#alex does a write

[stanpineskisser]

I have a (possibly controversial?) Stan opinion that idk how to word it but I noticed something abt the way Alex Hirsch talks abt him vs how he is written in canon and I have Certain Things to Say but don’t know how to say them

[areyoudoingthis]

I am SO grateful that ed and stede exist as characters exactly as they are. I'm so grateful for these two men who are traumatized and messed up and struggle to even like themselves, who are terrible at communicating, who make enough mistakes between the two of them to fill an entire ocean. I am so grateful to watch them struggle and be seen and be loved and reach out for the things they want and are maybe starting to believe that they deserve. I'm so grateful that the show lets them fall in love and get together exactly as they are, that it doesn't say they need to wait until they've become some unattainably perfect version of themselves before they have permission to have that. i am so grateful for ofmd

[toomuchracket]

constellations (literal d word (dad) matty x reader fluff)

you have an eight year old who loves space. let's redecorate her bedroom! promptober day 18. enjoy <3

you're applying your moisturiser when matty pads back into the bedroom; he drops a kiss to the top of your head, and you smile. “babies asleep?”

“yeah. alex took a while to get there… oi, stop that!” he grumbles when you stand, smearing the excess lotion from the back of your hand across his face.

“what? it's cold outside. it dries your skin out. you needed that,” you softly kiss his neck, wrapping your arms around his waist. “anyway, you were saying al took a while to fall asleep?”

“not ages. but we had to do two stories.”

you squint at your husband. “what was the first one?”

“llama llama red pyjama.”

“did you do the voices? and the noises?”

“obviously, babe.”

“matty,” you groan into his shoulder. “of course he took ages to fall asleep, you got him all hyped up.”

he sighs. “can't help it. i just love the sound of his laugh,” he hugs you tighter. “same as yours, you know.”

“thank god he got something from me.”

matty giggles, pulling back to kiss you quickly. “stop pouting,” he pulls his t-shirt over his head, and suddenly you're more than willing to listen to everything he says. “they both got your brains, darling. actually, lyla was just- oh,” he smirks when you remove your dressing gown, body bare aside from a black thong. “hi.”

rolling your eyes, you reach for the t-shirt he just discarded and pull it over your own head, before climbing into bed and burrowing under the covers; it doesn't stop him from giving you the eyes, though. but you won't be swayed. “you were saying?”

“hmmm? oh, yeah. our daughter,” matty kicks his sweatpants off - you glare at him as he does, and he rolls his eyes and neatly folds them - and climbs in beside you. almost instinctively, you move to lie on his chest, kissing his tattoo softly before turning your head to look up at your husband. he smiles adoringly down at you, gently stroking your hair. “she's so fucking smart. you know how they're learning about space at school?”

“mhmm.”

“she listed all the planets to me and all the moons of neptune. in descending order of how close they were to the planet,” matty shakes his head. “she's eight.”

you smile. “our genius girl.”

“she's gonna ask you about stars and constellations tomorrow, by the way.”

“me? why?”

“because she asked me and i said i didn't know anything, and then she did that thinking face where she really, really looks like you and said ‘i'll talk to mum about it. she'll know.’”

“what gave her that idea?”

“dunno. maybe your tattoos,” he runs his arm over the three tiny constellations inked on your upper arm, representing his and both your babies’ star signs. “or maybe she just thinks i'm an idiot.”

you smirk. “probably that.”

“oh, shut up,” he goes to flick your nose, but you catch his index finger gently between your teeth before he can; because you can't help yourself, you wrap your lips around the digit, and matty’s pupils dilate. “don't start something you won't finish, princess.”

okay, maybe you will be swayed.

looking doe-eyed at your husband, you release his finger with an audible pop, shuffling to sit properly on his lap. “if you finish inside me, does it count?”

“fuck,” matty groans; suddenly, you're underneath him, your neck being attacked by kisses. “think you can keep quiet enough?”

“yes, daddy.”

“good girl.”

***

“well, that's not right.”

matty grits his teeth, holding onto the top of the ladder and looking down at his daughter, whose curly head is buried in an astronomy book from the local library that's almost as big as she is. “again?”

you peer over lyla's head, looking at the page and the bedroom ceiling and back to the page again. “not right at all.”

