#even if this wasn't the original intent of the author

[ahopefulbromantic]

The Son, The Spirit, and The Father, in this order 🔥

I am the offering, and the fire which consumes it, and the one to whom it’s offered

Prints here! Again, moved all my stuff to Inprnt—better quality and higher margins than Redbubble. 

[yanderismo]

Yandere Platonic Superman Concept/Idea (?)

BRO, BRO, I DON'T KNOW IF I LOVE OR HATE MY MIND FOR GIVING ME IDEAS THAT I'LL NEVER START OR FINISH. But okay, I have an idea for a platonic yandere Superfam, maybe it involves Batfam or the entire DC universe. I think this is more platonic yandere Superman. Let's go. (using the translator, be kind to me please 😭) 

— Imagine that you are originally from the Injustice universe. You were a neutral young/teen heroine who wasn't at all interested in siding with Batman or Superman. Well... that neutrality of yours had consequences, and now, somehow, Superman and Batman were in a bloody tug of war to get you on their side. And you are the cable they are selfishly pulling. And one day that cable would break, and that's what happened to you, you broke it. So broken that I would consider it irreparable. 

— But luckily for you (bro, are you lucky?), after so much physical and mental suffering, you ended up in a way that I won't explain, in the original DC universe. In other words, no superheroes is crazy tyrants. Too bad you don't know that (yet).

— You were living as if the world was a danger to you (just like it was in Injustice). But you discovered that you were REALLY in a different universe or timeline when you met Lois Lane, the woman who drove Superman insane after her death. And it shocked you, you thought maybe you had gone back in time. And as reckless as it was, you felt hope that you could stop the future of Injustice from happening, stop Lois Lane from being murdered! After all, you were still a hero, even if you had probably lost half of your original universe's neurons.

 — So you made a decision. You decided to protect Lois Lane! You practically become her protective shadow. Being noticed wouldn't do any good, and for SO FEAR of being confronted by Superman/Clark for apparently stalking his wife, you stopped watching her when Clark showed up and you went back when Clark left. (In your head, this Superman is the same Superman from Injustice, just before Lois' death happened). You were wary as hell of all the heroes. Anyway, a lot of trauma caused by Injustice.

— And I believe that Lois, even if she was a civilian, would notice that she was being watched (or maybe you're just not very good at stalking because you're a very young heroine). Whatever it is. Lois noticed and she became cautious (she is a journalist, there are many people who may not like her to the point of committing atrocities), as you could be a threat to her life. Although you haven't revealed yourself as any threat so far.

 — But let's suppose there were events in which she was in danger (actually, it was just something like shelves falling, preventing her from being run over, preventing some rabid dogs from biting her, small things), events in which you managed to remain hidden, however Lois knew it was You, her strangely protective stalker. Lois was trying to know your intentions and work it out for herself, so she didn't say anything about it. If this is something much more than she can handle, Clark can always lend a little help. 

— But on another one of those times when she was in danger, you desperately saved her (the situation was quite dangerous, more than normal), asking if she was okay and everything. Lois was surprised, you were surprised. Before you know, the idea of staying in the shadows went down the drain. You were almost begging (you were begging) her not to tell anyone that you were persecuting her (protecting her), you didn't want her to report you to some authority (that would only hinder your mission) or worse, report you to Superman. You said, stammered, that you were just protecting her. Wanting to make sure Lois didn't feel threatened and report you. 

— The desperation, the panic in your voice, seemed too young for Lois to feel comfortable. You were like a scared child, you looked very much like just a scared child, and that made Lois uncomfortable but at the same time... motherly. If you wanted to hurt her, you would have done it already. You at least accomplished one thing: making Lois not feel threatened by you.

 — The other thing you couldn't do was stop Lois from telling Clark about you. Look, I'm sure Lois didn't mean it, it's uncomfortable to be watched almost every day, but also, since she discovered you, she's been quite worried about you.

 — And Clark is all worried, like, "What?? My wife is being stalked??? Oh wait, my wife is being stalked and protected. Well, that's still very worrying, I'm definitely going to check it out for myself." Furthermore, Lois insisted that he be gentle when approaching you. And Lois saying this to him made him even more intrigued. 

— He tried to approach you just as Clark Kent, just to know how you would react around a seemingly civilian person, think of it as a method to read your character (he didn't want to confront you as Superman in a careless way. After all, who wouldn't Does he act nice or change to a more pleasant personality around Superman?)

— Needless to say, Clark was surprised and confused when you looked at him like he was the greatest terror of your life before simply running away from him. He recognized that look, only villains who were traumatized after a confrontation against him have that look (but the you look was much, much worse than that). That day, you didn't chase Lois.

 — Clark suspected you knew his secret identity. There is no longer any reason for you to have reacted like this. 

— lol, that day Lois noticed the absence of the feeling of being watched and scolded Clark for scaring you. Although it wasn't his fault, he apologized. He really didn't mean to scare you ;( You were gone for a few days after that. But of course, you still had to protect Lois in her everyday life. Even if you were scared. 

— Anyway, it didn't matter how softly, friendly Superman approached you next time. You ran, or at least tried to run. Do you really want to bet on who is the fastest? He easily caught you and held you by your forearm. And that was enough to make you scream, cry, struggle and finally, shrink as much as possible.

— And Superman was all confused, he wasn't even hurting you or squeezing you hard. His voice was also friendly. If anything, it made him even more worried. Add the fact that you appear to be very young and his paternal instincts kicked in. 

— To his surprise, you pulled out a knife. Something like that couldn't hurt Superman, of course not. But who said the knife was meant to hurt him? Let's say you picked up the knife and tried to slit your own throat as a last resort escape. (What did you go through with Superman from Injustice to the point that you tried to commit suicide just to escape him?) 

— Superman was surprised and then horrified. He immediately knocked you unconscious before you cut deeper into your throat. Now with you unconscious, you seemed more vulnerable and fragile than you should have been. Now he understood why Lois was worried about you. (You know, if Batman can adopt multiple children, why couldn't Superman...? You seem like a good kid and even Lois agrees with that. Conner and Jon would definitely like to have a sister) 

— Superman wondered what happened to you that made you reach the point where death was a usable route. He wanted to question you personally, but the moment he confirmed that you knew his identity (you acted the same way when he approached you as a civilian. He was the only one to receive this reaction from you and no one else), this matter became the subject of the Justice League. Discovering the identity of a superhero and pursuing someone close to that superhero was not going to be taken lightly. Who's to say you don't also know the identities of others? Although Superman wants to deal with you alone, he doubts he'll get any information out of you with you yelling and screaming. So he took you to the justice league. 

— Batman can definitely help you solve this.

(Imagine the anguish it would be to probably have to get used to people having the same appearance and the same voice as your captors in Injustice. Imagine them acting all soft after finding out you come from a universe where the heroes are corrupt and broke you😩)

Notas: I leave the rest to you. Or to any author who wants to use this idea (I beg you, some author write a Yandere platonic Superman/Superfam fic😭 They could even add other platonic Yanderes like Batfam, it would be so interesting 🙏😭)

(I just realized that the one who acted the most Yandere was Reader herself, lol)

[lonelysheepling]

Recently read @queenofthequillandink ’s DPxDC crossover fic Unearthed, Reborn

I got inspired to draw character sheets for Danny, Sam, Jason, and Jazz’s vigilante personas. Here’s a link to the author’s drawings of their outfits (these were a vital reference for me when doing this so thank you so much for sharing them Quill) More commentary (like 7+ paragraphs plus 2 images) about this project and the designs below the “keep reading” line.

None of these thoughts I have for each character are in order, but I have a lot of commentary for these since this project was a lot more conceptual than my normal work. I also just like talking about my art/design process. If you ever find yourself wondering at some point why an element from the original design wasn’t included, the answer is that the removal was completely intentional and part of my grandmaster vision for this work and wasn’t because I just forgot about it entirely during the design process.

————————————————————————

Aconite (Sam)

This was the first one I sketched out, I wasn’t even sure at the time if I was going to fully commit to drawing all of them. I thought that Sam was gonna be the hardest since her description was way longer than the others, but then bird boy beat her out. I took a lot of creative liberties with her design, the bag was added bc I couldn’t figure out how to add pockets to the skirt. I was trying to avoid a joker color scheme so I had a lot of ref images that I got by searching like “purple green aesthetic” on Pinterest. The dark purple and dark forest/blueish green won out in the end. I desaturated a lot of my colors for her just to get as far away from the neon Gotham rogue aesthetic. I also added the bdsm harness over the armor to add more punk elements to her design, I know that in real life that would be very uncomfortable to wear over scalemail armor but sometimes we take creative liberties when they look sick as fuck. Also, I didn’t realize until I went to look for a reference for aconite flowers that aconite is wolfsbane! That was neat to learn! Also, the font I used for Aconite is called “zai Art School Calendar 1931”, I’ve used this a few times for other projects, it’s one of my favorite fonts. The ‘zai’ fonts the creator has are all very good.

Shade (Danny)

There wasn't much to add to this page. His outfit is pretty simple (besides the patterning). I wasn’t sure how to pull of an optical illusion pattern but I was reminded how I sometimes get an eyestrain induced headache when looking at someone wearing a patterned shirt with really thin stripes so I just leaned into the idea of a small/detailed hard lined pattern. I originally made 5 separate patterns for him and then turned them into stamp brushes in procreate. I only ended up using three of them, the one on the chest, the one on the legs, and the one on his hand. But, I imagine the patterns fade and shift when he moves, sort of like a lenticular print. I gave him constellation freckles and stylized the hair’s fade into white. The hair was inspired by how time-woods draws Martin Blackwood’s hair (linked: time-woods’s fanart of Martin Blackwood). Also put way too much effort into the teeth on the mask. I just like the chunky teeth design. Oh yeah and the font I used for him is called “Typewriter_Condensed_Demi”

Erinys (Jason)

Repeatedly ran into the issue of not having enough canvas space bc of my fervent need to thoroughly document and plan out how the wings worked. I also reversed the colors for the bodysuit & armor so the under layer was black while the armor plates were red. I only realized afterwards that I may have been inspired by the red centipedes in Rain World (linked: gif of the red centipede, don’t click the link if you’re unsettled/afraid of bugs/insects), artists subconsciously draw inspiration from other artists all the time though so I’m not like upset about it. I stand by it because it looks sick as hell. Also leaned into the magpie theming for the wings. I think the vigilante form was supposed to be reverse magpie coloring? I can’t remember, but I stuck with normal magpie coloring. The anatomy of how the wings connected to the collarbone was inspired by JayEaton’s Magpie Bridge Project. Reference image link. Link to the article the image is from. I didn’t draw the wing armor because I couldn’t figure out how to would work with the wing anatomy and I ran out of canvas space. Finally, the font used for him is “DIN Condensed” this is a default font, I would’ve used something more punk but I needed the text to be legible.

Insight (Jazz)

I did Jazz after I’d already finished the initial trio, so I had to switch to a new canvas for her bc I’d hit the layer limit multiple times on the previous one. I really do love doing that spiked under-eyelash thing with characters. Don’t know when that started. Anyway, I added the shoulder pads to her outfit to help break up the empty space. The golden eyes were a nice accent color since her design is very overwhelmingly green. Honestly the braid hairstyle and gold eyes really do obscure her identity, multiple times when drawing her I was worried that she didn’t really resemble Jazz enough. There wasn’t a drawing from the author for her so I only had the text description to go off of. I just realized that she sort of reminds me of a forest ranger and I don’t know what to do with that realization. I copy/pasted my drawing of her eyes when gold and recolored them to match her normal eye color. There were two layers for that, a hue shift and a hard light layer to emphasize the shadows.

Here’s what it looks like without the hue shift: 

It looks really cool and I’m 100% that color combo in another drawing down the line. Oh yeah and the font used for this sheet was “Euphemia UCAS”. It comes with Apple’s operating system, I use it as a neutral default text most of the time bc it’s nicer than helvetica but not overly fancy like Times New Roman—and why am I talking about fonts. ——————————————————————— Anyway, this project was very fun to work on. The alt text for this was its own endeavor, hope the folks using screen-readers don’t mind 4-5 paragraphs of description text. Also, I cannot remember for the life of me if Dani got a costume description, but if she does I’ll make sure to update this image set with a sheet for her. And to the author, QueenOfTheQuill, if you’re reading this message that I’ve left at the very bottom of this post below a read more line, thank you for the fic. It’s very good and I’m glad I caught it during my slow decent into DPxDC brainrot. I love the interactions between Jason and Tim, it’s nice seeing a revived Jason that’s not bogged down by pit rage. They definitely seem like they could’ve been good friends if not for the unfortunate circumstances that led them to meet in canon. Also, I’m sure Jazz will love interacting with Batman and Nightwing. So much psychological & childhood trauma to unpack with them. Feel free to use/share these images if you so desire and thanks again for your work.

[halfmoonaria]

the only way out

pairing: vada cavell

summary: you wake up and find the purpose you thought you'd lost.

word count: 5.3k

warnings: heavily described mental health struggles, overdose, intense emotional themes

author’s note: this piece was originally written for suicide awareness month, but I never ended up posting it because it touches on extremely serious topics that may be triggering for those who are struggling.

please don’t hesitate to message me if you find this overwhelming or upsetting—it was never my intention to harm anyone, and i’ll take it down if needed.

The fan above you moved in lazy, uneven circles, its blades clicking faintly with every turn. The sound wasn't loud, but it filled the room in a way that made the silence even more suffocating.

You'd always hated that fan. Its hum was just a little too low, its clicks just a little too sharp. It had never been comforting, not even on sleepless nights when you'd stared at it for hours, willing it to lull you into unconsciousness.

The sheets beneath you clung to your legs, warm and slightly damp where they had twisted around you in the night.

They smelled faintly of laundry detergent, a clean scent that felt too normal, too at odds with the weight pressing down on your chest. Your pillow was heavy with last night's tears, the fabric stiff against your cheek.

Outside, the world continued as if nothing had happened. Birds chirped in short, rhythmic bursts, their songs sharp and insistent.

A car rumbled by in the distance, its engine fading into nothing before you could place where it had gone. Somewhere, someone's dog barked—a quick, restless sound that echoed faintly through the thin walls of the house.

