#Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?

[lost-romantique]

The Needs of Both these Messy Gays~

I just want to make a point and state that I'm not attacking or pitting both these guys against each other. They're dumbasses, the both of them.

Blitz is someone that is going to need constant reassurance when he's in a relationship.

Being told the words "I love you" scares the fuck out of him because he doesn't trust those words of love.

At the same time, romantic gestures don't work on him because he's always going to assume the worst.

"And then, he'll call me to see how my day was! And he'll pretend to care about me, and comment on my photos, and LAUGH AT MY JOKES—"

Blitz is someone that has used his body and sex as a way to get what he wants. But his relationship to sex is one of the reasons why he's unable to trust those romantic gestures.

Blitz constantly seeks reassurance, and he asks Stolas for that reassurance a LOT throughout Full Moon and Apology Tour...

"Am I not, like, fucking you good enough? Because I-I can always- I can always do better--"

Blitz immediately asks Stolas for reassurance that he's good enough, and that if he isn't good enough, he makes it a point to tell Stolas that he can do better.

Stolas responds to Blitz saying he cares very deeply for him, but being told he's cared about doesn't give him the reassurance he needs.

Blitz asks for reassurance twice from Stolas in Apology Tour...

"This whole thing we had going... I'm- I mean you're a fucking prince. How could you ever actually care for an imp... Me? How could anybody?"

"Stolas, you are better off without me. 'Kay? You deserve so much... I don't even know why you would want to be with me."

Stolas never says anything really wrong in his responses to Blitz, and I think Blitz himself needed to here that. BUT if Stolas were to make one mistake, it would be that he states that he wants somebody / anybody.

Blitz doesn't reach out to Stolas because of his issues in intimacy, and because Blitz himself hasn’t been given the reassurance that he's the one Stolas wants.

Do you know who does give Blitz the reassurance that he's needed? Millie.

Millie is able to give concrete examples to Blitz on how he made an impact on her life.

In fact, Millie states that Blitz is the reason that everything she has in her life is thanks to him being unapologetically himself.

"He gave me so much: a career, a husband, a future, and now... he's my best friend."

The moment Millie gives Blitz the example of how much she values him as a person and as a friend, Blitz immediately asks for reassurance...

"You... you don’t hate me?"

And Millie automatically says, "Nah, never."

The moment Blitz is given the reassurance that he isn't hated by Millie, he opens up, he becomes vulnerable.

Blitz allows Millie to comfort him, and Blitz initiates that intimacy with Millie to which she obliges.

What's beautiful about this exchange is that there isn't anything remotely sexual about it. This is just one friend comforting another friend in need.

Blitz asks for reassurance again in the form of a question...

And the moment Millie reaffirms that sentiment, Blitz opens up and shows Millie the real him.

Not the fuckboy facade, not the mask he wears... this is the REAL Blitz...

Blitz also shows incredible growth by not deflecting to jokes like he usually does, but instead by being honest with Millie...

Blitz promises to Millie that he'll stop impeding on her marriage

Blitz states in the most subtle way that he has feelings for Stolas

Stolas needs to be told that he's cared for and that he's loved by someone.

He's also someone that seeks romantic affection in the form of compliments, and big and small romantic gestures mean the world to him as well.

Blitz unknowingly makes Stolas’s romantic fantasies come true...

A rogue assassin comes into his bedroom to "scale the walls" and he acts like he wants Stolas a lot.

This man is attractive, he is literally the protagonist of a romance novel. His boldness and confidence is alluring. He is a dream come true and he's here to take what's his.

This man just literally sweeps Stolas off his feet, and he still does this while giving you the most smug grin.

Blitz throws Stolas to the bed, and gives him ultimate rizz in the form of this shit eating grin.

And the moment Blitz bites his neck, Stolas is so fucking into it he creams himself.

Blitz is so good actually, extremely good in being bold, confident, and sexy. He knows how to unravel Stolas. *cough*

In fact, the moment Blitz catches him, Stolas is smitten and he is down bad.

To Stolas, this is a big romantic gesture. This is a motherfucking dream come true for Stolas because, "OMG THIS HOT ASS MAN JUST FUCKING SAVED ME!"

But Blitz isn't a romantic, he's not good at showing romantic affection in small ways, and that's what screws him over.

Stolas wants and actively seeks the smallest bit of reassurance and comfort that Blitz can provide, whether it be through text and or in other small ways.

This motherfucking birb, this dumbass Prince, even when he has every right to be angry at Blitz for the shit he said to him, still wants Blitz to hold him. In fact, he makes him hold him.

Stolas is so fucking cute, being all like, "I'm mad at you, but I still demand you hold me."

"You wanna know what I want? I want to know what it's like, to not be alone. I want to be someone's someone. I want to feel wanted. But like, in a romantic way, like I'm standing out in the rain at a train station and someone is shouting: “Harriet! Don’t get on that train, it’s going to London and I cannot be without you!”

Harriet the Train is a big romantic gesture. Stolas likes big romantic gestures, and Blitz is really good at doing actions that are big and bold.

Blitz has made Stolas feel wanted in The Circus and he makes him feel protected in Seeing Stars. Blitz knows how to be big.

Stolas doesn't need Blitz to perform Harriet the Train, but can he? Oh fuck yes he can.

"The point is, I just... want someone to care if I stay or go. I want someone to want... me! To want to see me. To hold me. To look at me and think "You're the only one I want!" [sheds tears] "I desire to hold you and talk to you, and never let you feel so..."

This is what Stolas wants from someone right now. He wants to feel wanted in the small ways, he wants to be held, he wants someone to talk to him, to make him feel not so alone.

Right now, at this very moment, Stolas needs the small stuff. He needs the small bits of intimacy that Blitz is not in the right headspace to provide in Apology Tour.

Do you know who gives Stolas what he needs at the moment? Better than Blitzo guy.

He's smooth and charming in a different way from Blitz. He doesn't even look at Blitz, actually, his eyes are only on Stolas.

"Great song earlier. You have great pipes."

He compliments Stolas on his singing, and Stolas is happy to be given a compliment.

BTB than asks Stolas to dance, and Stolas is both surprised and in disbelief.

Stolas is so happy and genuinely has an amazing time dancing with BTB, he even goes out of his way to use his wings to give Stolas a spin.

BTB even performs a big romantic gesture of pulling Stolas into a sloppy wet kiss, to which Stolas happily reciprocates.

I think both these idiots have the potential to be what the other really needs, and I honestly think with proper communication they can have the most beautiful relationship.

[mitchipedia]

The far right grows through disaster fantasies

Cory Doctorow:: The right thrives on fantasies about urban collapse, “FEMA death camps, ‘great replacement theory,’ the ‘Great Reset,’ fifteen-minute cities, 5G towers being beacons of mind control, and microchips installed in people through vaccines,” while denying the existence of real-world catastrophes like climate change.

Think of conservatives' obsession with imaginary and hypothetical children, from Qanon’s child trafficking conspiracies to the forced birth movement’s fixation on “the unborn.”

It’s not just that these kids don’t exist – it’s that the right is either indifferent or actively hostile to real children. Qanon peaked at the same time as Trump’s “kids in cages” family separation policy, which saw thousands of kids separated from their parents, many forever, as a deliberate policy.

The forced birth movement spent decades fighting to overturn Roe in the name of saving “the unborn” – even as its leaders were also overturning the Child Tax Credit, the most successful child poverty alleviation measure in American history. Actual children were left to sink into food insecurity and precarity, to be enlisted to work overnight shifts in meat-packing plants, to fall into homelessness – even as the movement celebrated the “culture of life” that would rescue hypothetical children.

Lifting kids out of poverty and building a world where parents can afford to raise as many children as they care to have is a collective endeavor. Firebombing abortion clinics or storming into a pizza parlor with an assault rifle is an individual rescue fantasy that escapes into the world.

[hrrtshape]

BUSTING MYTHS WIDE OPEN.

welcome to chapter five of HRRTSHAPE’S series: REMINDERS FOR WHEN YOU’RE DOUBTING SHIFTING. in this episode, i’m going to be helping setting the record straight once and for all. shifting gets so wrapped up in drama, false promises, and tiktok-worthy mysticism, but the tea is piping and grounded in reality. 

𖥻  MYTH #1. PEOPLE IN YOUR DR ARE WAITING FOR YOU. 

FALSE. RING DING DING DING DING !! they are not hosting a welcome party. the moment you shift, you’re simply waking up AS that version of yourself. you’re already living there—your dr self is mid-life, mid-moment, just existing like, “oh, hey.” nothing changes for them when you shift; it’s like jumping into a running movie as one of the actors.

𖥻  MYTH #2. YOU HAVE TO WALK THROUGH A PORTAL LIKE IT’S A FANTASY NOVEL.

FALSE. no magic keys, mirrors, or coraline-esque portals here. shifting is subtle AF—one minute you’re in your cr (current reality), and the next, BOOM, you’re THERE. the "travel" part is internal, and your consciousness just movesto a different layer of reality. it’s like going from one dream to another, except it’s fully lucid and intentional.

𖥻  MYTH #3. YOU HAVE TO VISUALISE EVERYTHING PERFECTLY OR IT WON’T WORK. 

