#I feel compelled to watch it just for her

[alchemistc]

Part One

Oh, I've got plenty to be thankful for

I've got eyes to see with

Ears to hear with

Arms to hug with

Lips to kiss with

Someone to adore

-bing crosby

He keeps waiting for someone to say something. To accuse him of lingering where he doesn't belong, or remind him he'd never actually made it all the way in. To tell him to go home, maybe get a halfhearted promise to let him know how Buck is at some point.

Maddie lays an exhausted head on his shoulder and Bobby sneaks him a slice of pumpkin pie he's apparently been hiding in the tote at his feet. Hen tosses him a power bank with a lightning cord and Karen makes a joke about his holiday attire.

When the coffee comes, Howie takes the trip to the lobby with him, pulls out his wallet and does his damnedest to strong arm Tommy into letting him tip the haggard looking girl another twenty bucks on top of the fifty Tommy'd figured was appropriate for having to balance a literal stack of hot beverages from the parking lot on Thanksgiving. She eyes them both with a smile and Tommy is more compelled the grab the drink carriers from her tired arms than stop Howie.

They're halfway back when Howie purposely slows his pace, and Tommy fights the urge to pick his up and avoid whatever's coming down on him. "So. Was this the wake up call you needed, or can I expect Buck to order a freezer on a Black Friday deal for my garage to store more baked goods?"

He doesn't know what that means.

He can extrapolate, though. "He's been baking?"

"Tommy, I cannot stress enough exactly how much he's been baking."

He'd tried his hand at a few things here and there, but Tommy's used to experimental chef Evan Buckley, not baking Evan Buckley. To be fair, if he'd seen Evan working a KitchenAid, apron tied loose and flour on a cheekbone, Tommy doubts he'd have actually had the time to finish whatever he had planned. That was then, of course.

"What was he doing on that trail, Howie?" That, too, he could maybe extrapolate. He doesn't want to, but he could.

Howie eyes him. Uses his free arm to elbow Tommy in the ribs. "You were the first person he ever invited to a 118 Thanksgiving, you know. My guess? He wasn't in the mood to be reminded of it while there was no room in the oven to bake away his feelings."

Yeah.

Jax had been over the moon when Tommy offered to take his shift, no trades necessary. What would the point have been, when Christmas and New Year's would be unbooked too?

Evan had bribed like six different people to ensure they'd be able to swing dinner on the day. Hobbes had sounded so thrilled to hear Tommy asking for the time off that he'd approved it without even looking at the shift.

"I'm just warning you in advance. The grovelling process is gonna involve eating your weight in loaves, most likely."

And that's that, apparently. No heavy handed warnings, no suspicion about why Tommy hasn't fucked off yet. Like it's some foregone conclusion that Tommy's not gonna panic and bolt a second time. Nothing has changed, yet Tommy gets the feeling they're all expecting some tearful reunion and a return to TommyandBuck.

Tommy slips the tea into Maddie's hands and watches her sniff it in distaste, which is an interesting nugget he'll have to revisit later if -

If.

There's no guarantees, here. That Tommy will be able to articulate how fucking terrified he is, that Evan will understand it. That the two of them will find a way through it together. All he has to go on is a solo hike on a day Evan should have been with family, an apparent bakery full of feelings spread between the 118, and the quiet calm that had washed over him when Eddie prompted him to make a decision.

Feet to the fire, he'd stayed.

---

Maddie's pregnant. It hits him between the eyes right around hour three of sit-and-wait. He's not an idiot, or a fool, and he hasn't spoken to any of these people in weeks so he's not going to announce it to the world, but somewhere in between the sporadic naps on Tommy's shoulder and the way she is attempting (failing) to power through her now cold tea makes him think. She and Bobby had driven here, and it's clear everyone else had been indulging. Maddie's no lush, but he's seen her knock back half a bottle of wine before when she's got nowhere to be.

She excuses herself to the bathroom for a third time, looking a little green, and Tommy ends up locked in a staring contest with Howie that only ends when Tommy mimes zipping his lips.

He still hasn't gotten the story about Eddie and why he's not here.

Bobby and Athena are apparently closing in on a new house.

Howie is less than a year away from having a second kid.

Athena's kids are apparently at Howie and Maddie's, attempting to keep Mara and Jee from destroying the house in the absence of adults.

And Tommy wants.

Wanting has never really been the problem, though. Wanting is the easy part. Wanting doesn't get him over the hurdle of knowing he's not enough. For Evan, for this family he's built that just keeps growing bigger and bigger. It'd been a relief, those first few days after, not to have to wonder which member of the 118 would land in the hospital next, not to have to rearrange something else on his schedule because Evan was convinced he was cursed, or Eddie'd had another shitty call with Christopher.

