#and only be able to remember it from the feeling it gives me when i think about being that age

[brandonmassa2]

Just what type of taking pictures are you referring to? You mean a selfie? And I don’t freakin know, your type of taking pictures would have to be observed during the during part of your camera show. I can’t help but wonder what you really wanted when you posted that peculiar question. You could have also just straight up asked for a compliment, but you seemingly tried to be subtextual.

What comes from having the adoration of complete strangers? You would never trust a stranger with your things, but you’ll give them free rein to wreak havoc like the repugnant trolls they are. Let me explain. Communicating with a known liar is pointless. What could even be gained from listening to lies? Nothing. Information like numbers and math is an exact science that can’t afford mistakes.

Changing one number or even one decimal can have drastic effects that many people don’t know think about what is referred to as the butterfly effect. A small puff of air, can set a chain of events in motion that can ultimately lead to cataclysmic geopolitical consequences. And I’m sure there are examples of this in history that we’ll obviously never know about. But it’s fun to philosophize and wonder about because cause and effect is all encompassing. Why something is is my favorite question to postulate internally. Reason and logic are foundational in my cognitive constitution. I was built to feel what my beloved is feeling. I have empathy oozing out of me. When I was a teenager, I would go to the movies when my mom went to the gym, and I only remember one special night that I went to see “The Green Mile,” about an innocent death row inmate who has an ability to… well he would literally draw the pain and sickness into his hands or his mouth, and afterwords, he lays down from exhaustion and coughs up a cloud of flying insects. Sorry I can be a tangential writer. If you’re actually still reading this, I do want to continue talking about my heart. I found it very difficult to watch it in several scenes, I have never liked seeing anyone in pain, so I damn sure don’t wanna watch executions. The storyline was extremely interesting and had my full attention, because although this is fiction, it does contain many hard truths…. Hard truths that aren’t axiomatic or even talked about anymore.

Tears have long been overlooked, ignored and rejected in masculine society for fear of looking weak. I don’t care what people think, but it’s still my first inclination to hide or reject the tears coming out of my eyes. But crying is so clean! So cathartic. So necessary for my mental health. It’s so pleasurable to contemplate the beauty and wonder of something during the course of a cry. Btw I’m a grown ass man, and I’m pretty sure I’m the only guy of my kind. I was different from every guy I’ve ever known or known of. My DNA contains a masculine foundation, but as I grew up, I began to notice stark differences in the ways I thought, and the way all guys think. Diametrical differences too. Especially with respect to the dynamic of approaching women, or the subject of women. Every single guy I’ve ever known swears he is smarter than his wife. Or can drive better. Or can make better decisions. Handling money is the one that gets me because it’s so obvious yet it is so ignored. My dad spent money to his hearts content, and never solicited so much as a damn opinion. My poor mother struggled hard to give my brother and I a good life and she wanted so bad to be able to leave me the house that I grew up in, but it was in foreclosure before she died. Wells Fargo sued me sideways after she died leaving the house to me. Some of my family screwed me out of all my current possessions, my car, my laptop, and a bookcase full of family pictures. My mother had a 150,000 dollar life insurance that she split between Cameron and I. My aunt tried to say that my mother was mistaken in telling me about her policy. Mistaken. The exact word she used. I found it insulting to her intelligence. My mother was the sweetest most patient level headed person who made it her mission to volunteer for as much shit as possible, volunteering me all too often. Special Olympics has been a big part of my life since grade school. I would go help coach or set up when they had practice, and it never stopped either, it was year round, whatever sport is current and in the summer, I would volunteer full time for the entire summer. I remember I hated my mom for making me go, but the swimming coach was insanely hot. And I’m not even sure where I was at with my sexuality at that point, but I lived to watch him with his shirt off. Maybe that’s where my nipple fetish came from. His areolas were huge! I started noticing guys with their shirts off in my middle school locker room and then when I got to Leon High School, its gym was 50 years old when they had communal showers. Seeing other guys naked in 9th grade pretty much meant that I was bi-curious? Sex with same sex partners is pleasurable on a level that is unique. Notice I did not say better. Women are my number one. They all know that. But the societal condemnation for gayness can be switched and turned on its head, increasing pleasure for gay guys or bi guys because the “forbidden” nature of sucking another guy’s dick, is the same as any sexual philosophy. If something is forbidden, you want it more, and you feel it more when you do consider it. The fact that it’s “wrong” and not supposed to be done is most of the allure! Well not most. I really enjoy giving oral sex… getting it is tricky, cause first things first, DO NOT suck or press at all on my testes. I’m extremely sensitive in that area and I will be open minded but giving me head is something you’re going to have to request, because my hands and my mouth will never tire. And I want to be the one touching. I want to be the one dry dragging my lips on your… while we watch a documentary and pause it to have discussions, and advocating debates about current events.

To love me, you must love to learn.

To love me, you must love love and hate hate.

The thing about tipping points… only visible in retrospect. Random?

Guys is this type of taking pictures good?

[arachnidseyes]

❆ Stave off the cold ❆

❆ Damian Wayne x gn! Reader ❆ Reader and Damian have a near death experience that brings them closer together ❆ Older! Damian as always ❆ w.c: 1.2k ❆

Cuddling didn't come natural to Damian. Maybe it didn't come natural to you either. In the beginning, when you would spend the night together, you'd usually just sleep side by side. Feeling each others weight in the bed next to you, the occasional reaching out for a hand or an arm to hold. The closeness was enough for the both of you.

Until that one mission that went wrong.

You were both stranded in the icy tundra, just the two of you. You weren't even sure if you were still on earth, having been teleported there during a fight in Gotham with a bad guy of the week. Your coms were on the fritz, all you could make out was “help- way- hour-” before the line cut. You knew the league would be able to get to you in at least a couple hours but looking around the desolate landscape, the wind cutting through your cheeks, snow blinding your eyes, you weren't sure you could last a couple hours.

Looking at Damian, you could tell he was thinking the same thing. You both searched for a cave, a rock, somewhere to hide from the howling wind. It was useless, there was nothing but flat icy earth and blowing snow for miles.

It was too windy to build a fire. You were both in your hero get-ups and though Gotham gets cold, you were wholly unprepared for this climate.

He took your hand and sat you down on his lap. He held you so close and you knew he was so angry he couldn't do more to protect you from the icy wind. You tried to regulate your breathing like he did, you tried so hard but you felt like your blood was slowing in your veins, your skin felt thin and brittle.

You both clutched each other closer when the wind picked up, snow piercing through the air, cutting through skin, seeping into the flesh. You knew the snow he was sitting on was melting under him, you knew he was taking the brunt of it all. But you also knew if you tried to fight, even if you could through your chattering teeth, he'd just say, “I am trained for all kinds of environments, you aren't.” in that blunt but warm way. So, you sat in silence, waiting it out.

It was jarring to feel so cold while being so close to him when he usually runs as hot as a furnace. You tried to give him as much of your heat as possible, pulling him into you, but you don't think it helped much. You tried not to panic when you realised you couldn't feel your toes. You didn't tell him, you were sure it was the same, if not worse for him.

You tried to slow your heaving, the frigid air felt painful to breathe. You shut your eyes so the snow wouldn't get in and you didn't even register how tired you suddenly felt. Damian jerked you awake, shaking his head against yours as a silent plead. You bring him into the crook of your neck, his ice-cold nose against your neck making you shiver, and you held him there, as an apology.

You had no idea how long it was (you later find out it was a mere 2 hours) until help arrived. You only vaguely remember being picked up out of Damian's arms as you tried to struggled in protest.

You remember the wind suddenly stopping. Still, warm air and quiet footsteps on metal ground. You faintly registered you were on a ship and that the league had arrived but all you could really think about was Damian. A calm voice tells you,

“It's alright.”

You were too busy looking around, trying to see or hear where-

“He is alright, please show me your hands.”

You do as the voice, who you registered as J'onn, says and slowly feel warm blood returning to your fingers. The martian was holding some gadget to your hands, probably checking for hypothermia. All you could think about was why he wasn't doing this for Damian. (He was actually doing the exact same thing to Damian with his telekinesis.)

He takes off your shoes and wet outer layers of clothing despite your delirious refusals of it being too cold, you fought and swore at him. (Poor J'onn. You later apologized timidly, to which he just said, "It is alright, I was just relieved to find you unharmed. Though I did learn a few new expletives.")

You were put in what felt like a tanning bed, it was so warm and toasty you couldn't fight it anymore. You fell in and out of consciousness for awhile. One moment you close your eyes and the next you open them and Damian’s right was next to you, already sleeping peacefully with you in your human toaster oven. You drifted off, finally knowing you'd both be okay.

You later found out that he'd deliriously climbed out of his own little heat bed and into yours. You still laugh, imagining J’onn just standing by, letting him clamber into your heat bed instead of stopping him.

Since that day both you and Damian have been very different about cuddling and physical touch in general. When before, he would insist he runs too hot to cuddle, now he insists you use his body heat to help you sleep. He always makes it sound like he wants to cuddle for your sake not his own but you both know that's bullshit.

Usually you end up with your head on his chest, his arm around your waist. His hand will always find yours, holding it against his chest, your pulse soothing him to sleep while you feel his slow beating heart.

With the issue of heat, you came up with the brilliant idea of Damian just never wearing a shirt to bed, or pants, or- he shoved you into the pillow before you could finish the rest. You both find you don't mind waking up in the morning a little sweaty if it means you get to feel each other all night, close and warm and alive.

You think he took advantage of the fact that nobody teased him for this sudden closeness right when it started. During family movie nights you'd usually just sit next to each other, shoulder to shoulder, sharing a blanket and a bowl of popcorn.

Now, Damian always has his arm around your waist, fingers twitching every now and then, feeling your body heat. Your legs are always at least half way on top of his under the blanket. You'll rest your head on his shoulder, occasionally murmuring comments about the movie like when a character does something stupid or when a scene looks pretty.

You can tell the difference is a little jarring for the rest of the bats but to their credit, they managed to keep most of their teasing inside. (Due to the whole near death experience thing.)

Damian thinks of you when it snows now, when the wind picks up while he's on patrol. He feels his phone vibrate in his pocket and smiles. You always text him on nights like these, asking if he's on patrol and how he's doing. (You think you're being slick but you're not.)

You both were brought closer, and while it was from a terrible experience (Would not recommend.) you found a new way to appreciate each other. Whether that be through a small touch, a firm hold or a simple text.

❆

[yvesol]

codes & codons - PART 1

(SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY X READER)

PLOT:

in the dead of the night, your computer’s webcam glows red—he watches you from another realm made up of binary roots, hoping that he will one day get to taste the sweetness of your lips instead of the static that stings his tongue.

or: the sentient horror game character au

MASTERLIST // READ IT ON AO3

—

He was never programmed to say your name. Or that he’d find you in the real world.

Bravery was never your strongest feat. From the formative age of you-don’t-remember to your adulthood, you have remained a consistent anxiety-stricken and nervous coward. Heart palpitations, cold sweat, and fidgeting were all more like familiar habits than coping mechanisms whenever anything concerning happened in your life. Including now, where you were a blubbering mess on the phone. 

“You don't–” hiccup “--get it, Gaz, the presentation is in two weeks, and I’m finding a mistake in the code now of all times.” You were heaving, trying to make sense of what your computer screen was showing you: Ghost, the video game character you oh so lovingly programmed, was saying something completely different than what he was supposed to. 

As someone deeply engrossed in what they did, you always wore your work ethic like a badge of honor, turning you into a nocturnal tornado on the computer, typing away codes for different projects, and spending hours trying to find tiny errors. You were a victim of your own discipline, constantly sleep-deprived and delirious during the day. You were sure you must’ve unknowingly changed something while working the night away. Maybe you mistook Transcendent for another project and wrote something else in its code.

“He was supposed to say that he’d wait for the player. H–how did he even say my name…I don’t understand what’s going on–”

“Hey, listen to me–”

“No, Gaz, it’s so weird. I can see my name on the screen. I never put it in the program–”

“Listen to me! Calm down. You won’t be able to think if you panic so much. Take a few deep breaths first, alright? With me, now, come on, one…” You did as your friend said, finding solace in his soothing voice. 

Gaz was a fellow programmer and the only one who understood you better than yourself. A true friend when you always needed one. Even though he wasn’t much of a gamer, He helped develop the main codes for the game, even giving you input for the story so you could make it more interesting. He was integral to you in every aspect of your life. 

“I’ll drop by your place and take a look, okay?” he reassured. There are contrasts in every duo, complementing figures. Where you lacked organization with your messy notes, there Gaz stayed meticulous with his carefully annotated textbooks, and where Gaz lacked concern about random things like bills and apartment maintenance, you stood tall with your list of worries. 

“You can’t come over tomorrow. I have to go to like, three interviews back to back. I’ll be out all day,” you say as you wipe away your snot and tears. You're finally done with your wailing now that there’s some comfort for your frenzied mind. “It’s okay. Just text me your apartment’s passcode and I’ll let myself in.”