“fantastic,” he wipes the sweat from his forehead. “which star is the most wrong?”

lyla shoves her glasses up her nose and opens her mouth; matty cuts her off. “i don't know their official names, remember - is it the big one that's the issue, or the smaller ones?”

she tilts her head in a way so reminiscent of matty that you have to bite back a giggle. “that little one to your left, dad.”

“‘kay. and where should it be?”

“further left, and down. like, a little bit down. not too much.”

he nods, carefully peeling the adhesive stars from the ceiling and rearranging them as per lyla's instructions. “alex?”

your son looks up from his comic book. “yeah, dad?”

“go and look at your sister’s book and tell me if this looks right. i need an objective opinion.”

he obliges, carefully placing his book on the bed before wandering over. you roll your eyes. “really, matthew?”

“yes, really,” matty twists, face screwing into a grimace as he stretches the twinge-y muscle in his back. “you girls are perfectionists. al keeps it real,” at that, lyla scowls up at her dad, and he backtracks immediately, face softening. “and that's not a bad thing, munchkin, not at all. it's just… well, there are limits to how accurate we can get everything in here, yeah? sometimes we have to compromise our artistic vision. s'just a sad fact of life.”

you scoff. “and when have you ever compromised on your artistic vision?”

“when you've told me to.”

“alright, i'll give you that one,” you raise your eyebrows, nodding slowly. “so, al - has dad got this one right?”

“hmm,” alex frowns at the page, his brows creasing cutely just like his dad's, then scrutinises the ceiling; his face drops into placidity, and he nods. “i think so.”

“thanks, mate,” matty reaches down to ruffle your son's curly head (only wincing slightly on the way back up), before sighing and smiling sheepishly at your daughter. “lyla? what are your thoughts, darling?”

she readjusts her glasses, and the rest of you wait with baited breath; there's a collective exhale when she grins. “looks good, dad. thanks.”

he beams. “you're welcome, munchkin. now,” he steps a rung down the ladder. “lunchtime?”

you shake your head. “there's still one more, babe.”

“god, really?” matty sighs, pressing his head into the handle at the top of the ladder. “feels like we've been doing this for hours.”

“well, what's one more, then? come on,” you gently tap his denim-covered ass, at which the kids giggle. “you did agree to this, matty.”

“yeah, when i wasn't of sound mind.”

(read: the morning after your late-night lovemaking session a couple of nights ago, the ending of which left your husband extremely chipper and thus agreeable to your suggestion that he stick glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling of your space-daft daughter's room.)

you smirk. “some would argue that's the most sound a mind can be. a certain… clarity to it, no?”

matty shoots you a familiar look, a wordless warning that you're at risk of pushing it too far and getting into trouble if you don't stop now, and you can't deny that it's thrilling; not even a second later, he's switching back into dad mode, gentle and pragmatic with your babies in a way that's almost as sexy as the dominant look you just got. “alright. what is the final constellation, then?”

“s'my birthday one,” lyla beams, moving to snuggle into you. “me and mummy are gonna match!”

“oh,” matty's eyes and voice are as tender as you've ever known them to be - the sweet smile he follows with is even more so. “m'sorry for complaining, darlings, this is very important. alex, would you pass me the… yes, thank you, munchkin,” the final set of stars in hand, he beams at you again. “i reckon i can do this one without guidance, i think. can i try?”

you nod, smiling just as tenderly as your husband. “of course.”

and he does, perfectly placing the stars on the ceiling in the pattern he's known by heart for the past seven years, the pattern he watched you get permanently etched onto your arm while he held the tiny baby girl it was dedicated to. unlike last time, she's awake and alert enough to watch the pattern form, looking up at the ceiling and her father with a beaming smile on her adorable face and her arm around her little brother; something about it all has tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, total love for your family and gratitude for how wonderful your life is both threatening to overwhelm you. 

matty seems to notice - when he's finished the constellations, and safely on solid ground again, one of his arms finds its way around your waist and his lips meet your temple. “love you, darling,” he murmurs, as you watch your kids look awestruck at the stars above them. “thank you.”