The relief hadn't lasted. A week in, he'd stayed up all night demolishing the half-bath off his dining room, because he'd been putting it off for months and he'd nearly texted Evan something that was startlingly revealing and left him exposed on all sides. Two weeks in he'd finished grouting the backsplash in his kitchen. And in between, he wondered how Eddie was doing, if he'd made any progress with his son. He'd wondered if Maddie enjoyed the bottle of wine they'd brought back from a spur of the moment trip to Napa. He'd wondered how Nash was doing, if he was readjusting to having his crew and his station back. He wondered how Hen and Karen were, how many things Denny had already gotten stuck in his cast trying to ease an itch.

He'd wondered, and he'd sat in it, and then he'd rewired the shoddy work an electrician had done in his spare room that he kept telling himself he'd get around to.

The wanting never goes away. He just finds new places to put it when he starts to care too much.

"Kinard and Buckley?"

Maddie's still in the restroom. Tommy - has no fucking clue why the nurse is staring at them like they'll just materialize the right people. She sucks in her lips and gives him a dead eyed stare before her eyes dart to his chest. More specifically, the nameplate on his chest.

Tommy blinks.

---

The having is where he's always floundered. Things are temporary. People are temporary. He's always been borrowing. Borrowing time, attention, affection.

For a few months there, he'd really started to think he could handle the having. That he'd get to keep it.

---

"I'm Buckley, he's Kinard," Maddie says from somewhere over his left shoulder, and he turns in time to see her adjusting her jacket, wiping at her lip. She stabilizes, looking unfazed, and stands tall. As tall as she can, at least. "You have news about my brother?"

The nurse glances around the room. No one is bothering to pretend not to be listening. Maddie hovers a wave behind her.

"Ignore the audience, we're all waiting with bated breath to see how obnoxious my brothers going to be. It depends entirely on whether or not he gets pie tonight."

She gives them all a disapproving look. This must not be one of their normal nurses.

Christ. They have normal nurses.

"Well, no pie tonight, but he should be able to eat a sandwich in the morning."

He's fine. He's fine.

Tommy knew going in that most of his injuries were superficial. The ribs had been a concern but with the pain meds and the collar he hadn't really had a chance to exacerbate those injuries. There's no reason he should feel quite so relieved to know that Evan will have a few annoying splints to work around and he'll probably need to rehab his ankle for a couple weeks once it's healed. The concussion isn't ideal, and he'll need help for a few days, but he's fine.

Tommy can feel the tears building.

"He'll likely be out for a few more hours, but I'll let you know when he's set up in a room. Two visitors at a time," she warns. "The concussion will effect his response time. Don't be surprised if he doesn't remember much, loses his train of thought."

Hen shifts somewhere behind him. It feels a bit like she's being held back from correcting the nurse about the normal side effects.

Things move on around him. The nurse leaves, Hen passes a Stanley cup around that definitely isn't filled with water, the normal sigh of relief is released while Maddie drops into the seat next to him with a groan, the team has a strange competition around him to battle for visitor position.

Tommy breathes.

I should go, Tommy thinks to himself, as half the people in the room raise their phones.

His own phone vibrates against his thigh.

A message from Howie, time stamped two minutes - Tommy squints to make sure - two minutes ago, an update on Evan. Another from Eddie reminding them all to give Buck a patent Eddie look from him while they were giving him shit. A selfie of Eddie, with Christopher somewhat reluctantly bending into the picture over his shoulder.

In another thread, he's got three messages from Eddie.

If I have to remove you from this group I'm sending my kid after you with his crutches.

You guys hiked Griffith Park for your Not-A-One-Month-Anniversary-We-Swear date, right?

Send Buck my love. Not like that, though.

Tommy sends back: When the fuck did he add me to his emergency contacts? and then decides he doesn't want to know anyway so he turns off his phone.

---

Maddie goes alone, and Tommy spends the time alternating between tapping his foot against the tile to distraction, and clamping his hand over his knee in an attempt to stop the tapping.

Bobby and Athena go next, then Hen and Karen. Then they're pulling on jackets and promising to save a plate for Buck.

Howie slips away for a few minutes and then returns, looking amused. "You think everyone else got the same greeting?" he asks his wife, who grins tiredly at him, pats his wrist. Her gaze turns to Tommy.

"Should we stay?"

That's a trap of a question. That's an assumption Tommy doesn't have a clue how to handle. He clears his throat. Shakes a few curls loose.

"What makes you think he'd want me to?"

Maddie's perfected the unimpressed eyebrow. It must be a parent thing.

Tommy barely holds in the sigh. "Go enjoy your meal."

---

Evan's been watching the door. It's clear the moment Tommy makes it to the threshold - he presses up, winces, tips sideways just enough to peek around the corner.

"Tommy," he says, and his expression melts.

Tommy's heard some iteration of that name a million times. Tom, from his dad. Tommy, fond and quiet from his mother, who'd never really learned how to speak up before she was gone. Thomas, in school, from teachers annoyed that he wouldn't just apply himself.

He was Kinard, to teammates, then fellow soldiers, to the firefighters he'd worked alongside for a decade before he ever let any of them know him.

No one says his name with quite so much reverence as Evan Buckley. He's convinced himself, over the last few weeks, that he'd been hearing adulation in that tone. But now it just sounds...relieved. Happy.