If you agree, send him your passcode. You could feel the onset of a wave of productivity. Having Gaz in your life truly was convenient. 

You look back at your computer and sigh, the only words that are displayed sending chills down your spine and static in your ears. 

“I will find you.” 

It felt like each and every pixel of his skull mask-covered face was mocking you. 

And when you finally shut your eyes and fall into the thick cocoon of sleep, does he take a good look at you.

He takes his first breath as the webcam glows red.

–

Kate Laswell, the head of talent acquisition at 141 Games, was staring at you through her clear glass coffee cup as you chewed your wrinkled lip, waiting for her question. “I am quite impressed by your resume. Working full time while handling a side project like Transcendent must’ve been difficult.” The woman was trying to warm you up to her presence, even going as far as to conduct the interview at the coffee shop in the company building.

‘I had the idea for the longest time, and I was just so tired of waiting for the right moment to settle down and work, so I grabbed my computer and started. I’m exhausted, but I feel accomplished.” You prayed that your answer didn’t make you out to be a neglectful and distracted employee but rather a dedicated programmer.

Kate smiled at your answer, crows’ feet deepening beside her eyes as she placed your resume on the coffee table. “I could easily look at your file and figure out what Transcendent is about, but I want your perspective on it. Tell me about the game: the plot, your inspiration, how you came up with the codes. All of it.” She placed one leg on top of the other as she leaned forward a little, making the sunlight hit her brown hair in such a way that you could see the little canities sprouting. 

“Well, it’s a choose-your-own-adventure game where your choices can either give you a good ending or a bad ending. Your job as the player is to free yourself from being haunted by your dead ex-boyfriend. So you go on a journey to learn how to exorcise him. It’s scary if you get the bad ending and sentimental if you get the good ending.” 

Kate hums, her eyes watching you like you’re the most interesting person ever, a program so unique that it cannot be replicated by anyone, even if they have the codes for it. “Tell me more.” 

The interview goes better than you thought. You were interviewed by three of the most famous game development companies, but something in your heart just pulled you to 141 Games. Kate’s enthusiasm to learn not just about your magnum opus but also about your other projects made you feel validated for your craft. Also, she was the only one who didn’t force you to hand over your game to the company if you chose to work there.

Your apartment looks the exact same way as it did before you left–notebooks about programming languages strewn on your coffee table notes about Transcendent stuck on your refrigerator using some of the many magnets Gaz gets you from his business trips, and your computer screensaver displaying the time and date.

The only thing out of place was a box of donuts waiting for you on your kitchen counter. You find a note from Gaz next to it–he called them emotional support donuts. Nothing could be more fitting for the glazed confection that sent a rush of dopamine with every bite. 

With the last of the donuts in your mouth, you walked over to your computer to check if he had fixed the code, only to find an email notification from him. Surprised that he didn’t just send you a text; you read the email anyway. 

Sender: kylegazrick15@xmail.com

Time: 3:15 pm

there is nothing wrong with the code 

i think you stay up too much

What a weird message. No mention of any curiosity over how your interviews went.

Jealousy. You rubbed your temples to get rid of that thought. You had enough on your plate with job offers, new projects, and the university presentation. 

He could’ve just called you, but you digressed from texting him. The haiku-esque email made you think of it as another one of his playful moments.

Sender: progamingallnyt@xmail.com

Time: 6:36 pm

Hi Gaz,

Thank you for the donuts :)  they were delish.  And thanks for looking at the code anyway. Though I doubt what you’re saying is true. I think I’d remember if the dialogues in my own game had been changed. Also what’s with the weird texting style? are you making fun of me for the code thing?

Love,

Your best friend.

You then open Transcendent to check whether Gaz was right or not. There was already one mistake in the game; there was no way there weren’t more mistakes. 

The familiar music starts, and you start the playthrough as usual, making notes for the presentation you have to give at a local university next week. It was all going swell when you found another strange dialogue. Where Ghost was supposed to mention that he would never leave the player, he says something else. 

“1 @m com1ng. Wa1t f0r m3. Just 0ne mor#”

You whipped your phone out of your pocket as fast as you could and dialed straight for Gaz, hoping that he would pick up in a ring or two. You swore that the dialogue didn’t say that the day before. Your mind was running through every logical explanation for the situation as you waited for Gaz to pick up. You sat with bated breath, hoping that it was your friend who might’ve accidentally messed up this part of the program, too, but to your disappointment, he hadn’t picked up at all. 

Which is fine, you could just message him and then continue playing the game in the meantime. 

You found a few more mistakes in the dialogue, mainly numbers replacing letters, and sometimes, his figure wouldn’t show up in some scenes at all. You chalked up the latter to the game, not being able to load everything on time. 

You were enveloped in gooseflesh as you thought about how much work had just suddenly piled on your shoulders right before one of the most important days in your career. After all, people already had low expectations for an indie gamer like you; you couldn’t afford to make things worse for yourself. 

You decide to go on the gaming forum you’re usually active on and look up Transcendent, hoping to find out whether other people have had similar issues with the game. Still, to your surprise, the only comments you find are theories about Ghost’s past and more praise about your game.

You push your blue light glasses back up the bridge of your nose before stretching and opening up the codes for the game again. Your mind reeled over how one singular mistake could progress into multiple, checking for potential bugs, but the program was spotless. Clean as a whistle, as straightforward as typing out ‘print: hello world.’

<!DOCTYPE html>

<html lang="en">

<head>

    <meta charset="UTF-8">

    <title>Dialogue</title>

</head>

<body>

    <p id="dialogue">Player:  "You have to move on."</p>

    <button onclick="document.getElementById('dialogue').textContent = 'Ghost: \"I could never leave you”.\"'">Continue</button>

</body>

</html>

Frustrated, you shut your computer. You still had to decide which place you wanted to work at, and there simply weren’t enough hours in the day to fuss over a single problem. 

Gaz’s cryptic emails continued for the next few days till he ceased all contact. He wouldn’t pick up when you’d try to call him, and your texts to him refused to go through, with only a small error symbol appearing when you’d text him a simple greeting.

“I haven’t seen ‘im either. Rent was supposed to be paid three days ago, and he’s not responding to my calls or texts. Didn’t say anything about not being able to pay on time. The house is locked too. If you find him, then let me know, or I’ll have to call the police.” His landlord seemed more frustrated about not being able to collect rent than about Gaz’s safety. With a nervous nod, you went back to your apartment to continue working on your presentation. 

You bit your nails and thought about going to the police, but it wasn’t the first time Gaz had gone AWOL and returned as if nothing had happened. It just never happened for longer than four days. 

But you couldn’t let all these thoughts get in the way. With the university presentation and new job opportunities, your hands were tied, not to mention all the new side projects you were handling. For now, you’d just have to shut the concerned side of your brain and make it through the fog. 

You don’t see Gaz at your university guest lecture as he had promised before; so much for moral support. Surprisingly, Ghost doesn’t act up during your demo playthrough: there are no weird dialogues, and his character loads properly during different scenes. The program almost acts like a well-behaved dog. 

Your mind splinters when you watch a sci-fi movie about a robot gaining self-awareness. But you’re quick to remind yourself that sentience is not possible. It’s probably all those energy drinks you chug down like water.

You can’t help but reel at the different possibilities about his disappearance. Maybe he has finally settled down and gotten a partner, though he’d never leave you in the dark about it. He could also be very sick, probably came down with something extremely contagious–but the landlord said he hadn’t heard from him in days. 

Or maybe he’s jealous and resents you for not crediting him. 

You try to email him for the tenth time to see if he’s okay, and hours later, you finally get a reply.

From: kylegazrick@xmail.com

Time: 1:41 am

not c0ming b4ck

You try hard not to bite off the inside of your cheek, though its cushioning is the only way you can stop yourself from grinding your teeth. The man has fallen off the face of the Earth, and this is the only reply you get? You try sending a follow-up email, but all you get is an error saying that it never went through. 

You try again five times. Same result. You make a decision to go to the police if he doesn’t reply in three more days.

–

The coffee in the styrofoam cup is hot enough to turn your palms soft and red. It’s the least of your worries now that you know your friend has been missing for a week. A random junior officer was kind enough to hand over the warm caffeinated drink when he noticed your jittery state while waiting to speak with a detective. You doubted that it would help.

You jolt like a foal that has just started to stand on its twig-like legs when a large man enters your vision. His mahogany desk looks comically small compared to his frame: broad shoulders, towering height, and thick hands. His face looks aged, mainly because of stress and the way his beard has been cropped. His name slate sits tilted on his messy desk that is filled with files and a lone coffee cup that is almost filled to the brim.

“Hello, I’m Detective John Price. How can I help you, ma’am?” He sits across from you with his arms folded, making him look even more imposing. His dark circles and deadpanned face showed that he was trying to grasp onto every bit of politeness he could harness within himself.

“Hi, my friend is gone–he’s missing.” 

The crowded police station makes it hard for you to collect your thoughts. A combination of cacophonies come from all directions. An old woman loudly yelled about noisy neighbors in one corner, two drunk men argued with one another, and a group of policemen laughed while eating bagels. It doesn’t help that the desks have been put so close together that every once in a while, someone’s elbow bumps into the back of your head as they hurriedly walk past you. You ignored the following apologies after a while. 

John looks at you pensively before taking a big gulp from his cup. “How many days has it been since you’ve last heard from him.”

“About a week. Though he’s only been contacting me via emails and completely went AWOL about three days ago.” 

“So, three days?” John sluggishly pulls out a sticky note from his desk’s drawer and clicks his pen. 

“Huh?”

John sighs as he rubs his temples. “It’s been three days since you’ve actually heard from him.”

“Yes, but his number–like, I tried calling and texting for the past week, and nothing went through. I’m just really worried.” 

Though his beard covers a good part of the lower half of his face, you can tell he’s grinding his teeth. His questions say concern, but his face says frustration.

“Has something like this happened before? Not hearing from him? Maybe he’s on a trip.” 

“Yes, but–”

“There you go, there’s your answer. If he has contacted you via email, I’m sure he’ll contact you again. Don’t fret.” He’s about to get up, but you grab onto his arm. You try not to cower under his gaze when he looks at you like you’re a child begging for candy. 

“No, you don’t get it. I got this really weird email saying that he’s not gonna come back. Here, I’ll show you.”

He’s still standing up when you get on your tippy toes and nearly press your phone to his face with Gaz’s email displayed on it. He takes one look at the email and then glares at you. “Not going to come back, you say?” 

You nod with as much concern as you can show, eyebrows furrowed and eyes glossy. His large hand clasps your wrist and turns the phone back at you. “Please read this again.”

From: kylegazrick@xmail.com

Time: 1:41 am 

Hey, 

I had to go to Spain for an impromptu work trip. Network has been shit since I’m staying in the mountains. Will be back in about two weeks!

Love,

Gaz

Your blood grows cold. It was the same time, with the same email address, but with a different message. You were so sure you pulled up the right message, but you checked through your inbox again. Just to verify. “But–but–”

No sign of the original message. 

“Ma’am, I can understand that you may miss your friend, but these–” he points to the heap of files sitting on his desk “--are real missing person cases. I have to spend each second of my day running aroun’ the city, trying to find any trace of ‘em. And because of false reports like yours, I have to run on back and waste precious moments where I could be investigatin’ on consoling people like you. Now, please take your leave. I’m busy and would like to get back to work.” 

You could tell he was trying to be as nice as he could, so you obliged, not putting up much of a fight, and dragged yourself out of the police station. It’s not like you had any evidence to support you anyway.

You stare at Gaz’s strange email until you get a notification from Kate Laswell asking if you have made your decision.

–

The sound of static buzzes like a low hum in your ears, forcing you to take an Advil before leaving for work. Gaz’s disappearance still has you frazzled. So far, no one has taken you seriously. His landlord did not care about his whereabouts when he mentioned that he had randomly received a wire transfer for the rent.

Life still went on for you, though. You got a new job, choosing 141 Games as your next summit. It took a lot of contemplation, but it worked out in your favor in multiple ways: the office building was only twenty minutes from where you lived (via public transport), they always had an assortment of pastries in the break room that didn’t taste like they were a day old, and you got very high pay despite having little to no background in video game programming. 

Everything was perfect except for the hindrance of one coworker–Philip Graves. 

Most of the people on your team were very glad to have you on board, some of the smartest minds in the country crowding around you in the breakroom for a small welcome party, except Philip, who cut it short by condescendingly nagging everyone for wasting time. 

“We better get back to work if we don’t want to stay overtime, am I right?” You still shudder thinking about his deprecatory stare at you with his arms folded, judging how a little girl like you could make it to the top so quickly. 

You couldn’t blame him, though–from what you had heard, Philip worked hard to get to where he is today and was not happy to learn that you got your position simply by creating one game.

But then again, that little video game was the result of your blood, sweat, and tears. And you did it all while balancing a full-time job. Though you weren’t someone who reveled in praise and constant approval, you did enjoy the occasional acknowledgment from your peers for your hard work, as a humble woman. You believe this only ticked Philip off even more, going as far as to tell the intern that you didn’t drink coffee when it came to ordering snacks for department meetings.