“for what?”

he nods towards lyla and alex. “them. convincing me to do this. our life, really,” he squeezes your waist. “s'perfect.”

you sniffle. “so are the constellations. really, matty,” you kiss his shoulder. “they're amazing, baby. i love them. and you, of course!”

matty giggles. “kids?” he calls; two little curly heads bounce over to you in response. “what do we think of the stars, then?”

alex is enthusiastic, hair all but flipping as he nods. “they're so cool!” 

lyla's a bit more measured in her response, but her excitement shines through in the way she throws herself at matty to hug him. “i love them, dad. thank you,” she giggles when he kisses her cheek, reaching for you so she can coordinate a group hug. “we match now, mum.”

“we do, darling, you're right,” you hug your kids in tighter. “i love you, my babies. you too, matty.”

“i love you, too,” he laughs. “can we genuinely get lunch now, though? m'starving. that was hard work, that.”

you laugh softly. “yeah. go on, babies, go and get a fruit shoot,” they oblige, and once they're safely out of earshot you wrap your arms around matty's shoulders. “for all the effort you put in today… you can eat me before we go to sleep tonight, if you want.”

he hums happily, leaning down to kiss you until you're dizzy. “never wanted anything more.”

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

writing at literally anytime during the day:

writing after 11:30pm:

[saintbleeding]

[ID: Digital art of Lady Mowbray from The Magnus Protocol. She is a tall older white woman with grey hair, wearing an old-fashioned hunting suit with jodhpurs and tall boots, and wielding a double-barrelled rifle. She is shown from an extreme low angle, smirking with satisfaction, one boot on the side of her human victim. They are shown from the back, a wound in their head and bruises visible on the skin of their lower back. Behind Lady Mowbray is visible a red and yellow sunset above a clearing in a greenish-black wood. End ID.]

ohhhhh she’s despicable i love her

[creetchure]

one thing i really dislike about "claudia was fridged" is the fundamental lack of understanding of what fridging even means. ignoring entirely why iwtv was written.

fridging is a very specific thing, that denotes a lack of agency in the death (and in general). that death is wholly about someone else (a man), and not something she could have done anything about. It comes from a green lantern, where kyle rayner heads back to his place and finds his girlfriend murdered for the sole purpose of hurting him. It' also often offscreen and irrelevant to the narrative in an of itself, apart from "i need to find my wife's killer".

claudia's death isn't that. if there is one thing to remember about her, one trait about her character, is that she has a will to move, a will to do things, that drags louis forward. Her agency is the main driving force for leaving lestat, her wanting to be able to make her choices for herself. she's the one who makes them go to paris, she's the one who wants to join the coven, she's the one who wants to turn madeleine. claudia's death is something that she's earned, brought upon by enemies she has made. lestat goes along because she's the reason louis left him. the coven goes along and cheers because she's a cog in the machine, someone who wont let them turn her into something she's not. she won't settle for anything less than absolute freedom as a vampire, and that is the reason she dies. it's also an incredibly graphic scene. there is nothing forgettable about her death, about the very image of it. claudia goes out in a blaze of rage and fire.

to call it fridging is removing her agency, and her very active role as a driving force in the story. claudia's death cannot be fridging, because she's never been passive a day in her life, from the very moment we see her on screen to the very last. she's earned her death as a character, rather than as a woman

[moonshynecybin]

ohhh my god I love the rosquez kidnapping fic concept, if you end up writing it up for realsies I would read the shit out of it!! I don’t even really care about rosquez (<- lying), I’m just a sucker for kidnapping fics and I wanna see marc be miserable & then get nursed back to health

the REAL meat of the h/c of it all in an au like this is the healing. something marc is not very good at i’d say. so it’s. okay vale is there and that makes him happy so hes gonna latch onto him as comfort blanket, but vale is also CLEARLY uncomfy with being that for marc in certain lights due to their heinous and awful DIVORCE that is also one of the premiere formative tragedies of marc’s life. like. being abandoned by vale. so it’s this fraught little undercurrent of vale getting freaked by the emotional intimacy of all of this but also wanting to help marc because he [REDACTED FROM HIS OWN BRAIN] anddddd marc picking up on all of this while half expecting vale to fuck off at some point and re-assert the status quo. and dealing with injury that keeps him off the bike which makes him crazy. and dealing with extended PTSD symptoms from the trauma of the kidnapping itself. so all of this insane emotional context is happening on the inside genuinely TORMENTING THEM, but no one on the outside KNOWS that’s happening because rosquez LOVE to pretend their breakup doesn’t exist and marc is spending a lot of time lying on top of vale curled up on the couch in one of his hoodies with his nose in his neck trying to get a wrangle on his heart rate because the gardener suprised him earlier and he got scared (side note. marc marquez. not a man easily scared. like i don’t know if he knows how to deal with it. are his anxiety stratagems just ‘muscle through it’?). and on top of all this, the broader marquez family is there and they fuckin HATE vale