Evan slumps back and tries to cross his arms in a pout. There are too many cords and wires attached to him for it to work. "I'm pretty sure I'm mad at you," he says, and Tommy steps over the threshold.

---

Hobbes sounds fucking thrilled to find out he's going to be down a pilot for five days.

Evan throws a fit when he finds out Tommy's plan is to sleep on his own couch for the short duration of Evan's stay. Evan wins the proceeding argument and doesn't even complain that Tommy hadn't argued too hard

Bobby brings over enough leftovers to keep them in turkey sandwiches for a week, and Tommy doesn't think to ask how he got Tommy's address.

Tommy breathes. Tommy thinks. Once Evan can hold a train of thought for more than five minutes, Tommy talks.

Evan listens.

---

"So no Christmas," Evan pouts, and Tommy wants to bite it. "And no New Year's."

Tommy shifts a hand over his shoulder, tucks his chin over top of it so he can't see the pout anymore. "We were both already working those anyway."

"Do people do anything to celebrate Presidents Day?"

"Evan."

"Tommy," Evan mocks, and pulls far enough away to catch his gaze. "In the interest of transparency that was mostly a cover so I didn't ask about Valentine's Day."

"Is this you not asking about Valentine's Day?"

His smile is deceptively sweet. "I need help with my sandwich."

Tommy's seen him balancing a glass of water, his phone, two books and a takeout bag in his one good hand. He's absolutely full of shit.

Tommy leans forward to grab the sandwich off Evan's plate for him.

---

"You should stay," Tommy says, an hour after midnight two days into the new year. He's tipsy on his second glass of cheap champagne and he can't think of a reason to keep this in, anymore. Evan crinkles a brow at him.

"I... wasn't planning to go?"

There's a gold crown perched in his curls, and Tommy still hasn't taken the cheap plastic 2025 glasses off. The house is quiet, and there'd been shockingly few fires started by fireworks this year, so he's less tired than he'd expected to be.

"I meant -." Tommy starts, and then pauses. "I meant permanently. You should live here."

Evan laughs. Takes a bite out of his cake, and rolls his eyes, and then...stops. His entire body stills. "What."

It's ridiculous. The very thing that had pushed Tommy up out of his seat just a few months ago, sent him out the loft door with wet eyes and a heaviness in his heart.

"Tommy," Evan prompts, and Tommy catches the hand frozen on the countertop. He'd planned to hold this back, wait until something significant or poignant. But Evan had baked them a red velvet cake and argued with him the entire drive back from dinner about the proper way to fold a towel, and Tommy's tired of denying this isn't everything he's refused to let himself want for decades.

"You don't have to say yes just to confirm you're not breaking up with me," he tries to joke, and it falls flat.

"Tommy," Evan murmurs, quieter but more insistent.

"I'm serious. I want you here. I want -."

"Yes," Evan says, and squeezes his hand before he ducks his head bashfully. "Sorry. Continue."

"I want a life with you." The tears tickle at the back of his throat. He's gonna fucking cry, again. He'd always fucking known opening himself up to this was just an invitation for more tears in his life.

He can't quite convince himself the rest doesn't make them worth it.

"Yes. Again. Tommy, of course." He tips his chin. Purses his lips. "If you're sure."

Tommy swallows down the lump in his throat. He's never been more sure or more terrified of anything in his life. So he tells him so.

The words are like knives, but he works his way through the soreness, fights up past the fear that he's not sure will ever completely go away, and claws past the reminder that it's been a blink of an eye since Tommy walked out on this.

"Well. You can't walk out of your own house," Evan points out when he's finished, and of all things, it's that that snaps the tension of for once in his life prioritizing something other than fucking survival. He tips a grin, curls his elbow to bring their entwined hands to his lips. "It's gonna take years to coordinate another Thanksgiving with everyone," he bemoans, looking suspiciously watery-eyed himself as he holds Tommy's own wet gaze.

Tommy can extrapolate from that.

[idolomantises]

What do you think of The Owl House? Like, I liked and respect Dana a lot for what she's accomplished, but I also feel like everyone is just pretending that the show doesn't have any problems, as I felt that the cast was always very poorly developed from the beginning.

I like the show, I don't love it, but i think it's pretty good. TOH has a lot of really cool world building and lore, but I also found a lot of the characters really lacking. Three of my biggest annoyances were Luz, the characters having altered personalities after one episode and the underutilization of Luz's friends.

I think Luz is actually a great protagonist, my issue is when the show really loves to tease her as this flawed and morally complicated protagonist when... she isn't? any time she does something bad, its completely accidental. It's funny when the show first came out and people negatively compared her to Mabel because Mabel actually did make a lot of selfish and careless decisions that she had to grow from.