If you were in high school, you would’ve asked the person next to you to tell you whether big bully Philip Graves was hazing you for being the new kid. 

Things are a little different as an adult. Usually, when you seek out support, your enemies assume that you have no defense and go full throttle. It starts with no coffee at meetings, then it moves on to condescending remarks about your suggestions, often dumbing down your ideas at meetings, and then, last but not least, promotion sabotage. 

So you keep quiet, keeping your worries to yourself.

You sink into your very comfy and expensive Ergohuman chair as you gloomily wish you could speak to Gaz and find comfort in his presence. You hadn’t heard from him in two weeks. Literally and figuratively.

His strange emails went from three sentences to a single word. All random phrases got more cryptic with each email he sent. He hadn’t even bothered to ask you about how your presentation went. A part of you doubted whether he was angry because you never mentioned him in the game’s credits, even if his contribution was really all about cross-checking and maybe one or two dialogues.

Jealousy.

You’d been seeing that word a lot more lately. Your computer kept showing you ads of articles about jealousy in friendships and the workplace. 

It was almost like it could read your mind. The buzzing sound in your ears grows a little louder. You take another Advil.

You swiveled in your chair to look out the window. The bleak winter snow covered almost every roof in sight, like a white blanket over the city. You wonder if Gaz is somewhere out there, possibly avoiding you over his exclusion from Transcendent’s credits.

You’re pulled out of your wishful thinking when Farah clears her throat. She has a tense expression on her face as she places a small stack of papers. “They’re assigning duos to get work done faster. You’re in charge of gameplay engineering with…” she sighs at the expectant look on your face. 

“Graves. They’ve added more play styles, so expect to stay late tonight.” Of course, life is too good to be true. Where there are steep highs, there are also drowning lows. Farah purses her lips before awkwardly patting your shoulder. “Good luck.” 

It was obvious to everyone how much Philip disliked you. And they tried their level best to never get caught in it. But now that you’ve been assigned to work closely with him, the office has become a ticking time bomb. 

To distract yourself during lunchtime, you decide to play a chapter of Transcendent. The music brings back a fraction of the comfort you get with Gaz. The game has been your only solace lately, save for the weird dialogues that Ghost has still been saying. You start to question whether you added an AI algorithm during one of your many all-nighters. 

However, you can’t bring yourself to care as much because, strangely, the game never acted up during the presentation. Maybe it was because you lacked friends, but it felt like the game was speaking to you. 

“H3 w1LL p4Y”

Another out-of-character dialogue. You try to close the application, but it refuses to shut down. The screen continues to show you the emotion-lacking skull face. 

“D0 not Deny m3” 

The buzzing grows louder. You’ve run out of Advil. There are only so many unfortunate things that can happen to you at once. You’re afraid to go to a shrink because you just nailed down a good job, and being sent to a mental hospital amid an all-time high in your career was the last thing you wanted.

You aggressively click the close application button, but to no avail does the game shut down. You huff, trying to shut down your laptop, but it was almost like it didn’t want to. The screen continued to blare the bold white letters of Ghost’s dialogue. 

“I exi5t for y0u” 

You squint at your screen. Out of all the nonsensical things he’s said, this one has to be the most confusing one so far. You try to turn off your laptop by folding it and opening it again, but the game stays persistent. You start to think you’re hallucinating when the music sounds a little louder than you think. 

“It’s been ten minutes past lunch. I don’t like waiting.” Almost as if on cue, the game shuts down when Philip enters the break room. You sheepishly apologize, and he scoffs as you both walk over to the meeting room to work on the project together. You try your best to keep up with his fast pace, trainers stomping as he ignores a greeting from an uneasy intern. You flash them a quick smile to show that everything is good and there’s no need for them to be worried about office politics. 

He ignores you for most of the day, only ever acknowledging your presence when you show him you’re done with the tasks he had assigned you. His attitude has significantly shifted the dynamics between you two, going from coworkers to boss and subordinate. 

You think it’s because of his age. He thinks it’s because you’re a meek beginner in the tech world.

His imposing form starts to unsettle you even more than before, to the point where you’re afraid you’ll get PTSD every time you see a Patagonia vest.

Weaponizing your skittish behavior was the only way out now. Killing with kindness. 

“Um, Philip,” you mumble, shifting the equilibrium of uncomfortable silence to an even more awkward initiation of a conversation. He doesn’t look up from his work and simply hums in acknowledgment like you aren’t worth his attention. Like it was something you needed to earn. 

“I’ve been having trouble with this one particular part of the program lately. Do you think you could take a look?”

His pupils minimize as they land on you. “Is that why you’ve been so distracted at work lately?”

“Wha—no, I’m just asking for help,” you counter.

“Right. I’ll take a look at it later. Why don’t you go through the rest of the schematics for now?” Philip’s suggestion felt more like an imposition than anything.

An hour passes by, and nothing has soothed your weary mind. The amount of work just keeps piling up, and the base of your neck has begun to gore because of your posture. Your eyes burn raw with the friction of your eyelids slowly moving.

You feel like Philip is glaring at you, so you shift your gaze to him, and he immediately looks at his computer, seemingly unbothered, but you don’t miss how his lips flatten. You’ve worked with him long enough to know he’s disappointed in you. It’s one of the only body language indicators he uses with you.

“You can’t get tired already. No one said this job was gonna be easy,” he says without looking away from his computer. It irks you how every word he says reminds you that you’re not as good as your peers. He tears down your confidence one morsel at a time, savoring each bite like a starved cannibal as he stares right into your soul.

“I didn’t say anything,” you reply, your speech filter fading into the abyss through every passing minute without sleep.

“Yeah, but your eyes say a lot. Go get some coffee from the break room,” his blue eyes flit to your computer before he continues speaking. “I’ll look at your code while you’re gone.” Translation: I’d like to be left alone because every time I see you, I’m reminded of how you joined our team without any significant experience.

“I’ll get you a cup, too,” you say before walking out the door. You do not hear him call out to thank you.

The office building is empty, and the fluorescent lights of the main office are switched off, making you feel like you’re in the bowels of a backroom puzzle. No end in sight. When you finally enter the break room, you feel like pulling your hair out because there’s no coffee left in the pot.

With a huff, you pull out the tin of coffee beans from the cabinet and place the filter in the machine to get the only medicine for your exhaustion. The sight of coffee dripping is almost harmonic, occurring at exact intervals. The sight makes you sleepy as you watch the pot from your seat at the table across the countertop.

You close your eyes so you can rest till the pot fills up. Philip can wait a little while since he’s determined to finish his work.

–

You can see morning light through the window when you wake up. Your heartbeat instantly picks up speed, guilt, and embarrassment fueling your sudden energy to jog to the meeting room where you and Philip were working. There’s no one at the office yet, so your footsteps echo.

His computer and workbag are gone, leaving just your things scattered around.

You begin to panic. Maybe he was right after all. Maybe you were not cut out for this type of work, and you didn’t have the grit.

Embarrassed, you walk up to your things to tidy them and head back to your desk. Since you’re already at work, you might as well leave at the end of your shift.

While packing, you notice a sticky note on your computer, and when you read it, relief immediately floods your tense mind, making you relax your shoulders.

‘Don’t worry. I finished it quickly.’

There’s no signature, but you know it’s from Philip. The handwriting is weird and blocky, but you chalk it up to his eccentricity. Still, you’re surprised you haven’t received a barrage of texts from him, shooting condescending remarks at you.

Someone calls out your name before you can text Philip an apology.

“Have you been here all night?” Farah asks. You turn around, embarrassed that you couldn’t straighten up your frazzled appearance when you had the chance.

“Um, yeah. Philip and I had a lot of work to do,” you answer, running your hands over your hair and resting them on your neck, which was even more sore than the night before because you had fallen asleep on the table.

“I see…” Farah looks away momentarily as if contemplating something, before clasping her hands together, jolting you out of your exhausted daze. “Well, you look like shit–no offense–so why don’t you stay home for today? I’ll email your assignments to you. Just make sure they’re done by nine am tomorrow.”

Because of the dry winter air, you wring your hands, and your skin feels rougher than usual. “Are you sure? I don’t think Philip would like that. I’ve just started, too,” you weakly reason, but Farah only shakes her head to refute you.

“He was making you do all that work for no reason. Speaking of which, I think he’s due for a meeting with HR for his behavior. Don’t worry too much, and get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The bus ride home is bleak, but it’s just what you need to escape from the overstimulation all your senses are feeling. Your muscles ached to rest on your soft mattress, and your eyes begged to be free from the shackles of your blue-light glasses (Gaz always said that the whole science behind them was a myth, but you chose to wear them anyway).

The sight of your blanket-covered bed entices you, but you can’t help but refresh your inbox for each and every email account you have before going to bed. But still, zilch.

You even tried using different devices, but even then, there’s no word from Gaz. The morning gets chalked up to a quick shower and a nap that is immediately followed by.

[ccarisi]

pity party

summary: Sonny saves you from yet another god awful birthday party thrown by your dad.

warnings: age gap, smut, virginity loss, fingering, unprotected piv, creampie, daddy kink, slight anti-rollisi, sonny is cheating surprise surprise, car sex, kid/kiddo used, uncle sonny mention but no blood relation, dbf!sonny x gender neutral afab reader, mdni, 5.9k words

a/n: this fic was a real thorn in my side to get done for some reason but i ended up really enjoying how it turned out thankfully. special thanks to @johnnydubcek for working on this one with me + being there for me always ily soooo so much. credit to @pupcarisi for the phone call idea 🙂‍↕️

You should have known that this year would be no different than the last.

You look around the room with a sigh, isn’t this supposed to be your birthday party? You barely recognize a single person here. Before you is a sea of your parent’s friends and colleagues, none whom you like in the slightest. You watch as they drink out of your parent’s expensive glasses and talk amongst themselves about their latest business ventures. You doubt half of them even know your name.

If one more person tells you ‘I remember when you were only this tall’ you’re sure you’ll snap. How many times can you pretend to remember somebody?

You manage to find an empty seat on the sofa and the people sitting next to you don’t even acknowledge your existence, the happy birthday banner on the wall across from you is nothing short of ironic.

If Sonny was here maybe it wouldn’t be all bad, at least then you’d be with someone who actually cares about you. You know he’s running late, something about work keeping him, but your eyes stay locked on the front door willing him to come. You can’t hold it against him, you know he’s a busy man.

Sonny’s been your best friend as long as you can remember, your whole life he’s been right by your side. In some ways he’s more of a father figure to you than your own dad is.

It’s Sonny who first taught you to stand up for yourself. Your world was so small back then. All that mattered to you were cartoons, Mama Carisi’s baked goods on a Sunday after church, and getting your friends to believe you when you say your Uncle Sonny is a real life police officer, gun and all.

You didn’t understand what you did to make them not believe you, Sonny taught you to always be honest. You’d come home crying about it and your dad wasn’t much help in that department. He told you to suck it up and grow some thicker skin.

You never really mentioned your dad to your friends. He didn’t have such a cool job and he was grumpy, but your Uncle Sonny? Everyone knew everything about him, even all the embarrassing things that you told them.

Who cares what your friends think, right?

Well, you did.

Sonny took matters into his own hands when he found out about your friends giving you a hard time. Making sure his sirens were on and the lights were flashing; he made it his mission to park in the very front of the pick up line outside your school in his patrol car, always timing his break for your dismissal times. It was worth it to see the little self assured smile on your face as you got in beside him.

“Don’t let people walk all over ya, alright? ‘S important to stand up for ya self. N’ if anyone gives ya trouble just remind them that ya uncle Sonny’s on the job n’ not to mess with ya.”

When you got older your feelings towards him only grew. You aren’t able to pinpoint when exactly, but you know that it eats you alive inside to watch how he is with his wife when they both come over.

You wish it was you instead.

Don’t bother coming, party sucks. Maybe we can do something instead?

You shoot Sonny a text. Even with him by your side you’re not sure how much more tolerable this would be. You feel so insignificant. So small on your own birthday. This party isn’t for you at all, your dad didn’t even get you a cake flavor that you actually enjoy. It’s just another way for your parents to look good and show off your ‘picture perfect’ family.

As if on cue you look up from your phone to see Sonny walk through the front door, briefcase in hand. He came straight from court.

“Hey, kiddo. I’m so sorry I’m late, court was runnin’ late and I–”

You cut him off with a hug strong enough to send him backwards on his feet a bit, the smell of his cologne wrapping around you like a warm blanket at the end of a hard day. “It’s okay, it doesn’t matter. You’re here now.” You mumble into his chest.

His hand rubs your back soothingly and you almost forget where you are for a second. That you’re not in the middle of a room full of strangers pretending to celebrate your birthday. Sonny makes you feel like you’re the only person in the room.

“Y’wanna head out? Get some ice cream or somethin’?” Sonny asks as he looks around the room and you nod without a second thought. It didn’t take a genius to know that you aren’t enjoying yourself here.