FALSE. perfection is a scam. you don’t have to memorise your script word-for-word or see your dr in 8K HD. intent and focus are what matter. even if your visualisation feels a little blurry, as long as you know where you’re headed, you’re fine. it’s not about artistic talent; it’s about aligning your energy.

𖥻  MYTH #4. IF YOU SHIFT, YOU MIGHT NEVER COME BACK.

FALSE. BABE, RELAX. you aren’t tethered to your cr, or your dr, or to any other existing reality. shifting isn’t a “bye forever” situation unless you specifically decide to make it one. and even then, you can return to your cr if you choose.

𖥻  MYTH #5. YOU’LL FEEL LIKE A STRANGER IN YOUR DR BECAUSE IT’S NEW.

FALSE. you’re already you in your dr. you’re not “visiting” or “starting fresh.” you’re syncing with a version of yourself that’s already in the thick of it. the memories, relationships, and vibes are already there—it’s like waking up after a nap and slipping back into life.

𖥻  MYTH #6. SHIFTING ONLY WORKS IF YOU USE [INSERT WHATEVER TRENDY METHOD HERE]. 

FALSE. the julia method? the pillow method? THE SPIRAL STAIRCASE THING??? cute names, but you don’t need any specific method to shift. methods are tools, not rules. what works for you might be completely different, and that’s okay. some people use visualisation, some use meditation, whatever, whatever. but you don’t neeeeeeeeeeeed any of those.

𖥻  MYTH #7. YOU CAN’T SCRIPT [BLA BLA BLA] BECAUSE IT’S UNREALISTIC. 

FALSE. sis, you’re literally shifting into another reality. the concept of “realistic” goes out the window. wanna live in hogwarts? have 300 million followers? be married to your celebrity crush? WRITE IT DOWN. you’re the architect; there are no limits except the ones you believe in.

𖥻  MYTH #8. IF YOU DON’T FEEL SYMPTOMS, YOU’RE DOING IT WRONG.

FALSE. mind you, most “symptoms” are just your body falling asleep. not everyone gets tingles, vibrations, or floaty feelings. some people feel absolutely nothing before they shift. you don’t need a dramatic broadway show to prove it’s working. sometimes, it’s as simple as poof—you’re there.

𖥻  MYTH #9. YOU CAN’T SHIFT IF YOU DOUBT IT WORKS.

FALSE. doubts happen; it’s part of being human. shifting doesn’t require unwavering faith—it requires action. you can shift even if you’re unsure, as long as you stay open to the possibility. it’s about persistence, not perfection.

𖥻  MYTH #10. YOUR DR WON’T FEEL AS REAL AS YOUR CR.

FALSE. your dr is just as vivid, tangible, and sensory-rich as your cr. you can touch, taste, hear, and live it all with the same intensity. the only reason your cr feels “more real” is because you’re used to it. once you shift, your dr is your new “real.”

𖥻  MYTH #11. SHIFTING TAKES WEEKS OR MONTHS TO MASTER.

FALSE. time? who? shifting is as quick as your mind allows. some people shift within hours, while others take longer because they’re still working through doubts or fears. there’s no universal timeline, so stop comparing yourself.

𖥻  MYTH #12. IF YOU FAILL, YOU’LL NEVER SHIFT.

FALSE. failing isn’t the end—it’s just part of the process. you’re learning what works for you. every failed attempt brings you closer to that sweet, sweet click where everything aligns. KEEP. TRYING.

𖥻  MYTH #13. YOUR CR SELF WILL DIE (OR BE IN A COMA STATE) WHEN YOU SHIFT.

FALSE. dark much? your cr self doesn’t “die.” nor does it go into a coma until you come back. it’s still there, chilling, doing what you do in your cr. shifting is about expanding, not erasing. think of it like opening multiple tabs in your browser—you’re not closing one, just switching focus.

𖥻  MYTH #14. YOU HAVE TO HAVE A SCRIPT.

FALSE. scripts are very much optional. they’re a great tool if you like structure, but not a requirement. if you can visualise or simply feel your dr in your heart, you’re golden. the universe doesn’t care if you wrote an essay or not.

𖥻  MYTH #15. YOUR CR AND DR SELVES WILL COLLIDE OR MIX UP.

FALSE. they’re like parallel lines. each version of you exists in its own reality without crashing into the other. you’re not gonna accidentally bring dr memories into cr unless you script it or focus on retaining them. and no, your s/o won’t somehow gift you a necklace, and you bring it back. that’s impossible. unless you want to script/visualise your s/o gifting a necklace you have in your cr already ! then that’s just cute.

𖥻  MYTH #16. SHIFTING IS DANGEROUS.

FALSE. fear-mongering alert! shifting is a mental and spiritual practice, like meditation or lucid dreaming. you’re just expanding your consciousness, not diving into the upside down. you won’t die, okay? pinky promise.

𖥻  MYTH #17. YOU HAVE TO MEDITATE FOR HOURS IN ORDER TO SHIFT.

FALSE. meditation is great, but it’s not the secret sauce. you don’t need to be a zen master, sitting cross-legged and humming for hours. shifting can happen in any state—falling asleep, daydreaming, even while scrolling tiktok. 

𖥻  MYTH #18. SHIFTING WILL MESS UP YOUR MENTAL HEALTH. 

FALSE. breathe, sweetheart. shifting is all about tapping into your consciousness and aligning with your desires—it’s not inherently harmful. if you have mental health struggles, be mindful and don’t overexert yourself, but shifting itself is NOT going to send you spiralling. it’s a tool, not a trap.

𖥻  MYTH #19. IF YOU SHIFT TO THE SAME DR MULTIPLE TIMES, YOU’LL MESS IT UP.

FALSE. you’re not gonna “break” your dr like it’s a glitchy video game. every time you shift back, it’s as if you’ve never left. your dr self is simply carrying on as normal, living life. there’s no limit to how many times you can shift to the same place.

𖥻  MYTH #20. YOUR DR WON’T FEEL EMOTIONAL OR PERSONAL.

FALSE. drs are INTENSELY personal! you’ll feel everything—love, joy, anger, heartbreak—just like in your cr. your emotions and connections in your dr are as real as any you’ve ever experienced. in fact, they might feel more real because they’re so aligned with your intentions.

𖥻  MYTH #21. YOU CAN ONLY SHIFT TO PERSONAL WORLDS.

FALSE. fictional, historical, modern-day, or even made-up worlds—the choice is yours. wanna date a 1950s movie star (like yours truly)? live in a vampire manor? rule 15th-century france? ALL OF THE ABOVE? go for it. you’re not limited by genre or category.

𖥻  MYTH #22. YOU HAVE TO LIE COMPLETELY STILL TO SHIFT.

FALSE. really thought we left this one in 2020 shifttok catastrophe, but some people might still think this !!!  DON’T !!!! while some people prefer stillness to focus, others shift while lying on their sides, curled up like a shrimp, or even mid-fidget. your body doesn’t have to be frozen in rigor mortis for shifting to happen. comfort = key.

𖥻  MYTH #23. YOU’LL FORGET YOUR CR COMPLETELY WHEN YOU SHIFT BACK.

FALSE. you won’t wake up in your dr like, “who am i? where am i? WHO ARE YOU?” you’ll know exactly what’s going on because YOU scripted or envisioned this. your cr memories don’t just evaporate. although there might be a small chance that you forget your class schedule if you shift for more than a week. no biggies. 

𖥻  MYTH #24. SHIFTING IS ONLY FOR CERTAIN PEOPLE.

FALSE. shifting is for EVERYONE. if you’ve got a consciousness, you’re qualified. there’s no secret society or elite club—it’s about your personal journey. period.

𖥻  MYTH #25. YOU HAVE TO BE IN A CERTAIN MOOD OR MINDSET TO SHIFT.

FALSE. it helps to be calm and focused, but you don’t need to be all sunshine and rainbows. bad day? feeling a little meh? you can STILL shift. energy fluctuates, and that’s normal.

𖥻  MYTH #26. WELL, YOU CAN’T SHIFT IF YOU’RE TIRED….

FALSE. in fact (🤓☝️), tiredness can HELP because your brain is more relaxed and closer to a meditative state. sleepy vibes = prime shifting conditions for a lot of people.

𖥻  MYTH #27. IF YOU DON’T SHIFT WITHIN X AMOUNT OF TRIES, YOU NEVER WILL.

FALSE. consistency is key. some people shift after one attempt, and others take months. there’s no deadline or expiration date on your potential to shift. keep showing up, and it’ll happen. you can start shifting today. right now. 

𖥻  MYTH #28. YOU CAN ONLY SHIFT IF YOU’RE ALONE.

FALSE. sure, privacy might help you focus, but it’s not a requirement. people have shifted in shared rooms, busy homes, and even school libraries. the world doesn’t have to go silent for you to get your dream life.

𖥻  MYTH #29. YOUR “DR SELF” WILL BE CONFUSED BY YOUR PRESENCE.

FALSE. your dr self IS you. there’s no awkward “um, who are you?” “i’m XXX, who are you?” moment. you’re literally sliding into a version of yourself that already exists there, seamlessly. it’s not invasion of the body snatchers.

𖥻  MYTH #30. YOUR BODY IN YOUR CR WILL FEEL EMPTY WHILE YOU’RE IN YOUR DR.