The show also had a bizarre habit of giving characters new personalities after their first appearance, and I think Amity is the worst offender of this. Her first appearance she's the generic mean girl bully, and this is used to create conflict and for Luz to befriend Willow. But then after that, all of a sudden she's super "cold" and keeps to herself, and the characters act like she's just the popular quiet girl? and then the show has the audacity to blame a lot of the bullying Amity did on her friends and parents. I have no clue why the flashback episodes portrayed it like Amity just watched as her friends bullied Willow, SHE was a part of that! Similar issue with Hunter. Introduced as a snarky brat, and then his next appearance he's incredibly angsty and depressed so the audience could sympathize with him. Willow and the Collector were also ones that stuck out to me, but it was a change that was subtle enough that I didn't notice.

I don't know why writers do this. I like it when your characters are messy and flawed, give them unlikable traits so we can watch them slowly be better people. Don't tell me someone is flawed and then don't give them flaws and don't tell me to sympathize with a character by just giving them a new personality.

I think everyone is pretty aware of how poorly utilized Luz's friends are but there are seriously so many episodes where I was like "why aren't Willow and Guz taking Amity's place". They really feel like a studio mandate.

Also Lumity is kind of boring but honestly, I don't really think its as big of a deal as some fans think it is. Lots of cartoons have straight couples that quarrel, get together and their relationship isn't the most compelling in the world, but its still pretty cute. If anything I do wish Amity would work through her issues more than have what little personality she had disappear when she dated Luz.

With your point about how fans handle criticism, admittedly I think part of the reason why people don't want to admit the show's problem is because Disney fucked it over MASSIVELY and it feels like punching down (at least to them). I think there's a very common mentality of "is it fair to criticize a show that never really got a chance to fully find its stride?"

But I also know this is just a massive problem with shows that have queer characters in general. There's just this prevalent attitude that if you have a problem with a piece of media that also happens to have queer characters, it means you're "ungrateful" or trying to insult it on purpose. Though personally, I think TOH fans are a lot better at handling and giving criticism.

[cultlix]

𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝

pair. surfer! chris x felix's soon-to-be wife! fem reader | genre. unrequited love (?), angst, slight smut| warnings. use of pet names, mentions of smoke, allusion to cheating, penetrative/unprotected sex.

synopsis. He's a tidal wave, sudden and unrestrainable, cataclysmic, sweeping away everything getting on its way. "You've never been more human to my eyes than you are right now," you confess.

author's note. learning to surf has always been on my bucket list, as much as being mr. bahng and mr. lee's object of desire. yup! thanks in advance for any form of feedback you'll decide to give to this new story. happy reading, guys!

➽──────────────❥

Chris drives the coast with the windows open and the radio turned off, in solemn contemplation, cradled by the regenerating caress of crisp air and the spellbinding play of lights on the waves crest. Everything around him feels like a promise of reconciliation, a long-awaited second chance. As his thoughts dart fast like the wheels on the asphalt, his heart succumbs to a flicker of hope. Nothing lasts forever.

What's not fated to perdure, always falls apart. That's an incontrovertible truth, a solace. Sandcastles dissolve into the fury of the ocean, unspeakable desires plummet gracefully into the forgiveness of the unknown, of the unresolved, becoming nothing more than spectres of draining obsessions.

It's a gory war the one against them, Chris knows better. So he patiently relies on whatever God is available, merciful, choleric, on weekdays or on holidays, and waits. Waits for an exemplary punishment to accomplish, for this arcane design to spare him from his demons, unslakable, compelling, always shaped on something - or someone - he can't have but he'd kill for, always voraciously aiming for his wandering soul.

But if this agony can help avoiding his entire universe to collapse on itself, he'll gladly greet a request of immolation, mastering the art of camouflaging, of denying, burying secrets and crucifying longings. It won't last forever, and it's a relief. Though sometimes it feels just like a blatant lie he tell himself to stay anchored to his sanity.

He finds you sat on the wooden porch steps, loose braid, white tank top and a pair of worn out jean shorts, a gaze crossing horizon lines and vanishing points, astray, imperscrutable. You wave listlessly in his direction, a cigarette butt still firmly set between your fingers, a form of latent slavery you seem to accept willingly, uglier but less striking than the other you show off on your left hand, a glaring warning, a coveted chain for many.

You walk towards the vehicle and bend down over the passenger window, the strap of your black bra falling off your shoulder. "I'm afraid we'll ride the waves alone today, lone wolf. Felix can't make it," you start off, throwing the cig on the gravelly ground.

Chris nods unsurprised while he connects the dots. Earlier that week, Felix, his undisputed soulmate, the only home he has ever known, suggested him to spend some extra free time with you to strenghten your bond. Chris didn't even know you two had one, until his little brother decided so.

"I'd do anything for her," Felix confessed him, watching you while you were feeding stray cats roaming around his beach cottage.

"I know," Chris answered, passing him a bottle of water after their daily run.

"No, I don't think you really do," he insisted, taking a long sip, asking his body one last effort to take you by surprise with a back hug, making you scream, laugh, turning you around to lock lips and then vanish inside that instant forever.

But Chris looked hard enough to perceive it, to watch it while it put roots in his rotten brain and invaded his heavy heart. He knew all the burdens and the ordeals of selflessness and deep veneration in their most virulent shades, and tolerated them. He knew, and fervently prayed he didn't.