Your eyes drifted to the sliver of sunlight sneaking through the curtains, the soft golden streaks crawling slowly across the floor.

They didn't light up the room so much as they highlighted its stillness, casting shadows on the cluttered desk in the corner and the pile of clothes you'd meant to put away but never had.

It all felt so ordinary. So painfully normal.

You shifted slightly, the movement sending a faint breeze from the fan across your skin. It made you shiver, but not enough to shake the heaviness that sat in your chest like a stone.

You couldn't bring yourself to care about the mess, the sunlight, the sounds outside. None of it mattered.

Your gaze wandered lazily, drifting across the room until it landed on the nightstand.

And then you froze.

The bottles were still there.

It wasn't immediate, the way the realization crept up on you. At first, you just stared at them, the small orange containers sitting perfectly upright, lids tightly screwed on. They looked almost... innocent, like they didn't belong in this room or this moment.

But the sight of them sent a chill through you, cold and sharp, as the memories of last night began to flood back.

Your breath caught, your chest tightening as if a hand had wrapped itself around your ribs and squeezed.

The bottles. The pills.

You'd been so sure. So certain. You'd counted them out one by one, your hands trembling but your resolve steady. You'd swallowed them all, the bitter taste lingering on your tongue even after you'd drained the glass of water you'd set beside your bed. And then... nothing.

Your stomach twisted violently, shame and panic bubbling up all at once. It hadn't worked.

You were still here.

Your hands gripped the sheets, the fabric bunched tightly in your fists as your mind raced. It didn't make sense. How were you still here? Why were you still here? The questions hit you like punches, each one more suffocating than the last.

Even this, you couldn't do right.

The thought slammed into you, heavy and unforgiving, and you couldn't stop it from spiraling. You'd failed.

The tears came now, hot and burning as they spilled over your cheeks, but they brought no relief. If anything, they made it worse, each drop a reminder of your humiliation, your weakness.

What if someone found out?

What if Vada found out?

The fear struck you like ice water, cold and paralyzing. What if she saw the bottles? What if she pieced together what you'd tried to do? Would she pity you? Would she call you selfish? Would she even care?

The room seemed to shrink around you, the walls closing in as your breaths came faster, shallower. You tried to focus on the fan, the birds, the sunlight—anything but the pills on the nightstand. But you couldn't look away.

They sat there, mocking you, a silent testament to everything you hated about yourself. The shame was unbearable, seeping into every inch of your body until it felt like you might explode from the weight of it.

You curled in on yourself, your knees pulling up to your chest as the sobs finally broke free.

They were ugly and raw, the kind that made your throat ache and your head pound. You pressed your face into the pillow, desperate to muffle the sound, as if the silence around you could somehow judge you for breaking it.

But the silence didn't care.

You couldn't stay here. Not in this room, not with those bottles sitting there like a neon sign screaming the truth you didn't want anyone to know.

You stumbled out of bed, your legs heavy as if they were weighed down by concrete. The air in the room felt suffocating now, each breath shallow and uneven as you made your way to the mirror above your dresser.

Your reflection stared back at you, raw and unfiltered. Your eyes were red and puffy, the skin around them swollen from the tears that had carved paths down your cheeks throughout the night. Your lips trembled slightly, the faint outline of tear tracks still visible on your pale skin. You looked like a ghost—fragile and hollow, a faint echo of the person Vada thought she knew.

Vada.

Her name alone made your chest tighten. She thought you were fine. She'd asked you earlier this week if you were okay. She said you looked tired. And you'd lied. You told her it was school, the endless exams and assignments wearing you down. She believed you, because why wouldn't she? She had no reason to think otherwise.

You reached for the concealer on your dresser, your hands trembling as you twisted the cap off. The familiar scent hit you as you dabbed it onto your skin, carefully blending it over the dark circles beneath your eyes and the splotchy redness of your cheeks. It didn't work. No amount of makeup could hide what had happened. No amount of foundation or powder could erase the evidence of the night before.

Still, you tried.

It was mechanical, the way you moved through the motions. Concealer. Powder. Mascara. Each step a small barrier between you and the truth, between you and the possibility that someone—anyone—might notice. But the mirror didn't lie. You still looked hollow, your eyes distant and glassy no matter how much makeup you applied.

You didn't bother with your hair. You didn't bother with nice clothes. What was the point? You weren't supposed to be here today. You weren't supposed to be anywhere.

You grabbed the first things you could find—a hoodie that hung loosely around your frame and a pair of faded jeans that were crumpled in a pile by your bed. They didn't match. You didn't care. You just needed to get out of the house, to get away from the suffocating quiet of your room and the heavy presence of those bottles on the nightstand.

As you pulled the hoodie over your head, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror again. It was strange, how normal you looked in the clothes, how easy it might be for someone to glance at you and think everything was fine. Vada thought everything was fine.

But it wasn't.

Your backpack was still by the door where you'd left it yesterday, and you slung it over your shoulder with a heaviness that had nothing to do with its weight. You didn't double-check if you had everything. You didn't care if you forgot something.

You just needed to leave.

But when you walked out, the bus roared past you, its brakes squealing faintly as it disappeared down the street. You barely flinched. It wasn't the first time you'd missed it, and you doubted it would be the last.

The walk to school wasn't far, and the early morning air bit at your cheeks as you shoved your hands into your hoodie pockets. Each step felt heavier than the last, not because of distance, but because of the weight pressing down on your chest.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you pulled it out, squinting at the screen. Vada.

Her name lit up across the screen over and over, a chain of messages sent throughout the morning.

good moring

are u fine

why aren't u answering

Guilt curled in your stomach, but you typed out a quick response anyway.

sorry i slept in too late

Another lie. One of many. You hovered over the screen for a moment, then hit send.

The streets were quiet, the faint sound of cars in the distance blending with the rhythmic thud of your shoes against the pavement.

You passed the same houses you always did, their curtains drawn tight, some with faint outlines of people moving behind the windows. You passed the convenience store on the corner, the one with the flickering neon sign that always said "OPEN" no matter the time of day.

It was all so normal. So utterly mundane. These were sights you weren't supposed to see again. The thought hit you suddenly, and your steps faltered for just a moment before you kept walking.

A bird perched on a power line above you, its chirping sharp and insistent, and you wondered briefly if it was the same bird you'd seen last week in this exact spot.

You watched it for a second too long before looking away, your throat tightening at the thought. You weren't supposed to be here to notice that.

The school building came into view as you rounded the corner, its brick walls looming ahead, unchanged and indifferent.

As you walked through the gates and up the steps, you kept your head down, letting the hood of your sweatshirt shield you from any curious glances. Not that anyone was paying attention.

Nobody looked your way as you entered. Not one person.

It felt like a relief. For now. You knew it wouldn't last. The whispers would start eventually, and the glances would follow. Someone would find out. They always did. It was just a matter of time. But for now, in this moment, you were invisible.

You thought maybe you should've felt grateful for it, for the anonymity. But all you felt was the heavy ache that had settled deep inside your chest, the same one you'd woken up with, the same one that had refused to leave.

Vada wasn't in any of your classes today, and that felt like both a relief and a weight. A relief because she'd know. She'd see through the layers of concealer smeared over your face, the uneven coverage that couldn't quite hide the red, puffy skin underneath.

She'd notice the exhaustion in your eyes, too deep to pass off as just a bad night's sleep. She'd figure it out—how many hours you hadn't slept, how "sleeping in late" was just another excuse.

You didn't have the energy to face her today.

The hallway buzzed faintly with conversation as you walked to your locker. Your feet moved on autopilot, weaving through the small clusters of students without bothering to acknowledge any of them.

When you reached your locker, the cold metal felt grounding against your fingertips as you twisted the dial of the combination lock.

Everything about the moment felt routine, but you couldn't shake the heaviness pressing down on your chest.

You gathered your things—textbooks, a notebook, pens that rattled faintly in their pouch—and slammed the locker shut, the sound louder than you expected in the noise-filled hallway.

Your first class was in the far corner of the building, and by the time you reached it, most of the seats were already taken. You scanned the room quickly, your eyes locking onto the one in the back. It was perfect—out of the way, unnoticed.

You slipped into the seat without meeting anyone's gaze, tugging your hoodie tighter around you as if it could make you invisible.

Nobody paid much attention to you, and for that, you were grateful.

Nobody asked you for notes. Nobody asked you to repeat what the teacher had just said. Nobody asked you for an extra pen. You didn't even get the usual forced small talk about the weather or the weekend.

Some students glanced at you, their eyes lingering just a little too long. It wasn't concern. It was something sharper—curiosity, maybe even judgment.

You told yourself it was because of your outfit, the loose hoodie and jeans that didn't exactly scream "put together."

They weren't supposed to know the real reason.

Even the teacher didn't ask you a single question, which was a first. Normally, they loved calling on you, loved asking you questions you could barely answer on a good day.

But today, they barely glanced your way. You didn't know if it was luck or some twisted mercy, but you weren't going to question it.

You sank lower into your seat, your notebook open in front of you but untouched. The words on the board blurred together, and the voices around you faded into the background, just another layer of noise.

All you could focus on was the faint pulse of your own heartbeat in your ears, steady and unrelenting, a reminder of everything you couldn't escape.

The day dragged on slowly, the minutes stretching into hours in a way they always did when Vada wasn't around to fill the silence.

Usually, you didn't mind her endless chatter, even on the days you weren't in the mood to respond. It gave the day some rhythm, something to hold on to. Without her, everything felt sluggish, each second creeping by with unbearable stillness.

Nobody noticed you in your other classes either. You stayed in the back, kept your head down, and only looked up when absolutely necessary. Nobody asked for your help, and you didn't offer it.

Teachers barely acknowledged your presence, and classmates didn't even glance your way. You were just another body in the room, blending into the background.

By lunchtime, the emptiness in your stomach wasn't enough to convince you to eat. You knew Vada was probably out with Nick anyway, laughing about something trivial while you sat alone in the cafeteria or pretended to be interested in your phone.

The thought made your chest ache, so you didn't bother going at all. Instead, you slipped into the nearest bathroom and locked yourself in a stall, sinking down onto the closed lid of the toilet.

It was quiet there, apart from the occasional shuffle of feet and the murmur of voices that echoed faintly off the tiled walls. You stayed there until the warning bell rang, telling yourself you'd move when you had to.

By the time the last period rolled around, you decided to skip it altogether. It wasn't like anyone was going to miss you. You grabbed your bag and left through the side doors, the weight of the day pressing harder with each step.

The walk home felt longer than usual, even though your feet carried you along the same route they always did. The sun was lower now, casting long shadows across the pavement, and the air had turned cooler, biting against your skin. You didn't rush. There was no point.

When you finally reached the house, the familiar creak of the front door greeted you as you stepped inside. You dropped your bag onto the floor with a thud, the sound cutting through the quiet like a knife. But the moment your shoes hit the mat, you froze.

Your mother's voice drifted from upstairs.

From your bedroom.

Her voice wasn't sharp, but shaky and filled with desperation. Loud, panicked sobs cut through the stillness, her words fractured, broken.

It was the kind of sound that made your stomach twist in ways you couldn't explain, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it might bruise your ribs.

For a moment, you froze at the bottom of the stairs, your mind racing. She had to have found the bottles, you thought.

She must be crying to your father, frantic, trying to piece together a story where you were some addict. The shame burned through your chest at the thought, hot and unbearable.

Before you could think twice, your legs moved on their own, carrying you up the stairs two at a time. Every creak of the steps matched the pounding of your heart as her voice grew louder, more raw, more guttural.

Yet you still couldn't make out what she was saying. The words were a jumbled mess of sobs and gasps, broken by her breathing that was shallow and uneven.

You reached the top of the stairs, your breaths coming fast and ragged, your stomach churning with something you didn't dare name. And then you saw her.

You stopped cold in the doorway, your hand gripping the frame as the world tipped on its axis.

There she was. Your mother.

Her entire body shook as she was clutching something, someone. Her hands trembled violently as she smoothed a strand of hair back, her voice raw and pleading, "Please... please don't leave."

And then your eyes focused.

It was you.

Your own body, limp and lifeless in her arms.

The air was ripped from your lungs in an instant, leaving behind an empty, crushing silence in your chest. You couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but watch as your mother cradled your motionless form, her tears falling onto your face—the same face you had seen in the mirror just hours ago.

Her phone was pressed against her ear, her knuckles white from how tightly she gripped it. Her other hand moved with heartbreaking tenderness, smoothing down your hair as if trying to soothe you awake. But her voice was anything but soothing.

It was frantic.

Desperate.

Begging.

"Please, just hold on," she sobbed, her words stumbling over each other. "Please, God, no."

The voice on the other end of the call was calm, distant, detached. It was a woman, instructing her to start CPR—how to position her hands, how to count the compressions, how to breathe for you.

But your mother wasn't hearing her. Or maybe she was, but she couldn't bring herself to let go of you long enough to follow the instructions. Her free hand shook uncontrollably as she tried to do everything at once—hold you, call for help, fight to keep you here.

The sound of her anguish filled the room, swallowing everything else. It was a sound you had never heard before, and one you knew you'd never forget. It was pure, raw, unfiltered grief, the kind that clawed its way out of her chest and spilled into the air, suffocating everything in its path.

And all you could do was stand there, frozen, as you watched her world crumble beneath her.

Time lost all meaning. It felt like hours passed in the span of a single breath, each moment slipping through your fingers like sand. You couldn't remember what happened during those hours. You didn't know where you were supposed to be, or if you were even still yourself.

Was that why nobody had noticed you at school? Had you even been there at all?

Your head spun, your thoughts tripping over one another as you stared at nothing. Everything felt detached, distant, like you were watching someone else's life unravel from behind a glass wall.

Your phone buzzed incessantly, the vibrations pulling you back into the moment. It was still clutched in your hand, though you didn't remember picking it up. The screen was lit with a cascade of notifications, the words blurring together until you forced yourself to focus,

One notification after another, the screen lighting up with endless messages from Vada. She was spamming you, practically hysterical.

y/n. oh my god.

whats happening?

why didn't you tell me?

why didn't you say anything?!

pls answer me. im losing my mind.

pick up the phone.

y/n please.

you can't be serious right now. u can't.

i don't believe this. i won't believe it.

tell me it's not true.

this doesn't make sense. it doesn't make sense.

you were fine. u told me you were fine.

i believed u. i shouldn't have believed you.

how could i not see this?