FALSE. this one’s giving creepy, but nope, your cr body will feel normal. whether you’re asleep or awake, it’s still alive and well, just chilling while your consciousness explores elsewhere. think of it as your body being on autopilot while you take a vacay.

𖥻  MYTH #31. YOU’LL GET STUCK IF YOU SHIFT TOO LONG.

FALSE. there’s always a way back. whether it’s scripted (a safe word, etc.) or just you deciding to wake up in your cr, you’re not trapped in your dr. YOU hold the power to move between realities.

[new-austin]

Lots of questions in the notes. Understandably. I didn't expect this to get notes haha.

Yes all of these are actual posts I have seen, and yes, many of them were very likely bait. And also, yes, I did dumb them down or use more shocking language to make a funnier post.

I have seen several posts by different people claiming Emmrich is a slaver, pointing out the "hypocrisy" in his line with the slave he helps free in his first quest . While I will give it to them, a lot of mortalatasi and mages in general do abuse spirits Emmrich is so very clearly not one of them haha. His story makes that unquestionably clear, he finds it vile that mages, like Johanna, do this.

Only one post I've seen about spite and I sensationalized it a bit, they didn't say pedo, they just proposed that they found it weird because he's "Obviously child coded". I see him being a bit of a contrary little bitch (affectionate) at times but I think that has more to do with him being a spirit of spite rather than indication of age. He is noted to be a young spirit by curio and keepsake but I don't think that necessarily means child because they are both very very old spirits.

I've seen quite a few Taash negative posts call them child coded or way too childish. One post claimed to simultaneously be a long time dragon age fan while claiming taash was clearly "supposed to be the mental equivalent of 14 for their species" which is not a dragon age thing. All races age the same with the same life spans. I think they're very on par with most 20-somethings, especially ones with overbearing parents.

The killing Harding one I'm pretty sure was just someone airing out frustration with the general fandoms elf love above all else. But it wasn't claiming it was real world racist, rather fantasy racist, because people preferred elves over dwarves in this fandom.

Dragon age is back, I love going in the tags it's awful. Emmrich is enslaving Manfred, wanting to fuck spite makes you a pedo, Taash is child coded, Killing Harding is racist and more to come I'm sure

[tadc-harlequin-au]

I will rape you, fucker

You are an absolute waste of life and should’ve been raped and killed when you were first born.

You want me to peg you so bad it makes you look stupid... Look at you, all red, sweaty and flushed, so ready to take my 8-inch strap in full...

Too bad I'm already taken by a more wonderful person, and I've sworn my body to be fully owned by them... but it's okay, I can still draw you getting pegged, you don't need to embarrass yourself like this in my inbox, babygirl.

I can tell you want me so badly... I can read what's on your mind. You want my hands to trail down your thighs as I watch you get flustered just from my touch... And you want it to be drawn in intricate detail. You want to moan my name as I tease your sensitives.... Getting on your hands and knees to show me that plumpness you hide... Scream my name to the high heavens above until you collapse underneath the sheets, panting in bliss as your glistening wetness drips down your thighs and I grip your asscheeks hard to make sure you get what you want in full...

You may not have your fantasy fulfilled in real life but it can still happen in fiction... art can be a lot of things and this could be just that. <3

[itacats]

Butcher Shop Connection

FT: Simon x gn!reader

Warnings: DV, abuse, please let me know if anything else should be here!🙏

SUM: A budding connection begins to blossom between Simon and you, their shy smiles and shared moments brimming with unspoken possibilities. When a dead car battery leaves you stranded, Simon steps in, his quiet confidence and kindness turning an inconvenience into something unexpectedly meaningful.

But as you drive home, the warmth of your encounter fades, replaced by the chilling weight of the life waiting for you—a stark reminder that some connections, no matter how promising, come with complications far beyond their control.

A/N: I had so much fun writing Simon in this chapter, awkwardly stepping out of his shy bubble while trying to play it cool. (Spoiler: he’s not as smooth as he thinks, but that’s why we love him, right?) And let’s be real, who hasn’t had a moment where a dead car battery somehow turns into the universe tossing you a lifeline?

So, buckle up (pun intended) as this story continues to simmer. Things are heating up, and trust me, there’s so much more to come. Thanks for sticking with me—let’s keep going, shall we?

Part 1 Part 3

Part 2 - Between the Counter and the Hood

Simon continues to beam at you during your visits to the shop, but you can also see the shyness in his demeanor, as if your presence ignites something deeper inside him than mere affection for a customer. You grin back, your bubbly energy contrasting warmly with his more reserved nature. There’s a gentle push and pull whenever you’re together, where each visit builds a connection that neither of you dares to name.

Simon leans forward slightly, his forearms braced against the counter, and his eyes glimmer with an unfamiliar boldness. "Maybe I could take a lunch break around the same time you stop by next time?" he says, his voice lowering into a playful whisper. It’s almost conspiratorial, as though he’s inviting you into a world that exists just for the two of you.

The suggestion catches you off guard—not because you didn’t hope for something like this, but because hearing it out loud transforms a quiet fantasy into a thrilling possibility. Your cheeks flush with a warmth that spreads to your chest, and a swarm of butterflies takes flight inside you.

"I’d love that!" you blurt out, your voice a little higher than intended. You bite your lip, trying to suppress the giggle threatening to escape, but it’s impossible to hide the grin spreading across your face.

Simon’s smile deepens at your reaction, his confidence flickering just enough to remind you of his endearing shyness. He leans back, pretending to fiddle with a stack of receipts, but you can see the slight blush dusting his cheeks. It’s in these moments—when his quiet, reserved demeanor gives way to something more vulnerable—that you feel the magnetic pull toward him most strongly.

As you leave the shop, your mind is already spinning with possibilities. What would lunch with Simon look like? You imagine sitting across from him at a small café, his laugh rumbling softly as the conversation drifts from light banter to deeper topics. You imagine the way his eyes might linger on yours, unhurried and full of warmth. The thought fills you with an unfamiliar kind of hope, one that feels fragile but exhilarating.

But life always has other plans.

You stand in the parking lot, your hands trembling slightly as you twist the key in the ignition again. Nothing. The engine remains silent, as stubborn as the wave of frustration that rises in your chest. You groan, leaning back against the seat and staring at the darkening sky.

What would Tom say? The thought snakes its way into your mind, uninvited and unwelcome. You shiver, not from the evening chill but from the heaviness that accompanies his name. The idea of calling him for help sends a cold dread through your veins.

Before you can spiral further, a voice cuts through the haze.

"Need a hand?"

You turn, startled, to find Simon standing a few feet away, his expression equal parts concern and determination. The sight of him here, outside the familiar confines of the butcher shop, is disarming. His apron is gone, replaced by a simple button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, the tattoos on his forearms more visible now.

"Simon?" you say, your voice a mix of surprise and relief.

He offers a small, lopsided smile, stepping closer. "I saw you sitting here. Thought I’d check if everything’s okay."

The tension in your shoulders eases as you nod. "It’s my car battery. I think it’s dead."

Simon rolls up his sleeves a bit further, revealing more of those scars and tattoos that feel like glimpses into a story you’re desperate to know. "Let’s take a look," he says, his tone steady and reassuring.

Together, you pop the hood and inspect the battery, Simon walking you through the troubleshooting steps with an easy confidence that puts you at ease. The task is mundane, but somehow, it feels like more. It’s in the way he hands you the flashlight without being asked, the way his voice stays calm even when you fumble with a tool, the way he chuckles when your hair falls into your eyes, and he casually brushes it back.

Despite the frustration of the situation, laughter fills the space between you. It feels natural, unforced, like you’re discovering a rhythm that belongs only to the two of you. The world seems to shrink to just this moment: the two of you bathed in the soft glow of a streetlamp, your breath visible in the cool evening air.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the engine sputters to life. The sound is triumphant, and you both let out matching cheers. Simon leans back, wiping his hands on his jeans, and grins at you.

"Victory," he says, his voice tinged with pride and humor.

"Thanks to you," you reply, your gratitude laced with something deeper—admiration, maybe even longing.

As you climb into your now-functioning car, Simon rests his hands on the edge of the open window. For a moment, it feels like there’s something more he wants to say, something unspoken hanging in the air between you. But instead, he simply smiles and steps back.

"Drive safe," he says softly.

You nod, your heart unexpectedly heavy as you watch him walk away, his silhouette fading into the shadows of the parking lot. The warmth of his presence lingers even as you drive off, but as you approach home, it’s replaced by the familiar weight of dread.

Here's the current post schedule with some upcoming stories to look forward to!

[abuddyforeveryseason]

You know, I feel the same way about superhero stories as OP does about vampires. It's usually pretty annoying when a zombie story gets all meta and has characters go around talking about how "this is just like my survival fantasy animes", but it's also iffy when everyone just pretends they never heard about zombie apocalypse stories, and refuses to even say the world "zombie". Sure, they're "walkers", or "shamblers" or whatever.

And the meta thing's not really an issue with stories where someone gets a superpower. In fact, it's really welcome. Because there's both this immediate contrast (real superpowers aren't like the ones in the comics!) and a handy justification for a lot of the characters (I've seen superhero stories my whole life, so I want to act out my own, too.)

