at least one scene where the protagonist is unironically applauded-perhaps for the first time in their life-for filling out a form really good. without further ado:

soldier's heart by alex51324. the bureaucracy: british army medical corps during wwi. the bureacrat: mean gay footman/new ramc recruit thomas barrow. YEAH it's a downton abbey fic YEAH it's a masterpiece. i've talked about it before at length, my love has not faded. the crowning moment of bureaucracy is a long interlude where thomas optimizes the hospital laundry (this actually happens twice or maybe three times)

hands of the emperor by victoria goddard. the bureaucracy: crumbling fantasy empire some time after magical apocalypse. the bureacrat: passionate late-career clerk from the hinterlands cliopher mdang. i reread this book every winter bc it is as a warm bath for my SAD-addled brain and every time i neglect all my responsibilities to read all nine billion pages in three days. it puts abt 93% of the worldbuilding momentum into elaborating all of the ministries and secretaries and audits necessary to run a global government and like 7% into the magic and stuff. there are also several charming companion novellas and an equally long sequel that dives more into the central relationship between cliopher and the emperor which i highly recommend if you like gentle old man yaoi and/or magic, but there's more bureaucracy in HOTE.

the cromwell trilogy by hilary mantel. the bureaucracy: court of henry viii. the bureaucrat: thomas cromwell, the real guy. curveball! it's critically acclaimed booker prize winning rpf novel wolf hall! mantel is really interested in particular ways of gaining and maintaining power in delicate and labyrinthine systems like the tudor court, specifically in strongmen who use both physical intimidation and metaphysical manipulation to succeed. under these conditions i do think my best friend long-dead historical personage thomas cromwell counts as Bureaucrat Fiction (as do danton and robespierre in a place of greater safety. bonus rec.)

going postal by terry pratchett. the bureaucracy: fantasy postal service of ankh-morpork. the bureaucrat: conman, scammer, and little freak moist von lipwig. this is definitely shorter and lighter than the other three entries on the list, sort of a screwball take on the bureaucrat. but the mail is such a classic bureaucracy thing? who doesn't love thinking about the mail? also contains a key genre element which is a fraught sexual tension with the person immediately above the protagonist in their hierarchy, who is also their god-king and boyfriend-dad. you can't tell me vetinari isn't torturing moist psychologically AND sexually.

anyway sorry about all this. if you've read any of these come talk to me about them. bureaucrat fiction recs welcomed with the openest possible arms.

#this post was very challenging to write bc i cannot spell the word bureaucracy to save my life. EVERY time i forget where the U goes #long post #asks #bureacracy. beaureaucracy. bereaucracy. fuck french

[bumblesimagines]

Midnight Beach

Part 20

Request: Yes or No

Taglist: @nathan-no @hyubg @ash455  @gills-lounge

~~~

"Jesus," A sharp exhale left him at the sight of the purple and green bruises scattered throughout Topper's face. He looked exhausted and pissed. (Y/N)'s nose crinkled at his swollen eye and he dug his teeth into his lip as the guilt began gnawing at him. It should've been him. "Shit, Top... I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," Topper sucked in a breath, forearm flexing as he lifted the dumbbell and curled it toward his body. "I was tryin' to do the right thing. I didn't want the party to get ruined by a Pogue again. Now everyone's gonna think I'm weak."

"Nobody thinks you're weak, Top. They think John B's a psycho." If the angry social media posts made after the party held any truth to them, John B wouldn't be able to step on Figure Eight without risking getting jumped. (Y/N)'s thumb rubbed against the sore skin of his index finger. His knuckles tingled but the light pain reminded him things could've been worse had Topper not stepped in. The dirty blonde finally set his dumbbell aside and stood up from the bench, his brows fixed into a deep furrow.

"I'm pressing charges. Mom says it counts as simple battery and he could face jail time for what he did." Topper told him, and the lack of smugness or pride on his face felt unnatural. Kelce or Rafe would've been celebrating at the prospect of putting a Pogue in jail, never mind John Booker Routledge. But Topper had spent the whole night in a hospital ensuring the beating hadn't done serious, life-threatening damage. Even Dr. Thornton, a woman who rarely wore her emotions on her sleeve, had looked terrified for her son.