Nick's came following.

There is no way.

I just heard. What the hell is going on?

You didn't think about whether they cared. Why would you? It wasn't something you had allowed yourself to dwell on, not for a long time. You thought you knew they didn't care. It wasn't just a fleeting insecurity or a passing thought; it was a truth you had accepted. It was the narrative you had told yourself over and over again until it became fact.

Nobody cared. Nobody noticed. And nobody ever would.

But now, the cracks in that truth were splintering wide open, and it hurt more than you thought it would. Every frantic message, every unanswered call, every agonizingly real expression of fear—they were like tiny daggers, cutting away at the lie you'd built to protect yourself.

You were wrong. Completely, utterly, heartbreakingly wrong.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. You weren't supposed to be here to see this. You weren't supposed to witness the aftermath. You weren't supposed to feel this unbearable mix of regret and confusion.

You didn't want to die. Not really.

And you weren't supposed to.

The realization hit like a tidal wave, the weight of it crashing down all at once. The noise of your thoughts drowned out everything else—the pounding of your heart, the quick, shallow breaths you didn't realize you were taking. It was all a mistake. A terrible, irreversible mistake.

Your surroundings blurred as you stumbled forward, your body moving on autopilot. Before you even realized what was happening, you found yourself in the living room, the soft flicker of the television pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts.

The room was dim, the glow from the TV stretching across the walls and furniture in uneven patterns. The hum of the screen was the only sound breaking the silence, and the air felt heavier here, like it was pressing down on you.

Your eyes moved to the screen, and you froze.

There it was.

Your school picture.

Your face, staring back at you, bright and sharp, unnervingly lifelike in contrast to the hollow ache growing in your chest. Seeing it felt like a punch to the gut, like someone had taken everything inside you and twisted it into something unrecognizable.

You barely registered the voice of the news anchor, speaking over the image in that detached, professional tone that made your stomach churn.

"High school student Y/N L/N was found—"

The words stopped suddenly as the screen went dark. The TV turned off, leaving the room shrouded in silence once again.

Someone had turned it off.

The darkness disappeared in a flash of blinding light as you jolted awake, your chest heaving with desperate, gasping breaths. It was as though the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving nothing but a suffocating weight pressing against your lungs. You couldn't breathe.

Your body felt damp, your skin clammy with cold sweat that clung to every inch of you like a second layer. The sheets beneath you were twisted and soaked, tangled around your legs as if they'd been fighting to hold you down. The heat of your panic mingled with the chill of the sweat, leaving you trembling uncontrollably.

Your heart pounded like it was trying to escape, every beat so loud and erratic it drowned out the faint hum of the ceiling fan above. It was everywhere—in your chest, in your throat, in your ears, threatening to burst out of you entirely.

Your hands clawed at the sheets, desperate to anchor yourself to something solid as your mind raced to catch up with the sudden shift from nightmare to reality. The dream—if you could even call it that—lingered like a shadow, so vivid it didn't feel like a memory at all but something that had truly happened.

Your throat burned, a dry, aching sensation that made swallowing feel impossible. You tried to suck in a breath, but it came out shallow and shaky, as if your body didn't trust the air around you.

Then, with a surge of instinct, you shot up.

The movement was so abrupt that the room spun around you, the blurred outlines of your furniture and the faint slivers of light from the window smearing together in dizzying streaks. Your stomach twisted violently, and for a moment, you thought you might throw up.

Your hands flew to your chest, clutching at the fabric of your damp shirt like it might somehow keep your heart from breaking free. Each breath was a battle, shallow and uneven, like you were still fighting to wake up fully.

The silence of the room was deafening now, a stark contrast to the chaos inside you. No news anchors, no voices, no TV glow—just the dull hum of the fan, creaking with its every turn. It felt wrong, too quiet, as though the room itself was holding its breath alongside you.

Your eyes darted around, searching for something—anything—that could ground you, but everything looked the same as it had before you closed your eyes. The same ceiling, the same walls, the same nightstand with its faintly glowing alarm clock. Yet, none of it felt right. None of it felt real.

The realization hit slowly, like a distant wave building strength as it rolled closer. You were awake.

It was just a dream.

A nightmare.

But your heart refused to believe it, pounding and twisting like it knew something you didn't.

Your breaths began to even out, though your chest still felt tight, like the remnants of the panic were gripping you by the ribs. You blinked, your surroundings slowly coming into focus. But something was off—this wasn't your room.

The posters on the walls weren't yours, the fairy lights strung haphazardly across the ceiling weren't yours, and the faint smell of lavender mixed with vanilla in the air was distinctly not yours. You scanned the room, confusion clouding your mind until it clicked.

Vada's room.

You remembered now—the sleepover. It was Saturday. The fog in your brain started to lift, and the pieces began to fit together. The dream wasn't real. None of it was.

At the foot of the bed, Vada sat cross-legged, her arms propped on her knees, her face lit up with the kind of mischievous smirk she always wore when she thought she was being particularly clever. She looked far too awake, like she'd been sitting there for hours, waiting for the exact moment your eyes would snap open.

She raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening into a sly grin. "Wet dreams?" she asked, her voice dripping with mockery as she leaned forward slightly, clearly relishing the opportunity to tease you.

You stared at her, still trying to pull yourself fully out of the haze of the nightmare and into reality. Her casual, almost playful tone felt like a slap in the face compared to the gut-wrenching intensity of what you'd just experienced.

"I—" Your voice came out raspy, cracking on the first word. You cleared your throat and glared at her, but the redness creeping up your neck betrayed you. "Shut up, Vada."

She let out a laugh, tilting her head back dramatically as though you'd just handed her the best material she'd heard all week. "Oh, c'mon! You can't just wake up looking like that and not expect me to ask questions."

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. "I hate you." You muttered, feeling the last remnants of panic still clinging to you, but Vada's laughter quickly swallowed it up.

She burst into laughter, practically falling over herself with how much she was enjoying your discomfort. "Oh my God, you totally did have a dream like that, didn't you?"

Before you could respond, she launched herself at you, pinning you to the bed with the same unstoppable energy she always had. You could barely catch your breath as she started teasing you relentlessly.

"Was it about me? Was I in it? Tell meee," she demanded, her voice high-pitched with mischief as she started tickling you. Her fingers danced on your sides, making it impossible to stop the laughter that erupted from your chest.

You squirmed beneath her, gasping for air as you tried to push her off, but she was way too strong, and you were already out of breath from the sudden onslaught.

"Stop!" you pleaded, but it only made her laugh harder, her fingers finding every sensitive spot on your body.

"Tell me! I need to know!" Vada practically shouted, her grin wide as she dug her fingers into your ribs. You couldn't control your laughter, your body shaking as you tried to wriggle out of her grasp, but it was no use.

The weight of everything you'd just dreamt about—the nightmare that had felt so real—began to fade, dissipating into the background as Vada's chaotic energy filled your senses. The harsh memory of panic and fear started to blur, replaced by the sounds of her teasing, the warmth of her body pressing against yours, and the simplicity of just being here, in her room, laughing despite yourself.

It was like all the weight of everything you'd felt—the desperation, the hopelessness—had suddenly lost its grip. You found yourself smiling, genuinely smiling, for the first time in what felt like forever. The laughter that had started as a reaction to Vada's teasing transformed into something more.

You realized, in that moment, that life wasn't a burden. It was messy and complicated, full of pain and confusion, but there was something else, too. Something worth sticking around for. Maybe it was the way Vada laughed, or how her teasing, though relentless, felt like a reminder of the bonds you still had. The world, your world, wasn't done with you yet.

It's easy to forget, when you're lost in the darkness, that there's always a way out. That no matter how much the weight of everything pulls you down, there's always something, someone, ready to help you stand again.

People care. Even when it doesn't feel like it, there's always someone who would miss you if you were gone. Life isn't just about surviving—it's about being. And being means you have a chance to change, to grow, to find purpose, even in the smallest moments.

The things you felt in your darkest moments—the belief that no one cared, that you didn't matter—were lies, and you were starting to see that. There's always a purpose. There's always something to keep you going, even if you can't see it right now.

You might not know what your purpose is today, or tomorrow, or the next day, but it's out there. And you'll find it, slowly, piece by piece. You don't have to have it all figured out, but that's okay.

And even on the days when the darkness threatens to swallow you whole, remember this: your story isn't over. You are so much more than the darkest moments of your life. You are worthy of love.

You are worthy of peace. You are worthy of happiness, and you have every right to live, to find joy, and to keep fighting, even when it feels impossible.

You don't have to do it alone. You're never truly alone. There's always someone waiting to help you see the light again.

And no matter how many times you falter, it's never too late to rise again.

[rainerioun]

𝖶𝖧𝖠𝖳 𝖳𝖱𝖮𝖯𝖤 𝖥𝖨𝖳𝖲 𝖸𝖮𝖴𝖱 𝖥𝖴𝖳𝖴𝖱𝖤 𝖱𝖤𝖫𝖠𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭𝖲𝖧𝖨𝖯? | 𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝖺 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖽.

— Hey there! In this reading, we'll explore which romantic/writing trope might fit your relationship with your future spouse best. Some of these themes can get pretty deep, so if you're not in the right headspace for that, perhaps come back another time. <3

ORIGINAL DATE POSTED : APRIL 15TH, 2024.

HOW TO CHOOSE A PILE : The outcome may vary based on whether you receive clear messages visually or intuitively. If you resonate more with selecting a pile visually, trust that inclination. Personally, I believe the notion that 'looks can deceive,' so I prefer to take a deep breath and close my eyes, allowing the pile I'm meant to connect with to come to me. You might see the color of the pile, sense or hear a number, or simply feel its overall vibe.

Please don’t redistribute or edit my content.

MUST READ + MASTERLIST | KO-FI

PILE ONE

ENEMIES TO LOVERS. | RIGHT PERSON, WRONG TIME. | STAR-CROSSED.

Romance Trope? Knight of Wands [Reversed]. | Ten of Wands [Reversed]. | The Hanged Man [Reversed].

For some, a person from your past might resurface. Either way, there will be a separation. When you first encounter your future spouse, one or both of you may be going through a dark time. I should state that this connection will never become manipulative or deeply toxic, which nobody should accept or endorse.

Nonetheless, this connection won't be smooth sailing in the beginning. While serious hatred will not arise, there'll be a struggle to understand each other, which stems from inner wounds. Seeing reflections of yourself in them, and vice versa, leads to frustration because neither of you has fully healed yet. Stubbornness on both sides leads to drifting apart. Impulsive actions worsen the situation, causing you to dislike each other.

Initially, I wasn't quite sure how to define the relationship because y'all aren't really enemies, just two hurt people.

Expansion. Community. | Hostilities. | Anxiety.

Your future spouse might come into your life through a friend or an acquaintance, perhaps in a familiar setting you visit often. The connection between you both sparks a profound realization, which leads to heightened anxiety and tension. It might feel like you weren't supposed to meet this person, but in truth, you were destined to cross paths. Because when you reunite in the future, you'll love each other through the toughest times and cherish each other even more during the best moments. You're meant to teach each other lessons that no one else could, guiding you back to where you're meant to be in the end. I definitely see sleepless nights, though. — You might find each other again in the place you originally met.

What Energy Will Your Future Spouse Embody? Dolphin : Innately Intelligent, Healer, Light Blessings. Bear :  Waking From Spiritual Slumber. Beginning Anew.

When you reunite, both you and this person have undoubtedly grown. It's a chance to begin anew with them at the right moment. Your future spouse has a knack for making people question themselves, but with you, it's particularly intense. While it may have caused hurt in the past for both of you, now you can work through it together.

While pulling the cards, I heard a distinct and amusing cackle, almost like a 'dolphin laugh,' even their giggles could be a loud and funny.

Insight. Hermit — Light : Seeks solitude to focus intently on inner life. Serves personal creativity. Shadow : Withdraws from society of others. Refusing to help those in need.  Father — Light : Talent for creating and supporting life. Positive guiding light within a tribal unit. Shadow : Dictatorial control. Abuse of authority.  Fool — Light : Fearlessly revealing emotion. Helping people laugh at absurdity and hypocrisy. Shadow : Using humor to wound rather than liberate. Denial of your emotional truth.

Your future spouse will always have an introverted nature, but before change occurs, they are extremely reserved, perhaps to an unhealthy extent. They could be overly engrossed in work, other projects, or family matters, possibly taking on a leadership role for their siblings, which can be stressful even if they don't live together. Beneath the surface, they have a playful side. In the past, both of you might have been a too naive, but you'll reconnect when they emanate this strong fatherly energy. I'm hearing, 'Young, Dumb, and Broke.'

Additional. Soulmates : Soul Connection, Partnership, Agreement, Soul Contract. Coffin : Endings Bring New Beginnings, Growth, Change, Liberation, Transition.  Separation : Sadness, Missing You, Thinking About You, Yearning, Unsure of Future. Clock : Need Time, Takes Time, In Time, Cycles, Time to Heal, Progress.

There might be a bit of a chase for a while, whether it's conscious or not. When you make efforts to understand them, they might pull away, and the same goes for you. As much as it feels strange to say it, the label of twin flames could suit this connection. However, you'll eventually overcome this phase. It's possible you were only meant to learn the lesson of self-betterment from each other in this life, but both of your paths took unexpected turns, leading you to find each other despite it all. You both will make up time from not only your younger years, but previous lifetimes.

When everything falls into place and you seek forgiveness from each other, this connection becomes truly extraordinary. It's profound and complex, holding such true beauty. Eventually, it settles into something steady, providing the stability and fulfillment you both crave. Life together feels as close to perfect as it can get.

Take A Walk : Passion Pit. | Salad Days : Mac Demarco. | The Blower's Daughter : Damien Rice.

PILE TWO

FORCED PROXIMITY. | WORKPLACE.

Romance Trope? The Emperor. | Justice. | Four of Pentacles.