"Surfing without sunshine. Ironic, isn't it?" He hints, staring absentmindedly at the road in front of him.

"Sacrilegious," you add sarcastically, shielding your eyes from the scorching sun, the elegant gem almost cleaving the air with its sharp facetings as you raise your hand, capturing egoistically the morning glow and returning it as countless thunderbolts, forcing Chris to look away, blinded, deafeted by its ruthless splendor.

"You still feel like doin' this, yeah?"

"Why shoudn't I?"

He shrugs, rubbing his nape. "Just thought that's the kind of thing a girl does only with her fiancé."

"Unlike you, I still can survive a day without sunshine," you clarify.

"Better not telling him. He thinks you're such a damsel in distress when he's not around," he warns, vaguely sore by your assertion.

"Yeah, I know. That's the kind of thing a girl does for her fiancé."

Is it really like this, Y/N? Well, it must be. Feeding a man's narcissism, enchanting him with your fatal feminine artifices, meekness, submissiveness, pretending you're his to take, to mold, while you turn his vanity, his naiveness into your trophy. Nasty, brillant little thing. You deserve to be taught a lesson, you deserve an award.

"Seriously, the wind is crazy. We can always reschedule this first lesson if you—"

"Wow, you're really doin' it, aren't you? You tryna back out, lone wolf?"

"No, it's just...it's gonna be tough," he explains dryly.

"Never expected you to go easy on me," you cut him off, getting in the car and pulling your pack of cigarettes out of your shorts pocket, but Chris promptly takes it away from your hands.

"My car, my rules, buttercup," he says with an authoritative stance.

"Fuck Christopher. Why do you even care so much?" you protest, rolling your eyes in a very childish way.

It's rare, unheralded. No silly nickname, no endearing mockery. Christopher. Vowels and consonants coated in honey and insolence, a venomous balm delighting his ears and hurting his pride.

"I've been asking myself the same question a lot lately."

His hand's steady on the gear shift, his jaw clenched. He feels his loins on fire each time you rock your bare upper tigh from side to side, rhythmically, hitting his calloused fingers, turning unbearably itchy, curious to plunge into your luscious flesh, glistening in the warmth of the sun filtering through the windows and inundating the narrow car cabin. He commands himself to regret it the moment he indulges in the mirage of sinking his teeth into every inch of your skin, of healing every deep wound with his mouth, sucking, draining, swept away by an orgiastic dance of blood and mellow nectars.

In the darkness of his unmade bed, enveloped by the hot steam of the pouring shower stream, these fantasies come to inebriate his mind, to take control of his muscles, of his arts, aching, yielding as these visions become vivider, nerve-wrecking, leading him to chase a crumble of inner peace by satisfying their disgraceful nature. He runs his hand over his stiff lenght, his grip firm and tight, emulating your walls, pulsing, contracting, engulfing him, swallowing him in to the hilt, driving him insane with the friction against your slippery crevice. He dreams of pushing himself inside you violently, hurriedly, from behind, nails digging into the softness of your buttocks, your bones hitting his just the way he needs, as a punishment, because he knows he shouldn't have you like this, on your fours, spine breaking under the weight of his quivering body and his guilt, he begs his reason to manifest again soon just to take him back from this mortal rapture, to reveal, or remind him the truth he's desperately trying to elude. You'll never be his. You'll never choose the traitor over the hero. He comes in groans and moans, with the raging force of a torrent, his fluid slipping through his digits because you're not there to contain it, to let it nourish your immaculate womb, and you never will.

"Lone wolf?"

Chris flinches, eyes still glued to the pavement. "Mmh?"

"I know what you're thinking."

No, Y/N, you don't. If you did, you'd see the monster you've made out of me, and you'd be aghast. You'd watch me meandering in the ghost lands this delirium has generated, eager to betray the man I was before this passion ate every shred of my heart, becoming the bastard I am right now, a shadow who bends to your fucking will even if you don't ask to, don't notice it, don't even care.

He clears his throat, tapping nervously his thumb on the steering wheel. "I—"

"I know you think I don't deserve him, but let me show you I do, I will."

He smirks, relieved, resigned.

"Oh buttercup, no one will ever deserve Felix."

"We're gonna get wet anyway," you protest, watching rain falling inesorably from the outdoor shed as Chris applies a layer of wax on your surfboard.

"Typical of beginners," he comments, chuckling, not giving in to your pleas. "Don't you know half of the fascination with this sport is the mental preparation and waiting for the perfect weather?"

"How could I? I'm a beginner," you retort, mocking him and rasing an eyebrow. "Anyway, isn't it the instructor's responsabilty to check the forecast and surf conditions before a session?"

"You can't predict everything, that's what makes surfing hard and rewarding," he elucidates patiently, undressing himself to wear his wetsuit, forcing you to look away.

"I thought in Australia you only knew about rain for movies and songs," you mumble.