The two of you slip out without a moment’s notice and you’re pretty sure your parents won’t notice you’ve left. It wouldn’t be the first time.

+

Parking in your usual secluded lookout spot Sonny turns the radio down as you work on finishing your ice cream. Something that usually brings you such childhood joy suddenly feels more like a consolation prize, you almost have to force yourself to eat it. If it weren’t for the fact that it’s Sonny who bought you it you probably would have tossed it.

Looking your way he lets out a strained cough as he watches you try to lick the spare ice cream off the corner of your lips. He can’t stop himself from thinking about how grown up you are now, that shy little kid who made the friendship bracelet on his wrist is long gone.

“Ope, got a little somethin’ there…” He murmurs as he reaches out to wipe the ice cream off the side of your lip with his thumb. It’s a simple gesture, one he’s done hundreds of times before, but something felt different this time. Like it meant more. 

The tension between you grows as you look away, empty ice cream cup in your lap. You look out the window with a sigh as Sonny tries to tuck his growing feelings towards you away.

You’ve always felt like the center of his universe at times. Sure he’s your dad’s friend, but you’re the real reason Sonny stuck around. He treats you as if you were one of his own, he was always right alongside your parents at every recital and every sports game (even if you admittedly were terrible). If there’s any good in the world after all, you’re proof of it to him.

Honestly, he doesn’t care for your parents that much at all. Especially not your dad, ironically enough. It isn’t all bad, there’s a reason they’re friends in the first place. But seeing the way he treats you like some prop, it’s never sat right with him. He’d have you move in with him if it wasn’t for Amanda and the girls.

“You uh, havin’ a good birthday, kiddo?” You almost laugh at the absurdity of the question.

“Does it look like it?” Your reply comes with a heavy sigh as you turn away from the window to face him. The sympathetic look on his face snaps you out of your attitude, it’s not Sonny’s fault your birthday ends up like this every year. After all, it’s him who makes it even remotely tolerable.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean that. You can imagine how the party was…” 

His heart broke when he found out all alone on that couch. Cheek resting in your hand with your elbow on your knee, the rest of the room ignoring your existence. How could your parents treat someone as precious as you like that?

“It’s just, I think they’ve made me hate my birthday, y’know?” You stare down at the empty ice cream cup in your lap as you vent, letting out all the pent up frustrations that have been brewing all night. “And there’s so much I haven’t done yet, but I keep getting older. I feel like I’m falling behind.” 

Sonny looks over at you and frowns, he knows what it’s like to feel like you’re not meeting the standards. Hell, Amanda lets him know that everyday. Feels like she’s always got a bone to pick with him lately.

“I mean, I still live at home with them. Not to mention my job sucks, all my other friends have ‘careers’ and I’m taking coffee orders.” You huff and lean back against your seat.

“Listen kid, there’s nothin’ wrong with any of that. I stayed at home as long as I could, sure is hell of a lot cheaper than rentin’ ya own place.” He tries to console you with some classic Carisi wisdom.

“N’ don’t worry about ya job either, y’still young. Ya got plenty of time to figure all that out, there’s no need to rush. Y’still jus’ my lil’ baby.” Sonny reaches out to lightly pinch and tug your cheek like always.

“But that’s exactly the problem,” you whine as you shove his hand away. “I’m not a baby anymore, but they’re still treating me like one. You know some of my friends are getting married? I haven’t even been in a real relationship.”

There’s the part of him that’s beyond pleased to hear your confession. The thought of some boy using and discarding you once he’s done makes his stomach churn.

“Boys your age will just waste ya time, sweetheart. Better off without ‘em. Besides, ya too young t—“

“Seriously, you too?” You cut him off. “You’re just like them, when are you gonna let me grow up?” Crossing your arms you slump down in your seat as Sonny sighs.

“Alright, I hear ya. How about this, name me somethin’ ya haven’t done yet n’ I’ll try to help ya.” He tells you earnestly.

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment at the first thing that pops into your head. He absolutely cannot help you in that department. “U—uh… I can’t think of anything…” you lie as you avoid meeting his eyes.

“Oh c’mon, ya were actin’ like ya had a whole list earlier. What’s one thing that’s been botherin’ ya more than the rest?” Sonny digs deeper while you grip your ice cream cup so hard you’re pretty sure you’re going to rip it right in half.

“It’s just…I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to talk to you about this kinda stuff. And besides, it’s embarrassing...” You mumble barely loud enough for him to hear and suddenly Sonny puts two and two together. Oh, that kinda stuff.

He should just drop this whole thing, you have a point. He probably isn’t supposed to be talking about this with you. But all he’s ever wanted to do was help you, right? Be there for you when no one else was?

With a sigh Sonny runs a hand over his face, “Listen, kid. It’s alright if you’re talkin’ about, uh…intimacy.” As soon as the words leave his mouth you bury your face in your hands and groan, this conversation makes your very worst stress dream feel like a walk in the park.

“Oh god– stop–” you whine. “We’re not supposed to talk about this kinda stuff together…you’re practically like my uncle.” You always tell Sonny everything but this? This is wrong, right? Sure, you might have a tiny (huge) crush on him but that’s your own problem to deal with. He doesn’t need to hear about all this.

“I’m just givin ya advice, nothin’ wrong with that is there? C’mon, I hate seein’ ya so upset, honey. Jus’ tell me what’s botherin’ ya.” The look on his face makes you feel like you can tell him anything no matter what, the same look he would give you right before you confessed to something bad you did as a kid.

Your eyes glance down to the old and worn friendship bracelet on his wrist, a symbol proving that no matter what he’s always there for you.

With a exacerbated sigh you force the words to leave your mouth. “Well… when did you lose your… y’know… virginity?”

Sonny nods nonchalantly in acknowledgment before answering like it’s not weird at all to be having this conversation with you.

“Hm, let’s see… thinkin I was maybe twenty? Hooked up with some girl from church in the back seat of my first car. Wasn’t the most romantic, but I got the job done.” Admittedly, it took Sonny awhile to check that box off, too.

“Jesus– even you had sex before I have. That’s so fucking embarrassing–” you groan as you hang your head in resignation that even Sonny was more adult at a younger age than you are currently. Not mentioning the fact that you now have the vivid image of him having sex in your head.

“Hey, hey, ‘s alright.” He attempts to comfort you, “It doesn’t matter when ya do it, n’ it’s better to wait for someone special, anyways. There’s nothin’ to be ashamed of, kiddo.”

You peek up at Sonny and shrug half-heartedly, “Yeah, I guess so. I don’t know, sometimes I just feel like it would be easier if I just got it out of the way already. That way I can at least say I’ve y’know…done it.”

Sonny shakes his head, the thought of you running off to the first person who opens their arms isn’t a thought he wants to imagine. You deserve so much better than that. You deserve someone who knows how to take care of you. Someone who’ll find out everything you like, every spot that makes you tick. Someone you trust.

Someone like him.

“Listen, kid. I don’t want ya runnin’ off to god knows who jus’ cause they’re willin’ to do that with ya. There’s a lot of scumbags out there n’ they ain’t gonna treat ya right.” He begins his lecture, “But, I know this means a lot to ya, n’ I’m gonna help out okay?”

Your head snaps up as you finally meet his eyes again.

“Wait…you? You’re going to help?” You ask incredulously as your mouth goes dry at the very thought. Of course there’s the secret part of you that desperately wants that, but you couldn’t.

Sonny knows he’s crossing a boundary here, for a variety of reasons. The glaringly obvious is he has a wife and kids at home, but he can’t bother with that right now. If it comes down to it, he’ll put you first in every life.

“If you’re okay with it, yeah. I mean, we’re comfortable with each other right? N’ not to brag but, I’m pretty sure I know what I’m doin’. Then ya can cross it off your list.” Sonny proposes casually.

Your mind races as you try to rationalize this. He does have a point, having your first time with Sonny is infinitely more safe than a random hookup like you were planning. After a beat of silence you give in to the side of you that’s been fantasizing about this exact scenario.

“O-okay… just…don’t tell dad, okay? Promise?” You nervously fidget with your fingers just like Sonny always does, you take after him a bit in some ways.

“‘M not gonna tell, are you?” Sonny grins with a tilt of his head and you shake your head from side to side. When you shake your head Sonny lifts up his pinky, “I promise.”

You pinky promise on it and you watch as he goes to undo his seatbelt and the realization hits you. “Wait– here? Right now?” You ask in disbelief as he reaches over to undo yours next.

Sonny looks at you as if it’s weird for you to be confused. “It’s ya birthday, ain’t it? Consider it a part of my birthday present to ya.” 

Leaning over the center console he cups the side of your face as his thumb soothes the soft skin on your cheek. “It’s alright if ya change ya mind…” Sonny murmurs as his eyes dart down to look at your soft inviting lips.

God, he hopes you haven’t changed your mind that quickly. Now that he’s this close to finally having you he’s not sure if he’ll ever move on.

“I… I think…” you try to gather your thoughts but it’s hard to think straight when you can feel his hot breath ghosting your skin.

“Don’t think.” 

Sonny presses his lips firmly against yours before you can think twice about what’s happening. His lips are soft and plump against yours and he doesn’t miss the soft little noises he pulls out of you.

The smell of his cologne is dizzying as warmth pools in your stomach from his kisses. Any hesitations you had are long gone as his tongue slides between your parted lips, breath mixing together. 

Moving his hand down from your cheek Sonny’s hand slides to the inside of your thigh, pushing your legs apart for him. “Y’ever touch yourself here?” He murmurs against your lips as his hand massages your inner thigh.

“Um…maybe a few times. I don’t know,” you mumble and dodge the question. How ironic is it to be too embarrassed to answer the question after making out with him?

“Y’don’t know? Ya either have or ya haven’t, kiddo.” Sonny laughs under his breath as he fingers inch closer to your clothed crotch.

“Okay– fine. I have, but I don’t think I was doing it right… I just kinda gave up after a while.” You huff at the memory. Lying in bed frustrated as you tried to work yourself over, mimicking what you’ve seen in videos. Maybe you thought of Sonny a few times too, how his big strong hands might feel in place of your inexperienced ones.

“Hey, that’s alright. That’s what I’m here for, right?” Sonny reassures you as he goes to the waistband of your pants. “Lift up f’me, sweetheart.” He moves to pull your pants down as you lift yourself up off the seat.

Spreading your legs apart he rubs two long fingers over your underwear and you gasp, the feeling of someone else touching you down there is both foreign and exhilarating.

“See, ya gotta work yourself up before goin’ straight into it. ‘S called foreplay.” Sonny teaches you clinically, no different than teaching you about the world when you were just a kid. “That feelin’ good?”

He knows it does. The way your hips subconsciously tilt up towards him as he glides over your clothed clit says it all. You suck in a breath and nod as you look out the window, too ashamed to face what’s happening head on.

His fingers slide under your underwear and as you let out a deep breath, hips twitching when his fingers rest against your clit. “Oh, I know, huh? Y’like that?” Sonny asks as he adds more pressure, rubbing light but firm and slow circles against your throbbing clit.

Once you’re adjusted to the feeling it feels real good. Better than anything you’ve tried on your own, that’s for sure. You moan softly as your legs open up for him and he grins, he’s figured you out now. He keeps up the same gentle rhythm as you rock against him, pussy dripping down onto his hand. Your face grows hot from the feeling.

“How about…” Sonny murmurs as his finger teases your little hole and you whine, much to his delight. He slowly slides his finger inside and your head falls back against the car seat, your pussy clenching down around the intrusion.

It’s a strange feeling, Sonny’s finger inside you. You stare up at the car ceiling as you try to get used to the feeling and the more he finds his way the dull pain you feel starts to fade.

“There ya go. It’s good, huh?” He slowly pumps his finger in and out of you, transfixed by the way your body reacts to him. Your chest rises and falls with every labored breath as one hand holds onto the car door and the other grips his wrist tightly.

He finds that special spot inside you with ease, curling his finger as it brushes against it. You can’t help the desperate moan that escapes your lips and it’s music to his ears. Could there be a more beautiful sight than you writhing beneath him?

The only thing you can think about is more, more, more. It doesn’t matter to you that it’s probably wrong– actually that it’s definitely wrong that he has a wife and kids at home. All that matters is how good he’s making you feel, and just how happy you are that it's Sonny who’s doing it to you. You glance down at the friendship bracelet and sigh in pleasure.

“Oh god, fuck, hold on–” You choke at the building pleasure inside of you and not too soon after you’re cumming, pussy gushing around his thick long finger as he works you through it.

You surprise yourself with a loud moan, head tilting back as you try to catch your breath. You’ve never experienced such a raw hot pleasure, you feel it from your fingertips to your toes.

“Fuckin’ beautiful.” Sonny sighs as watches you come down from your high, pulling his finger out of you and licking it clean. He moans from the sweet taste of your pussy, already imagining how it’ll be to sink to his knees and bury his face between your legs until you pull him away by the hair.