You and your future spouse will be drawn to each other no matter what, as if fate itself is pulling you together. You'll find yourself in situations where you encounter your future spouse frequently. I suspect this could be through some form of work. It's possible they might hold a higher position than you, maybe even a boss, though it's not necessary. They could simply have a lot of influence and trust. In some manner, this person plays a role in ensuring your financial stability.

Expansion. Angel of Strength. | Cornucopia. | Man Holding A Coin.

Once more, this person holds a certain sway over you. For some, this influence might stem from them being your client. They control your actions because they requested them.

It all depends on your current profession or your future plans. If you're primarily self-employed, even if you have a 'boss', this person might approach you as a client or possibly someone seeking work. However, if you're in a more corporate environment, they could be your boss or a colleague.

What Energy Will Your Future Spouse Embody? Dragon : Seeing One’s Most True Self, Balancing The Ego.  Bat : Darkness, Letting Go, Death Leading To Rebirth. Lizard : Instinctual, Sensitive to The Subtle, Dreamer.

Your future spouse isn't really the bossy type. They can be assertive but are generally understanding and flexible. I don't see a power struggle whatsoever. They could be a natural leader, yet I believe their compassionate and accommodating nature prevents them from being cutthroat or overly blunt. Their work is very important to them, but they also recognize the humanity in their co-workers.

Insight. Healer — Light : Passion to serve others by repairing the body, mind, and spirit. Ability to help transform pain into healing. Shadow : Taking advantage of those who need help. Failing to care for oneself. Thief — Light : Sheds light on the potential wealth within you that can never be stolen. Shadow : Stealing money, creative ideas, affection or other powers you think you lack.  God — Light : Benevolence and compassion. Recognizing the eternal force within yourself and others. Shadow : Despotism and cruelty. Using power to control people.

As I mentioned before, this person will play a role in guiding your career somehow. They'll have things to teach you, just as you'll have things to teach them. You might notice an increase in financial opportunities or wealth around the time you meet this person, probably because of their doing, but maybe not!

Additional. Karmic Relationship : Fleeting, Turmoil, Resentment, Lessons, Letting go and Loving you.  Camera : Reminiscing, Keepsake, Perception, Learn From the Past, Make Memories.  Girl Talk : Time with Friends, Moving On, Happily Single, Living in the Moment, Having Fun. Palm Tree : Stability, Security, Permanence, Growth, Endurance, Flexibility. 

Before anyone gets worried, let me clarify that I didn't take the Karmic Relationship card too seriously. I interpreted the message as affirming that this relationship will involve significant learning and growth. Not everyone will end up parting ways with this person, but everyone involved will gain valuable insights from the other. This connection could help both of you avoid repeating past mistakes. — As an alternate message, I'd like to add that it's time to let go of past relationships. Your future partner wants you to embrace self-love and believes in your ability to find happiness within yourself. Mastering contentment while single will not only attract them sooner but also teach you a valuable lesson that's ready to be learned.

Your future spouse will stand by your side and do everything in their power to support you. They aren't just interested in your safety and stability; they'll actively work to make sure it happens. Their actions speak volumes in this regard.

Partition : Beyoncé. | I Will : Mitski.

PILE THREE

SECOND CHANCE. | FORBIDDEN LOVE. 

Romance Trope? Two of Bows/Wands [Reversed]. | Seven of Vessels/Cups. | Two of Vessels/Cups [Reversed]. | The Green Woman. | Ten of Bows/Wands.

For many of you, I don't believe this is just an ex. I sense a third-party element at play here. Pinpointing a main scenario is too tricky; it varies for everyone by a lot. Perhaps you meet this person through a friend with whom you'll later drift apart with. Maybe your future partner happens to be a sibling of a friend. The possibilities are numerous. Nonetheless, there's someone who acts as a bridge between you both, influencing the connection. You might even have someone in mind already as you read this.

Regardless of the circumstances, I don't think your future spouse is the cause of this temporary 'separation', which might end up being a lack of communication for a short period of time until the situation resolves itself. I can't see a time where your future spouse was previously unkind or unpleasant to you, but rather it's more likely that the mutual person between you two played that role. If there are any rumors circulating, your future spouse will likely discern who's at fault and support you.

Expansion. Angel of Love. | Fifth Chakra : Archangel Gabriel. | Magician and The Mirror.

At first, your future spouse might assume they're to blame for the fallout and feel guilty about it. This uncertainty might delay the reconnection, even though they're fully committed to being by your side. They'll struggle with how to initiate fixing things, but eventually, they'll gather the courage to try. This reconciliation could happen online, if that resonates.

The forbidden aspect of this connection might originate from parental expectations, like qualities they require in your partner. Remember, you always have a choice in this matter. If not, it's not necessarily wrong but might be viewed with disapproval, such as getting involved with a friend's ex-partner.

What Energy Will Your Future Spouse Embody? Tiger : Lunar Force, Ease in Darkness, Feminine Energy.  Raccoon : Talented, Shadowy, In Hiding. Hawk : Watchful, All-Seeing, Messenger of Divinity.

Your future spouse is incredibly passionate and generous in their relationships and friendships, and this will shine even more when you two reconnect. They'll be open and sincere about their love for you once they emerge from hiding.

Insight. Addict — Light : Helps you recognize and confront addictive behavior. Shadow : Compromises integrity and honesty. Allows an addictive pattern to have authority over your inner spirit.  Avenger — Light : Desire to balance the scales of justice. Righteousness on behalf of society or oneself. Shadow : Resorting to violence in the name of a cause. Seeker — Light : Thirst for wisdom and truth wherever they are. Shadow : Inability to commit to a path once found.

After reconnecting, your future spouse will become more righteous, not just in relationships, but in all aspects of life. They won't stand for their loved ones being mistreated and will seek truth in murky situations, sharing their insights to keep you informed. They'll be honest about areas needing improvement while maintaining their patient and kind nature. By this time, they will understand how to be straightforward yet gentle.

Additional. The Butterfly : Relationship Evolving to the Next Phase, Healing the Inner Child, Growth. Boat : Receiving What You Need, Progression, Arriving, Moving On, Closure Issues. Girl With a Snake : Empath and Narcissist Paradigm, Being Charmed or Used, Enable Boundaries.  Heartbroken : Deeply Hurt, Sad, Separation, Breakup, Feeling Lost, Grieving, Mourning.

Reconnecting with you will be a healing and transformative experience for them. It will bring closure to their past, and you might need to reassure them that your aren't going anywhere. It's a bit odd, but lately, I've been watching Supernatural, and this person reminds me of Sam Winchester. They have a strong desire to protect you, but sometimes they might overextend themselves trying to provide for you. Which isn't your fault at all, they just need a reminder to relax and slow down.

Killer : The Ready Set. | She Looks So Perfect : 5 Seconds of Summer. | Holding Hands : The Magic Lantern.

PILE FOUR

FRIENDS TO LOVERS. | SOULMATES.

Romance Trope? Six of Pentacles. | Seven of Cups [Reversed]. | Three of Wands [Reversed].

Although it's one of the sweetest piles, it's also a tad messy. Not everyone will relate to this aspect, but take what resonates.

This person could be from your childhood or teenage years, or maybe someone you've recently met, or have yet to meet. Anything really. However, I feel for the majority it's someone you know. You have to figure this part out for yourself. But regardless, they're incredibly generous toward you, whether it's with money, affection, or understanding. However, this connection isn't without its challenges. Despite being very supportive, you'll have to navigate obstacles together. There might be setbacks or delays, but ultimately, your bond will grow stronger and develop into a romantic relationship.

Expansion. Strategy. | Storm Warning. | Healer of the Ages.

This part might only apply to a few, but I don't necessarily see it as your next relationship. Why? Well, because there are cards here, and later in the reading, that hint at some kind of breakup, which your future spouse helps you navigate through.

What Energy Will Your Future Spouse Embody?  Elk : Stable, Resilient, Headstrong, The Father. Turtle : Ancient Soul, Grounded, Trusting, At Home in the Self. Crocodile : Resting, Submerging, Collecting Energy, Cooling Off. 

Your future spouse will always carry the aura of a caregiver, being nurturing and extending their kindness towards both loved ones and strangers alike. They have a natural inclination towards being giving but possess a discerning eye when it comes to where and who they invest their energy. Their actions are consistent, and they seem calm and collected.

Your future spouse really embodies the ideal father figure and likely connect effortlessly with children. Patience and wisdom are strong in their nature, further enhancing this energy. They're like a true teddy bear until provoked.

Insight. Student — Light : Humility and devotion to knowledge. Openness to lifelong learning. Shadow : Arrogance in the pursuit of destructive knowledge. Unwillingness to translate knowledge into action.  Prince — Light : Romantic charm and potential for power. Shadow : Using power for self-aggrandizement.  Companion — Light : Loyalty, tenacity, and unselfishness. Shadow : Betrayal by misusing confidences. Loss of personal identity.

Think of your ideal "prince charming" - that's precisely who your future spouse is, whether in appearance or mindset. Gender doesn't limit this; it's about their energy and attitude. They have boundless curiosity, always eager to explore life and learn. Their fascination with you extends to wanting to know every detail, so they can envision and arrange everything in their mind. Loyalty and romance are ingrained in them, qualities you'll surely cherish. They're very charming.

Even in friendship, your future spouse exhibits a strong protective instinct, perhaps even a hint of possessiveness. You might not even realize your love for them until something sudden strikes. It's really like something out of fan fiction, where a seemingly random spark is actually the culmination of a slow burn. This realization may dawn on you when your future spouse defends or stands up for you in some manner. Suddenly, all the signs they've been dropping will become clear, and even the glance from them afterward will convey everything you need to know.

Additional. The Phoenix : New Phase, Rekindle, Renew, Transformation, Growth, Changed Mind.  Stabbed in the Back : Heartbreak, Pain, Separation, Deception, Shocking Attack. Palm Tree : Stability, Security, Permanence, Growth, Endurance, Flexibility. Mask : Not Showing True Feelings, Hide, Personify, Pretend, Delude, Gaslighting.  Sunglasses : Watching, Looking, Stalking, Gaslighting, Perception, Focusing Out. Keys on a Ring : Many Options, Decision, Unconventional, String Along, One Night Stand.

For those it applies to, I'm revisiting my earlier point about being in a relationship and your future spouse's good sense of judgment regarding character. If this doesn't resonate, feel free to skip and check out the songs instead. Thank you!

Your future spouse had already secretly admired you for some time. Aware of your existing relationship, they struggled to suppress their feelings. Amidst the chaos in their mind, they couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right with your partner. They wanted to reach out to warn you out of genuine concern, but you dismissed it as an overreaction. There's a chance your partner at the time suspected something between you two, leading to a sudden end to the relationship [Although, I don't think there was anything actually happening.] They might have harbored resentment for a while. But fear not, your future partner comes to the rescue. Whether they witness the breakup or support you afterward, you'll come to realize that your true feelings lay with them all along, but you were blinded by the allure of another. With too many choices before, you failed to think clearly and see what was right in front of you.

Like That : Jack and Jack. | Somewhere Only We Know : Keane. | Little Person : Matt Maltese. | Boyfriend : Dove Cameron. [Update: Forgot to add a song, sorry!]

[i-heart-hxh]

So, a few days ago I found this post on Reddit from 2 years ago (that sadly barely got any attention at the time) that sheds a ton of light on the separation scene between Gon and Killua, and my mind is blown! I've known for years that there was some sort of Togashi "coding" in the dialogue and it was always like I could get halfway to understanding, but this post gives the rest of the puzzle pieces that I was missing, and ties into other scenes that I was uncertain about the meaning of as well. It's heartbreaking, but also hopeful for their future! I had to share it with you all. Please read it!

The original Reddit post has been deleted, but here is a link to the author's Reddit profile. (I received permission from the original author to post this here.)

In-Depth analysis on the Hidden Reasons behind Gon & Killua's separation scene (ep 147) Why Gon is 'Number 2'

The translations across the separation scene in both manga (chp 338) and the anime (ep 147, 2011) have some shortfalls. These dialogues are vital for understanding even the first layer of reasons behind this separation.

REASONS FOR KILLUA'S DELICATELY PLANNED SEPARATION 

1. WHEN -

There are very important reasons why Killua picked a specific timing to tell Gon about Alluka. It was Killua's plan all along, to only tell Gon at a moment's notice, to make sure Gon won’t get time to ask any DETAILS. He is deliberately downplaying the seriousness of everything he’s been through to heal Gon, so it will have less impact on Gon, and at the same time, avoid Gon asking details. Prior to healing Gon, Killua specifically asked Morel and Leorio to promise not to tell Gon that he saved him. After Gon was healed, there was a scene in the anime (ep 148) which showed the three spent a night together before reaching the World Tree. During that time, Killua still haven't said anything. It wasn't until the moment when they were literally saying the last goodbye, Killua casually brought up:

“Oh, by the way, this guy healed you."

I want to emphasis the word Killua used to address Alluka was “こいつ”. This is a very light and overly casual word used to address someone you know, and usually a playful guy friend (e.g. “This guy used to be my neighbour.” type of feeling). The manga and anime translation, “She’s the one that healed you,” did not clearly depict the intentional casualness.

2. WHAT was SAID -

If Killua just doesn’t want to burden Gon with guilt and responsibility, then why not just keep his mouth shut and say nothing? That’s because Killua found a better option than not telling Gon anything. Killua shifted the “priority of reasons” a bit, so the VERSION OF EVENTS he told Gon, was PRIORITIZED on Alluka’s rescue rather than healing Gon. This way, they will also get to THANK Gon, and put an emphasis on thanking Gon because Killua make it SEEMED like it was more important to rescue Alluka, that the INITIAL REASON for Killua to go home, was to rescue Alluka. Only AFTER Alluka was freed, they came to the hospital to heal Gon, out of convenience, since only Alluka has the ability to do so, and since she’s now outside. The MAIN motive for these past events has been delicately swapped around by Killua, so the focus switched to the rescue of Alluka, rather than healing Gon. Hence Alluka is “No. 1”, Gon is “No. 2”. Downplaying it so healing Gon was just a bonus convenience (ep 147, 19:12 to 19:51).