[faketrex]

a police station in a foreign country for the setting prompts if you're still taking them <3

Thank you, grace! 💝 For prompt number 13, "a police station in a foreign country."

RWRB, firstprince, featuring Henry throwing a punch, Alex scheming, and a fair amount of silliness. Post-canon, pre-bonus chapter.

...

“You can't punch him, you're a prince of fucking England,” Alex hisses.

It pains him to say it, obviously. The asshole standing in front of them has a punchable face–and extremely punch-worthy homophobic, xenophobic, racist opinions. It's not the first time they've had to just stand and listen to this kind of crap, but it never gets any easier.

Hell, Alex might take a swing himself if he didn't know for a fact that it would get him ushered out of England kicking and screaming, cursed to a life of long-distance love, groveling to his mom, and praying that one day, someday, Henry might escape the clutches of the monarchy and join him in the U.S. and–

“A prince,” Henry says mildly, in a tone that Alex has only heard once before, “me? You must be mistaken.”

And he hauls back his fist.

“Fucking–Henry!”

It's a solid punch.

☆☆☆

The less said about the next few hours, the better.

It doesn't really matter that Henry's a prince and Alex is the First Son of the United States. Or, well, it does, but only in the sense that when they're sitting in the police station, butts going numb in uncomfortable plastic chairs, they've got a whole entourage with them. There are three PPOs and two Secret Service officers, and the way Zahra keeps blowing up Alex's phone, she probably counts as present, too.

The chair he's sitting in squeaks obnoxiously when Alex leans over to whisper to Henry. “You know, if we had one more person on our side, we'd be a baseball team.”

“More's the pity that we're in England, not America, I suppose.”

“I don't know. If you were dead set on punching a fuckhead in the face, I think it's good you did it in England. I mean, your family must own all the dungeons here, right? When they lock you away, it'll be like home sweet home.”

Henry lets out a huff. “You realize we're not actually living in the Middle Ages, don't you?”

“Fuck that. If cops today could still use the rack, they would, in a heartbeat. And you can quote me on–”

Two chairs down, Amy clears her throat loudly.

“I mean,” Alex backpedals, “I mean. I sure do love sitting here quietly in a foreign police station and not stirring up shit.”

“Don't we all,” Henry sighs, rubbing at his bruised knuckles.

☆☆☆

The asshole guy–the punchee–says he won't press charges, to which the royal family replies that it will graciously agree to the same. It's a weird response that Alex isn't thinking too hard about tonight. Yeah, the guy had been a shithead, but Henry had been the one to throw hands. Technically, Henry's at fault here, unless–

“Are you like a swan?”

Henry has a cold, wet washcloth covering his face, but his confusion is audible through the fabric. “Pardon?”

“Like, if someone touches the Queen's swans, they're guilty, probably even if the swans were trying to fucking beak them or whatever. So I thought–”

“Alex–”

“Is it the same with you?” Alex twists sideways on the couch, watching as Henry peels the washcloth off his face. “Do you have honorary swan status?”

“I know how you feel about large birds, Alex.”

“This isn't about that!”

“No, I do not have ‘honorary swan status,’” Henry says. “I'm just one of the latest in a long line of unnecessary archaic figureheads who can behave badly and, it seems, get away with it.”

“That dick fucking deserved it.”

“Nevertheless.”

“Where'd you learn to punch like that? Dueling classes at Eton?”

“Boxing club at Oxford, actually.”

“No way. Seriously?”

“I had a crush on an instructor.” Even though he looks exhausted, one corner of Henry's mouth lifts upward. “If I recall correctly, I trained for three or four months before dropping it as a lost cause.”