I think the reason for that is, even though superhero stories precede zombie apocalypse ones for a few years, the genre is less calcified as one single thing. That's not to say I don't like zombie stories, but they feel less diverse when it comes to setting.

When a ficitonal character has a superpower, it's just something that's happened to them. They might think they're in a superhero story because they've read many before, but that's not necessarily the case. They might turn out to be Ben 10 or Danny Phantom, but they might also be Brightburn or Inuyashiki. They might even just be Alex Mack. Something different happened to each of these characters, and they're trying to fit the "superhuman abilities" peg into the "crime-fighting hero" hole with varying degrees of success.

Zombie stories, on the other hand, work by a different set of rules. Even if they're not just Dawn of the Dead. Planet Terror is a very different story from The Last of Us, and they're both different from Zombie Strippers or Fido, but despite the rules in these stories not being the same, they're pretty much about the same thing happening, and the consequences are similar, even if the tones aren't.

I can't really think of a way of making a zombie story that changes the foundations of the genre the way metahuman stories do, while still being identifiable as a zombie story. But that might just be a "me" problem.

Zombie fiction has a problem, which is that in the real world, zombie fiction exists.

So you have two basic approaches: either you have the protagonists and general public say "what's happening, why are the dead rising, I got bit but I'm going to be fine", or you have the protagonists say "this is so weird, it's just like in all that zombie fiction!"

These are both annoying in their own way, but I find the latter approach to be more deeply irritating, personally, the kind of meta that's just lazy and overdone in spite of not having been done all that often.

This is a problem that notably doesn't exist in most other genres. People go to look up vampires on their computer all the time, and they say "wait, the legends are true??", and the vampire says "I did like like our depiction in Nosferatu very much". This is totally fine, the legends bled into popular culture or whatever. But zombie fiction is among those that can't do this, because it's a different kind of story, and there's no hiding it, no covering it up. If zombies were in any way real there would be mandatory training on how to kill them and CDC warnings and structural responses, which does substantially take away from the genre.

Now, would I read a zombie story that took place in a world where zombie outbreaks were a semi-regular occurrence with policies and procedures and discourse and training? Yeah, I guess, if it was well-written. But most of the long-running zombie stories get there eventually, once all the survivors have been doing the survival thing, and I can think of a few examples. It's hard to get right, much harder than the "what is happening, what is this" sort of story.

[greengoblinswifey]

Break Up With Your Girlfriend II— Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

summary— you can’t help but be jealous of your older sister and nicholas’ relationship but in the end, who’s the real winner?

warnings— bitchy!reader, infidelity, angst, crying, jealousy, fluff, unprotected sex, praise kink, slight degradation, arguing, happy ending but not for everyone(lmao).

a/n— i do NOT condone ts in real life nor is this a scenario nicholas would be in, this is all fantasy and was requested my oomf!

Part I

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

The apartment was eerily quiet, except for the low hum of the television and the occasional laugh from your sister as she snuggled into Nicholas on the couch. They seemed so wrapped up in each other, and it made something inside you twist. You'd never felt more uncomfortable in their presence, especially when they were so open with their affection for each other.

You sat on the armchair, pretending to scroll through your phone, though you couldn't focus. They were just too comfortable. Nicholas had his arm draped over your sister’s shoulders, his hand resting on her thigh, casually tracing circles along her brown skin as she leaned against him. The warmth between them was obvious, and it made your heart ache in ways you didn’t want to admit.

You rolled your eyes. “God, you guys are disgusting,” you muttered, not loud enough for them to hear.

Your sister glanced at you from the corner of her eye, but she didn’t stop smiling up at Nicholas. He grinned back, his hand moving to the back of her neck to pull her into a kiss. You couldn’t help but look away, your stomach twisting with jealousy.

But what stung more was that he didn’t seem to notice you. He was lost in her, his focus completely on your sister. The way he kissed her, how he whispered sweet things to her, the way she smiled so brightly—it all made your chest ache with a kind of longing you couldn't explain.

You tried to ignore it, tried to focus on anything other than the sight of them. But it was impossible. Their closeness, their affection, it just felt like too much. It had been like this for the past couple of weeks. The moments and sex you shared with Nicholas when your sister wasn’t around seemed to fade into the background now, barely remembered in the wake of their bond.

You knew you shouldn’t be feeling like this, that you should be happy for your older sister, but seeing them together only made the knot of jealousy in your stomach tighten. You tried to push the feeling away, but it wouldn’t go.

Later that evening, you could hear them in the other room. The muffled noises of soft moans and whispered words drifted through the thin walls. Your sister’s voice rose higher and higher as the sounds of skin slapping skin followed. You rolled over in bed, clutching the pillow to your face, trying to drown out the sounds. But it was impossible. Every breath, every sound—they were so loud.

It was a reminder of the night they’d spent together countless times before, a reminder of the intimacy you’d shared with Nicholas. But now it was different. It was her he was with, and it was her he was giving all of himself to.

You fought the tears, but they came anyway. You had no right to feel this way. You told yourself you shouldn’t, but that didn’t make it stop.

When the sounds finally stopped, you waited. The silence seemed to stretch on, too long, too heavy. The door creaked open, and there he was—Nicholas, stepping out of the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair was messy, his eyes tired but still warm. He looked satisfied, and something about it made your chest tighten all over again.

He froze when he saw you, sitting there in the dark, tears streaking down your face. His expression shifted from exhaustion to concern in an instant. Without saying a word, he crossed the room, pulling you into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered softly, his voice gentle as he stroked your hair. “What’s wrong, baby?”

You couldn't stop the tears, and you didn’t try. You buried your face against his chest, his skin warm under your cheek. “It’s not fair,” you muttered, your voice breaking. “She gets to have you and- and I’m just here. Always just here.”

Nicholas’ arms tightened around you, pulling you closer. “Baby, don’t cry. You know it’s not like that.”

You pulled away just enough to look at him, your eyes red and puffy. “Don’t fucking touch me after you’ve fucked her,” you said, your voice shaky. “I can’t—I can’t do this.”

He seemed taken aback for a moment, his gaze softening. But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he held you tighter, rubbing circles on your back in a soothing gesture.

“I didn’t, shit, I didn’t mean for you to feel this way,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “You mean everything to me. You know that, right?”

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, but you didn’t look away from him. “But you’re with her. You’re always with her and fucking her.”

Nicholas’ lips brushed against your forehead, then kissed away your tear. “I didn’t mean to hurt you princess,” he murmured. “I used protection, okay? And I wasn’t thinking about her. I was thinking about you. The whole time. You’re the one I want.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you just stared at him, unsure how to feel. There was something about his sincerity that made the jealousy burn even deeper, but there was also that small sliver of warmth in your chest that told you he was telling the truth.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He kissed your forehead again, gently wiping the tears from your cheeks. “I never wanted to make you feel like this. But don’t worry. You’re not just some other girl, baby.”

You didn’t say anything in response, your thoughts too tangled. You knew this situation was messy, that you shouldn’t feel this way, but you couldn’t help it. You wanted him in a way you shouldn’t. You wanted the connection that he shared with your sister, but was that something you could have?

Later, you found yourself once again alone with him, your sister having gone out to run errands with her homegirls. Nicholas was sitting on the couch, his arm draped over the back, his gaze following you as you paced the living room. He looked like he wanted to say something, but you didn’t want to hear it.

You knew the rules. You knew the lines you shouldn’t cross. But it felt impossible to keep your distance from him.

He must have noticed the tension, because when he stood up, his voice was soft. “You okay?”

You didn’t answer right away, only glanced at him. He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. You felt the heat between you, even when you tried to step away.

“I’m fine,” you lied, though you knew he could see through you. His fingers brushed your arm, and despite everything, you couldn’t help but lean into his touch, even if just for a moment.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen or to hurt you,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “And I can’t stop thinking about you.”

And in that moment, you didn’t know what was real anymore. The jealousy, the longing, the desire—it all twisted inside you, and you didn’t know what would come of it.

“I can’t stop thinking about you too, I miss your touch,” you pouted.

“No pouting baby, I can fuck you in your room, give you what you want,” he suggested.

You didn’t get a word out before he picked you up, making you squeal and carried you to the room you practically lived in with the amount of time you spent with them.

“Please, fuck me,” you begged.

He pulled up your white top, leaning down to suck on your boobs as you arched into him, the warmth of his mouth contrast to the coldness you felt in your heart towards his relationship.

You both knew you didn’t have much time, you had to make it quick and worthwhile before she got home.

He pulled himself out of his sweats and you bit your lips seeing he was already hard and ready.

“Who’s that for?” you asked, pulling off your shorts and thong.

“Oh baby, it’s all for you, I can’t even fucking get hard with her unless I’m thinking about you, my dick is always hard for you.”

His words were more than enough to calm the jealousy coursing through your veins. Wrapping your legs around him, you pulled his muscular frame on top of you, desperately grinding against him to get some friction.

He rubbed the tip against your folds, making you squirm underneath him.

“Please Nick, no teasing, I need you so bad, please fuck me,” you cried.

Your begging was put to an end as you felt Nicholas thrust into you, your jaw falling agape as he filled you to the brim.

“That’s it, shut the fuck up and take my cock,” he murmured against your ear.