Killua then goes on another level to make this version of events seem even more realistic, by saying “….You owe me a lot now,” in a teasing and playful tone of voice. This is to again, downplay the seriousness of everything he’s been through, to comfort Gon that "Yes you owe me one now, but don’t you worry! I will make sure you pay it back okay?! Hehe!”

3. WHY -

The fight with Pitou allowed Killua to witness Gon's ultimately immature mind set when it comes to “repaying someone, and redeeming himself.” Kite lost an arm and his life to protect him. So Gon gave his life and was even more happy when Pitou took his arm too. Gon will always want to “match” what was sacrificed by another, by throwing away AT LEAST the same. Not “sacrificing”, but THROWING AWAY. It’s so immature, so dangerous, no one will be able to keep up with him. Killua was very confident with how much he could take, but even Killua himself is at limit. This ultimate baka!! (ep 136, 17:50 - 20:17)

If this is how far Gon will go for Kite, he can only imagine what Gon would go recklessly into if he knew the DETAILS. This is when Killua decided on a way to part with Gon the way they did, and to PROVIDE him a particular REASON.

“I’m prepared to spent the rest of my life protecting her.” 

This is the reason Killua wants Gon to know, but NOT what he actually wants to do with his life. Although it’s true he feels responsible and genuinely wish to protect Alluka and Nanika, but it’s not what he ultimately WANTS to do. He NEEDS to protect Alluka, but he WANTS to spent his entire life by the side of a certain baka…

After the previous events, Killua was traumatized, especially when he saw Gon's twisted decaying arm. That was a breaking point for him, after that, the only thing that matters THE MOST for him is for Gon to be safe. He also realized that in order to protect this baka... it’s better if he keeps a distance for now, until he finds a solution to keep Alluka safe from Illumi and his family.

4. THE PARTING -

By planning this parting with Gon, Killua hopes Gon will become detached from him. And that time and distance will slowly render him less important to Gon. So if he was to die... (because Illumi is hunting them down) he did for Alluka, he did it for the vow to protect Alluka, not Gon. We knew Killua always plans ahead, and here, he plants this reason for Gon in the future so he won’t need to feel responsible if he was to die protecting Alluka (or die with Alluka while Illumi is hunting them). This is what’s going through Killua’s head:

“If I die, you’re not responsible for anything. You don’t owe me anything, so NEVER throw your life away again. My only one wish, is for you to be safe. So here I am. I’m parting ways with you... Because I SAID you are only ... No. 2 ... I SAID you are not the most important to me.. So don’t think of me as the most important to you too….”

This, is Killua’s eternal Devotion. 

5. THE RESULT -

As a result of this deliberate planning by Killua,

Gon was made to believe:

While I was recovering in hospital Killua had to go home and rescue his sister 

Alluka is such a cute sister and she can grant Killua any wish?!!! Wow…that’s one cool sister…

Well… no wonder Killua thinks his cool sister is more important than me, it’s only natural. 

Looks like Killua finally found what he wants to do. He will enjoy traveling the world with such a cool sister, it will be so much fun. I should be happy for him, I can’t hold him here... I have to let him go…

VS

The DETAILS omitted:

Gon was not recovering at all in the hospital. Killua RESORTED to USE Alluka in order to heal Gon. 

Alluka’s blood stained dark past and the risks and uncertainty that still involves.

Baka Gon is always No. 1 !

Killua and Alluka are desperately trying to find a way to out of Illumi’s grasp. Illumi is hunting them down and trying to make Killua his puppet again. And this time it's not going to be just a needle in the head... Killua can feel it. And if things doesn’t work out, he will just kill Alluka.

These Reasons are the core of the separation. We have a song named “Reason”… aren’t the lyrics shedding a new layer of light now?

6. IMPORTANT WORDS ALLUKA USED TO FACILITATE A BETTER RELATIONSHIP AFTER REUNION -

Killua promised to “always be together” with Alluka.

But to this promise, Alluka’s response was always silent (episode 145, 3:32 to 4:19). She looked at Killua with deep thought. Because even in such a short amount of time, she realized Killua is doing all this to ALSO or MORE SO protect Gon. It was never just for her, it will never be just for her, and there will never be anyone more important than Gon for Killua. She’s moved by Killua’s devotion and resolve, and she can also feel his sadness…   

If, the situation was different, if Gon was never there to begin with, and Killua just happened to solely come to Alluka’s rescue, and then make a promise to stay together with her forever, Alluka’s natural reaction will be melting with happiness, she’d be crying tears of joy, and hugging Killua. But in this instance, she was composed, she sensed her brother’s deep seriousness and sadness. That’s why later on, she reassured the two at parting, that they will see each other again, without disclosing Killua’s true REASONS. 

The Exacted words Alluka used (Manga chpt 338, 2011 anime epi 147)

a. Manga translation: “I’m going to HUG my brother for a while and then I will LET HIM GO.”  

b. Better translation: “I’m going to have my brother all to myself for a while and then I will let him free.”                            

c. The exacted phrase: “I’m going to Monopolise my brother Exclusively for a period of time, then I will Release him.”

独り占 (Monopolise Exclusively) 

Very strong characters with Explicit meaning. Have it all to oneself. Same characters and meaning used in Chinese as well. （独占）

解放 (Release) 

This is much more formal and serious than “let go”. It implies the subject was initially bound/locked/restricted. Also the same characters and meaning used in Chinese.

Alluka employed these words to imply a forceful lead in this “deal” of owning Killua exclusively. These words have an underlying tone of enslavement. 

Why? Because Alluka knows, the harder she IMPOSES herself on Killua during their time together, the more effective it would be on the easing of Killua’s own guilt. 

Killua felt immensely guilty.

No one will enjoy a relationship bound by guilt. 

Alluka knows clearly that part of her brother’s promise, was formed with guilt, from using her and Nanika, that he was having fun with Gon while Alluka was literally forgotten. Although it's true that this was largely due to Illumi's manipulation, but the fact that he did just left her in the basement all this time was both unacceptable and unforgivable to Killua himself (episode 138, 13:28).

Therefore apart from protecting Gon, this was the other important reason for this separation. Almost as if Killua has accepted this as a befitting price to pay in order to redeem himself as a brother.

Alluka and Nanika have no condition nor demand in return for Killua’s requests. But Killua imposed a price on himself for having Gon healed. Out of guilt. Alluka knows, Nanika knows. That’s why Alluka used the word 解放 (release), because it will make Killua feel better, that he has complied with her ‘enslavement’, so when the time comes, Killua will be able to release HIMSELF from guilt, and go back to Gon, properly. Alluka loves her brother, and she’s prepared to help him towards a better relationship with Gon in the future, by helping him to eliminating this chain of guilt.

lol Alluka totally ships Gon and Killua ! XD

Thank you for reading.

[charlie-lec-stories]

One too many // CL16 & MV1

Pairing: Charles Leclerc / Original Female Character / Max Verstappen

Summary: When you have one too many it's great to have two boyfriends.

Warnings: Alcohol, suggestive dancing, suggestive talk, wholesome Charles and overprotective Max.

Author’s Note: I almost forgot I wrote this, the Vegas GP reminded me of it, took a while to edit but is finally done. Rate: +16 (descriptions of violence)

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"It's Friday theeeeeen... Then Saturday, Sunday, WHAT?!".

Her silver dress moved around as her hips skillfully followed the tempo of the song. She was an incredible dancer, Max and Charles loved that about her and they equally loved the little shows they got to enjoy whenever she decided that the world was worthy of seeing her dancing on a table under the ever-changing lights of some club. What they didn't love was how unable she was to say no, and when Lando gave her another drink and she accepted it gladly, they both knew that they were in for a long night. Max had to drink some himself to stop the urge of going to that table, pick her up and take her home and Charles was just following her around, letting her be while also trying to keep her safe. They both had different approaches to the relationship, they had no trouble sharing with each other, but Max had a hard time with outsiders. He hated when other people looked at Charles or Y/N, he was convinced that everyone had second hand intentions and was constantly worried that someone could just not care about boundaries. This fear was mostly with Y/N, since she wasn't only a woman but also an eye-catching one. Men were trying to win her over all the time and he was sure that she'll never cheat on him and Charles, but the chances of crossing paths with a guy who could refuse to listen to a no made him want to keep her safe at home and never let her out again. Charles, on the other hand, had no problem with other people looking at his partners, actually, it made him quite proud. He loved to show her off and how pretty she was, and to show people how much of a champion his boyfriend was. He loved it when people would look at Y/N or listen to her talk and he could tell that they were thinking "Charles, you lucky bastard". He knew that people could be mean and sometimes disrespectful, but he loved how carefree she was and didn't have the heart to rain on her parade, so instead of trying to take her home, he just followed her around and kept an eye on her.

"And here's a Monster with vodka for you, darling". Max heard Lando say as he handed Y/N yet another drink. Enough was enough.

"No need for another drink, Schat". (Babe). He quickly grabbed the glass and moved it away from her. His British friend looked back at him frowning, probably because he didn't catch what Max said over the loud music. "You've had enough, mijn liefje". (My love).

"But Maaaaax". She whined and that only made the Dutchman feel even more sure that they had to call it a night.

"C'mon, let's go". She sighed and he helped her down the table. It was messy, she had zero balance and her dress was too short, making it harder to bring her drown without exposing her too much. Charles walked up to them to help but the monegasque's presence just made Y/N a lot less focused and she ended up falling on Max. He caught her and placed her securely on the floor, where she quickly threw herself at Charles and wrapped her arms around his neck while Max looked for her purse to finally go home.

"You are the most handsome man on Earth, Charles". She slurred her words a lot over the music, but Charles understood perfectly. He smiled wide at her. Even if she had admitted before that she used to feel like he was out of her league for years, he was the one that felt lucky that she ever laid eyes on him.

"Thank you, mon amour. You are the pretties girl ever". (My love). She giggled and he couldn't help but feel his heart warm up at the action. She was really cute when she was drunk.

"Okay, I think we're ready to go, are we?". Max asked Charles once he walked back to him with Y/N's purse in hand. The girl moved her gaze from Charles to Max and smiled drunkly at him.

"You can take me wherever you want, Maxie". She bit her lip while shamelessly checking him out and Max laughed out loud, he found her extremely funny when she flirted. She suddenly changed her expression to a frown.

"Is everything alright, Schat?".

"Bathroom". Was all she let out while she ran away. Max and Charles sprinted off behind her but she was thinner and scurried away between the mass of bodies easier than them. When they finally made it to the women's bathroom, after pushing their way though with much difficulty, she was already coming out. They were a few meters away when they saw a man approach her. They started arguing immediately and Max's protective instinct just switched on. "I said no!".

"You heard the lady, she said no". Max looked the guy up and down, putting his big frame to good use, puffing his chest out a little and feeling encouraged by Charles standing straighter next to him, ready to back him up. "Fuck off".

"Get your own bitch, dude, I found this one first". The man grabbed Y/N's wrist possessively and she started pulling her hand away, trying her best to break the grasp.

"I said fuck off. Do as you're told or I'll break your fucking face". The guy must have seen the killer glint in Max's eyes because he was letting go of Y/N's hand and running off in a second. "We're going home". He stated. "Now".

Y/N fell asleep the second they got on the Uber, she rested her head on Max's shoulder and grabbed Charles hand, sighing. They were close to their house and when they made it, they didn't have the heart to wake her up. Charles picked her up while Max paid the driver. The Dutchman opened the door to the building and they walked in, inside the elevator the space was narrow so Max covered Y/N's head the best he could so she couldn't hit it with the walls and Charles moved her a little make himself and her fit inside. They were both glad to be home, Y/N was a handful when she drank but the night went pretty good compared to others. The elevator stopped at their floor and Max unlocked the door to the loft. Charles carefully walked out and into their home, then went straight to the bedroom. He placed his girl on the bed and took off her heels. She murmured something but didn't wake up. He could hear Max in the kitchen, probably getting water and then go to the bathroom to grab an aspirin from the first aid kit. Their girlfriend was up for a hell of a hungover the next morning. He moved her to make her laid on her side and unzipped her dress. Max walked in and placed the pill and the water bottle on one of the nightstands and went to the closet to grab an old shirt for Y/N. Charles took her dress off and Max handed him the shirt, the monegasque looked back at his boyfriend with a stern look when he noticed that the shirt was a Red Bull one.

"What? She used one of yours the other night". Max defended himself, walking close to his boyfriend. Charles scoffed.

"She had her PJs in the laundry basket. They are clean now". Charles argued, both of them trying to keep their voices down.

"I won the last race. I want her wearing my shirt. Stop messing around or I'll ask you to wear one too". Charles quickly pecked Max's lips then laughed at his childish behavior, putting the shirt on Y/N anyways. The whole conversation and all the movement finally woke her up.

"Where are we?". She asked softly, Charles caressed her cheek and moved the hair out of her face.

"We are home, Amour". She smiled and grabbed his hand.

"Great. I like home". Max chuckled.

"Good to know you like home, Schat". He sat on the bed next to her and started moving at the sheets so she could get under them, but her drunken mind was going somewhere else. He felt her sneak her hands under his shirt and run her nails over his abs. "Stop playing around, you're drunk, nothing's happening tonight".

"Ugh, you're boring". She turned her attention to Charles and her hand went directly to the button of his jeans, he grabbed her hand gently and pushed her down on the bed.

"You heard Max, no action tonight, Amour". She huffed, frustrated.

"But I'm horny as fuck". Max took off his jeans and shirt, putting on some shorts he found lying around. Charles laughed when he noticed that those were his, Ferrari's logo at the edge of the right leg, but he didn't tell Max.

"No sober, no consent". Said Max as he got into bed and tugged her close to him, making room for Charles who was also taking his clothes off to get more comfortable. He grabbed some Mercedes shorts that Toto gave him as a joke-gift when he stated dating Y/N and then went to bed. If Max was wearing something Ferrari and Y/N a RBR shirt, then it was fair he wore something from Mercedes, right?

"Okay, but we have to do it in the morning". She turned around so Max could hug her from behind, while Charles laid in front of her, snuggling close. She buried her face on his chest and inhaled his scent. They moved as close as possible and fell asleep in a blink.