"I..." (Y/N) swallowed. He and John B weren't friends but the Pogues still cared about him. They liked him, accepted him, and treated him with kindness even after all the hell his fellow Kooks put them through. They'd been through hell and back as a team, as a family. But even as an 'Honorary Pogue', Kiara and JJ had stood silently aside when John B lunged for him. "I-I can testify. I probably would've been in your spot if you hadn't stepped in, Top."

Topper stared at him with a flurry of emotions swirling in his blue eyes. The furrow in his brow softened and his lips pulled up into a wide, thankful smile. He stepped forward and swung his sweaty arms around the teenager, tugging him into a sweet yet slightly wet embrace. "Thank you, man. It means a lot."

"Anytime." (Y/N) leaned back and watched Topper turn around to fetch his water bottle, teeth catching the inside of his cheek when he felt his phone vibrate in his back pocket. He fished it out and tapped on the screen to open the newest message.

Sarah C. Where are you? I need to talk to you

"I'm gonna run upstairs and take a quick shower. Just wait here, alright?" Topper tossed a lopsided smile his way and (Y/N) nodded, forcing a smile for him and watching him disappear up the stairs. Releasing a deep sigh, (Y/N) looked back down at his phone and muted the contact, tapping out of the chat right before a new message could pop up. 

                    ✽        ✽       ✽       ✽       ✽       ✽

The courthouse felt imposing. It loomed over them in all its ancient glory and made (Y/N)'s stomach twist. He'd gone inside once for an elementary school field trip, but the only memories retained from that day were of Kelce's group of friends bristling at the nearby kids from the Cut as if they were ferals protecting their territory. He remembered Sarah Cameron, back when her cheeks still had some kid chub and she constantly kept her hair in braids. The only time they'd interacted back then had been brief eye contact when her friends whispered in her ear about his parents. 

He wondered how different things would've been if he hadn't befriended her that night on the rooftop. How easier life would've turned out.

"Guys!" His attention dropped toward the street where Sarah ditched her bike to run toward them. She skidded to a quick stop, her hair tumbling over her shoulders and face. She quickly brushed it out of her way and shot them a wide, perfectly curated smile that promptly fell when she fully took in Topper's face. "Holy shit, Top."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I look like shit." Topper chuckled dryly, tone laced with subtle annoyance. For someone who looked at Sarah as if she were Aphrodite herself for half of his life, Topper looked rather irritated with her mere presence. His shoulders deflated slightly and he jerked his head toward the courthouse and his waiting mother. "We're kinda busy, Sarah."

"W-Wait, you're actually pressing charges? And you're testifying, (Y/N)?" Her brown eyes widened, frantically jumping between the two.

Topper scoffed quietly and glanced back toward his mother when she called out to them to hurry up. "Yes, I'm pressin' charges. John B deserves to face justice for what he did. I'm not lettin' him off just 'cause he's your little boyfriend."

"I-I know, I just..." Sarah's breathing came out in short puffs and she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. "(Y/N), I need to talk to you. Top, please, just... wait here." 

Without waiting for a response from either boy, Sarah grasped (Y/N)'s arm and pulled him down the sidewalk until they were a good distance away and Topper's stare no longer burned into their backs. Sarah released him and tucked her hair behind her ears as she turned to face him, the look on her face already telling him everything he needed to know. She fiddled with her fingers and sighed softly before finally tilting her head up to look at him. 

"Singh kidnapped Big John. They're in South America trying to find El Dorado and John B needs to go help him. He can't lose his dad again, (Y/N). He just got him back. I-I need you to convince Topper to drop the charges so John B can go find his dad. Who knows, maybe they'll decide to live away from Kildare and never come back." Sarah spoke softly, gently, in a tone he often heard her use on her father and sister to convince them of something. She delicately took his hands into hers and intertwined their fingers together, fingertips gently rubbing against his skin. "John B and I are done. For good. But he's still my friend and I have to help him." 