He started fucking you hard, a testament to the anger and tension you’d both been feeling about the entire situation. The bed creaked under you, and your tits bounced as his hips snapped against you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whimpered.

“Such a filthy mouth, I’ll have to fuck it next time,” he chuckled.

“P-please, I want you to do any and everything to me,” you moaned, tightening your legs around him.

He began slamming into you harder, leaning down to swirl his tongue around your nipples. Your hands tangled in his messy hair as you practically screamed for him to fuck you harder.

“Harder baby? Fuck you’re really needy and this goddamn pussy? Drenched,” he panted.

You both were so engulfed in each other, Nicholas pounding you like he would never get the opportunity ever again, that you didn’t hear the front door slam. You were whimpering so loudly, you didn’t hear your sister’s bags fall to the ground and her heels click loudly against the floor as she ran to where she heard the sounds.

The room door was already wide open and as you opened your eyes, they were met with the shocked face of your older sister. She stood in the door way, her hands trembling as your jaw fell agape, just the way yours was except only one of you was enjoying yourself.

“Oh God Nick, I love your big fucking cock inside me,” you moaned, staring right at your sister as she stared back, frozen.

“And I love this wet pussy, fuck—you’re so much tighter than her,” he moaned, his thrusts almost erratic.

As the words left his lips, you arched into him, moaning his name loudly as your orgasm ripped through you. You couldn’t believe you squirted while your sister watched her boyfriend fuck you—her innocent little sister.

“What the fuck?” she screamed, finally finding her voice.

Nicholas bolted off you, startled.

“Oh shit, he said, pulling the sheets to cover him.

“Don’t oh shit me you fucking disgusting piece of shit! My sister? Really? You ruined her innocence like this?” she yelled.

Your face contorted in confusion. The stupid bitch wasn’t even blaming you, you were somehow still her innocent little sister—for now at least. She was blaming him.

“I’m— I’m, I really—” Nicholas struggled to get the words out.

“You’re disgusting,” she screamed, her hands shaking, “you can’t even fucking apologize to me.”

“And sis, oh my fucking God, are you okay? Why would you do this?” she asked, her voice shaky.

“Because you don’t deserve him, I do, I want him, he’s mine, it’s not fair you get to have him,” you pouted, pulling Nicholas close to you as he placed a kiss on your temple.

“Get out, both of you,” she said, almost not believing the words leaving her lips. She couldn’t believe what you had said to her and somehow, she still saw you as the innocent little sister that stole her clothes and her toys when you were younger, Nicholas was the new toy.

“Oh sweetheart, I think you should get out, my name’s on the lease, really, this is my apartment,” he chuckled.

“Yeah, I think you should stay at mom’s for a while,” you sneered.

“Oh, you whore!” she yelled, charging at you, the veil finally lifting from her eyes to see you for who you truly were.

Nicholas immediately jumped in front of her, stopping her from laying a finger on you.

“Get your goddamn hands off me,” she screamed and that’s when the waterworks started. She barely started crying before she ran out of the apartment, presumably to your mother’s.

“Well, that was a disaster,” you laughed and Nicholas chuckled afterwards.

“I’m sorry baby, I didn’t mean to—

You placed a kiss on your new man’s lips, silencing him.

“We’ll deal with all the drama in the morning, right now, we need to pick up where we left off so you can cum inside me,” you giggled.

You were an evil bitch, good dick really did a number on you. But you could easily play the young and naive card if the other bitch decided to inform your mother. For now, you could enjoy Nicholas, he was finally yours and yours alone.

[limeade-l3sbian]

Im sure you have noticed many radfems talk of how men will use their spouse/partner as basically a second mother, having her do all the chores, the emotional labour, the organisation, etc. And I agree with this take.

But can we talk about how a lot of women, especially trad adjacent ones, also see their male partner as almost a parental figure. The amount of times i’ve seen women use different versions of “I just want a man that can think for me” is too many to count at this point. And it’s common. It’s seen in so much romance media, where the man takes control of everything, all the big decisions. It’s become a whole trope in heterosexual romance books and stories, of a rich man with control issues who sweeps some woman off her feet and makes it so she basically just disappears in his embrace.

This is gonna sound super harsh, but please know it isn’t meant as a critique of them as much as something i’ve noticed. I really do believe a lot of women who crave old school gender roles are very lazy, “useless”(to themselves) people who don’t want to amount to anything in life. The idea of struggle and hardship, heck, even just working TOWARDS something, it scares them so much they would rather be shapeless blobs controlled by someone else. That’s why they fetishize that traditional life style for women. Obviously WE know the women of that time and current time too in those types of homes aren’t just sitting around all day doing nothing, but I really do think a lot of women use it as an escapism fantasy from life.

The way a lot of them describe their sexual fantasies is similar, it’s always what is done to them, like they aren’t actually active participants, like they don’t actually have to make any choices.

I think the reason a lot of men crave a parental figure partner vs the reason a lot of women crave one is very different but they seem to be extremely common nonetheless. And with women I also know it’s a very complex issue of both society telling us our worth, the fact that women nowadays even as the more educated demographic STILL do more housework and emotional labour in relationships, capitalism being horrifyingly exhausting to live under, I could go on. But the point is, I think certain women crave a life of no consequences so that whole “i’m just a girl” and “he thinks for me, he makes the choices” mentality thats unfortunately had a huge uptick in popularity in recent years, I do think it’s women craving a parental figure as a partner. Not to say it’s anything linked to incest, i’m not trying to make freudian connections here, but I think the role of a parent is to take responsibility for the child and they crave that floating consequence free existence of a child.

I dunno, is what I’m saying completely deranged? Let me know.

Anon, I'm gonna try to be respectful and hold your hand when I say this... YOU'RE RIGHT! Thought I was gonna get condescending on your ass, huh? 😎🤪

Firstly, don't undercut your words with "I dunno." You made a completely logical point and casually explained yourself so eloquently I wouldn't be surprised if English wasn't your first language.

Secondly! I have seen this too! This weird, "take care of me" emphasis from both sides of the camp. Is it laziness? I wouldn't cast that aside for a second. But I think it's also this strange reaction to the present world. At least in the U.S., the economy is shit and people kind of already know that shit is just going to be hard, no matter what. And as humans, we have a weird tendency to swing the pendulum completely to the left or the right. So our reaction to very real, economic hardship that requires frequent "grinding" is to desire a complete release of the wheel, and to have someone else handle the hard stuff.

For some reason, according to social media, you either need to be grindset girl boss or a trad trophy wife which is...yeah. But I don't doubt your point being more of a reason for this. It's bizarre, and you're not crazy.

[caplanbuckybarnes]

The Price of Love (Deanmon)

Summary: you never knew how far-gone Dean had become.

Warnings: angst, deanmon

WC: 935

Read on AO3!

--

The world felt as though it had been shattered.

You stood frozen, staring at Dean’s face—Dean’s demon face, with his blackened, heartless eyes—and it was as though the ground had dropped out from under you. You could barely comprehend the words that had just left his mouth.

The man you loved—the man you had spent years by the side of, fighting, loving, struggling with—was gone.

He wasn’t the same anymore.

Dean Winchester, the man you thought you knew, was now something twisted, something corrupted, something else.

You had seen it in his eyes the moment the change happened. The coldness, the dark glimmer, the sudden absence of the warmth that had once been there. It had started small at first—just a flicker of something wrong—but now, it was undeniable. The demon that had taken him wasn’t just in his body. It had consumed every part of him, every ounce of the man you had loved so deeply.

And you? You had let yourself believe that he still loved you. That he still cared for you, no matter what. After all, you were his family.

But now, standing in front of you, was a monster wearing his face. His voice but twisted with something foreign. “You thought I was in love with you?”

You didn’t want to believe it. You couldn’t.

Dean—your Dean—would never say that.

But the demon inside him had no such qualms.

The demon laughed, a deep, mocking chuckle that made your stomach churn. It was cold, calculated, and it tore through you like a knife.

“You’re pathetic,” the demon spat, voice dripping with disdain. “I never cared about you, not like you think I did. I was just using you, sweetheart. You were convenient. You thought I was your hero, but I was just a warm body to keep you occupied.”

The words cut through you like a blade, each syllable slicing deeper. Your heart thudded painfully in your chest, but you couldn’t tear your gaze away from him.

“You—you lied,” you gasped, your voice trembling, barely able to hold back the tears. “You—you promised me.”

The demon’s smirk grew, and the sight made your blood run cold. “Promises? You’re as naive as he was. I don’t owe you anything. Not a single damn thing.”

His words were venom, and yet they felt like a slap to your very soul. You could feel the truth of them sinking in, the unbearable weight of everything you had believed being ripped away. The love you thought was real, the trust you had placed in him, the future you had imagined with him—all of it was a lie.

A lie that had been hidden behind that perfect smile, behind that gentle laugh. Behind the man who had held you close and made you feel safe.

But it was all gone now.

You stepped back, as if the physical distance might somehow create a space between you and the crushing reality. You tried to steady yourself, but your legs felt like they could no longer support you. The pain was suffocating, a heavy weight that pressed on your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“You’re not him,” you whispered, more to yourself than to the demon.