The light coming from the window woke Charles way earlier than he wanted to wake up, the warm feeling on his face comforting, but his eyes hurting. Y/N was still in his arms, sound asleep, and Max next to her, awake and face up, his right arm covering his eyes. They forgot to draw the curtains before going to bed but they were both too lazy to get up and fix it. Charles loved days like this, where they could stay in bed all day if they wanted to, cuddling, watching movies and chatting. They spent all of their time together, working on the same field and living together, still, he never got bored or needed time alone. He just loved to be close to them both. He knew that Max liked that too, even if he didn't express it that much. Max came from a pretty cold family, while Charles came from a warm one. His parents were lovely, and he had a close relationship with his mother, even more since his father passed away. Max, on the other hand, was kind of distant with his mother, even thought he loved her a lot, and was forced to be civil with his father, who he strongly disliked. It was weird for Max to finally end up with a family that was this warm with him, who cared so much about him. So he enjoyed every second they had together. The little family they created was Max's most precious treasure and he cherished it with his whole heat. They stayed laying on bed for a while, until Max couldn't take it anymore and got up. He draw the curtains and then went to the bathroom. Y/N moved closer to Charles and he kissed her head, she still smelled like champagne and even though he loved the smell, she still needed a shower. The sound of Max flushing the toilet woke her up and she stirred a bit, moving away from Charles. She opened her eyes and smiled at him, then she moved around to look at Max, but she couldn't find him. Charles giggled at her pout.

"He's in the bathroom". She turned around again and brushed her nose with his. He went down for a kiss but she moved away. Now it was his turn to pout.

"My breath is terrible". Max laughed from the bathroom doorway.

"Doesn't surprise me, Schat. You mixed almost everything on stock and then threw up in the bathroom". She groaned and drop her head on the pillow, closing her eyes. The two men chuckled.

"Don't laugh at me. I'm suffering". She started getting up. "I'm never drinking again".

"You said that last Monday". Charles reminded her.

"And the one before". Max added, she just flipped them off.

"Fuck you both".

"Yeah, you tried that last night". Max told her when she finally walked up to him on the doorway to the bathroom.

"Really?". She walked past him and prepared everything to brush her teeth.

"Yes. Nothing happened, of course, but you're a persistent woman, Amour". Max went back to the bed and just then noticed that he was wearing the Ferrari shorts. He groaned and Charles let out a burst of laugher, Max sending him a killer gaze. Y/N walked out of the bathroom to find Charles spread out on the bed while Max took off his shorts.

"Oh, I guess we're picking up where we left off?". She walked to Max and kissed him fondly, her minty breath mixing his. But her head started hurting and she had to step away. "Ugh, my head is killing me".

"Maybe you should sleep a little more, Schat". Max suggested, ignoring completely the effect the kiss had on him.

"Here, take the aspirin". Charles passed her the pill and the water bottle. She took them and he got up, going to the bathroom too. Max went back to the bed and Y/N swallowed the pill with some difficulty. They heard Charles brushing his teeth too and she followed Max back into bed. They started kissing again, but at some point he pulled away, knowing that they all needed more sleep to recover from the night out.

"I want to be in the middle again". She told him and Max rolled his eyes.

"You're so needy". She hit his shoulder but he let her take his place anyways. Charles walked out and went straight back to bed. They resumed the position they were all in before.

"Can I have my kiss now? We both brushed our teeth, Amour". Y/N giggled and moved close to him, grabbing his face and pulling him in for a kiss. Their lips moved in sync for a while, until Charles started to feel the same effect Max felt before and broke the kiss. "Let's stop here and get some more sleep. You need it, Y/N".

"Okay, but we have fun when we wake up". Max chuckled behind her and kissed her shoulder.

"Of course, Schat".

They all fixed their positions to get more confortable and tried to go back to sleep again. Charles and Max grabbed each other's hand and rested them on Y/N's waist, Charles running his thumb in circles over Max's hand. The boys were almost asleep when Y/N spoke up.

"Thank you for taking care of me". She whispered it, vulnerability dripping from her words. "I know that I can be a handful". She sighed and they both hugged her tighter. "I love you both, so much".

"We love you too, Amour". Charles kissed her forehead. "You don't have to thank us for taking care of you. We'll always look after you".

"Always. No matter what, Schat".

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Okay! I hope you guys liked it! I'm in the process of editing three more stories, so more content will be uploaded soon. As always, thank you for reading.

[flowerandblood]

Play with my heart (3/3)

[ modern actors • Aemond x Strong • female ]

[ warnings: unprotected & proctected sex, smut, angst, fluff, sexual tension, feeling of guilt, unprofessional behavior ]

[ description: He gets the main role in a series about a great family and dragons, which could change his career. He is set to play the uncle and love interest of his childhood friend. When he meets the actress who plays her role, he begins to lose track of what is an acting and what is his real feelings. Sexual tension, grumpy, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]

Author’s note: Yeah. I talked about it and I did it. You don't even know how much fun I had doing this. Of course, my characters play in a series whose script is an exact copy of my story The Fall from the Heavens. In this universe, Aemond (playing the One-Eyed Prince) and Rhaenys (playing the Princess) are of course not related – the other characters are also just actors. This three-part series is my gift to all fans of the original series, thank you so much for your support. "Rhaenys" in this story is her artistic pseudonym which she use instead of her real name. You can read this as a standalone story.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

They spent the next few days on set together with the other actors in a very pleasant atmosphere. He genuinely liked Daemon – he played the Princess's stepfather and had an incredible charisma that outshone everyone in every scene he appeared in.

He watched him intently from the sidelines, trying to remember his facial expressions and his reactions, wanting to use this later in his role.

To his satisfaction and relief, he could call his relationship with Rhaenys warm. She always smiled broadly at the sight of him and ran over to talk to him between scenes they weren't filming together, sometimes bringing him a sandwich or coffee from the vending machine.

"– you have to eat something – you can't survive on acting alone –" She said regretfully, and he shrugged his shoulders, biting into a sandwich with lettuce, tomato, cheese, pickles and sauce.

He had already forgotten about his eye patch and wasn't taking it off, not wanting to step out of character.

The day was fast approaching when they were to shoot the scene in which the Prince and his niece escape from the library together and spend their first night with each other.

It wasn't his first sex scene, but he had never played it with someone he cared about in any way, and her inexperience worried him.

As it turned out, he wasn't wrong, and the evening before shooting day she knocked on his door. When he let her in he could see that she was distressed and terrified, her cheeks red with embarrassment.

He let her in without a word.

"– I've never – you know – acted a scene like this and – more and more I feel that in front of such a large group of people I just won't be able to relax and get into character –" She muttered, standing in front of him but not looking at him, wrapping her arms around herself as if she was ashamed.

She was asking him for advice and help.

He nodded at her words.

"– it's natural – it's a very intimate scene – you have a right to feel insecure – me and the sexual psychologists are on set to help you –" He explained, putting his hands in the pockets of his trousers, looking away, feeling hot at the thought of what they were about to do.

Of course he knew they weren't going to have sex for real, however, they were going to be very close and he knew he was going to be touching her naked body.

She had a right to feel uncomfortable about this especially as he was more experienced than her, clearly not just as an actor.

She nodded and smiled at him, as if his words actually comforted her.

"– I – would you mind if we did a rehearsal? – I mean – if I go through it with you without cameras, hear your advice then maybe – maybe tomorrow it will be easier for me, I'll know exactly what I want to do –" She choked out in embarrassment, looking at him as if she was asking him if she was demanding too much of him.

He stared at her for a moment with his mouth open thinking he shouldn't be doing this, if only because his erection had swollen in his sweatpants at her request.

The fact that his cock wanted it meant that his mouth should refuse, but on the other hand he didn't want her to feel abandoned with something that obviously scared her.

He figured he needed to get a grip, think about her and her comfort.

He nodded and she breathed out loud, shifting from foot to foot, scared and excited at the same time.

"– so – where should we start? –" She asked quickly, and he involuntarily licked his lips, looking at her bare legs.

He wondered if she had panties under the material of her long, cream-coloured hoodie and cursed in the back of his head.

"– from the touch of a hand – a kiss – that opens the door to further emotions –" He replied in a hoarse voice, horrified that she had approached him, that she had taken his hand in hers, looking at him with her big, bright eyes.

God.

It wasn't good.

He kissed her more passionately than he had planned – his lips swollen involuntarily pressed against hers and brushed her skin with a loud click, from which she sighed, her soft, warm cheeks locked between the fingers of his hand.

He sighed quietly when it became apparent that his directness did not deter her – she followed his lead, her hands enclosed his cheeks in a tender embrace, from which he involuntarily put his arm around her waist. Her body slammed against his, and her belly felt what was happening in his trousers.

He felt her tremble and moan quietly in his embrace, surprised and ashamed, parting her lips invitingly, allowing him to tentatively slip his moist tongue between them.

They sighed against their throats, pressing against each other, his hips beginning to rub against her while his kisses became more ferocious, aggressive, messy, full of their saliva, teeth and tongues.

He heard her sound of surprise as his hands slid down to her buttocks and clamped down on them, slipping under the material of her shorts. When she threw her hands over his shoulders he simply lifted her, grabbing her hips and turned, throwing himself on the bed with her.

"– too much wine, uncle? –" She asked with amusement, following the script, letting their lips melt again and again in soft, deep, warm kisses, sticky with their saliva and tongues. He grinned under his breath at his words, running his swollen erection between her thighs.

"– you'll see in a moment –" He gasped into her throat, her arms hugging him close pressing his body closer, her legs intertwined on his back making him feel like his cock was about to explode with desire.

"– and now what? –" She mumbled excitedly, clearly wondering how actors performed these kinds of scenes without having sex.

The problem was, that he felt like it.

He rested the weight of his body on his hands, placing them on either side of her head, looking at her for a moment – her glossy, puffy lips were parted in an accelerated breath, her eyes shining, warm, bright, her gaze misty.

God, how badly he wanted to fuck her.

"– in the scene the Prince exposes her breasts – can I do it? –" He asked in a trembling voice and she nodded, the expression on her face full of trust and confidence from which he felt a tightening in his stomach.

As he grabbed the material of her hoodie she raised her hands above her head to make his task easier. He pulled it off her reverently, feeling his breath get stuck in his throat at the sight of her lovely, plump breasts and her little nipples.

"– so pretty –" He whispered, leaning over her body, placing a gentle kiss on her sternum, from which her whole body trembled.

"– so, so good –" He murmured, not knowing fully himself what he was actually doing, convincing himself that he was trying to reassure her, to give her a sense of security.

Her hands stroked his short hair slowly and tenderly as his lips, with loud clicks of his saliva, lazily found their way up her neck and to her jaw, her soft, warm cheek, and finally her mouth, whose wetness he welcomed with relief.

He heard her moan quietly, surprised, clasping her hands over his neck and the material of his shirt as his hips began to roll back and forth, rubbing against the space between her thighs, mimicking the movements he would make if he were deep inside her.

"– ah –" She sighed, tilting her head back, his hot, swollen lips trailing over her fragrant neck while his hands blindly found her smooth breasts, caressing them and kneading them tentatively between his fingers.

Despite the fact that they should be speaking their lines, only silent moans of shame and panting came from their mouths. He knew, feeling her hips come up to meet his, that what they were doing was slowly turning into something else entirely, but neither of them dared to admit it.

Her body, the touch of her hands, her embrace, her scent, it was all so pleasant, warm, familiar, sincere, desired.

"– fuck –" He muttered, involuntarily speeding up the rocking motions of his hips and groaned a tad too loudly, betraying that he was long past his role, that what she felt under the material of his sweatpants was embarrassingly real.

It seemed to him that she didn't know what to make of this fact, hugging him close, trying to understand what she herself felt, why she was allowing this to happen, what was actually going on between them.

"– it feels good –" She mumbled into his ear, making his hard erection push against her stomach. She gasped, surprised, clenching her fingers on the material of his shirt as she felt his slick, moist tongue run over her neck, his hand sliding down to her warm thigh.

"– too good –" He confessed, embarrassed that his hand had slid lower between her legs, his fingertips teasing the material of her soaked panties and what was beneath them.

She squealed and tilted her head back, at the same time wanting to push him away and hold him close, feeling his fingers wander around her hot, pulsing womanhood, squeezing it gently.

"– ah – ah, oh God –" She whimpered, involuntarily spreading her thighs wider, wordlessly giving him permission to do what they both knew they shouldn't have done.

They both groaned embarrassedly loudly when, with an impatient flick of his hand, he pushed the material of her panties aside, sinking his fingers into her warm, silky folds, all sticky from her wetness.

"– just like that – that's what you should feel – tension –" He whispered in a trembling voice, kissing her hot, soft cheek loudly and lingeringly, digging his fingertips into her sensitive, tender skin, teasing and rubbing the space around her little bud, making her whole body tremble under him in convulsions.

"– Aemond – a-ah – mghmmm –" She mumbled out as she felt his fingers invade her swollen slit, throbbing with desire, all leaking from his treatments. He closed her mouth with his own as he slowy and gently slid his middle finger into her quivering, fleshy, hot interior, her walls sucking and clenching around him, tight and swollen.

He moaned low as her hands slid down to the fabric of his trousers, undoing his button and zipper. Knowing what she wanted to do he finished the job for her, watching with his mouth wide open as she herself slid her shorts and panties down her thighs, panting loudly along with him.

They clung to each other again immediately, their kisses lustful, shameless, loud, intimate – his hands slid down between her thighs, his fingers spread the folds of her little cunt open to the sides, letting the fat head of his cock find her throbbing, weeping slit.

She threw her head back as the thick, smooth tip of his erection burst inside her with her loud moan of pleasure, the next helpless thrust of his hips into her throbbing, tight interior made him know there was no turning back.

"– I'm sorry – I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry –" He breathed out, pounding deeper and faster into her with each word, imposing an aggressive, rough pace on her, her body, however, welcomed him with ease – he leaned forward, listening as her slick pussy was filled with his swollen erection with each successive shameless slap of their bodies against each other, their breaths heavy, their moans helpless, too loud, too animal, too desperate.

"– m-me to – fuck – fuck, God, oh fuck –" She mumbled and pleaded at the same time, tightening her fingers on his buttocks, directing him back deep inside her again and again.