"You're defending someone who beat someone while he was unconscious, Sarah. If nobody had stepped in, Topper would still be lying in a hospital bed. Why- Why are you trying to help someone who doesn't give a shit about you? If you were in his spot, he'd be halfway to South America right now shit-talking you to JJ and Kie. He likes you because you're a Cameron willing to solve all his problems." Anger bubbled in his chest and he ripped his hands from hers. Sarah blinked, eyes nearly flooding with tears, and she reached out, chasing after his touch. 

"Remember how good things were on the island? Remember how you worked together? We're Pogues. We fight sometimes but at the end of the day, we're family! And- And I know I ask a lot of you, (Y/N), but I really need this one favor. Do it for me, please. Not for John B or anyone else. For me. For Sarah." Her lips trembled, fingers lightly squeezing his arms as she gazed at him desperately. "I care about him but I don't love him, not anymore. I-I love you."

I love you. Words that rang like a church bell in his ears. Words that he barely heard directed toward him. His breath caught in his throat and then he released it in a scoff. "I don't believe you." He murmured. Sarah let out a shaky breath, brows twitching into a furrow as teardrops slipped down from her lashes. 

"What? (Y/N)-"

"You don't even know what love is, Sarah. You- John B's a dickhead, we all can see that. But even he doesn't deserve to be dragged along while you try to make up your mind. Everything was good between us and then you go off and kiss John B. You come back 'married' and when that falls apart, you come running back to me. You cuddle up with John B on the island and the second we get home you can't leave me alone. Now, you're doing everything to help him and his dad. Can't you see how fucked up this is? How confusing it is?"

"I know, I know. I-I made the wrong choice. I picked the wrong guy-"

"Did you pick the wrong guy or did we chase the wrong girl?" The tears tumbled down her cheeks freely and her hands dropped to her sides, head tilting downward in guilt. Or shame. He couldn't quite tell. "You've got a whole life ahead of you to meet more guys. You don't need to settle for anyone right now. You don't have to waste my time or John B's time trying to decide when you might not even be talking to either of us in five years. And you don't need to fix everyone's problems. Some people need to handle their own shit or they'll never learn." 

"I don't want to lose you. Not now... not ever." Sarah whispered, her voice shaky and barely audible. 

He swallowed. "I know. I want to- I want to stay friends. Just friends. My place is always available for you, Sarah, but I... I don't want to be strung along anymore. You should stay single for a while. Figure yourself out and figure out what you actually want." (Y/N) felt a weight lift off his shoulders and he let them slump, finally feeling in control of his life. Sarah remained silent, arms curling around herself, and he turned around, heading back to Topper and his irritated mother. 

Topper perked up at the sight of him, seemingly noting the lack of Sarah's presence, and tilted his head. "We good?"

"Uhm... I need you to do me a favor. A quick favor, Top. John B's dad needs his son right now. He's in some trouble somewhere else and only John B can help him. I need you to tell Shoupe to let him walk free and if John B comes back after helping his dad, you can press charges and have him arrested on the spot." Topper's jaw clenched and (Y/N) stepped forward to take him by the shoulders. "I know it's fucked, trust me, I know. But... I won't be able to sleep at night without knowing if I could've helped someone get their father back. It's shitty and unfair that he'll be walking free but I promise you, I will testify if he decides to come back. I will tell you the moment he comes back and you can call Shoupe to take him to the station, alright?"

Topper quietly stared at him, hardened blue eyes studying his face. "Sarah got to you, didn't she? I'm telling you, man, if you keep going back to those fuckin' Pogues-"

"If they need my help to get Big John, I will help them but it'll be the last thing I do for and with them. They're- They're good people with good intentions but I'm not going to let them ruin my life. I don't need a criminal record or need to go through another life-or-death situation. I'm fine living without a treasure hunt or going on some adventure. Those things are... They're just not for me." 

"You promise?"

"I promise."

                    ✽        ✽       ✽       ✽       ✽       ✽

"South fucking America? What, is this Big John guy Indiana Jones or something? And El Dorado? Like the movie with the hot chick?" (Y/N) snorted quietly, eyes locked on the action movie playing on his television. Liv scoffed quietly and shoved her hand into the bowl of popcorn, nearly spilling some over onto the bed while she grabbed a handful and stuffed her mouth. 

"I hate to break it to you, Liv, but that movie was inspired by El Dorado. The legend of a city of gold has been around for ages." 