“Punching people wasn't your cup of tea, huh?”

“Despite appearances otherwise today, no. And anyway, the instructor was hopelessly straight.”

“Lucky for you, I'm not,” Alex says, leaning in to kiss him.

When they break apart, Henry seems sheepish. “I still shouldn't have done it.”

“We can't change that now, but here's the game plan. The next time someone spews toxic, hateful abuse at us, we'll have two options.”

“Option one?”

Alex holds up one finger. “Option one: we leave. Doesn't matter where we are or who we're supposed to be impressing or whatever. If it sucks, hit the bricks, as the internet says.”

“And option two?”

Alex uses the finger he's already holding up to point at his own face. “Option two: I kiss you. It's a classic distraction move. Option two is also valid no matter where we are or who we're supposed to be impressing. Both options mean we won't have to listen to the bullshit.”

“I'm afraid the Queen would hate either. In fact, I'm not sure which would rile her more: our kissing in public or simply… walking away, refusing to be subject to the invective.”

“Exactly. It's a win-win for us on multiple levels.”

The expression on Henry's face is brighter than it has been all day. That, too, is a major win for Alex. “You're truly a force to be reckoned with, love, do you know that?”

“Yeah,” Alex agrees, “I'm a one-two punch. But, like, the metaphorical kind. Now come here so I can kiss you again.”

[actual-changeling]

He told me about white wings and halos, and I remembered your stars, all I can think about are your stars.

You told me the stars are waiting for us, they are still where you put them, carefully, reverently, and you asked me to come visit them with you.

I said yes— tell me you said no.

(I love you, I love you, loved you then, love you now.)

Yes to heaven.

No to us?

You're the one giving up, not me.

(No to heaven. Yes to you, believe me, believe me.)

It shouldn't matter now. It still matters.

I keep seeing your stars, your smile, lit up and shining brighter than your creations, we can be together among them again, angels. I don't care about white wings and halos but I care about you, and I can make them care about you; they should care about you like I do.

(I haven't seen you smile like that since.)

You can't leave.

(I never made you smile like that.)

We can make your stars last forever.

There's no we anymore.

(I'll look at your stars and pray you can sense me looking at you.

There's stardust in your eyes, on your skin, and it makes me taste the joy your stars gifted to you.

I don't want halos and white wings if it kills the night sky in your soul.)

I'll wait for you to come back.

[aritany]

welp. just finished the best book i've ever written.

[themetaphorgirl]

Whumptober #15: Patron Saint of Lost Causes

No. 15: CHILDHOOD TRAUMA

Prompted by @quiddoditto

Painful Hug | Moment of Clarity | "I did good, right?"

Spencer still doesn’t know that this time he doesn’t have to try to earn anyone’s love.

Mom didn’t like to be touched most of the time. She liked it when he read quietly, usually in his room. He made sure to read all the books she liked, she was happiest when he could talk to her about them. And as long as she was happy, he was happy. He didn’t mind that his clothes weren’t nice or clean, or that sometimes he went hungry, or that the house was filthy and cluttered with her collections. He kept to himself, and cleaned up after himself, and figured out how to keep himself fed.  It was like a little transaction database in his head. Reading quietly so Mom could work on her research, positive. Asking Mom to make dinner when she was busy, negative. Cleaning up her broken coffee cup after she threw it, positive. The most positive things he did, the happier Mom was. He could manage that.

Read here!

[gregorygerwitz]

no one told you life post-grad was gonna be this way...

Growing up in Chicago as the son of a corporate lawyer, Gregory knew exactly what his life was going to look like. He would go to business school near home, then an Ivy League law school, just like his father. Once he had his law degree, he would work for his father's firm and establish himself in Chicago again so that all the right people knew his name and how to reach him.

And, by the time he was moving into an apartment in New York City, everything was going exactly as his parents had planned for him.

Columbia's law campus was close enough to enough bars and clubs that he could enjoy himself without going out of his way. He could buy drinks that were too strong. He could take a few pills from friends. He could hook up with an equally drunk hot local far away from anyone who knew him as the Gerwitz heir.

He was getting good grades. He was active on the social scene. He was a front runner for one of the best summer internships in the city. He was completely, totally successful in all the things his parents wanted him to do, and he hated every single second of it.