“No, I’m not,” the demon agreed smoothly, its eyes gleaming with something dark and cruel. “And I never will be again.”

“Please… please, just let me go.”

The words spilled out in desperation, your voice breaking on the last word. You wanted to run. You wanted to escape the hellish reality in front of you, to wake up from this nightmare where the love of your life was gone, replaced by something evil.

But the demon just smirked again, its eyes narrowing.

“Where are you going to go, sweetheart? No one’s coming to save you.”

You flinched as his words dug deep, but you couldn’t look away. The emotional toll was unbearable, but a part of you still longed for him—the man who used to be Dean. The part of you that clung to the hope that somewhere, deep down, the real Dean was still in there, fighting to break free from the demon’s grasp.

But it was all just a fantasy now.

Dean had been gone for so long, and all that remained was this… thing in his place.

Without thinking, you stepped forward, your voice trembling with what was left of your courage. “I loved you. I would have done anything for you.”

The demon’s eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place, a brief flash of something familiar before it was gone again. For a moment, there was an almost human-like hesitation in his gaze, as though he was remembering something.

But then, it was gone, and the demon’s expression hardened once more.

“And I never asked you to,” it said coldly.

You closed your eyes, swallowing the sob that was threatening to break free. You wanted to scream, to beg for Dean back, but there was no one left to hear you.

The demon gave you a final look, a smirk still playing on his lips. “You were never important. Just another casualty. Get used to it.”

And then, before you could even react, he was gone.

You stood alone in the empty room, the silence deafening. The weight of his words crushed you, and with it, the realization that you had been nothing more than a tool, a distraction.

You thought you were loved. You thought you mattered.

But it was all a lie.

And now, all you could do was pick up the pieces of your shattered heart and figure out how to survive in a world where the man you had loved—Dean Winchester—was lost to you forever.

--

please be kind and leave feedback & a reblog!

[i-ship]

What’s up with Cait’s behavior in this press tour? A SamCait fic it is!

Some fluff, some angst, some steam 🔥

Don’t Play with Fire -

The dull hum of the air conditioning filled the hotel room as Sam shut the door behind him. Caitríona stood at the mini-bar, pouring herself a whiskey, her back turned to him. She didn’t acknowledge his presence, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her awareness.

He dropped his coat onto the armchair by the door, watching her carefully. “You’re avoiding me,” he said finally, his voice low but steady.

Cait took a long sip before turning to face him, her expression unreadable. “And you came here to call me out on it?”

Sam shrugged, his hands sliding into his pockets. “Seemed like the kind of thing we should talk about.”

She scoffed, setting the glass down with a deliberate clink. “What’s there to talk about, Sam? We’re here doing press, just like we’ve always done. Nothing’s changed.”

“Don’t,” he said sharply, Here’s the continuation:

Sam’s blue eyes locked onto hers, frustration flickering behind them. “Don’t give me that. You’ve been acting different—closer, touchier. You’re pushing, Cait, and I don’t know what game you’re playing.”

Her jaw tightened. “Game? Christ, Sam, you think this is a game?”

“I don’t know what it is,” he snapped, stepping closer. “But for years, you’ve kept me at arm’s length, and now… now you’re looking at me like—” He stopped himself, running a hand through his hair.

“Like what?” she pressed, her voice quieter now but no less biting.

“Like the way you used to,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Caitríona’s gaze softened for a moment, but then she turned away, pacing toward the window. The city lights outside cast her in a faint glow, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke.

“I tried, Sam,” she said finally, her voice cracking just slightly.

“Tried what?”

“Tried to move on. To build something stable, something… normal. But it’s not working.” She leaned against the window frame, her arms wrapped around herself. “Tony’s a good man. He’s safe. But it’s not—” She stopped herself, shaking her head.

Sam took a cautious step toward her. “Not what?”

“Not this,” she said, gesturing vaguely between them. “Not… whatever the hell this is. It’s messy and painful, and half the time I hated it, but it was real. It was alive.”

His breath caught, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. When he did, his voice was laced with bitterness. “And yet, you were the one who walked away.”

Her head snapped toward him, her eyes blazing. “What choice did I have, Sam? Do you know what it was like, being told we couldn’t be because it didn’t fit their narrative? Watching them parade you around like some bachelor fantasy for the fans while I had to pretend I didn’t care?”

“I hated it too,” he shot back. “But I would’ve fought for us. You didn’t even give me the chance.”

“Fought for what?” she retorted, stepping closer. “A secret relationship we could never acknowledge? A love that could only exist behind closed doors? That’s not a life, Sam. That’s a prison.”

“And your marriage isn’t?” he countered, his voice cutting.

Her face crumpled slightly, and she looked away. “Maybe it is,” she admitted. “But at least it felt like a choice. With you… everything felt like it was out of my control.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.

Sam took a step closer, his voice softer now. “You say it was out of your control, but you were always the one holding the reins, Cait. You decided when it started, and you decided when it ended. And now, after all these years, you’re here… doing this.”

She looked up at him, her eyes glistening. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she confessed. “I just know that I’m tired of pretending. Pretending I’m fine, pretending I don’t miss you, pretending I don’t think about what we had every goddamn day.”

His defenses crumbled at her words, and he closed the distance between them in two strides. “Then stop pretending,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “If you miss me, if you still feel it… then stop.”

For a moment, she just looked at him, her breath hitching. Then, as if something inside her snapped, she grabbed his face and kissed him fiercely.

Sam froze for half a second before his arms wrapped around her, pulling her against him as if she might disappear again. The kiss was hungry, desperate, years of longing and restraint unraveling all at once.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads rested together, their breathing ragged.

Sam watched Caitríona, her face pale and tear-streaked, and his chest tightened like a vice. He hadn’t prepared for this. Not for her to unravel everything he’d so carefully buried over the years. She was his constant—sharp, cynical, and maddeningly stubborn. But tonight, the cracks in her armor were laid bare, and it was pulling something primal out of him.

He dragged a hand through his hair, forcing himself to breathe. “Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice came out low and rough, tinged with frustration. “Why didn’t you tell me what was happening with Tony?”

She blinked at him, her lips parting as if to answer, but nothing came out.

“For months, Cait,” he pressed, his voice rising slightly, though not with anger. “Years, even. You knew things were falling apart, and you didn’t tell me. Do you have any idea what it’s been like? Watching you with him, trying to convince myself you were happy?”

Her shoulders sagged, and she wiped at her eyes again. “I didn’t want to drag you into my mess. I thought… if I told you, it would make things harder for both of us.”

“Harder?” He let out a short, humorless laugh, pacing away from her before turning back, his blue eyes blazing. “Cait, do you know how many times I’ve had to stop myself from calling you? From showing up at your door? From saying something bloody stupid during interviews because I can’t get you out of my head?”

Her breath hitched, and she stared at him, her expression stricken.

“I tried to move on,” he admitted, his voice softer now but no less intense. “I tried so damn hard. But every time I saw you—even when we were just reading lines, or doing those bloody awkward press tours—it was like… like I was right back where we started. Like none of it ever ended.”

Caitríona stepped closer to him, her hand hesitating before brushing against his arm. “Sam…”

He shook his head, stepping back, the distance between them feeling both necessary and unbearable. “I can’t do this again, Cait. I can’t let myself believe we have a chance, only to watch you go back to him.”

“I’m not going back to him,” she said firmly, her voice shaking slightly but resolute. “Sam, I’m done. I told him months ago. He’s hardly even been home since.”

“Then why are you still with him?” Sam demanded, his frustration bubbling to the surface again. “Why haven’t you—” He stopped himself, his fists clenching as he tried to regain control of his spiraling emotions. “I need to know, Cait. Are you going to leave him? For good?”

Her lips trembled, and she looked down, her silence stretching too long for his liking.

“Because if you’re not,” Sam continued, his voice breaking now, “if this is just… some moment of doubt, or guilt, or whatever, then tell me. Because I can’t handle you breaking my heart again. Not after everything.”

She looked up at him then, her eyes wide and shimmering with unshed tears. “It’s not doubt, Sam. Or guilt. It’s you. It’s always been you.”

His breath caught, and he stared at her, his heart thundering in his chest.

“I was scared,” Caitríona admitted, her voice trembling. “Scared of what leaving would mean. For Leo, for my career, for everything. But after Dad died… and after you showed up for me, I realized I couldn’t keep pretending. I couldn’t keep trying to make something work when my heart was… somewhere else.”

Sam closed his eyes briefly, her words sinking in like a balm and a blade all at once. He wanted to believe her, to let himself hope, but the years of longing and hurt had left scars that wouldn’t heal overnight.

Finally, he exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “If we’re doing this, Cait… I need all of you. No half-measures. No turning back.”

She nodded, her hand slipping into his and squeezing tightly. “I’m all in, Sam. I promise.”

Their lips met again, slowly this time, letting everything that just happened soak in. God, she missed kissing him like that.

Sam’s lips trailed down her neck, his breath hot against her skin. Caitríona tilted her head back, her fingers tangling in his hair, tugging

with the kind of desperation that made his pulse race. This wasn’t a soft reunion—it was years of frustration, longing, and buried feelings exploding into something they couldn’t contain.

“Cait…” he murmured, his voice rough as he pressed her back against the wall.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, her voice trembling but resolute.