"And you're telling me some billionaire from Barbados is trying to track down a legend? He could be dining at five-star restaurants and taking trips to Bora Bora or Fiji or- fuck, I don't know, Dubai. And he's chasing a legend about gold? When he could be picking up the phone and getting a diamond hand-delivered to him? Money can buy you happiness but it certainly doesn't buy you a couple of braincells." Liv said between mouthfuls. (Y/N) sighed through his nose and reached around Liv to pick up his coke can from the nightstand, only pausing when his phone screen lit up with a new message. He took a swing from the coke and sat up, lifting his phone toward his face and squinting through the darkness. 

JJ (Y/N) come 2 chatoe rn

Pope Chateau*

JJ its an emrgency

Pope It's not but we need you

Licking the soda and hint of butter off his lips, (Y/N) cleared his throat and turned to look at Liv. "I'm going to head out. I'll be back soon." He told her and shoved his phone into his back pocket. Liv blinked owlishly at him, mouth agape as she watched him put his sneakers on and grab his car keys.

"What? But we just started the marathon!" 

"I know, I know. I'll make it up to you by suffering through one of your little Hallmark movies." He flashed her a grin and spun on his heel, hearing the sound of her huffing and puffing growing distant when he descended the stairs. Stepping out into the cool night air, (Y/N) took in a deep breath and reminded himself: just one more adventure and nothing more. 

The drive to the Chateau had been a quick one with barely any traffic on the road. The sight of the raggedy, worn-down mobile home made him grimace, the thought of its owner leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He could see the Pogues gathered around near the old tree, the lights intertwined around the branches illuminating the ground below. (Y/N) shut off the engine of his car and climbed out, closing the door behind him and drawing their attention. JJ grinned widely at the sight of him and swung his arm around his shoulder when he grew near.

"There's my little prince! I knew we could count on you."

"Don't celebrate just yet." (Y/N) met John B's gaze, and the sight of the bruise on his cheek nearly made his lips quirk. "The Thornton's aren't doing anything for now. They're not gonna let it go that easy."

"Still," JJ insisted and squeezed his shoulder. "It means a lot to us, man. Right, John B?"

"Yeah, thanks a lot." The brunette forced out through gritted teeth. Some satisfaction bubbled in his stomach at his forced words and he gave the others a quick glance. They all seemed equally happy, even a little excited. JJ bit his bottom lip and lightly shook his shoulders, finally spilling the beans.

"We're flying down to Orinoco thanks to Miss Cameron over here who convinced Ward to let her borrow the plane. We're going on a search and rescue mission to South America first thing tomorrow morning, ain't that right? We're flying first class, baby." JJ laughed, earning playful eye rolls from Kiara and Pope. John B cracked a small smile and lifted a beer to his lips. (Y/N)'s eyes gravitated toward Sarah and she offered a thankful yet sad smile. 

"I, uhm... I have something else I want to share." She piped up and cleared her throat. "Since we've gotten back from the island, I've done some things that have hurt some of you. And- I don't- Poguelandia, guys. It's all I've been able to think about. We were all together on that island and it was a good thing, and I don't want to ruin a good thing. And I... I just want to know, are we all still in? Are we still all together? Because I am." 

Kiara smiled softly. "Yeah. Always." She replied and stepped toward the blonde to embrace her warmly. Cleo and Pope smiled widely at her and moved in as well, each giving her a tight, reassuring hug while sharing chuckles and murmurs. JJ kept his arm snugly around (Y/N)'s shoulders and pulled him along, wrapping his other arm around Pope's waist. They looked toward John B expectantly and after a moment of rubbing his sneaker into the grass, he moved forward to join them. He wrapped one arm around Sarah's shoulder and the other around (Y/N)'s. 

"We're really doing this, huh?" Pope laughed.

"I think we should let loose tonight," JJ smirked widely. "What do ya'll think? We crack a couple beers, smoke a joint?"

"Definitely." Kiara giggled and her warm gaze lingered on the rowdy blonde for a minute too long. JJ whooped and slapped his hands against Pope and (Y/N)'s backs before reaching into his pocket and pulling out the joint. Pope shook his head at his antics and headed inside with Cleo and (Y/N) trailing behind.