If it had been up to him, Greg would be a few hours away on the MIT campus, finishing up a master's degree in computers and technology. He never would have gone to Columbia, or even finished a business degree in the first place. He would have started his legacy instead of following in his father's footsteps. He would have been his own person, maybe even had a boyfriend, if such a thing wouldn't tarnish the family image beyond repair, or whatever his mother believed. With the weight on the entire family name on his shoulders, he didn't even have the option to imagine a life like that.

When he went back home, he would inevitably be married off to one of his mother's friend's daughters, and he'd have a new to do list for his life to start checking off.

On one night in particular, when he was even more upset than normal, he sat at a bar further from his apartment so that he didn't encounter any of his usual crowd. The last thing he needed was whispers about his bad habits spreading around right before midterms. He'd much rather do shot after shot of expensive whiskey poured by an exhausted looking student, based on the age of the bartender across from him, and ignore the look that was shot his way when the name on his credit card was read off with a level of disdain that was only used by half of Chicago.

"Gerwitz, huh?" "Yup." "From Chicago?" "There's a number at the end of my name, isn't there? Take your best guess as to why that is."

Will knew he was lucky to get out of Canaryville when he did. A scholarship, even if it was only a partial one, got him from his tiny family home to a dorm in New York, and he could figure out the rest from there. The rest just so happened to include not talking to his father, and being too far away for a proper goodbye when his brother enlisted and was sent across the world, and having too much of his life in shambles when all he wanted was to go home for a funeral.

Through his first four years in college, he had... someone. He knew better than to call Matt his boyfriend, especially after he'd "met" Matt all over again when Moira invited him to breakfast while she was in the city. That didn't stop him from opening the door every weekend at the drop of a hat, ignoring his studies so that he could be laid out in his bed with a hot med student on top of him. It didn't stop him from doing anything with Matt, wherever they ended up or whenever he got the phone call. It should have.

He'd spent the night with Matt just hours before he missed his flight home. He still knew exactly where the blame lay for his alarm conveniently not going off when he needed it to. Jay didn't, and that meant everyone else blamed him for skipping out on an important weekend that his brother never should have spent alone.

After that, during the summer between graduating with his four-year degree and starting at the Columbia med campus, he decided he wanted nothing to do with Matt ever again. He had the support of his rival, of all people, and Stevie quickly became his best friend when they formed a truce long enough to sign a lease on an apartment close to campus. He would have to work multiple jobs to keep up with his half of the rent, but that was something he'd been doing for years just to keep himself fed, as much as he could.

Between classes, and his job in the dining hall, and his job in the library, and a new job at the bar a few blocks down from their apartment, he didn't have the hours in the day to even let Matt Cooper cross his mind, and that was exactly how he wanted to keep it. The only thing he wanted to do was focus on becoming a doctor so that he could go home again, eventually, with his head held high. He wanted to prove he could do what he'd said he would do, even if he was the only one in his own corner.

Without Matt on his mind, the idea of another boyfriend was a distant one, at best, and completely impossible when he took what spare seconds he had to think about his life. It wasn't like he could take a man home to meet his Irish Catholic father, and he doubted that Jay - safely home from Afghanistan, just barely, and dressed in blue while he patrolled Chicago to keep it safe - would approve much, either. Still, being flirted with came with being a bartender, and no one would shame him for flirting back to get a bigger tip so he could afford lunch one weekend.

Especially when the name Gerwitz came up on a heavy platinum credit card.

That name was synonymous with royalty, back home. The only family names that were more recognizable were Rhodes and Sheffield, and they all traveled in the same circles. He just never expected to encounter that circle of people in a dive bar five blocks from his shitty apartment. But there, on a worn out bar stool no more than three feet away, was Gregory Gerwitz IV, heir to one of the biggest fortunes anyone in Chicago could imagine. And he'd been downing shots like a man who got left at the altar and fired within hours of each other since Will started his shift.

They weren't the same, they never could be, not when life dealt them such different hands, but they weren't exactly all that different. They were both alone, in a city far from their home and their families, and maybe being alone didn't always have to be so lonely.