Chris smiles fondly. "Considering it's gonna be your new home, I thought you knew more about Australia than what they tell you in movies and songs," he remarks, handing you your rented wetsuit.

"He is gonna be my new home," you state, taking the garment, gazing into his eyes purposely.

He turns around to let you change, hearing the muffled sound of your clothes falling on the ground confusing with the melodious crashing of the waves against the shore, seeing out of the corner of his eye you throwing your bra and your knickers on the only stool present, just over his boxers.

"The only good thing I've ever done in my entire life was protecting Felix, committing myself everyday to make him feel safe. I can't do anything else. It's a mission, a curse. My life revolves around him. And I know you love him, I can feel it, but it's hard to accept how easily he can get along without me. It's not about you, Y/N. But, what will be left to do for me then, if I lose the only thing that still makes me human?"

He's a tidal wave, sudden and unrestrainable, cataclysmic, sweeping away everything getting on its way.

"You've never been more human to my eyes than you are right now," you confess.

He gets closer, the superb gem still there, looking heavier, bigger, more blinding and menacing each time Chris avoids the distance between your exposed back and his covered chest, just enough to inhale sublime notes of lavender when your braid moves on your shoulders. The sillage trails him in a narcotic embrace that lulls his senses, dazing his lucidity, coaxing him to let his guards down, to swim towards the current, the trap, the end.

He brushes his lips gently on your nape, shivers mantling your skin when he places them on your neck, a weary butterfly dying on an autumn leaf.

"Lone wolf..." you say under your breath, paralyzed, afraid.

"What will be left to do for me, if I take the only thing that still makes him human?"

© cultlix, 2024. all rights reserved.

[feroshgirlsims]

Chapter 7.4 - You Can't Go Home

Mortals always ran.

Fear driving them forward.

Even as they forgot to look around.

Fuckin’ idiots.

“I-I can get the money. I just need more time!” the sim pleads once he’s cornered. “Tell Jacques I got a deal that can’t fail!”

It can fail. It probably already has. But Akira isn’t worried about the sim who was stupid enough to borrow from the Devil.

He's worried about the pack of goblins watching the whole exchange with hunger in their eyes. 

As they close in, he speeds over to cut them off. “This one ain’t for eating, in case you was getting ideas.”

“We could share, elf-friend,” one of them offers. “Broken bones and fresh meat, a delicacy.”

Hunger curls in his stomach. If sims knew even half the things the fae considered delicacies they would stop making TV shows depicting them as bloodless aristocrats. “Get your dinner somewhere else," he warns.

It’s not the answer the goblins want. They lunge, and he draws a sword from a liminal pocket he usually hides with his glamour. 

When he’s done slicing through them, he hefts it over his shoulder and calls out to JJ. “We done here?”

“Yeah,” the wolf holds up a stack of bloody simoleons, “Santiago’s coming to make sure he gets home. Can’t collect payments from a dead man. You wanna hit up Elixirs and Brews?”

Akira was in no mood for Glimmerbrook. With the Moon Revelry coming, Elves would be out in full force cavorting with witches and he really didn’t need the dirty looks or snide comments. 

Plus, he had other plans.

“I got something to do," he glances back at the goblins. A few slices of the sword wasn't enough to put them down. "Don’t let Santiago leave until those motherfuckers find their way out the park.” 

"Sure thing," JJ waggles his brows, “And I would pick Cora over drinks with me, too. Tell her I said hi."

Akira arrives at the Straud Family Compound in seconds. He’s in enemy territory, but if he doesn’t want to be seen, he won’t be. 

The Strauds were an anomaly in the world of organized crime. Julia didn’t move in territory beyond her own, and even though it’s clear her cannabis was the best in Sim Nation West, she doesn’t deal with anyone outside of local sims. Even Jacques has to get his supply from her secondhand. 

No, the Strauds weren't ambitious but they protected their home with viciousness of raptors, hence the stupidity of hiding out in it.

Not that the stupidity was stopping him. He didn't lie when he told Jacques he'd be crazy to get close to Vlad's family of maniacs. Akira felt crazy.

Earlier, he'd watched Vlad struggle to feed a batch of chickens and an enchanted rooster, though it was clear Vlad didn't know it was enchanted since he tried to take it on with a hatchet.

His whole family gathered to watch the fight; his grandmother even took bets.

Vladislaus got his ass kicked. Trained killer he may be, but no one could best an enchanted rooster, and certainly not one straight from the netherworld. 

Akira was still laughing and feeling a little wistful.

Changelings weren't rare. It's why fae were born with their glamour firmly in place. The hard part was figuring out how to drop the cover and reveal your true features.

And to be a changeling was to live by trial and error. He still remembered the first time he thanked a classmate and wound up bound to their will for half the school year. 

Since then, Akira had carefully ordered his life. Friendships never got too deep. Relationships didn't either.

But Alice and Vlad feel like home.

She’s all sunshine and fire with curls Akira wants to tug and lips he wants to bite. And Vlad is compelling but dangerous. Fae-like. Even bruised with a black eye he’s so unnaturally pretty that his features seem to be arranged wrong. The temptation is...visceral, almost binding.