And Christ, John B needed to do a deep clean of his house. (Y/N) stepped over a crinkled, stained covered shirt and lightly kicked aside an empty box of Cheerios. Cleo rummaged through the pantry and tossed snacks onto the table, some bags half-full and others barely touched, while Pope searched the living room for any board games he could find. JJ sauntered into the room with the others, already reeking of weed. He fiddled with the radio until a song he liked came on and plopped down on the couch to watch Pope spill some dominos on the table and brush aside the available snacks. 

"(Y/N)," Sarah called out softly and nodded toward one of the rooms, specifically the one John B had gone into. He took the beer offered by JJ and drank some, letting it settle into his system before he followed her into the bedroom and watched the door close. (Y/N) leaned back against the wall, taking in the equally messy bedroom floor and poster-covered walls. The itch to start cleaning crawled up his back. 

"So," John B began, awkwardly and forcibly. "What do you want, Sarah?"

"To get rid of any bad blood between the two of you. I... I fucked up. I hurt you both and neither of you deserved it. I'm sorry, really, I am. I'm not asking for you to be best friends but... it'd be good for all of us if you two were at least on decent terms. We're a family. Families fight and argue but at the end of the day, they come back together. If we're going to be a team-"

"I'm okay with.. apologizing. But, uh, JJ didn't give me much of a choice back there." (Y/N) inhaled and their questioning eyes jumped to him. "I'm helping out this time 'cause I don't want Singh to hurt anybody. After this, after we get back from South America... I'm not joining ya'll on any more adventures or treasure hunts or anything like that. The Pogues are great. It's fun but it's not a forever sort of thing for me."

"Fuckin' knew you'd ditch us eventually." John B murmured bitterly and shook his head.

"Pope lost his scholarship, Kiara's relationship with her parents is going down the drain, none of you have actual jobs or went to school regularly. I want to go to school, I want a diploma, I want to have a life that doesn't revolve around other people. I... I had a plan, even before meeting Sarah. I told the others about it but I don't know if they remember or think I changed my mind. I'm leaving the Outer Banks. The second I can get my hands on a high school diploma and enroll in college, I'm getting out of here. The plan was always to become roommates with Liv somewhere else."

"You- You can't just up and leave us," Sarah said quietly. 

"The Pogue life is fun. It's great. But I've had enough shit on my plate these past few years. I'm tired, Sarah. It's not stupid or wrong to want a normal, regular life where I'm not constantly fleeing from someone or risking my well-being. If you want to be treasure hunters or constantly go on new adventures then great. I hope that life's fun for you. It wouldn't be for me. So, I'm sorry for hooking up with Sarah, John B. It was shitty of me. I'm not sorry for punching you. You've had it coming for a while."

"Yeah, okay, fair." John B sighed and stood up, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry for... everything, I guess. I hope you get what you want. The Pogues will be here if you ever need anything from us." With that, he exited the room and closed the door behind him, leaving the two alone with their thoughts. (Y/N) set aside the beer bottle and slipped his arms around Sarah's shoulders, tugging her carefully into his chest. She buried her face into his shoulder and they stood still like that, listening to the muffled sound of the radio and laughter in the next room. 

"I'm glad you're in my life." She revealed softly and tilted her head upward to look at him. He smiled and brushed the hair out of her face, pushing strands behind her ears and combing through the hair that stuck up from her hectic day. Sarah leaned up and pressed her lips to his in a quick kiss before taking his hand and smiling. "We should enjoy ourselves tonight as Pogues."

#x reader #x you #x y/n #x male reader #obx #outerbanks #outer banks #outer banks x reader #outer banks x y/n #outer banks x you #outer banks x male reader #sarah cameron #sarah cameron x reader #sarah cameron x you #sarah Cameron x y/n #Sarah Cameron x male reader #kiara carrera #topper thornton #john b routledge #jj maybank #pope heyward

[newtonsheffield]

Author Anthony may be my favorite Anthony of yours? (I don't know, I have a new favorite every few months.) Does some version of the night in university end up in Snow Filled Paper? I imagine it'd have to be pretty altered for Kate not to realize what she was reading.