[firenati0n]

wip wednesday :) :) :)

i have 3 wip docs open (help) but today y'all get some more proposal au currently titled "the full spectrum of human emotion" <3 here is the snippet i posted on sunday as well :) i wrote this between the hours of 2 - 4am so forgive any errors xoxo

Alex rolls his eyes. “You're gonna have to get used to me touching you, Henry. We're engaged. Our immigration officer is operating under the assumption that I’m literally inside you on a regular basis—” “Excuse me?” “—which means you can't squirm or freeze every time I hold your fucking hand.”   Henry’s jaw ticks. “Can we...erm...can we establish some ground rules?” His face is mildly terrified and paler than usual. Good. He should be. “Ground rules? It's PDA, not the fucking Olympics.” Alex is feeling less optimistic by the second. They’re so fucked.  “Alex, please.” Henry looks pained, and Alex feels only a little bit of pity. It’s not just his job on the line, it’s Henry’s livelihood too. “Fine. Nothing below the belt, hands where everyone can see them, and no tongue.” For now, his brain adds, like the traitorous bitch it is. “But I’m not going to jail on a goddamn felony charge because you can’t handle being a little handsy. We clear?”    Henry nods, face resolute. “Also, why would they assume it’s you inside me, and not the other way around?” Alex stares at him, unflinching. “Do you really want me to answer that question, sweetheart?”

sorry if i missed any posts already due to timezone and dashboard fuckery! but no pressure tagging @ninzied @rmd-writes @inexplicablymine @anincompletelist @myheartalivewrites @suseagull04 @priincebutt @sparklepocalypse @kiwiana-writes @onward--upward @nocoastposts @user-anakin @wordsofhoneydew @littlemisskittentoes @happiness-of-the-pursuit @matherines @lizzie-bennetdarcy @celeritas2997 @dragonflylady77 @sherryvalli @gayrootvegetable @ssmtskw @affectionatelyrs @tinyarmedtrex and open tag to anyone else (i want to seeeeee) xoxoxo <3

[icebluecyanide]

Crack sequel to my Yassen keeps catching Alex series where Alex runs into Yassen again in a Starbucks:

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After Greece, Alex had spent a lot of time wondering when he would run into Yassen again. It was beyond question that he would, after the way they had somehow run into each other four times in the last year.

Still, he hadn't expected to run into Yassen here.

"Welcome to Starbucks, how may I help you?"

"What are you doing here?" Alex demanded.

Yassen looked around him as if trying to work out what could possibly be strange about him standing behind the counter in a coffee shop, taking orders.

"I work here," he told Alex.

[pisshandkerchief]

I think the wider gravity falls fandom would benefit from realizing that alex hirsch is not some kind of genius and is rather just some guy who loves trolling people and is very clearly flying by the seat of his pants at all times on every creative decision he makes

[autumn816]

❤️ first kiss / realization + chalex hehe 🫶🏻

Hiii Lourdes!!! I hope you enjoy this😊

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Alex shrieks as Charles bursts into his room.

“Mate, you can’t just barge in like that.” Alex holds his t-shirt over his naked torso as if Charles has never seen him topless before. Good thing he wore his sweatpants first. “How did you come in?”

“Your maman let me in.” Charles sits on the bed, criss-crossing his legs. “I have a date tomorrow.”

Alex ignores the sudden pit in his stomach and opts to pull his t-shirt over his head. “Congratulations?”

“We are going to the arcade right after school so do not wait for me.”

“Okay.” Alex draws out the second syllable.

“It is my first date. Aren’t you gonna ask who it is with?”

Alex really isn’t sure if he wants to know.

“You’re gonna tell me anyway.”

“It’s Max.”

“Max Verstappen!?” Alex exclaims. “What the fuck!?”

Charles lays back on the bed, avoiding Alex’s gaze. “He asked me out.”

“And you thought what, you’ll say yes? You don’t even like him.”

“I do not not like him.”

It makes Alex pause. “Do you… like him?”

“I don’t know. I guess I will figure out tomorrow,” Charles says.

It’s silent for a few minutes, both too busy in their own thoughts until Charles breaks it.

“Alex.”

“Yeah?”

“How are first dates supposed to go? Should we hold hands? When do we know we should hold hands?