Her tight, warm walls gave him a wonderful squeeze again each time he slammed into her, his body pressed hers against the bed which began to creak loudly beneath them, their bodies bumping against each other like mad with loud clicks of their wetness creating one big, wet, sticky mess between their thighs.

"– fuck – so fucking good – God, yes –" He breathed out, chasing his own fulfilment, as was she, not thinking about what they were actually doing or why, focused only on the fact that it felt wonderful, that it felt safe and that he wanted to come inside her, inside her, just inside her, as deep as possible.

"– m gonna cum –" She muttered helplessly, as if she was about to burst out crying with pleasure, and then she wept loudly, coming hard on his cock, her warm, fleshy walls beginning to squeeze and suck him inside.

He felt his mind stop functioning, the tension and tingling in his lower abdomen, testicles and length was approaching its zenith, and he wanted only one thing – to come inside her.

"– do you – God, oh, fuck, fuck, FUCK –" He cursed, before he asked the question feeling his warm seed fill her insides, bringing his body a relief from which he groaned low, his mouth wide open by how a strong wave of pleasure shook his body.

They looked at each other with eyebrows arched in pain, her gaze warm and tender, her hands running down his sweaty back and cheeks.

"– i-its – it's okay – I'll make sure I don't find myself pregnant –" She mumbled, something in her words and in her gaze made him want to cry.

How could he have been so irresponsible?

"– I'm sorry – I'm so sorry –" He mumbled out, feeling with embarrassment that warm tears one by one began to run down his cheeks onto her face.

Not a second passed and they both burst into sobs and hugged each other like little children, lying like that, exposed and vulnerable, bare before each other.

"– was it – was it real? –" She muttered in a breaking voice, and he nodded, choking on his own tears.

"– yes –"

He personally drove her to a twenty-four-hour pharmacy so she could buy a ‘morning-after’ pill. He insisted she let him pay, but she said there was no need. She returned a while later with a packet and a bottle of water, getting into his car.

All around them only night and silence.

"Are you sure you want to do this? You don't have to. It's my fault." He muttered, but she shook her head.

"– yes – I mean – I asked for a pill that will prevent conception if it hasn't happened yet – there's a good chance it will be enough –" She muttered, reading the leaflet quickly, and he nodded, feeling ashamed, sad and disappointed in himself.

"– I'm sorry –" He muttered, repeating it for the hundredth time that evening.

"– it's okay –" She replied, popping a tablet into her mouth and sipping it with water. She took a heavy breath, as if relieved and sad at the same time, then nodded.

"– let's go –"

By the time they got back to the hotel, it was almost midnight. He escorted her to her room, not knowing what to say, how to act.

"Do you want me to stay with you?"

She looked at him, surprised, and swallowed hard.

"That's okay. Don't feel guilty. I have my own reason too." She replied, looking down at her fingers in embarrassment.

"I want to stay with you. If you want me to." He replied in a trembling voice, looking down at the floor, feeling ashamed of how small he felt now.

A great actor who can't even put a condom on his cock before putting it inside good girl who came to him for help and advice.

She nodded and went inside, and he came in after her, bitter and broken. They lay down side by side on her bed facing each other. For a moment they just looked at each other, and then he leaned in – she opened her mouth thinking he wanted to kiss her, frightened, but he only pressed his forehead against hers, his hand stroking her soft, warm cheek.

"– try to sleep – hm? – I'll stroke your head –" He whispered. Her eyes glazed over with tears for some reason, her small body clung to him, seeking refuge in his chest.

He wrapped his arms tightly around her, stroking her back and hair, again and again placing a moist, tender kiss on the top of her head.

It felt so right.

They fell asleep like this, entwined in a tender, warm, safe embrace, and he thought, listening to her calm breath, that never before in his life had he felt such a need to protect someone.

Despite what he had promised himself, each of their meetings in her room, the pretext for which was to rehearse the script together, ended with their naked hips slapping against each other greedily with their loud moans of pleasure.

Their hands tightened on their bodies in a way that was not overbearing, aggressive, but tender, gentle, wanting nothing more than to become one.

He was ashamed that even though they pretended to meet as friends, he made sure he had a condom or two in the back pocket of his trousers every time before he was to come to her.

He didn't want her to go through again what she had when they first had sex.

On the one hand, the thought that she might have believed that he wanted to take advantage of her terrified him, so he assured her, kissing affectionately her exertion-soaked, sweaty cheeks, that he needed it as much as she did.

Never before in his life had he felt something like this, such an overwhelming need to be close to someone.

Afterwards, he always stayed through the night with her – even if he wanted to, he couldn't deny himself the warm embrace of her arms and fell asleep with his face cuddled between her naked, soft breasts.

It was real.

The director was delighted with the tension and electricity they were able to generate between each other on set without knowing that it had long since ceased to stem from their acting.

They teased and joked with each other between scenes, adding improvised, biting or ambiguous remarks to the script that they thought suited the era, and then, when it was all over, they sank into each other's bodies until they were one sticky, panting, throbbing mess.

His grandfather was proud of him and said that already several other productions were interested in casting him in the role.

"Seeing how you've handled the bed scenes, this will go easily for you." He said over breakfast, which they ate together. He felt a sense of discomfort at the thought.

"I want to limit myself to productions where I don't play intimate scenes. It costs me too much." He lied, not knowing how to explain that what was happening in front of the cameras was not because of his acting skills, but because his cock simply stood at attention when her tongue licked his on set.

His grandfather laughed under his breath.

"Don't be silly. You have to grab the opportunity. You're on a wave of recognition right now, everyone is waiting with bated breath for this show. If you are successful, the world will open up to you." He said, taking a sip of coffee from his cup.

"Some great artists have never played any intimate scene. I'm not a porn actor." He said coldly, grabbing for his phone, hearing it start to vibrate and saw that he had received a text message from her asking if they were going to watch The Lion King tonight.

He smiled involuntarily at the thought.

"Are you listening to me? You think you're shagging that little girl and you've fallen in love? Romance on set happens, but you're being dramatic." Said Otto, and he looked at him, shocked to feel his heart leap into his throat.

"Don't speak about her like this. Never." He growled warningly, looking him straight in the eye. His grandfather was silent for a moment.

"That won't do. She lives far away, once the shooting is over the thing between you will be over too. Don't be naive."

"It's a three-hour drive from our town by car."

"What?"

"She lives three hours away from our town by car."

His grandfather looked at him in disbelief.

"You are making this naive girl hopeful. Don't waste her life and your career in the process. Don't turn down good offers."

He pressed his lips together at his words, looking at him indifferently.

"I will decide what proposals I consider good."

They had spent the last few days between shoots, during the day and at night in bed, and their disappearance together had sparked gossip and curiosity.

It was, however, the last thing he thought of when he could finally clamp his hands on her naked buttocks and slide her panties off her, a smile on her lips knowing that he certainly wasn't even bothering to take off the summer dress she had changed into.

"– the scene in Harrenhal – I almost fucked you there for real, you know? –" He gasped, kneeling on the bed in front of her, looking down at her with lips swollen with desire as his long fingers quickly took care of his trouser button and zipper.

"– come here –" He murmured, grabbing her by the hip and pushing her closer to him, her legs spread out in front of him in some natural gesture of trust and acceptance as he placed the condom over his painfully hard erection.

"– 'm sorry –" She mumbled out, thinking for some reason that she should be remorseful that he couldn't feel her completely, just like the first time.

"– stop – when this is over, we'll think about you taking pills – hm? –" He asked encouragingly, leaning over her, the weight of his body resting on his elbow as his free hand guided the head of his cock against her leaking, throbbing hot slit.

Her eyes got big at his words, as if she didn't believe he could want there to be anything after and she nodded quickly, making him feel that familiar heat spreading through his chest.

He leaned over and kissed her in a way he'd never kissed any woman before – their soft, warm lips were one loud, sticky, wet mess, their hands clenched on their bodies, holding them close together as he opened her wide on his long erection with one lazy thrust.

"– oh –" They both sighed, looking at each other with misty eyes, their mouths wide open as he began to pound into her quicker and deeper with loud, wet slaps of skin against skin.

"– A-Aemond – oh God –" She mewled, throwing her head back in pleasure, his hands blindly finding her breasts, sliding from the sides under the material of her dress, clamping down on their plump, firm structure.

"– you didn't touch yourself, did you? – am I right? – my sweet baby girl –" He hummed with a hint of sweet threat in his question, sliding his swollen lips down her cheek to her neck and jaw, leaving a warm, wet trail on her skin.

"– I – mghmm – n-no –" She mumbled out, stroking his hair and buttocks, her legs crossed over his back as his erection no longer slipped out of her, thrusting into her greedily, bringing him closer and closer to his peak, his mind and body hot with desire.

"– good girl – fuck – m close –" He gasped weakly, feeling a wave of pleasure approaching and a tightening in his testicles. His lover reached out eagerly to meet him with her hips, slapping against, his skin, crying and babbling about how much she good it felt, him deep, deep, inside her.

Their bodies intertwined in a close embrace as he pressed her tighter to the bed, imposing a brutal, fierce pace on her exactly as in the scene they were about to act out. Her scent, her moans, the warmth of her body and her fleshy walls, squeezing and sucking him inside, made him come in a condom with a low groan of relief.

He lay on top of her, panting heavily while his hand from between her breasts slid between their bodies, down to her thighs – his fingers gave her puffy bud a few encouraging, teasing squeezes before her little cunt began to pulse around his half-hard manhood in euphoria and her body was shaken by a sweet, hot orgasm from which she drifted off completely.

They lay like that for a long moment with their eyes closed, cuddled into each other, listening to the indistinct sound of conversation outside the window a few floors below, where the restaurant was located.

"– Aemond? –" He heard her quiet whisper, her hand stroking his head gently. He lifted his misty gaze to her, dreaming now only of a nap in her embrace.

"– hm? –"

"– what will happen after the shooting? –" She asked quietly, and he smiled lazily, for some reason calm and happy.

"– we will stop pretending to be actors –"

[genericpuff]

The Elephant in the Room - Queer Erasure and Westernization in Lore Olympus (and all its horrid stepchildren)

This is one people have been asking me for a while now, and I've been waiting for the right inspiration to hit, as is required for my ADHD hyperfixation-fueled rants. After recently watching a video that did an objective review of Cait Corrain's Crown of Starlight, I felt now was the time, because Crown of Starlight effectively proves exactly what Lore Olympus - and other Greek myth interpretations like it - has issues with.

And I want to preface this post with one question - why do we keep getting these Greek myth adaptations written by queer women that still wind up perpetuating toxic heteronormative culture?

Buckle up, because this one's HEFTY.

In that aforementioned review of A Crown of Starlight, there were a lot of points that came up about how Cait wrote the female protagonist - Ariadne, wife of Dionysus - where I immediately stopped and went, "Wait, this sounds awfully familiar."

It should be mentioned briefly for anyone who's unaware - Cait Corrain is an author who was recently (and still) under fire for using sock puppet accounts on GoodReads to intentionally sabotage the ratings of other debut authors, many of whom were her own peers or from the same publishing imprint as her (Del Rey), and most of whom were POC. I mentioned in that previous essay that I just linked that Cait Corrain is a fan of Lore Olympus and decided to give it 5 star ratings from these alt accounts, not just de-legitimizing the reputation of the books she bombed, but also the ones that she praised (including her own book, because of course she had to leave an obvious calling card LMAO). I felt it necessary to tie Cait into my discussion of white feminism in LO and its fanbase because people like Cait are exactly who we're talking about when we dissect the intent and consequences of LO's writing - much of its brand of "feminism" seems to only be catered to a specific kind of woman (i.e. white women who fetishize queer people/relationships) and seem to encourage/embrace violence towards women if those women aren't "behaving correctly" or just aren't fortunate enough to be white and rich - and so Cait choosing to give Lore Olympus 5 stars in her hate-raiding and even have it visibly in the background of her headshot photos was... not exactly disproving my argument that these are the types of people LO caters to and encourages, to say the least.

But then I watched Read with Rachel's "Did It Deserve 1 Star" review of Crown of Starlight and it cemented my assumptions and concerns regarding Cait's intentions and influences even more.

As a brief tangent, I've read A Touch of Darkness by Scarlett St. Claire. It very obviously is using Lore Olympus as its blueprints, but it's not super obvious that if you didn't read Lore Olympus or weren't aware of it, you probably wouldn't notice. It's still not a great book on its own, it's riddled with writing problems, but at least it can call itself its own thing to some degree.

Crown of Starlight is just blatant Lore Olympus fanfiction pretending to be original, even down to its marketing (which I'll get to shortly) but swapping out Hades and Persephone with Dionysus and Ariadne, and setting the entire story in space. Why is it in space? There doesn't seem to be any actual necessary reason for this, it just is, go with it. I'd be willing to accept this because changing up the setting of pre-existing stories can be fun (god knows I loved the premise enough of Lore Olympus being a modern day Greek myth retelling that I had to go and make my own version of it that's still in that modern setting) but as RWR says in her review:

"... we're told that it's the 'island' of Crete, but then we talk about commbands, airlocks, [holo-shields] and it wasn't really written in a way that I felt meshed 'Greek retelling' and 'sci-fi' in a cohesive way."

Needless to say, Crown of Starlight unsurprisingly suffers from the same problems Lore Olympus does, where it will try to "subvert" the original myths by changing their setting and characters and then doing absolutely nothing interesting with them to justify those changes.