This Anthony is a bit of a hopeless romantic even though he pretends not to be. He’d like everyone to assume he’s a quiet, tortured artist but truth be told, Kate Sharma told him she hates cigarettes and she doesn’t know why anyone would smoke and he hasn’t put a cigarette between his teeth since. He would do anything she asked him to.

There’s a lot about their life at university hidden in that book, carefully disguised as something else. And he sat down to write that chapter so many times. His favourite night. The night he knew absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt that he was in love with her. But he could never bring himself to do it. He wanted to keep it just for them, he didn’t want to share it with the world even disguised.

It’s one of his favourite things now that they’re together actually. The fact that almost every night is like that night. Every night they sit on the sofa, or on the floor of the living room talking about everything and nothing. Her back is pressed against his chest and his arm is slung across her, his chin resting on her shoulder. Sometimes she reads the new pages of his book, her red pen behind her ear and they argue about her edits.

“You are just trying to be purposefully hurtful now.”

Kate clicked her tongue, “Babe, I love you. I love you so much but you do not need this paragraph. It ruins the whole flow.”

“Ah, excuse me,” Anthony tutted, “It’s a window into her motivation.”

“Yeah, and it was just as transparent.”

“That was mean!”

“That’s what you pay me for, Ant.” Kate kissed him quickly, “Did that take the sting away?”

“A little.” Anthony grumbled, “I don’t need a colon there.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

“Remind me why I loved this when we were at uni?”

Kate hummed, turning back to his pages. “You were obsessed with me. This is a good start.”

“A good-? A good start?! Kate! I have a Booker Prize.”

“Of course you do, Baby. And you’ll get another if you make my edits.”

#you never called it what it was #kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton #molly’s asks and answers

[sindirimba]

so i have a certain reading of the end of the movie. by the end, nile feels relieved to have found some reason for her immortality, via copley and his research. but i think she’s unsettled otherwise. leaving her family behind, of course, but also after killing so many people, after seeing what could happen to a person who can’t die. after booker’s expulsion from the group.

one of the first things nile went through after dying was her friends shutting her out and abandoning her. so i watch her at the pub and in copley’s office, the way she’s moving and talking and the expressions on her face, and i just think, she’s thinking about this. thinking about how she felt in that tent.

i think nile would have come back to rescue them regardless because that’s her character, but i think andy saying “we would do the same for you” probably hit her hard. because that’s important to her, that kind of loyalty. that’s the promise she had to remind andy of, the promise to fight no matter what, to do for them what she should do.

and what did she tell booker?

no man left behind. this is important to nile. it’s important to her character, it’s important because she got left behind, it’s important because it matters.

nile believes in the message of the movie, doesn’t she? “we’re not meant to be alone”. and then what happens?

nile argued for an apology, she’s not dismissing what he’s done, but she has her own ideas about how they can deal with it. but the others wanted more, and it’s not like they can kill him, right? so she’s outvoted, so to speak. and i think that really bothers her.

these are the last shots of her in copley’s office, and i think she’s going through a whole lot in these few seconds. she’s found a why, but she’s unsettled by the how going on around her.

#rambling rambling rambling #the old guard

[bray-washed]

Some of you are gonna hate this, disagree with this, get mad at this. Whatever.

Let me say from the jump: CM Punk, 100% should not have assaulted his coworker. Should not have. That’s a fact.

HOWEVER, and this is in no way excusing the actions but this is not ALL his fault like everyone is saying. This entire scenario was building because TK cannot be a boss, that’s not to say TK is a bad person - by all accounts TK is known to be a good person just not a good boss. In TK’s defense (& being in the wrestling business as a booker & promoter myself) it’s hard to be a boss to your friends, because that’s what happened his employees became his friends and that’s a hard position to be put into; however, that does not mean he needs to neglect his duty as a boss and he clearly has. (& in my opinion, is being taken advantage of by people who are using him for his money but that’s a different conversation)

Watching that footage, it’s clear to see that CM Punk was telling the truth. Point blank, what he said happened that night, happened. So that leads me to believe that everything else leading up to that moment also happened. We can’t (conveniently) hear what’s being said but I would guess Jack said something that angered Punk - neither were really showing aggressive behavior, maybe when Jack went to turn away from Punk in the beginning & Punk pulled him back - but like? Jack was turning away mid conversation if I, as a veteran, was trying to talk to a new kids about something & they turned away from me? Yea, I’d pull them back… cause the entitlement is not happening absolutely now.