“I’ve never had that happen before…” you admit with a smile as you lean up to kiss him on your own. It’s messy and sloppy and everything you want now. You didn’t know it could feel like this, maybe you were just waiting for Sonny after all. You hope it's good for him, too. He smiles before brushing some hair out of your face.

“Is…is that it? Are we done?” You’re unable to hide the disappointment in your voice. With a chuckle he pets your hair and smiles down at you, what an eager little monster he just turned you into. “Well, don’t sound so disappointed.”

Your cheeks flush as you look up at him. “You said you were gonna teach me–”

“And I am. Where’d your manners go, hm? Back seat, baby. Can’t do nothin’ up here without pullin’ my back out.” Sonny grunts as he maneuvers you both into the backseat.

You look like nothing short of an angel sprawled out beneath him on the black leather seats. The leather is cool against your warm bare skin and Sonny wastes no time before fishing himself out. Your pussy throbs at the sight of his cock, large and heavy in his hand.

“Y’ever seen one before, sweetheart?” He asks and you scoff, masking your nerves with indifference.

“I know what a dick looks like, if that’s what you’re asking, weirdo.” You groan as you sit up to take a closer look.

With a roll of his eyes Sonny pinches your hip and you jolt with a small yelp. Always with the attitude. “Okay smart ass, I’m askin’ if you’ve ever seen one in person. Keep this up n’ I might jus’ shove the whole thing inside ya, no warnin’.”

You swallow harshly at the thought of that, the size of his throbbing cock is nothing to laugh at. “Okay, okay. No, I haven’t… Obviously.” You admit with a soft grumble.

Sonny gently guides your hand to wrap around his cock, letting you get acquainted with the size and feel. It’s gonna go inside you after all, might as well get accustomed to it first.

His cock is firm but smooth, warm and stiff all at the same time. The sight of your small hand wrapped around him makes his cock twitch and he sighs as he sighs as he relishes in the feeling. After a moment Sonny slowly moves your hand up and down his shaft as you watch, mesmerized by how it throbs and twitches in your grasp.

You move a little quicker on your own, trying to remember what you saw in those videos you stumbled across. You know you’re doing a good job when you hear him curse under his breath and you mimic the motion, long strokes and twisting up at the tip.

“Jesus– where’d ya learn that from, huh?” He teases as he swats your hand away, any more of that and he won’t last. If he’s gonna cum he wants it to be inside you.

You shrug innocently as he lays you down against the seat, settling himself in between your thighs as he pulls your underwear off. Sonny leans over to let out a glob of spit on your pussy before spitting in his own hand to coat his cock and your skin flushes.

“You’ll be gentle, right?” You ask him timidly. You can hide behind sarcasm and insults all you want but this is happening, and it’s a big deal.

There’s a part of him that feels guilty almost. Maybe you deserve better than your first time in the backseat of his truck. He should take you out to dinner first, take things nice and slow in the comfort of your own bed or his, if he could manage to get the apartment to himself.

Brushing the hair of your face Sonny swipes his thumb against the swell of your bottom lip. “‘Course, sweetheart. Y’know I’m always gonna take care of ya.” No matter what it’s you and him, always.

Sonny intertwines your hand with his, your fingers interlocking tightly. “Deep breath, okay?”

As slowly as he can manage Sonny gently starts to push himself inside of you, jaw tensing as he’s swallowed by your warmth. You grip his hands while you try to adjust to his size as his cock stretches you open. “I know, honey,” Sonny coos when he sees the faint expression of pain on your face.

It’s a strange feeling, having Sonny’s cock inside you. But before you know it your discomfort fades into nothing more than a dull pain before it’s gone completely.

Sonny knows it too, the pretty noises you make for him are making it hard not to plunge himself as deep inside you as he can get. You’ve never looked prettier than how you look pressed underneath him.

“Better?” He nuzzles his nose against your cheek as he gives your hand a squeeze. “Y—yeah, better.” You melt as you feel his cock fill you completely.

With every thrust Sonny fits a little bit more inside you until settling into a relaxed rhythm as his hips gently rock against yours. He fights back a moan as he looks down at where your two bodies meet, watching the way his cock disappears inside of you.

You squirm from the rhythmic pace of his thrusts, your breath hitching as he seemingly thrusts into the very end of you. “Yeah, it’s feelin’ good now, huh?” Sonny coos into your neck as his larger frame covers yours, pushing you down into leather seats.

“Y–yeah, i–it’s–“ you’re suddenly cut off by the distant ringing of your phone from the passenger seat.

Pausing only long enough to grab the phone Sonny answers the call and tosses it on your chest before slamming back inside you. Shakily you pick up the phone to read the caller ID, Dad.

“H—hello?” You exhale as Sonny’s finger moves to your clit, starting with slow but firm circles on the sensitive bud.

“Where are you? We’ve been looking for you to blow out the candles, everyone’s been waiting for you. You’re embarrassing us.” Your dad says on the other line.

If you were able to think straight you’d probably think that it’s just rich that now he notices you’re gone. That it only matters that you’re there for your photo op with him to look like a gold star father in front of his colleagues.

The reality though is that Sonny’s rubbing your clit and it feels real good. 

“I’m with Sonny…” you murmur before biting your lip to stifle a moan as the head of his cock massages that special spot inside you with ease.

Your dad starts to rant about how you should’ve asked before leaving, that it’s ungrateful to leave your own party, and a bunch of other stuff you can’t even process because of Sonny’s cock pistoning in and out of you. 

Unable to keep up with the conversation a second longer, you pull the phone away and try to hang up on him. You hope that he can’t hear the wet sounds of Sonny’s hips slapping against yours. 

Before you can hang up the phone he snatches it out of your hand and puts it to his ear. You listen as he makes himself known and you figure your dad’s giving him the same earful about snatching you away from the party. 

“Listen, they’re fine. I took ‘em out for some ice cream.” Sonny tells your dad breathlessly as he sensually thrusts into your dripping pussy while you leave a puddle of arousal beneath you on the nice seats. 

You watch as his face tenses and you swear he fucks you even deeper somehow, whatever your dad said obviously struck a nerve. “Maybe if y’fuckin’ thought about them instead of ya self for once they would’a stuck around. Instead I’m over here pickin’ up the pieces n’ makin’ sure they’re havin’ a good birthday.” That’s one way to describe what he’s doing to you.

Sonny doesn’t care how loud he’s recklessly pounding into you, he hopes your dad fucking hears. Hanging up the phone he tosses it to the side before shoving his lips against yours, pouring his pent up frustrations into the kiss and the long, deep thrusts of his hips.

His frustrations with your dad, frustrations with Amanda, none of it matters. The only thing that matters to him is listening to the sweet noises you make falling apart on his cock. Heat spreads under your skin and you feel the fire in your abdomen building and building while his fingers are relentless on your puffy swollen clit. “C’mon honey, cum for Daddy.” He murmurs into your ear before nipping at your jawline. It only takes a bit more to have your back arching off the seat as you dissolve underneath him, your climax hitting you in waves. Your walls flutter around his cock as you choke out his name into his shoulder, anything that isn’t Sonny fades into the background completely. Sonny’s thrusts are frenzied as he chases his own release, sweat dripping down his brow as he fucks you with a pace that borders on erratic. The feeling of your pussy pulsing around his throbbing cock is almost too much to bear, watching you come apart underneath him is something he hopes he’ll be able to commit to memory. “Fuck– gonna make me fuckin’ cum, sweetie. Y’want Daddy to cum inside ya?” He purrs in your ear as you limply hold onto him as he has his way with you. Any guise of this being just educational is long gone as his cock jerks inside you. “Y–yeah, please–” you cry as his hips piston in and out of you. It’s Sonny who ended up being the one to give you the talk, and you know it’s stupid to let him cum inside you but you can’t seem to care. With a final deep thrust he empties himself inside of you, a loud groan erupting deep from his chest as his body shakes. He gives you a few more languid thrusts as you both come down from your high as he collapses on top of you, and you sigh from the feeling of his heavy body crushing yours. You wrap your arms around his frame tightly, never wanting to let him go. He peppers kisses wherever his lips can reach, showering you in a love and affection you’ve never thought you’d ever receive. Of course it'd be Sonny to show you how much you were loved, why would it be anyone else? “You okay?” Sonny breathes against your skin before nuzzling his nose against yours, thumb coming up to tenderly caress your cheek. You smile before finally opening your eyes to look up at him and nod, feeling more relaxed and cared for than you have in a long time. “Yeah, I’m alright.” You tell him in a quiet tired voice, a small smile plastered to your face. He nods back at you before slowly pulling himself out of you and you whine, already missing the cozy full feeling that came with him buried inside you.

He has to fight back a moan as he sees the way his cum starts to spill out of you onto the seat beneath you, making note to clean that up before Amanda gets in the car next. You sit up on your elbows and wince a little from the dull pain between your legs, you won’t be surprised if you find yourself walking funny later. “Hey…Sonny?” you ask timidly as you chew on the inside of your lip. It feels stupid to ask this, as if you were writing your crush a ‘Do you like me? Y? N?’ note to pass in class. “Was this uh, like a one time thing? Or…” you murmur as you bite your lip in trepidation. Sonny raises an eyebrow as before thinking carefully about his reply. “It’s whatever ya want it t’be, sweetie. I mean, I know I enjoyed myself…” he shoots you a lopsided grin. It’s not until that moment do you remember. 

“But you’re… y’know… married, aren’t you?” You ask him in a quiet voice, the shame of what you did slowly creeping in on you the more you think about it. It’s like he can sense the guilt before you even realize it yourself, you’re too tender hearted for your own good. “Yeah, I am.” Sonny admits with a sigh. “But bein’ honest with ya kiddo, things haven’t been too good lately. I don’t want ya beatin’ ya self up over that. I feel good for the first time in ages thanks to you.” You find the guilt immediately dissipating when he praises you like that. If you made him feel good then that’s all that really matters, isn’t it? If they’re already on the rocks then you’re not doing anything wrong, you decide. “If you’ll have me I wouldn’t mind bein’ somethin’ special to ya. Maybe kinda like your boyfriend?” You wouldn’t be surprised if you were drooling at the thought as Sonny’s hands softly caress your sides. Sure, you don’t love the idea of having to ‘share’ him. You’ll do whatever you have to to keep him, though. To be able to feel the way you do when you’re with him. You nod as Sonny leans in closer to you and you can see the dimples on his cheeks as he smiles. “I’d like that…” You admit with a sheepish smile of your own as you look at him like he hung the moon. Sonny seals the deal with a sweet and simple kiss, large hand cupping your cheek. Pulling away he pets your hair, eyes shining as he looks you over with the knowledge that you’re all his. He knows he has a lot to figure out for the future, but he’ll deal with what comes as long as he has you looking at him like that. For once you don’t hate your birthday.

[thedraconiclibrary]

Y’know that last sentence makes me think of younger me who used and clung desperately to the framework of MBTI and the INTP type to understand things about myself and others. I was really into it, like I hated the online quizzes and specifically looked at particular tumblr blogs that I thought “did things correctly.” On the one hand it helped give me language and understanding to things I wouldn’t have otherwise at the time (I distinctly remember the first time learning about Ti vs Te and viscerally understanding what it actually meant for two people to think and see the world differently, that not everyone thought like me). For a friendless little autistic, it gave me a path to attempt to connect with and understand other people.

On the other hand, what if I hadn’t discovered MBTI and just discovered… real psychological theory. Like now that I know all my neurodivergencies and stuff, I’m just like “so the INTP type is autism.” Like, what if I had just….. learned what autism was at that age? Actually been taught different ways anxiety can feel (the day I learned that panic attacks can include crying helped me so much)? Really understood ADHD and how wow, those traits me and my mom share from our functions is actually ADHD! My family didn’t know anything about mental health back then, I didn’t have the language for it, not even enough to actually research it when I had already been presented with a conveniently descriptive bit of pseudoscience with enough depth for me to feel knowledgeable and smart when I shunned the “surface level versions” in favor of the stuff that felt more scientific. THERE WAS REAL SCIENCE FOR ME TO HAVE FIXATED IN INSTEAD! MBTI gave me a reason to stop and say “so that answers my questions” instead of continuing to search and finding the real stuff.

Or, maybe I wasn’t ready to absorb the real deal. I’ve thought I knew what ADHD was for a long time but it’s only in the last few months really thinking about it that I realized “wait…. That’s me too???” Maybe I actually stumbled on more mental health things and just forgot about it cause my brain couldn’t slot it all in place yet. That’s the part of me that still does look at little INTP me with some fondness. But the more time I get away from it the more I think it was a hindrance to me. Despite trying my best to not take it prescriptively and trying to use the information to grow from my flaws and improve as a person, now I look at myself and growth so much differently and think I still unconsciously boxed myself in.