Before he can give into it, Akira pulls his magic close and lets it vibrate near the center of his chest.

In an instant, he’s gone.

PREV | NEXT

(Part 4 of 4)

[talk-danmei-to-me]

Ranking Every Danmei I’ve Ever Read: Summer/Autumn Results

Tumblr ranking

1. Svsss/Scum Villain Self Saving System

2. Tgcf/Heaven Official’s Blessing

3. Mdzs/Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation

4. 2ha/The Husky and his White Cat Shizun

5. Qjj/Ballad of Sword and Wine

6. Yuwu/Remnants of Filth

7. Bing an Ben/Case File Compendium

8. To Rule in a Turbulent World

My ranking

1. Yuwu/Remnants of Filth

2. 2ha/The Husky and his White Cat Shizun

3. Qjj/Ballad of Sword and Wine

4. Bing an Ben/Case File Compendium

5. To Rule in a Turbulent World

6. Mdzs/Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation

7. Tgcf/Heaven Official’s Blessing

8. Svsss/Scum Villain Self Saving System

Fangirling below the read more

1. Yuwu/Remnants of Filth

If angst is what you want, Yuwu will deliver. Super fun world building and politicking. Some of my favourite side characters in danmei (Murong Lian, Murong Chuyi, Yue Chengqing, Jiang Fuli). Ximang is everything.

2. 2ha/The Husky and his White Cat Shizun

Mo Ran you will always be one of my favourite danmei boys. I will also never be normal about Ranwan. The ultimate Shizun fucking danmei if you ask me. So many tropes hit so good - the underworld, ghost weddings, flying on swords!

3. Qjj/Ballad of Sword and Wine

My new obsession. Cezhou are hilarious. They’re just fucking around and finding out whilst playing 3d chess. I sense angst on the horizon and I am going to eat it up. So many of my favourite tropes are here.

4. Bing an Ben/Case File Compendium

Meatbun at her most unhinged. Long time bl fans will find lots to enjoy. Iconic to me that the most prevalent spoiler is that there is canon piss kink.

5. To Rule in a Turbulent World

Started off so strong! Feels like it has the longest farm arc but it’s a good time. Strangely wholesome though I think there’s a big political game about to rear its head. Compelling side characters.

6. Mdzs/Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation

I initially loved this so much when I watched the donghua. Yes, I have used it to recruit people into reading Yuwu. Sometimes I wish we got a slightly different version of the story because some of the side characters have so much potential (oh hey Jin Guangyao). The things I like about it have been done better in other danmei I’ve read.

7. Tgcf/Heaven Official’s Blessing

Baby’s first danmei. It’s a gateway drug. It’s not a bad series by any stretch but it’s not my favourite.

8. Svsss/Scum Villain Self Saving System

Tried it, didn’t like it. Transmigration is not for me but I’m envious about the size of the fandom.

In fact I’m envious about the size of mxtx fandoms in general. Can’t wait till they start branching out. Maybe.

Might be one of those be careful what you wish for scenarios 😜

[biggerbagingos]

You should check out Occultic nine for two reasons (Ryoka Narusawa)

Haven't watched the show, but I have jerked off to her massive tits multiple times. That's basically the same thing, right?

I'm convinced this is one of the greatest character designs not just in anime, but in all of fiction.

[ultimateinferno]

Yknow. I do forsee a potential plot point for Netflix-levania to somehow have Dracula as a villain back, even with the end of the previous series. Obligation. He's no longer the weary widower, and with Lisa's return there's closure. He's lived as a man. He understands man. He may not even hate man. Maybe.

And yet he's back because the other Vampires are fucking it up and now daddy's home to bring back order. He's no longer gunning for genocide, but honestly, the politicking of the vampires who are so far up their own asses, they need to be reminded who's really in charge. His death left a power vacuum, a particularly annoying vacuum. Maybe the little things of humanity irk him, but vampires are everything they have but turned up to 11.

So at the end it's a formality. He'll come back, clean things up among vampire society, make enough of a mess to get a Belmont to kill him, then turn in for another 100 years.

Does this make him too noble? Probably. If you want the grandiose "What is a man" Dracula, you can extrapolate from "It's an obligation" and have him actively resent people pulling him out of the afterlife from Lisa so fucking much, that he leans too hard into the role. The part of him who's evil out of obligation and the part who's evil out of resentment begin to blur the lines. Is he the lord of darkness because that's the role he's been cast and is simply going through the motions or his he just so simply done with the whole process that he refuses to give up an inch of power to any other Vampire (or human) because they're all just children in his eyes?

It could still ultimately culminate in a Soma Cruz plot line where after 1999 he quits so hard that he refuses to even return to the role properly but it doesn't matter because his mere presence fills the vacuum, even when he does nothing (not for the lack of trying from others).