Seems to me like Jack Perry was being uncooperative from the get-go. Why? Who knows. That’s the real speculation, Punk will say it’s cause of his “friends” (the Young Bucks) influence which is a fair speculation but it could be anything. Jack Perry is young & dumb & is probably forming some kind of ego of “I know better than the old timers” every wrestler gets that mentality for a little while and they need to grow up & out of that mentality.

Punk comes from the era of wrestling where if you talk shit, you get hit - fuck around & find out, if you will… and I as well come from that era & mentality, being a professional is first on my list so I’ve never gotten into a physical fight but it doesn’t shock me or fill me with rage when it does happen - not saying it should but some people need to have those consequences come to light. Jack fucked around and Jack found out.

Now, whatever Punk said to TK, no clue… I don’t think just watching that that TK can say that he feared for his life there was nothing to fear there. Now, we can’t hear anything & I’m sure yelling was happening… but fearing for his life? Be so for real right now Tony, honey, you run a wrestling locker room… arguing is bound to happen… relax.

Genuinely, this showed most of us nothing & I don’t think it did anything to benefit AEW. AEW is just trying to fight fire with fire, for no reason. If TK wants to run a “business” then… do that. Want to know what WWE 100% would never do? Show footage of a former employee in a fight backstage. When all that nonsense when Punk left happened… did WWE show footage of Punk leaving to “prove a point”? No. Ditto for Steve Austin - who ALSO famously took his ball & went home and WWE has camera crew literally everywhere… there have been TONS of fights most likely caught on camera but we’ll never see them why? Cause they are a business.

I think this was a bad idea all around… but that’s just me.

(But also can we please talk about Samoa Joe just pacing back & forth, minding his business, getting pumped for his match…. I don’t know why but that just made me love him more.)

#cm punk #wwe #raw #jack perry #aew dynamite #aew #samoa joe #young bucks

[bisexual-kane]

One particularly obnoxious strand of bad AEW discourse is that Tony Khan is some kind of tyrant booker who forces wrestlers into spots/storylines/promos that are dangerous/uncomfortable.

(Kenny taking bumps Wednesday and Ospreay's shot at Triple H come to mind.)

I may be wrong, but at one time, AEW didn't really function like WWE where Vince dictated everything. Instead, wrestlers pitched their own ideas and Tony gave them a thumbs up or thumbs down.

It's kind of why a lot of WWE refugees like Andrade El Idolo felt like they didn't do much. Without Triple H/Vince dictating a story, what were they to do? Malachi Black in particular totally has the vibes of a guy who has really, really cool ideas--but they are ideas and not stories, so despite House of Black being heavily featured, it feels like they never do anything.

Meanwhile, The Elite (and all of their friends/hangers-on/dick riders) have spent a lot of time developing their own characters and improv skills through New Japan, ROH, PWG, and (I cannot emphasize this enough) BTE. Jon Moxley in particular when he bailed on WWE talked up a lot about how he wanted the freedom to improv promos and that he didn't need a script because that ain't wrestling to him. You can also see people like Christian Cage and Adam Copeland (and even Chris Jericho), who left WWE by choice who are really excited to be in AEW because they get a chance to flex creative muscles they didn't get to in WWE and they are doing really interesting and cool things.

(I mean, I know we are all sour on Chris Jericho right now in 2024, but Inner Circle Jericho was a really great heel champion.)

Again, I am totally just an outside fan who has no inner knowledge. But at least at one point, AEW was trying to be a more collaborative environment. Tony Khan has final say about what goes on the show, but the talent themselves are doing a lot of pitching the ideas about what ends up on it.

Like, Tony is not making Will Ospreay go out there and take shots at Triple H against his will. Stop making up a villain in your head, people. jeeze.

#aew #aew dynamite #the elite #wrestling