His hands gripped her hips, pulling her closer, his body taut with restraint he no longer wanted to hold. Their movements were hurried, as though time itself were against them, each touch igniting a spark that threatened to consume them both.

She tugged at his shirt, her fingers fumbling in their haste. “Why do you always wear so many bloody layers?” she muttered, earning a low chuckle from him even as he helped her pull it over his head.

“Blame Scotland,” he quipped, but the humor faded as soon as their skin met. The heat of her body against his sent a shiver down his spine.

“God, Sam,” she breathed, her voice thick with need.

“Cait,” he groaned, his hands slipping beneath the hem of her shirt, his thumbs brushing the curve of her waist. “You have no idea…”

“I do,” she cut him off, her hands splaying across his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her fingertips. “I always have.”

Their lips met again, this time slower, but no less intense. He lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her to the bed. They fell together in a tangle of limbs, each touch, each kiss, each whispered name filled with an urgency that spoke of years spent apart.

For a moment, the world outside the room ceased to exist. It was just them, raw and unguarded, the barriers they’d built around themselves crumbling into nothing.

“This changes everything,” she whispered.

“Maybe,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “But maybe it changes nothing. We’ve always been this… fire we can’t put out.”

Her lips quirked into a sad smile. “And fire burns, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, brushing his thumb along her cheek. “But it also keeps us alive.”

[plusvanity]

Some silly little HCS for my fics:

NPD x NPD

-you might think this is the worst combo imaginable and you're damn right, except that they actually make it work because Abbath is overt while Varg is (for the most of the time) covert

-they're practicing mirroring and enabling one another to do stupid and impulsive shit, so they only get worse

-cocky bastards, inflated sense of self, grandiosity and all that jazz that basically hides raging insecurities. One wants to live it up like Lemmy Kilmister while the other is dreaming of being a dictator

-the empty schizoid core dilemma: Abbath is a fucking alcoholic because he cannot stand his own emptiness on a sober and lucid mind. Varg is arguably better because he wants to remain sober and as sharp as possible because he knows that when he drinks a little whisky he's the bottom of Abbath's jokes

-the Dead Mother concept

-Varg inevitably becomes overt because his false ego grows like a tumor on Abbath and it makes things harder for both of them

-narcissistic rage and pity parties

-they never actually give one another narcissistic supply because Varg is too fucking proud to admit he likes taking it up the ass while Abbath doesn't know how to talk with mean girls (especially those who piss while standing, have scars on their faces and like setting shit on fire)

-pyromaniacs, thought it was worth mentioning

-friends with benefits is just an excuse for being deprived together

-Abbath actually makes the fatal mistake to fall in love with Varg and he's massively disappointed when he sees Varg growing a beard instead of tits but he's sad and lonely anyway so he'll take whatever he gets. He's no high maintenance

-Varg is an asshole and breaks Abbath's heart as if it wasn't enough that Abbath breaks his liver every night in Apollon

-neither one is optimistic about the future and that's for a good reason

NPD x ASP

-you would assume that this isn't healthy because Varg can do the automatic bitch move of 'swallowing' Pelle's personality whole but he doesn't. He behaves exemplarily because he's desperate to find someone to love him despite being a sore loser

-the shared fantasy: they both live like elves in Tolkien's little fairytale (although Pelle lives like a strigoi in Transylvania) because real life just sucks and because they're both so deeply misunderstood

-both are very bad at communication, especially Pelle, but Varg is naturally quite observant and tries to find out what's bothering his lover. When Varg is silent, it is mostly because he's either entirely collapsed (narcissistic collapse) or his ego is injured. Pelle usually gives him space, but if Varg doesn't get better in a few days, he'll eventually try to talk with him, which is very tricky because Pelle doesn't speak Norwegian

-nerdy sleepovers braiding their hair together and watching Pelle Svanslös (the 1981 version)

-both are big introverts, but the difference between them is that Pelle is asocial while Varg is prosocial (he still needs narcissistic supply even if he prefers solitude instead of human interaction. It's quite complex and disappointing)

-they both read one another like open books because they have seen everything the other can offer (the good, the ugly and that weird thing in between)

-Pelle's emptiness and ego-death is different from Varg's narcissistic emptiness, but they find comfort in one another no matter what. The most powerful thing that Pelle told Varg was 'if you don't have any sense of self and you are just a mirror that can reflect anything, why not try to reflect me instead of the anger of your parents?' because in this way, Pelle gave Varg a chance to be a better, less hateful and less vindictive version of himself. Of course Varg is still struggling and probably always will

-they desperately need love and they're emotionally depended on one another. Once Pelle cracked Varg's defense mechanisms and vice-versa there was no turning back, they had to be the other's salvation

- trust issues rule over them. Very careful with people around them, they're both paranoid and highly protective with each other

-Varg doesn't look for narcissistic supply in Pelle because he doesn't want to take all of Pelle's energy. It's a boundary that he has for himself in order not to ruin their relationship, so he uses fanboys like Fenriz to tell him how great he is and all this nonsense

-they do love each other deeply. Even if they never experienced true love before, they know that their feelings are true and it's the only thing that makes life bearable

NPD x ASPD

-this is where all the scary shit begins

-every failed psychopath is a narcissist (this should tell you a lot about narcissistic rage because they can't be anything but angry losers)

-partners in crime (or rather Varg is Faust's little chewing toy)

-what happens when you take the ego and the super-ego of an individual? You're right. All you're left with is great, kinky sex. (Freud would've laughed. It's a good joke, actually)

-Faust can and will make Varg worse. It's a matter of time until he breaks Varg's core

-church burnings, vandalism, robbery, murder, gay sex, cannibalism and whatever else you would expect from two mentally deranged, ego-dystonic young and highly hormonal bastards

-Faust's chronic and incurable boredom is just what makes him get an interest in Vikernes in the first place. What they have is not a relationship to him, but an opportunity to have fun

-manipulation, gaslighting, abuse, etc. It's basically a Killing Stalking situation but Varg isn't going down without a fight or a good fuck

-drunk non-consensual coitus

-one of the dirtiest moves Faust does on Varg is shaving his head of after a nasty fight, so he strips him of all of his integrity and dignity to show him who's the boss (for a bit of context: it's Varg's fault that he tried to run off with their stolen money)

-they do a lot of crazy shit but get rid of the evidence. They firmly believe the police are dumb enough not to get them

-the empty schizoid core x2 again, although one of them is even worse

-Faust is able to get Vikernes through the full cycle of narcissistic emotional outbursts from total collapse to needy borderline to secondary sociopathy while Varg is only able to get Faust pissed

-buried past, non existent future, just live in the moment. Carpe diem, brothers ✌✌✌

-the lone wolf and the hungry tiger archetypes. The consumption is visceral and that's all I have to say

[alexanderwales]

@queenlua

(this is sort of a tangent so feel free to ignore me ENTIRELY but: who exactly is the audience for litRPG stuff? my first time hearing of it was at a sf/f writer's workshop, and when it was described to me i was like "wouldn't these people simply read webfiction" but then i was informed of The Sales Numbers Around LitRPG People I Had Never Heard Of and was like What The Hell, but i was clearly the only Extremely Online person in the room so figured i wouldn't get any further context from present company lol)

For some reason I thought I had answered this, and maybe I did somewhere and can't find it, so sorry if this is a restatement of something you've already read, but ...

There are a few fundamental fantasies being fulfilled by the modern litRPG.

First, there's the power fantasy, the idea that you can have control and be agenty and make decisions. I don't think there's anything wrong with power fantasy per se, and I expect that the desire for power fantasy will grow when people feel more and more powerless. litRPG does not offer anything much different from e.g. superhero stories, at least as far as power fantasy goes.

Second, there's the progression. This is part of the power fantasy, the getting stronger over time angle, powering up, getting better. litRPG promises that, it's in the nature of the RPG elements, and fundamental to the appeal. This is something that e.g. superhero stories usually don't have. (There is a whole genre, progression fantasy, that focuses on this, and litRPGs are usually a subset of that depending on who you ask.)

Third, the litRPG offers legibility. It is clear what the powers are, what they do, what choices are to be made. Everything is clearly laid out and easy to conceptualize, at least most of the time. And because this is the case, it's good as a platform for the imagination, especially for analytical readers. It's something for people to daydream about, argue over, etc. Legibility is super important, IMO, or at least the appearance of legibility, the illusion that the author has a Concrete Plan with Hard Numbers. Armchair psychoanalysis is that a desire for this relates to a lack of legibility (and by proxy "fairness") in real life.

Fourth, the litRPG naturally speaks the language of videogames, and a lot of the readers are super into videogames, so there's some element of "thing that I like" in there which I don't think can actually add to any analysis, but also some of the things that people like about video games are power fantasy, progression, and legibility, so ...

There's also a lot of overlap between webfic and litRPG. I don't know that I'd say it's the most popular form of webfic right now, but ... probably it is? The overall market is young men for both. [Edit: I should probably clarify that I don't know what the hell goes on over at Wattpad. AO3 is also webfic, but that's fanfic, and female dominated last I checked. I'm talking more RoyalRoad, SB/SV, QQ, etc. I am not a market expert, terms and conditions may apply.]