Maybe that's a bit petulant in its own right. YMMV, but I think that's the point. For being such an archetypal lord of all evil villains, how he fills it is shockingly dynamic. He's evil for evils sake, a beacon of arrogance, or a truly tragic villain. Depends on what's needed. If he does come back, I do want to really see a "Castlevania does Bram Stoker's Dracula. Genuinely. It's just an adaptation for the original novel because that's Canon to the original Castlevania timeline, and it'd be funny to properly reveal that Quincy Morris is a Belmont (And his son fights WW1 vampires and grandson WW2)."

[transmasc-rose]

Amy/Rory I Saw the TV Glow au:

Amy as Maddy/Tara, who ran away and never came home, who talks about things that can't be real (the TV show, the TARDIS, a world where they're strong, a world where they're something better).

Rory as Owen/Isabel, meek and yet loyal and yet terrified of his best friend and what she means. And what she says. And what she shows him.

Doctor Who, the TARDIS, the Doctor, all wrapped up into the role of the Pink Opaque, the TV show from their youth, and something Amy grasps onto and never let's go. Something Rory abandons for a normal life.

And yet.

[silkpages]

if i had a nickel for each otp i have that's destined not to be together because ultimately their stories are not about a happy romance but rather of coming-of-age/maturity and deep mutual affection that can't be destroyed even by the bittersweetness of the narrative and the recognition of the barriers that stop them from being together, then i'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice.

[thedawningofthehour]

Finally back to working on the fic again and I just want you all to know that the entire time period the next two chapters encompass, Bella is face-down on her mattress hungover af and completely passed out the entire time.

[anthonycrowley]

you know what. i think i have come to a conclusion where i will be tarred and feathered but must live my truth. i do not care about the targaryens. they do not compel me. none of them. no not even that one. i’m not an anti i just don’t care about monarchy or beautiful otherworldly blonde hair or even really dragons all that much so there’s nothing for me there. i love mess so i must look elsewhere in westeros. sorry but i think we can all more easily be on the same page if we all understand i don’t give a shit about any of them.

[genshinlesbian]

Y’all don’t even understand I love Neuvillette sooo so much

[astrid-beck]

Watched downfall. Do you guys know that I think about the matron of ravens all the time

[tennessoui]

so two more of my dnd friends announced that they were dating each other recently and i had the thought,,, dnd could fix him(anakin) so like. imagine he has a huttese only game that he dms going on throughout his teenage years (maybe with childhood friend kitster) and then that friendship group implodes thanks to teenage drama. so then he gets into a group playing in basic (whether or not they meet due to dnd or this is canon au and so obi wan spends anakin’s teen years pretending he’s not jealous of the attention anakin gives to his dnd game is variable) and boom! this game has obi wan in it. and dnd has a lot of improv and acting so if their characters fall in love it doesn’t mean anakin and obi wan are in love, even though anakin having a fake sibling relationship with kitster or someone does mean that the two of them think of each other as kind of siblings. but obviously the only person allowed to be in love with anakin’s character is obi wans character. if anakin’s the dm then that means no one but obi wan is allowed an npc flirt so obi wans character has to be the Biggest Slut, but if anakin’s another player than that means anakin’s character is absolutely Not Allowed to Be A Slut and neither is Obi-Wan’s because the only one for him by now is anakin. (bonus points if it’s a dnd podcast like critical role so obi-wan sees shipping fanart of characters) for once anakin is not the crazy jealous one because he’s played dnd long enough that he knows any flirting is just practice for obikin. anakin is more worried about his friendship with vos than obi wan being an in game slut.

(publishing follow up ask for dnd context)

sorry, dnd anon here, forgot to let u know the basics of the game. basically, one person gets really into it and world builds a whole world with npcs and politics and a villain (bbeg) and becomes the dungeon master (dm) for either a single session (one shot) or a whole multi session story arc (called a campaign) while everyone else plays one single character and rolls the dice that the dm tells them to to see if they succeed or fail. sometimes the players come up with really wacky shit that the dm just has to like. deal with, and other times someone says something like “life needs things to live” and everyone lovingly mocks them for it. podcasts of people playing exist, and some of them have huge fandoms with while shipping cultures, and if u want to watch one to get familiarized with the game, i would recommend dungeons and drag queens by dimension 20 (2/2)

i need to preface this by saying i really don't know anything about dnd and the explanation you sent is really great but i still don't think i know anything about dnd. also i feel like a little part of anakin has to always have a crazy jealous inclination because (gestures to mustafar anakin rots scenes) that was formative to me when i watched it

maybe obi-wan's letting all of his jealousy flow into his character so he's being sorta unhinged in the game while anakin is being unhinged in real life. compromise!

this isn't dnd necessarily, but your ask did remind me of this fic by @intermundia where they play world of warcraft

and i absolutely remember reading a fic where they play dnd in a modern au and that's their whole basis for a relationship but i really cannot remember it for the life of me. or find it.

[mummer]

ten needs to be trapped in a torture chamber forever for what he does to martha. I hope jakey the time lord fucking dies

[clfixationstation]

I didn't allow myself to get to attached to Mikasa's story for a while because she's just... doomed to be sad