EDIT: forgot to mention that the day I learned that having a poor sense of self can be a trait of autism, everything clicked together and I went “oh shit,” because what if instead of accepting a framework that would try to fill in all the blanks for me, I learned that that chasm I felt in me WAS AUTISM I COULD’VE JUST BEEN WORKING WITH MY AUTISM FOR THE PAST DECADE INSTEAD OF STUDYING HARDER TO TRY TO BE ABLE TO TYPE FICTIONAL CHARACTERS

somewhere deep in the replies of the dread astrology post there's someone who sincerely asked me how I even know what my own personality traits are if I haven't done introspection with the help of an astrology chart and I really think about that all the time. they presented it like such a gotcha. seemed genuinely certain they were asking s totally reasonable question. absolutely no awareness of the implications of why a structured system of prescribed personality traits might appeal to people with a particularly weak sense of self.

[castieldelamancha]

To Dean's great and infinite shock Castiel is incredibly talkative in bed. He can't honestly remember having ever talked so much while having sex in his life.

He absolutely adores it, of course, like each and every one of Cas' quirks.

He says Dean's name a lot, for starters, that's a favourite of Dean's, because he is the one making a mess of Cas, bringing him pleasure, making him feel as good as he deserves to feel, as love as he was made to be.

Then there are the tiny, breathless, encouragements, the praise that almost feels like kneeling upon an altar and receiving a blessing. It makes Dean blush, it's oh so new, it makes Dean yearn, as if he wasn't as close as Castiel as he can get.

It can be a whispered exchange of sweet nothings, a tender I love you, followed suit by a muttered love you too from Dean. A muttered you are so beautiful, that has Dean losing his mind. An adoring and quiet pet name in enochian, Dean doesn't know what the words mean, he has never asked, but with the tone of Cas' voice when he says it, with the way his eyes light up with those words, it can only be something lovely and mushy.

It's, to Dean's both amazement and amusement, a whole conversation on occasions, hushed and interspersed with groans and moans, Castiel can come up with the most random shit, he will break the kiss they are sharing just to cradle Dean's face between his hands and give him a gasped "this reminds me of that time I visited..." followed by the name of a Moon that is currently floating weightless somewhere out there, a name Dean will never be able to pronounce or remember. What is Dean supposed to do with that? He can only ask about the damn Moon apparently, and that's when Castiel smiles up at him.

Dean could eat him whole.

He knows that smile well, he is about to say something that will throw Dean off, that will make him falter, "it was a breathtaking view," he says, "hence the comparison."

And Dean will groan, hide his face in Cas' neck, blush even a darker shade of red than he already was from his efforts, "fuck, Cas."

[wyrdling01]

i sometimes make myself sad by thinking about dean winchester and sunsets and what they really mean for him.

let me explain.

in 2x07 (oh so long ago), dean mentions that he enjoys sunsets as he makes his "confession" for diana and pete.

a decade later, in 11x11:

when you first watch this scene, it just feels sad because of how far dean has come and the crushing weight that constantly rests on his shoulders, preventing him from enjoying something as simple as a sunset. but i think there's more here than just that.

the conversation that follows after mildred's question is about retirement, about ending life on the road (mildred was also a traveller), and also about following your heart, going where it tells you to go.

now, to show how this is destiel-coded (because everything about dean winchester is ultimately destiel-coded).

dean calls cas "sunshine" a few times throughout the show.

7x21

12x03

and remember dean's retirement plans in 13x23?

yup. going to a place where there is a LOT of sunshine. specifically with cas. who is dean's sunshine, his source of light in the absence of chuck/god. given that angels are regularly associated with light and lamps throughout the show, it's no great surprise that dean thinks of cas as the sun, the greatest source of light out of all of them.

so, cas is dean's sunshine, and dean winchester enjoys sunsets. why does he enjoy sunsets? because they are the last part of the day he can properly enjoy before having to think about and deal with the things that "go bump in the night." or, according to the show's meta, it's the final moments of the time he can enjoy being in the sun (with cas).

why does he stop having time to enjoy sunsets? because in season 11 the darkness becomes suddenly becomes manifest as character who is pursuing dean, confusing and scaring him by claiming that they are bound together by destiny and that they are fated to be together.

now for a bit of a tangent, which will connect back to this.

think back to the end of 2x18, only 11 episodes after dean first says he enjoys sunsets.

the winchesters walking off into the sunset together. but then -

the curtain is lifted, so to speak, and reality is revealed. because sunsets, being able to enjoy sunsets, is a bit of a fantasy for dean. they're something he can only fully appreciate if he has a "normal" life where he isn't repeatedly saving the world.

the show seems to revisit this idea in 11x23 when they show the darkness/amara trying to kill the sun (i.e. dean's sunshine, who is cas, who is, as amara has realised by this point, her primary rival for dean's romantic interest). in other words, they are taking dean's hopes and revealing them to be an unattainable fantasy.

as always since cas first walked into that barn, throughout season 11 there are strong indicators of cas and dean's very-much non-platonic feelings for each other, which is why the moment with mildred is so important. it reminds dean, in a time when he is facing the biggest threat he has encountered yet, that he can still dream of and hope for retirement. that he can still enjoy what he has with cas. that he can follow his heart (when mildred says that, we know that he's not thinking of amara).

yet once again in the finale, the show crushes those possibilities. dean is ready to give his life to stop amara (i.e. save the sun i.e. save cas), but once he succeeds, he still isn't able to enjoy the sunshine he has saved because sam has been kidnapped by the british men of letters and a whole new cycle of figuring out how to overcome this next obstacle begins.

so while 2x07 is well before dean meets cas, maybe the reason the show (accidently? intentionally?) revisits this character trait of dean's is because sunsets, the moments of passage from day to night, are, for dean, a balance. between hunting the things that go bump in the night, saving the world again and again, and having cas alongside him.

sunsets are dean's compromise between those two parts of his life, until he can retire. and then he can go to a beach somewhere and have all the sunshine he wants.

but maybe dean is tired of having to make this compromise, which is why he tells sam about his retirement plans in 13x23. because in the first episode of that same season, cas died and they burned his vessel.

and they did it at sunset. which is supposed to be dean's symbol for the compromise he makes to have cas in his life. and it might be here, in this moment, that dean realised a comprise wasn't enough.

going back to his confession in 2x07:

in addition to sunsets, he ALSO says that he enjoys long walks on beaches. so as 13x23 indicates, dean is done with compromises/sunsets. he truly wants to retire because he believes that, with jack's help, he can make the world safe. he believes he's earned his sunshine with cas. and retiring from hunting is the only way that the people he cares about can be safe.

anyway, that turned out to be a bit longer than i intended. i just think these connections between dean and sunsets and cas are very beautiful and sad, and one of the many accidental ways the show shows us how much they care about each other.

[mnz-10]

Another random crack of DoF!Luke, this time ghosting everyone:

Hermes’ son was missing.

Hermes’ son was missing, and he couldn’t feel him—

He was the god of roads, of travelers, of all who wandered, and yet—

He could not feel Luke.

His son was a ghost, an absence so sharp it cut against his senses. He should be able to find him, to track him, to take him back where he belonged—he remembered the first time Luke left, how no prayers had come, how he couldn’t tell where he was, and Luke had been so young, so small—

Still was.

Even fully grown, he didn’t even reach Hermes’ shoulders. The top of his head barely brushed his collarbones.

Small.

Little Luke was smaller than his other children. And he was so beautiful, so vulnerable—

Hermes’ grip tightened around the caduceus, the staff in its true form now, George and Martha whispering in his ears, trying to track.

But there was nothing to track.

Luke had disappeared.

And it was driving Hermes mad.

He sank heavily onto a bench, clenching his caduceus so tightly his knuckles went white, his other hand twisting into his own curls as if that would change anything. Luke was missing. After that quest—

The Romaoi.

The realization struck like a lightning bolt, fury searing through him, fear curling in his gut. His divinity rippled outward like a beast unchained, sending birds scattering from the trees. The very air seemed to recoil, the surroundings falling into an eerie, unnatural silence.

That Romaoi. He took Luke. It was the only answer.

Taken. Taken. Taken.

Hermes knew what happened to mortals who were taken.

Not his son.

Not his son. Not his son. Not his son.

His. His. His.

A snarl ripped from his throat, his aura lashing out, rattling the ground, the air—everything. Then he pulled, harsh and unrelenting, dragging that upstart son-stealing ἀφόδευμα to the place where their limits met, where they were forced to be bound. Hermes shut his eyes.

When he opened them again, he moved instantly—advancing on the Romaoi bastard sprawled in a fucking fancy chair like he was some sort of king.

Fucking bastard.

Hermes wanted to kill him.

“You took my son,” he said, voice slow and lethal, a whisper more dangerous than a scream. George and Martha hissed in unison.

Mercury only stared at him, unimpressed, one brow raised as if Hermes were a fool, as if he were exaggerating.

He took him.

Took. Took. Took.

Took his son.

Hermes snapped.

His control frayed, rage surging to the surface like fire through dry grass.

“You took him!” he roared, slamming a hand against the barrier—that cursed, infuriating thing that connected and separated them—feeling the entire space shake with the force of his fury. His breath came harsh, uneven, eyes locked on the bastard, who was finally, finally looking at him like he was taking him seriously.

Good.

He should.

If Hermes had the chance, he’d rip him apart. Pluck his eyes from his skull, carve his skin from his bones, bathe in his ichor.

Hermes would—

“I’ll take your children,” he murmured, voice low, cutting, watching as Mercury stilled. The upstart turned his head toward him, slow and furious. Hermes felt a vicious kind of satisfaction.

“I’ll take them,” he continued, savoring the words. “I’ll play with them. I’ll make them suffer. You won’t ever see them again if you don’t give me back my son.”

A blink—and Mercury was suddenly standing, towering over him, as if that would intimidate Hermes. As if Hermes gave a damn.

“You’ll do no such thing,” Mercury murmured, menace woven through his words.

Hermes smiled, showing all his teeth. “Then return my son to where he belongs.”

“Lucas is not with me.”

Hermes scoffed. “Lies.”

Mercury’s eyes gleamed, narrowed. He dragged a hand down his face, the same frustration, the same fear reflected there—and Hermes hated that he recognized it.

“No, Graecus,” Mercury said, voice edged with something sharp and brittle. “I did not take him. Luke Castellan is not in Roman soil. And I can’t find him either.”

***

Luke reclined on a sun lounge, basking in the warmth of the sun. His skin was slick with sunscreen—because without it, he’d end up looking like a shrimp—and he half-listened as his grandma nagged at his cousin from a few feet away.

Vacation. Finally.

When Grandma had offered, he hadn’t even thought twice before accepting. He needed this. A break. Some time for himself, especially after that quest and his father’s… everything.

“Lucas!” Grandma’s sudden shout made him flinch. Her attention snapped toward the sea.

Luke blinked, confused. Why was she yelling when he was right here?

“Get back here!” she shouted.

“Grandma,” Lorenzo said, giving her a look like she was losing it. “Lucas is literally right there.”

She turned to Luke, huffed, and put her hands on her hips, like she’d known all along.

Luke rolled his eyes. Hard.

“Lucas! Don’t you roll your eyes at me, you hear?” Grandma pointed a finger at him, already shifting her weight like she was about to take off a slipper.

Luke immediately slid his sunglasses down to cover his eyes and gave her his most innocent nod. “I wouldn’t dare, Grandma.”

She squinted at him, then huffed again, turning to nag at his other cousins instead.

Luke just settled in deeper, stretching out in his chair. Oh well. He was right here. It wasn’t his fault people were bad at looking.

Then—

A shiver crept up his spine.

It wasn’t the breeze. It wasn’t the sun. It was something else—an undercurrent of dread, an uncomfortable shift in the air.

Like he was being pulled into something irritating—something he absolutely wanted no part of.

Luke squinted out at the water.

Nothing.

He exhaled slowly, then shrugged, grabbing his book and flipping it open.

Oh well. He was sure it was nothing.

[sequinsmile-x]

Take Me Back to the Start

She thinks it’s a bad joke, a terrible one, but a joke nonetheless, but it’s only after she laughs and shakes her head that she realises her doctor isn’t laughing with her. 

Emily, Aaron and two pregnancies twenty years apart.

A sequel to Allegiance.

Part 2/3 -x- Part 1

-x-

Hi besties,

Thank you so so much for all the love on part 1! It's always nerve wracking to return to universe that I've written before, especially an AU one, but it was so lovely to know you guys love this version <3

Here is part 2, part 3 will be up early next week!

As always, let me know what you think <3

-x-

Warnings: pregnancy

Words: 3.2k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

June 1995

Emily hadn’t even realised she’d fallen asleep until she wakes up to the front door opening. It makes her jump awake, pulls her from sleep, and she groans as she sits up on the couch. She turns when she hears her boyfriend's amused chuckle, and she can only imagine how exhausted she looks. 

“Did the baby make you sleepy again?” He asks, and she groans again, rubbing her eyes as he joins her on the couch, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. 