Alex smiles. It’s the first smile he lets out since Charles came. There is something so endearing watching Charles ramble.

“Or if he kisses me?”

The smile wipes off his face. The pit in his stomach worsens, like it’s bouncing off his insides and wants to claw its way out of him.

“I have never kissed anyone before. What if I do not know how to kiss?” Charles gnaws his lower lip.

Alex involuntarily snorts. “You’re 14. I don’t think you should be worried if you know how to kiss or not.”

Charles glares at Alex. “You knew how to kiss when you were my age.” The clench in Charles’ jaw captures Alex’s attention for a second. “I heard stories going around the school.”

There is an undertone in Charles’ voice. Alex can’t really tell what it is.

“Exactly.” Alex points at Charles. “Stories.”

“So you did not know how to kiss?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Charles sits up again, playing with his hands on his laps.

Alex sighs. “What are you so worried about, Charlie?”

“I do not want anyone to make fun of me if I cannot kiss.”

The words are out of his mouth before Alex could even think upon them. “How about I teach you?”

“Teach me?”

It’s too late to backtrack now. Charles won’t let it go until he tells him so Alex saves the waste of time and energy. “Show you around a bit. How to kiss. What to do and not to do. All that jazz.”

“You will do that for me?” Charles asks.

I will do anything for you. And yeah okay, Alex doesn’t know where that came from.

“Yeah, Charlie, I would do that for you.” Alex walks up to the bed and sits next to Charles, their knees knocking together. “So, kiss me,” Alex says.

“Non,” Charles says, “you kiss me.”

Alex shakes his head at Charles’ antics and cups his cheek. “Still good?”

“Yes. Kiss me, please.”

Alex leans forward, his lips brushing against Charles.

Charles wraps his hands around Alex’s wrists.

Alex captures Charles’ upper lip between his own, swiping his tongue at the bottom one.

“Open your mouth, Charlie,” he says when Charles doesn’t take the hint.

Charles drops his jaw as wide as he can.

Alex giggles into Charles’ mouth. “Not that much.” He grabs Charles by the chin and closes his mouth until there is barely enough space left. “Just enough to let me slip my tongue in.” He does exactly that. Charles tastes like apple and peanut butter.

Charles snakes his hands into Alex’s hair, scraping his nails at the nape. A noise that he didn’t even know he was capable of making escapes him.

Alex strokes his thumb onto the dip between Charles’ lips and chin.

Charles pulls away first, their noses bumping. Their breaths fan onto each other’s faces.

Alex places his forehead against Charles’ or more so against Charles’ hair because the Monagasque refuses to do something about his hairstyle.

“Was that good?”

“I might need more proof before I come to a conclusion,” Alex selfishly says. He doesn’t wanna stop kissing Charles right now.

This time Charles is the one that initiates the kiss.

Alex kisses him and kisses him and kisses him until their mouths are red and bruised. Charles lets him.

He loops his arms underneath Alex’s and hides his face in Alex’s neck, nuzzling his nose against his skin.

And oh.

Oh.

Everything makes sense. His stomach fluttering, his heart racing, him looking forward to school. It’s because of Charles. It’s always been Charles. Since the day he knew him.

“I think you are a very good kisser. Everyone at school was right.” Charles mumbles into his jaw, placing a kiss right at the edge.

The spot tingles. It burns. Alex turns red. Hearing Charles call him a good kisser makes him feel all kinds of warm.

“You’re too. A natural talent.” Alex teases, trying to diffuse the tension. He turns his head, pressing a kiss to Charles’ forehead.

“I should go. I have homework,” Charles says.

“You should. I need to finish my assignment too.”

Charles pulls away, taking all the warmth away with him. “Sorry, I did not mean to disturb you.”

Alex tugs at a lock of Charles’ hair. “You could never.”

“See you tomorrow?” Charles gets up and walks to the door.

“Yeah.”

“Bye, Alex.”

The first thing Alex does once Charles leaves is grabs his phone. Usually, he would just go to his best mate’s place but, of course, George had to be on a Mathalon trip this weekend.

George picks up on the third ring. The familiarity of his best mate’s voice calms him down a bit. “Alex, it’s bloody 2 am. You better be dying in a ditch.”

“I think I might be in love with Charles.”

—

Heart ask game