Here are some other reasons I've heard from people when I've asked:

it's hard to screw up, so you're guaranteed a quality baseline

the writing is often simple popcorn that's easy to digest

the writing is often bad in a way that makes it less predictable

there's often no romance or introspection

the numbers are going up, and I like that consistent dopamine drip feed

the characters are simple

the main character is just like me

I think some of these are just wild to think about, and others are not really about the genre, just the kinds of people who write within it and the stories that make up the bulk of what people are reading.

LitRPG where the protagonist's game system is very clearly from a game with a 20-minute day-night cycle, and whose gamification of hunger, thirst, and sleep just wreaks havoc on his personal and professional life.

Just kidding, litRPG protagonists don't have personal or professional lives.

[vladdyissues]

so making myself actually outline the clone gestation au cause i just sidelined another draft but I'm still wanting immediate gratification for cheese melt ideas so i sat down and self-soothee with some ideas for an AU where Dani and Dan are born due to Pompep. if you ain't feeling it right now, totally fine with this getting buried until you do, just want to share the cheesy wealth (and this fully formed in my head before the college trio + Dan and Dani offspring ideas did)

hope you like soft because i am c o p i n g rn

-so for these two resulting specifically from Pompep, Danny is a fresh adult and high school graduate in the late 2000s, where he gets to live out a certain fantasy of mine--getting to go "fuck it, can't charge me rent on a lair" and planning to go ghost primarily with his human side being his alter ego

-Vlad starts insisting if he's going to do that, he could just move into his mansion. like, increasingly more insistent. what is going on here

-turns out, Vlad is pregnant, and is fully and shamelessly exploiting Danny's need to protect. blatantly, too. Danny knows full fucking well he's being played but the Obsession will not shut up for love nor money

-mood swings make things go full poltergeist the more Vlad is aggravated or backed into a corner. walls bleeding, windows rattling, one particularly aggravated mood swing has Jack nearly get the Death Bed: The Bed That Eats treatment from an armchair (he wouldn't have died but he would have soaked in ectoplasm until his eyebrows burned off)

-this shit, Danny can deal with. this is the kinda weird he's used to. then Vlad starts showing and he starts getting... a little softer. and Danny, snarky frenemies-with-benefits more than dearly beloved partner, has no idea what to do to pivot with that

-Vlad is in denial. he does not have pretty pink magic love powers making him feel adorable wholesome things towards the baby or deep affection for Danny, who fathered it. one of those being true is a quirk. all three of those things being true clashes so hard with his supervillain-coded aesthetic makes him refuse to even think about it. so he bottles it up

-the second he gets to hold Dani after she's born he starts crying. full on ugly cry. one of the things he wasn't processing was that this was real in a way that specifically meant he was going to be holding his baby. a real, actual baby he can pour all his obsessive levels of love into and who he's going to be able to love for his entire existence

-no, fuck it, he does have pretty pink magic love powers, and if you get near his baby you get to learn what a curbstomp is

-teeny tiny baby Danielle Masters

-has first shaky flight as well as first steps, because I am a hopeless weeb and the scene in Urusei Yatsura where a baby alien is encouraged to fly into a cousin's arms like one would encourage a baby walking is just forever seared into my brain

-Danny and Vlad become used to casually grabbing her out of the air or flying to grab her. no big deal. just a floating baby. don't want her phasing into the crawlspace or walls and getting confused and lost. it always makes her giggle

-right around when the excuses for Danny's supposed human life are wearing thin, Dan breaks loose, AU AGIT happens--but Vlad's not making clones this time around so there's no ready-made body to move Dan into

-and since they can't get one ready to go... well, homemade will have to do

-(note: rather than de-aging, it's more reincarnation--it's him and has his memories and ghost self and all that good stuff, he's just not grown and stuck in the body of a baby or overwriting a totally new person. the older he gets, the more original Dan he's able to process as him and not the edgy OC lurking in the back of his mind that feels fully-formed)

-so, Vlad and Danny are expecting kid #2 with gremlin toddler Dani running around

-this time around Vlad's mood swings affect the power grid. one very bad one ends up making a power line go carnivorous and start snatching birds out of the air

-they're prepared for softness this time, and this time Vlad just lets himself feel such things. though it does manifest in jello cravings from hell... and in actually admitting he is in LOVE with Daniel, not just attracted and attached

-somewhere in there Danny's parents realize they've been lied to. for years. mainly coming to a head because supposedly, he should be nearing the end of a four-year degree. they need an explanation

-the half-ghost reveal takes a few weeks to comb through. still, it goes... relatively well.

-so. time for relationship reveal. right?

-turns out running off to shack up in their college buddy's mansion raising kids instead of pursuing higher education hits several more of their buttons than just being the town hero who happens to be a ghost does

-and making a SINGLE aggressive move towards Vlad? Danny's shifted from protection to unity and hey, he will be keeping his family together. no matter what. go on. try something :)))

-they don't come around to it before Dan is reborn but that's fine, making sure baby Dan is loved is more important anyway

-(Dani totally brings them around over time. she keeps sneaking into their lab to watch them work and hand Jack or Maddie tools before dipping back into the portal giggling when they notice her)

BONUSES

-Dani is an adorable big sister and will drag baby Dan everywhere with her given half a chance

-when they get older, the short jokes will fly. mainly from Dani herself. Danny and Dani's favorite in-joke is Dani trying to reach something with powers and sarcastically thanking Danny for the height genes

-Dan ends up being an adorable kid who really likes just. soaking up the loving atmosphere. threaten his good time at your peril, first time he transforms he's a force of nature

-of course Vlad and Danny incorporate their family into their snark

"Being the father of my children won't save you from my vengeance, Daniel."

"Both your kids share DNA with my dad, it's not going to kill you to share a dinner table with him."

"No, but if you ever remind him he is my father-in-law, it will kill you."

"Eh, he already got me killed once, I'll roll those dice."

apologies for the sheer WALL of text, just. i have a particular vision of the AU i'm writing and this version ain't compatible, but it IS soft and i am weak for that

ONCE AGAIN

[kwillow]

regarding romance involving your characters, im aware you've talked about how you likely wont engage in making content surrounding that topic (WHICH IS ABSOLUTELY FINE obviously), but do you mind if others do? i personally find a lot of enjoyment in those kinds of scenarios and itd be good to know if thats something you're fine with when it comes to your own creations. (im sure you get enough asks about romance already, apologies!!)

and related to this, are there any strict boundaries or hard lines youd prefer not to be crossed when it comes to fan content of them? even anything that just makes you uncomfortable; if youre alright with sharing, that is <:-} i would really like to know just to be certain

Hi there! This is a very kind and conscientious message; thank you for that. ^^

Short answer: sure, I don't mind if people want to make romantic-themed art or writing with my characters. It's flattering!

I don't really have much in the way of hard limits when it comes to depictions of my characters (not counting nsfw/kink art, where I'm also pretty permissive but want to be communicated with in advance), but here are some personal boundaries when it comes to how people treat me, the human:

My characters aren't able to be "claimed" by people for exclusive shipping purposes (either with other characters or for self-shipping). When people get jealous of either other people who want to ship themselves or their characters with mine, or jealous of the characters' in-story love interests, it creates a highly uncomfortable situation for me.

I'm happy for people to enjoy their romantic fantasies with my characters, but I am not included in that bargain. Liking my character does not mean one knows or is in any kind of relationship with me, platonic or otherwise (especially not otherwise).

Likewise, I probably won't reciprocate a lot of self-shipping or Your OCxMy OC type stuff. Of course I'll comment and appreciate the effort and the expression of being interested in my silly stories! But I won't necessarily make a lot of ship art in return or trade head-canons or what have you (again, I just am not super into shipping and I have my own story stuff I already don't have time to draw orz).

My characters aren't made to be boyfriend material. I also have not drawn/written/shown every part of their awful personalities or actions. In the future, I might reveal something about them that makes them unappealing or unsexy. People can ignore the unpleasant qualities I give my characters in their fantasies/fics, but I won't change how I write or draw the character to make them better suited to someone's tastes (yes this is something people have asked me to do).

I feel like stating some of these things makes me look a bit neurotic, like "oh come on, that's not going to happen," but unfortunately all of these things have happened to me before when people got, I guess, a liiiittle too romantically invested in my characters.

So really, I don't have many boundaries in the way of content. Go forth and write or draw or just imagine what pleases you (general you). Write them getting married, having unrequited crushes, being one of the last survivors of the Titanic and sacrificing themselves so that the other character can live her best life beyond their doomed romance, etcetera.

All I ask is that the appreciation is centered on the character as an imaginary being, and I, the real and very boring human woman, am largely ignored in the equation and not pulled in to do matchmaking, officiate any weddings, or act as a conduit to manifest a tulpa.

[kkoffin]

TRAs arguing that “sex isn’t real” will never not be funny to me because i always picture some conspiracy theorist incel sitting behind a screen like “the chads and stacys are lying, sex isn’t even real. it’s all made up, special effects on screen. it’s made up just to make us jealous and embarrass us. vaginas aren’t even real, i’ve sure never seen one in real life. it’s just a dystopian fantasy to keep us working, serving the foids.”

honestly makes more sense than denying biological sex imo lmao. i can’t believe we r still doing this, and they manage to do it with a straight face