“I don’t remember the last time I wasn’t sleepy,” she grumbles, “I don’t even remember falling asleep,” she looks around them at the piles of boxes they hadn’t unpacked yet. They were scattered around the house they’d only just moved into, and the task of unpacking felt almost insurmountable in her current state. At least, she told herself, this would be the last time she did it. This was her and Aaron’s home now, where they’d raise their family together, and after a lifetime of never having roots, of always being the new kid, she was pleased she’d make sure her baby would have everything she’d never had.

The tiny baby growing beneath her skin, and any future children she and Aaron may have down the line, would always be her priority from here on out. She’d make sure they were seen and heard and able to be themselves with no preexisting expectations of who they should be. 

A shiver goes up her spine at the thought of her last interaction with her mom, at the press of her friend’s hand on her hip as he tried to hit on her. It’s a feeling that’s chased by nausea, nothing to do with the baby for once, as she thinks of her mother’s reaction to it, how she’d waved it off like it was nothing, effectively ruining what was left of the already shaky relationship between mother and daughter. A direct hit to foundations that could not withstand another, the rubble of it all still around Emily’s feet, the dust in the air still prone to catching in her throat when she thought about the fact her mother was no longer in her life, even if she was the one who had suggested it. 

“Em, are you okay?” Aaron asks, the press of his hand against her arm enough to pull her out of her stupor, “Do you need some of your ginger ale?” 

She shakes her head and squeezes his hand, as he starts to pull away, wrapping her fingers around his as she seeks out the comfort she always found between them, “No, it’s not the baby.” 

He nods, because of course he knows, and she watches as he sets his jaw tightly, his teeth clenched as he holds back everything she knows he wants to say about her mother. 

“Your mom?” 

She scrunches her nose up, feels the now familiar burn at the back of her eyes. Her relationship with her mom was never what she wanted it to be, and she knew it never would be, but she’d never seen herself being out of contact with her entirely. She knew it was the right thing, for both her and her budding family, but it didn’t make it any easier to take.

“It’s just…” blows out a shaky breath and wipes a stray tear from her cheek, endlessly frustrated at herself for her inability to keep her emotions in check these days, “I never expected that she’d be the kind of mom who would be there and hold my hand, and give me tips on what made her feel better when she was having me. But…despite everything, I never expected this either,” she smiles tightly at him, her lips pressed together as she tries to stop the shake in them, “Is that stupid?”

“No, sweetheart,” he says, already reaching for her, pulling her into the hug she never asked for and would never have to. She tightens her hold on him and presses her cheek against his chest, letting her eyes drift closed as she focuses on the beat of his heart, “It’s never stupid to expect the best out of the people who are supposed to love us.” 

She chokes on a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and she pulls back just enough to look at him, “I think that’s the worst part, you know,” she says, leaning into his touch when he wipes a tear from her cheek, “I know she loves me. She’s just never been very good at loving me the way I need her to.” 

“You’ll be better,” he says, knowing what she’s thinking before she’s even aware of it herself. He wipes her cheek again, smiling softly at her as she looks up at him, “You’re already a better mom, Em. And our baby is the size of a…what is it this week?” 

She knows he knows, she knows that he’s read the book she has on her nightstand just as many times as she has, the pages already dog-eared and worn only a few weeks after they bought it, but she loves him for it. Loves that he’s making her say it to prove his point, and she bites the inside of her cheek, unsure after all this time how he could make her smile when she was feeling so sad.

“A Brussels sprout.” 

He smiles and stamps his lips against hers, “Our little sprout is lucky to have you.” 

She beams at the praise, still so unsure about how any of this was going to go, but so grateful that he was the one she was doing it all with. She leans in to kiss him and rests her forehead against his, moving their joint hands to rest on her still flat belly.

“Sprout is pretty lucky to have you, too.” 

___

Anxiety settles low in her gut the moment she hears Ivy’s car pull onto the driveway. It mixes with the ever present pregnancy nausea, which was much worse than she remembered it being, and her stomach flips, forcing a groan out of her as she covers her mouth and reminds herself to breathe. 

“It will be fine,” Aaron says, appearing out of seemingly nowhere, his arms around her as he pulls her against his chest, “They’ll be excited. Once they get over the shock.” 

She hums and places her hands over his for a moment before she turns in his arms, casting an eye over the dinner they’d made together - the favourite of all of their kids - to try and cushion the news their family was about to get bigger. 

“I know,” she says, smiling at him, “I do know that. It’s just…” 

“You’re still not entirely over the shock yourself?”

She chuckles and nods, “You could say that again.” 

She was 12 weeks along now, the first trimester gone in a blur of surprise and joy and fear. The doctor’s warnings that she was older this time, that it came with additional concerns and complications, rattling around in her head whenever she thought about any of it. She was excited, overjoyed in some ways, but it reminded her of her pregnancy with Ivy, of all of the unknowns that she thought she’d left in her past. 

“We don’t have to tell them tonight,” he offers, and she smiles at him, pushing her fingers through his hair as she shakes her head. 

“Yes, we do,” she replies, “I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to hide it anyway,” she says, smiling as she looks down at her stomach, her bump small but there already and hidden by a loose fitting shirt, “It might have been a while but my body seems to already know what it’s doing.” 

He hums, and any further conversation is cut off as the front door opens. Rosie and Oliver greet Ivy at the door just like they always did, asking her questions and giving her the hugs they’d never give each other in public. 

“Mom and Dad are being so weird,” Rosie says, her staged whisper travelling through the hall and to the kitchen, and it makes Emily chuckle as she shakes her head and turns to look at her husband. 

“Maybe we haven’t been as subtle as we thought we were.” 

Aaron smiles and kisses her cheek, “In their defence, they have been raised by behavioural analysts.” 

Dinner itself is normal. Ivy tells them all about college and gets more information out of Rosie about her new girlfriend than either Emily or Aaron had been able to in weeks. Oliver tells his oldest sister all about his upcoming soccer game, and his smile gets impossibly wide when she says she’ll make it. Any attempt to act like he was too cool to love his sisters gone in an instant. 

When they go to the living room afterwards, empty bowls of ice cream scattered across the coffee table, Emily finally finds her nerve, her hand wrapped around Aaron’s as she interrupts the ongoing argument about what movie they were going to watch. 

“Before we pick something,” she says, smiling when all three of them look at each other, “Dad and I have something to tell you.” 

Rosie curls her legs under her and elbows Ivy, “I told you they were being weird.” 

Ivy sits up straighter, concern flickering in her eyes, “What’s wrong? Is one of you sick?” 

Aaron sighs, “No, sweetie, neither of us is-”

“Is that why you made us Uncle Dave’s lasagna? Because you’re sick?” Oliver asks, his wide eyes making him look younger than 11, and Emily shakes her head, reaching out to push his hair from his eyes. 

“No, Ollie. Neither of us is sick,” she says, wondering how they’d lost control of this conversation so quickly. The firmness in her tone makes them all calm down, and Emily watches as relief washes over all three of them. 

“Then what is it?” Ivy asks, crossing her arms over her chest in a way that makes Emily feel like she’s looking in a mirror, “Because Rosie is right, you’ve been acting weird for weeks.” 

Emily casts a quick look at her husband, and he nods and squeezes her hand ever so slightly. She blows out a steady breath and looks at her children, “I’m pregnant,” she says, nerves sparking in her chest as she carefully watches them all, “You’re going to have a new baby brother or sister.

She knows the second part is unnecessary, that they all know what pregnant means, but she can’t help it, briefly thrown back to when Ivy was little and sitting on this very couch, the legs hanging over the edge of it as they told her about Rosie for the first time. The room falls into silence for a moment as all three of them stare at her with their mouths open, and then they all talk at once. 

“You’re pregnant?” 

“That is so gross.” 

“But you’re old.” 

“Less of the old, please, Rosie,” Emily says, narrowing her eyes at Aaron when he barely covers an amused smile, “I’m sure you have questions, and we will answer them, but yes, I’m pregnant.” 

They all nod, still in some kind of shock, but Ivy raises her hand, “I have a question.” 

Emily smiles at her, “Of course, honey.”

“Was this planned?” 

Emily tenses, and Aaron squeezes her hand, taking over for her. “No, this baby was a surprise to us, too, but we think it’s a good one.” 

Ivy hums and nods, her eyes narrowing playfully, “I have a follow-up question,” she says, and both of them nod at her, only realising what she’s going to ask as she asks it, “So all the lectures you gave me on protection and staying safe don’t apply to you?” 

Emily sighs, “Ivy-”

“That’s an excellent point,” Rosie says, her shock dissipating as she jumps on the opportunity to make fun of her parents, “I’ve also had that lecture, and I’m a lesbian. My girlfriend can’t get me pregnant.”

“Okay,” Emily says, raising her eyebrow at them, her eyes flicking to Oliver to remind them that their little brother was in the room and that this understanding of all was a little more rudimentary than theirs, “I get it. But your Dad and I have been together for a really long time. And…these things can happen.” 

“That is true,” Rosie says, playfully elbowing Ivy again, “Otherwise you wouldn’t exist.” 

“Rosie,” Aaron says warningly as a flash of insecurity crosses their eldest's face, gone before her sister can see it, “We know it will take some time to get used to, but we’re excited.” 

Emily looks at Oliver, smiles at the furrow in his brow that made him look just like his father, and she runs her fingers through his hair again, taking in every moment before he is too grown up to let her. “Do you have any questions, honey?” 

He nods, “Can this one be a brother?” He asks, sighing like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders, “I already have enough sisters.”

She laughs at the playful outrage from her daughters as they scoff at their little brother, and she leans in to Aaron’s side. He kisses the top of her head, and she knows right then that everything will be okay.

___

After Oliver goes to bed and Rosie slinks off to speak to her girlfriend, Emily finds herself alone in the living room. Aaron had insisted on cleaning up after dinner by himself as he sent her to sit down and rest. 

She groans as she places her hand on her stomach, nausea rolling through it just like always, a reminder that she hadn’t needed that morning sickness was not an accurate name for how she felt. 

“Mom?”

She looks up to find Ivy standing next to the couch, a can of ginger ale offered out to her and a soft smile on her face, “I saw these in the fridge and thought you might like one,” she says as she hands it to her, “I remember you used to chain drink them when you were pregnant with Ollie.” 

Emily hums as she cracks the can open and smiles at her eldest as she joins her on the couch, her knee against Emily’s thigh, “Thanks, sweetie. Whoever called this morning sickness was an idiot.” 

“Probably a man,” Ivy quips, and Emily chuckles before she has a small sip of her ginger ale. 

“Probably,” Emily replies, watching her daughter carefully, wondering when the tiny baby who had changed her life had become this woman sitting in front of her. “Are you okay? About…all of this.” 

Ivy nods, her smile wry, “I am, it will be cool to have another little brother or sister,” she says, “Besides, most of my friends’ parents are divorced, so it’s nice that you and Dad still…” she scrunches her nose up as she thinks of how to phrase it, “Love each other enough for this to happen.” 

Emily chuckles, “I guess it is.” 

“And,” Ivy starts, resting her head on Emily’s shoulder as she snuggles against her side, “Me and this baby already have something in common.” 

Ivy had come back to her recently, had come out the other side of the teenage drive for independence that Rosie was right in the middle of. Ivy would often text and ask if she could come over, as if they’d ever say no, and she’d enjoy sitting between Emily and Aaron on the couch, her head on her mother’s shoulder, just like she had when she was little, when their family was just the three of them. 

Emily runs her fingers through Ivy’s hair. “What do you mean?” 

She shrugs, something Emily feels rather than sees, and keeps her cheek against Emily’s shoulder as she replies, “You planned to have Rosie and Ollie. The baby and I were accidents.” 

Fierce protectiveness flares in her chest, overriding everything else as she pulls back to make Ivy look at her, “You weren’t an accident.” 

Ivy rolls her eyes, “Mom, please, we both know I came about 5 years before you and Dad were planning on having any kids.” 

Emily sighs, “You were…a surprise,” Emily says, smiling when Ivy rolls her eyes again at how she’s phrased it, “I mean it. You and this new baby were a surprise, but…good ones. The best ones,” she pushes some of Ivy’s hair behind her ear, “I can’t imagine my life without you in it, and I know your dad feels the same.” 

Ivy smiles and nods, her eyes shining with something close to relief, before she rests her head on Emily’s shoulder again. “Can I help name the baby?” 

“Well,” Emily says, running her fingers through Ivy’s hair, “You helped pick Rosie’s name, and she helped with Ollie’s…which means-”

“Oh God,” Ivy exclaims, the words turning into a chuckle as she shakes her head, “He’s going to want to call it Minecraft.” 

[fierceawakening]

This thing confuses me.

What leads people to behave in evil ways is fascinating.

There are commonalities, but even in spite of that, very few people actually expect it. Does anyone besides me remember 2016 and how shocked we all were? How sure people knew better?

But they didn’t, and things got worse and worse. I just spent this morning puzzling over people saying “diversity is not our strength,” trying to figure out how people come to that conclusion… and how the hell they can do it en masse when the 20th century was, from what I remember everybody saying at the time, alarmingly chock full of genocides.

How do we not learn from this? What does it mean that a sizable enough minority of us keeps failing to learn from this, AND is large enough to become able to steer the actions of a whole country?

I get that it’s depressing to think about. But boring? When I see people say that I feel like the only neurodivergent at the neurotypicals convention.

A yep a yep nothin to think through over here.

It’s especially noticeable if you pay attention to true crime stuff. Certain podcasters will devote really long sections of their show to going over every piece of information we have on the victims, apologizing for spending “too much time” on the perpetrator.

But the stuff we know about the victims is like “she had a radiant smile and loved playing with her dolls.” Which is wonderful, and gives us a tiny window into who this person was, but not unusual or noticeable.

It just tells us that the victims were ordinary. Which gives us a sense of the horror of the crime, but doesn’t tell us much else. The fact that someone is willing to harm ordinary people is appalling and horrifying, but once you’ve watched like two podcasts, you know some people are willing to do that.

So it’s strange. I can’t figure out how people think “she played with dolls but now she can’t” is more interesting than “Brad didn’t seem like he’d kill a kid three years ago, but over time he got there. Let’s look at how and why. We may never have the answer but we can get some ideas.”

So I don’t get it.

Either I’m just wildly neurodivergent and react strangely to boring things…

…or, what I actually suspect is the case, I don’t insist it’s boring because I’m not worried that being interested means I’m next.

I know I try to be good. I know I’ve been taken in by cults before but I think hard about what to look out for.

I’m not about to stop being good because most people try to be good, so since it’s common it’s boring.

[thattimdrakeguy]

The Best Way To Write Jason Todd Teaming Up With The Bat-Family

It's no secret people in the fandom love the Bat-Family members being one happy family, and having it include everyone.

I still think it's stupid, though.

Hey, like what you like, folks. I can't stop you.

But you can't stop me from having my opinions either.

I simply do not see how making Jason another one of the crowd benefits his character in any sort of way. He was popular because he was so different was he not? But like many of the other Bat-Family characters, being different seemed illegal, so they had to take some of that away. He may still use guns, but they're rubber bullets. These days it seems like he's mostly just another of the crew. Which is...I'm going to be real as real can be...that sounds so boring.

And I can't actually recall a character arc, just sort of moments that dashed to the finish line of him teaming up, and not done in any way that used any real character work. Instead it used a fascinating technique, sometimes commonly referred to as lazy and sometimes downright lousy writing. That's sort of lame.

Why waste the potential?

But I think some people may misunderstand me when I talk about this subject sometime. They may think I'm too stuck, can't accept anything different. Can't accept change.

As far as I'm concerned I just don't accept bad changes, or unearned changes, or changes that I feel are a detriment to the appeal of the character.

I just don't want anything that takes away from anything that made something so good to begin with.

All those potential stories we could've had, ran away because someone was lazy and in a rush for instant gratification. Hard to be a fan of that personally.

However, I don't think Jason Todd should NEVER be able to team up with the Bat-Family. That's also limiting, and is a bit too simple.

Didn't even remember this scene in Under the Hood in the slightest, but as I continued to read, I realized that somehow, this story from 20 years ago, and this issue I don't even have a vague memory of that much, already showed how I feel it should be done.

So that's convenient I happened to be reading it today.

And it's really good story telling and character work too. That stuff is like my crack. Instead of how it would later be done, which is total ass-crack.

It represents the complicated history and dynamic between Jason Todd and Batman. They're against each other. Jason's an antagonist, not a villain, but an antagonist. Please research the difference if you don't already know it, there is a difference there. An antagonist can simply be people with different goals in conflict with the protagonist. They don't have to necessarily be bad guys or villains or evil.

Batman and the Red Hood though...they're not exactly enemies are they?

That's his son. Can't change that. I imagine somewhere in ol' stately Wayne Manor, the adoption papers are still there to prove it.

The feelings are complicated and complex, heavy and deep. It gives you so much more to work with, so much more opportunity for good stories and character moments.

Showing that, in spite of it all, there's still a level of trust in one another they can't deny because of their conflicts.

Can't get that with Joker.

Couldn't even get THIS much out of it with Huntress.

That uniqueness I care about so much with these characters is here and present. They are THEM! Not a cheap copy. Not a badly written duplicate. They're THEM, and no body else. You can only get this WITH THESE CHARACTERS.

Gives ya a reason to check out this issue in particular because of how well their complex relationship is represented! Instead of it being another generic team-up, with no creativity to be seen like later on many times.

This all sort of goes back to a post I made about excellent character writing represented in the Adam Beechen run of Robin. Where Tim and Boomerang where working together and didn't like each other.

I know most people won't go back to find that post. I wouldn't expect you too.

So I'll summarize the basic ideas as: Ya gotta earn your moments, never lie to yourself about how these characters would ever act, and always maximize potential as much as possible, never lose a drop of it.

And that's all represented exactly here too. Just with different characters, reacting the way they would, doing the things they would. It's very different from the Tim and Boomerang issue since these are very different characters, but the same basic principals within the writing remain, because that's what good stories are made of no matter what.

They are not cheaping out on us. Giving us the easy change up, where oh, sweet dear Jason learns his lessons.

Fuck no.

And ruin the ongoing story like that, when you can do so much better?

Puh-lease.

It's all about the character work, baby. Every moment, every drink, every drop, never turns to slop. It is phenomenal, it is wonderful, it feels like it is the way it's meant to be.

Oh, the things we could've had.

Good character development doesn't come at the expense of contradicting what we know, or losing out on potential.

As I've said before.

Good character development ADDS, it doesn't take away.

It's an important thing, often forgotten, like so many others things as the years pass.

[blackcatxmagic]

Smiling at Felix, Leo replied, "I didn't think you were perfect, I just think you're...well, pretty great." That felt like such an underwhelming way to describe what Leo thought of the other, which was a lot, but it felt too big for words right now, especially considering they'd literally just made it official. Still, he felt like he needed to say something else, so Leo went on, "I don't expect you to always get it right because I wouldn't want someone expecting that from me. I just...want us to try - together." If they talked and trusted each other, they would get through any bumps along the way, or at least that was the thinking of Leo's optimistic side, which was not a side he was used to. Usually Leo could only see the way things would go wrong because it felt like so much in his life had happened that way - he was definitely a cynic. But Felix brought the sun along wherever they went, it seemed. Leo looked at the other and just smiled, so content in this moment, and then he leaned and kissed them.

It was wild the way that Felix could go from sweet and innocent to downright sultry, and Leo loved that about them. He shivered as the other spoke, lips brushing against his ear, fingers tangled in his hair. "You're pretty all the right buttons, Fi," Leo told his partner, and that was true, even when he pulled back and gave Leo another seemingly innocent smile. But Leo knew the truth - he knew the machinations going on behind that smile now. "You're so much more devious than I would have ever expected," Leo replied with a smirk, letting Felix pull him along, knowing exactly where they were headed. This was definitely the sort of thing that Leo had done before - more than once, more than several times even - but he'd never done this with someone he truly cared about, which somehow made it feel even more exciting. Leo laughed as he was pulled along.

Like Felix, Leo didn't give a shit what anyone else thought, and frankly he highly doubted they would be the first people to have sex in this bathroom. This probably happened a lot actually, which Leo wouldn't let himself think too much about because it might make him feel, well, too gross to continue (and he definitely wanted to continue this). It was easy not to think about that though once the two of them were in the bathroom stall, Leo barely remembering to lock the door behind them; all he could think about now was Felix and the way they kissed him and the way their hands slid under his shirt, hot against his skin, sending jolts through him. "You're definitely the sun," Leo said between kisses, "because you make me feel like I'm on fire." Then he stopped mid kiss, lips still against Felix's, and he laughed. "That sounded like a good thing in my head. I just mean you drive me wild, in the best way, Fi." Chuckling at Felix's comment, Leo asked, "When have I ever made you think I'm good at keeping quiet? You know just how loud you make me." But Leo would try - he didn't want to get Felix in trouble.

Leo's resolve to be quiet was tested immediately though: the sight of Felix on their knees before him elicited a loud moan from deep in his chest. "There's never been anything hotter than seeing you like this," Leo told his partner. "Someone should paint you looking at me like this, hang it in the Louvre or something." Leo shivered at the feeling of Felix's breath against his skin, grateful that the other had pulled his underwear down because he had felt like he was about to bust right through them. The sight of his dick against Felix's face made him moan again, and Leo laughed, saying, "Clearly I'm not going to be able to be quiet either." Then he smirked, saying, "I know one way to keep you from getting too loud though - we'll just have to find something else for you to do with your mouth." Leo laughed, staring down at his partner, and then he said, "I take it back - this is the hottest sight I've ever seen. This is what they should paint."

********

"Do you think anyone heard us?" Leo asked when they finally left the bathroom; the venue was a lot emptier than when they'd entered, but there were still people around. "I think those two guys who came in halfway through definitely heard. I think the one was interested too. I could see him through the crack in the door, and he kept glancing back at us." Leo laughed as they walked, reaching over to take Felix's hand. He was really happy right now; Leo had forgotten what it felt like to be someone's boyfriend.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ When the other called himself a mess, Felix pulled him closer and rested their head on his. “I’m not perfect. I’ve definitely made mistakes. You coming over to my place was the first time I’d cleaned my apartment in months,” they pulled away and rubbed the back of their neck, embarrassed. “I think we can try together, really.” Their voice dropped as they said, “I… wasn’t exactly the best partner… last time. But I want to try. We can try together.” 

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Felix laughed when Leo started arguing about Shakespeare. “I think you’re latching onto the wrong thing, here.” But they weren’t distracted for long. Felix’s hand slipped up, fingers threading into Leo’s hair, and they leaned in close–close enough that their lips brushed the shell of his ear when they whispered, “Oh, you started this… and I am absolutely gonna make sure you finish it.” They pulled back with that familiar innocent smile, all bright eyes and flushed cheeks–but their gaze had darkened. “Come on,” Felix said, already grabbing Leo’s hand and tugging him back toward the building with a kind of reckless giddiness.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ They didn’t care about the people milling around, didn’t care that someone might see. Felix was riding the high of heat and adrenaline, every nerve buzzing as they slipped through the crowd, guiding Leo into the bathroom and then into the stall furthest from the door. The second the lock clicked, Felix spun, their mouth crashing into Leo’s. There was no hesitation, no question–it was all hunger and heat and need. Their hands were everywhere: one tangled tight in Leo’s hair again, the other sliding up under his shirt, fingertips dragging across bare skin like they couldn’t get enough. They groaned against his mouth, every kiss a little more frantic. “How quiet do you think I can be?” Felix whispered, nipping at Leo’s jaw. Their grin turned wicked. “I hope you’re better at that than I am.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Without waiting for a reply, they sank to their knees. Their hands made quick work of Leo’s pants, fingers nimble and eager. When they looked up, it was with a breathless kind of reverence–like they couldn’t believe this beautiful man was theirs. And then, slow and deliberate, they leaned in, mouthing hot kisses against the waistband of his briefs before easing them down, their breath ghosting over skin. Their groan vibrated low in their throat, like they were about to get exactly what they’d been craving all night. They laughed at themselves through kisses to Leo's legs and said, "See? How am I supposed to be quiet?" Their own pants had become uncomfortably tight, and they whispered, "Estás tan jodidamente bueno, Leo. Shit."

[khevras]

Golden Wind/Vento Aureo Spoilers

Video Transcript

Bruno: I'll be forced to cut ties with you. A traitor stands alone on an island of isolation. Your failure will be yours and yours alone.

So recently I've decided I really wanted to rewatch golden wind after reading the rest of the parts, and since this time I wanted to give more focus to the animation, I decided to watch it in dub. As a result, when I got to this part in ep3, I realised the dub had elected to change what exactly Bruno had said, stating the words above instead.

This struck me as a bit of a wierd change until I then realised how much this moment foreshadows Fugos 'betrayal' at San Giorgio Maggiore; by having the only one not betraying the boss being the one who suffers what Bruno predicted.

I feel like this foreshadowing is honestly amazing, and also hits home at how Fugo feels later on in phf when thinking back to his actions as the pier. I feel like he really does think of his lack of movement as a failure towards Bucciarati, one he has to atone for and I think it's really interesting.

On top of that, I find it really fun how accurate Brunos words are to the situation as a whole, and I find it quite ironic that the one who suffers them isn't even betraying the boss like Bruno is describing, but rather Bruno himself.

Overall, I really like how this singular line foreshadows a moment episodes later, and how I can bring up how Fugo's opinions and feelings on the event are reflected in Bucciarati's words.

[sockdooe]

FUCK YOU VOLTRON LEGENDARY DEFENDER!!!!!!!!!!!! I SHOULD NOT BE CRYING AT DAMN NEAR MIDNIGHT CAUSE OF YOUR FAILURE OF A SHOW ASS 🖕

[pensymbols]

if u believe that jason grace is lame gtfo this is NOT safe space for you

[twinklingwatermellon]

Hmm