To really drive my point home that Crown of Starlight is undoubtedly Lore Olympus fanfiction, Lore Olympus was literally used as a comparison point in Crown of Starlight's marketing which is a fair tactic to use to advertise to a specific niche or demographic, and while some have argued that Cait isn't technically the one to come up with that marketing jargon, it's made much more clear that she used that comparison herself when writing and pitching the book because it is quite literally just Lore Olympus with a different couple in space, right down to the main female protagonist being part of a purity cult. And of course it wouldn't be a bad Wattpad romance if it didn't have our main female protagonist Ariadne talking about how inconvenient her MASSIVE BREASTS are and of COURSE Ariadne is a poor innocent uwu babygirl who needs a man to come in and rescue her from the evil purity cult and of COURSE it hints at them eventually having raunchy sex just for it to wind up being milquetoast bondage and of COURSE it all just winds up taking traditionally queer characters and stories and turning them into this sanitized Disney-esque plotline where the boy and girl were always meant to be together and nothing else matters except their love-

And that, at its core, really just screams "this is bad LO fanfiction". From the stylization of the book's writing which never outgrew its "adorkable fanfiction writing" phase-

"Realizing that I'm being gaslit by my entire world doesn't make it easier to deal with, but hey, at least I still have some part of my soul!" - an excerpt from Crown of Starlight quoted from RWR's review timestamp 13:03

-to the "creative" choices made to turn Ariadne into a chastity cult girl whose resolution is obviously going to be to have what's implied to be dirty raunchy sex just for it to be like... the most tame level one bondage stuff;

-to the classic "she breasted boobily down the stairs" focus on Ariadne's body and breasts and sex appeal that's being kept in check by that pesky purity club.

And that's really disappointing because I had seen people say, "Yeah, Cait did an awful thing and deserves to be removed from her publishing schedule, but it's a shame that that book was written by Cait because it's actually a really good book!" because now it's just making me even more sus of people's Greek myth adaption recommendations (I'm still mad at BookTok for convincing me that A Touch of Darkness was worth reading). All I could think while listening to some of the excerpts quoted by RWR was that if I didn't know about Cait Corrain and read Crown of Starlight blind, I'd undoubtedly assume it was being written by a heterocis guy... but it's in fact being written by a queer woman.

And this is where I segue into talking about the root of this problem, where the calls are really coming from - Lore Olympus and its erasure of queer identities and relationships, despite also being written by a queer woman who should know better.

I could think of no better character to help carry this essay than Eros.

Unlike many of the characters in LO that Rachel has managed to straightwash by changing their motives entirely or straight up changing their identity from the source material (ex. Zeus, Apollo, Crocus who was turned into a flower nymph, Dionysus and Achilles because they're both literally babies, the list goes on), Eros has largely remained the same on paper who had zero reason to not be queer within the story.

Eros is still the god of love in this, he's still a guy and presumed to be an adult, but we NEVER see or explore him having relationships with anyone other than Psyche, aside from a brief mention of organizing orgies in the beginning that's used as a quick joke and then promptly never mentioned again.

Just like with Crown of Starlight and A Touch of Darkness and all these other "dark romance" stories, it's that brand of "pretends to be sexually liberating but isn't actually" writing, where they'll briefly mention orgies or sex-related things and then beat around the bush or avoid involving them entirely like a kid at Sunday school who doesn't want to say the word "penis".

(fr out of all the corny and awful slang for genitals I've seen used in stories like this, "a certain part of my anatomy" is definitely one of the most boring and stupid, like for god's sakes Hades you're both adults and at the beginning of this comic you thought she wanted to bang in the kitchen, why are you suddenly talking like a 7 year old boy LOL)

All that aside, while Eros might still be hinted at being queer and sex-positive, it's only as vaguely as possible so that the story can quickly move on to focus on him and Psyche or, better yet, Hades and Persephone. When Eros isn't deadset on finding Psyche, he's being the gay best friend for Persephone, who he has NO right having a friendship with when he introduced himself by intentionally getting her as drunk as possible with the intent of dumping her in Hades' car as per his mom's command. It's brushed off later as "well Aphrodite maaade him do it, for Psycheee!" but Eros still agreed to potentially put Persephone in danger over a relationship that had NOTHING to do with her and was also mostly his fault in its fallout (which Artemis calls him out for, but of course, like all the other times characters have called out the actual issues in the story they're inhabiting, they get brushed aside so that Persephone can talk about Hades):

Now, the Eros and Psyche plotline is one I've talked about before here and not the focus of this essay so I'll keep this tangent brief, but it's absolutely wild to me that Rachel took a story about a woman going to the ends of the earth to prove her love for someone whose trust she broke (a common theme in a lot of Greek myth stories, such as the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice) and turned it into... woman of color gets turned into a nymph slave for Aphrodite to 'test' Eros, a test that isn't clear at all in what it's trying to achieve, and wait hold up, didn't Eros actually fail that test by kissing Ampelus while completely unaware that it was Psyche-

This is just that episode of Family Guy where Peter justifies emotionally cheating and eventually physically cheating on Lois because "well you were the phone sex lady the whole time so no harm done!", isn't it? (×﹏×)

Anyways. It's all very convenient that the comic will hint at queer rep just to either have it be a constant question of whether or not they're actually queer (ex. Morpheus) OR to have it be promptly swept under the rug to make way for other characters/plot points. It's like when mongie tried to be "inclusive" by writing a stereotypical vaguely Asian character with no specific ethnicity just to get angry at her fanbase for calling her out on this that you can't just call a vaguely Asian character "representation" of anything (because Asia is MASSIVE and covers so many different ethnicities and languages and cultures).

Eros is only as gay as he needs to be to fill the role of "gay best friend" for Persephone.

Krokos is no longer a male lover of Hermes but a flower nymph created by Persephone because... apparently we can't dare imply that Hermes would be into anyone besides his unrequited childhood love, Persephone.

Achilles is introduced as a baby even though it makes no sense in the comic's own timeline where Odysseus is presumably already a well-known hero in Olympus, so much so that he was invited to the Panathenea.

Apollo is turned into a flat-out rapist who's only concerned with getting Persephone at all costs and when that doesn't work, he tries to get ANOTHER flower nymph (Daphne) who's actually genuinely interested in him (contrary to the original myth, there's that "swap it subversion" Rachel is known for) to cut her hair so she'll resemble Persephone more because we can't have a single plot point not resolve around Persephone.

Despite there being loads of genderbent characters already, Morpheus is supposedly the only one we're supposed to assume is specifically trans and not just a gender-flipped version of a Greek myth character. Why? Not because Rachel stated so explicitly, not because the comic has actually explored her identity as a trans woman, but because the readers just assumed it in good faith and Rachel was clearly fine with taking credit for trans representation that's only there via assumption (and only confirmed via her mods in Discord, which is... not how you establish canon information in your comic, Rachel.)

Hestia and Athena are part of a chastity club, until uh oh how convenient that they're secretly in a relationship with each other even though it further vilifies them and their morals, particularly Hestia who was promptly called out for being a hypocrite for taking Persephone's coat gifted to her from Hades while secretly being in a relationship the whole time. Not only does the Hestia and Athena relationship manage to commit queer erasure - of two gods who are considered icons in the aroace communities - but it also makes the only two lesbians in the story come across as assholes AND ON TOP OF THAT ALSO manages to somehow invalidate queer sex and relationships as being legitimate due to the even deeper implication that breaking their chastity vows "doesn't count" because it's not a male x female relationship. It's the 'ole poophole loophole all over again.

And then there's Artemis, who has MORE REASON THAN EVER TO BE IN THE PLOT but keeps being conveniently ignored. Her finding out about Hestia and Athena doesn't get any more screentime than her going "oh you're in a relationship, okay" , we never see her question the true intentions of TGOEM or what it means to her, we never see her have any opportunity to carve out her identity beyond just being Apollo's twin sister (it tries to at times, but then immediately goes nowhere with it, amounting to just poetic word salad), and she really just comes across as what a lot of people assume aroace people to be - alone and standoffish, because obviously someone who's nice and a good person would be in a relationship, there has to be a reason they don't want to have sex or fall in love, and that reason obviously has to be that they just hate everyone and want to be alone forever (￢_￢;) Then again, like many of the queer characters in LO, I don't know if I can definitively call her aroace because it's kept as vague as possible, and - going by Rachel's answers to these questions way back in her Tumblr era - apparently people can't be gay and ace at the same time-

There are undoubtedly loads more examples that I could cover here but that goes for practically any essay I write about LO - the more you peel it apart, the more you start unearthing some really questionable and frankly mean-spirited stuff. Queer people feel largely ignored in LO, alongside many of its derivative offspring such as A Touch of Darkness and Crown of Starlight, and it really speaks to how so many people - queer women, no less - have somehow managed to bastardize and sanitize what were traditionally very queer stories with queer characters. It's like these people think "olden times" and can only get as far as "women were slaves and men were rich assholes". Like, yeah, okay, that was the case for many cultures, but not all of them, and for some of them it wasn't as clear cut as that, many had misogynist power struggles in them while also still celebrating women and queer people in their own way. Greek myth is full of stories of women being forced into marriage or being made the victims of assault, but many of them are supportive of women and their struggles, unlike works like LO that somehow manage to be less feminist and sympathetic to women and queer people than these works from thousands of years ago.

This is another topic that's surely meant for another post, but it really speaks not only to the straightwashing and whitewashing of Greek myth, but also the Westernizing of it. That's not to say Rachel Smythe and Cait Corrain and Scarlett St. Claire are intentionally trying to whitewash another culture's works here, but if you're raised predominantly on Western media, you're undoubtedly going to absentmindedly adopt ideas about society that are primarily molded around Western beliefs .

And this is apparent in LO, while Rachel is from New Zealand, you can tell she grew up on a lot of Western media and its influences are sorely showing through LO's worldbuilding, character designs, and narrative choices. That "modern setting" that I mentioned before is much less Greek and a lot more adjacent to The Kardashians which lends to the theories that most of the media that Rachel consumes is American. Rather than actually going to the effort of doing her research on Greek culture, she seems to just prefer defaulting to the easiest assumption of how modern society is across the board - a generic Los Angeles clone with big glass skyscrapers and pavement walkways. She rarely ever draws food or clothing from those time periods; despite this story being about gods she's spent so little time on the people who passed on the stories about those gods, the mortals, and the gods themselves rarely feel like gods, rather just like Hollywood celebrities covered in body paint. The clothing feels very generic and uninspired with often very little Greek influence, even though Greek clothing is designed around Mediterranean living which you could do a lot with, to such an egregiously Western degree that Hades and Persephone's wedding was Christian-coded. The food... well, there ISN'T any because as we've seen, like the stereotypical American child, Persephone apparently only wants chicken nuggies and Skittles for dinner, so we never see her eat; and not only do we not see Persephone eat, but Rachel weirdly tries to use Persephone's vegetarianism as some kind of anti-capitalist characterization when much of the Greek diet is predominantly vegetarian. It's NOT HARD or uncommon to be a vegetarian in Greece!

(it looks like they're literally all eating the same thing so IDK what Hera is referring to here, it looks like they're all eating toast and lettuce LMAO)

All that's to say, much of LO - and the books like it that I've gone over here - are written with this idea that every culture - including the one that it's trying to adapt - was subject to the same ideas that Western culture lives by in the modern day - that being a vegetarian is "counterculture" in every culture, that the notion of sexual purity is enforced in the same way it's enforced in the Western education system (cough Christianity cough), that queer or otherwise "unconventional" relationships should stay inside the bedroom and not be seen. As much as Rachel claims she wants to "fight the patriarchy" and "deconstruct purity culture", all she winds up doing is reinforcing it through a Westernized lens, which is, as I've talked about before, very indicative of right-leaning white feminism and what it embraces and promotes - being a "good woman" who follows the rules and willingly becomes part of the system that's oppressing them because that's what "good women" do. Women who are confidant in their sexuality are evil and should be shunned for being "sluts". Women who are in relationships with other women "don't count" as real relationships the same way heteronormative relationships do, and cannot be trusted because they're likely trying to spread an agenda that's designed to brainwash heterocis women. Women should only aim to achieve marriage and their entire personality has to be built around their true love. Women are allowed to be kinky, but only as kinky as roleplaying the exact same gender structures that puts the man in a position to dominate a woman, and it should always and only ever be with her first love who she marries immediately, no one else.

This is exactly what the critics are getting at when they hold LO - and its creator - accountable for the messages it's been sending for five years to its audience of middle aged women and young girls. Having a demographic is fine, if this were just a comic for girls it would be fine, but it becomes a lot more problematic when that demographic is being fed toxic power fantasy stories based on a culture that's being gentrified and sanitized of all its original messaging and characterization right before our eyes. It feels blatantly misinformed from the very beginning in its intention to be a "feminist retelling" of Greek myth, because somehow Lore Olympus manages to be less feminist than these stories drafted and written by men from 2000+ years ago.

I opened this essay with a question: why do we keep getting these Greek myth adaptations written by queer women that still wind up perpetuating toxic heteronormative culture?

I think cases like these really highlight how deep the heteronormative brainwashing from childhood onward goes. That, despite these writers being queer or women, still manage to reinforce the same ideas and tropes and harmful predisposed notions that were designed to be used explicitly against queer people and women. These are things that we can't ever stop challenging, and asking, and truly deconstructing, because it runs deep in many of us who grew up on popular media even as innocent as Disney. Learning about more complex social concepts like sexism and misogyny and queerphobia doesn't automatically absolve us of those very same biases that have been both blatantly and subtly ingrained into us since childhood. All that said, Rachel being bisexual does not mean she's not capable of straightwashing; Cait Corrain being a queer debut author with a POC main character didn't stop them from targeting other POC debut authors at their own imprint; being part of any minority group or identifier does not automatically protect you from perpetuating the cycle that you, too, likely had enforced upon you at some point or another in your life. The fact that these creators and writers are still perpetuating that cycle to begin with is indicative of why it's a cycle at all - it takes work to break on a subconscious level because those cycles are specifically designed to target and hijack the subconscious.

At its worst, do you really think Lore Olympus can claim to be a feminist retelling that's "deconstructing purity culture" when the creator herself admittedly never fully identified or understood sexism until her mid-30's and has the audacity to say her audience is "harsh" on the female characters that she constantly vilifies through her own narrative?

"I feel like female characters in general, people will be a little harsher on them and sometimes way harsher on them, and I used to be like.. before I started writing the story and like making a story I was like yeah, sexism is not that bad, and [now] I was like oh it's bad. It's quite bad [laughs], so like, I don't know, I feel like the female characters in the story don't get so much of a pass. But this isn't consistent across the board, it's not all the time" - Rachel Smythe, in an interview with Girl Wonder Webtoon Podcast

If Lore Olympus truly was just a series meant to be for fun "no thoughts head empty" drama and spice, that would be fine. I've said it time and time before on this blog and I'll say it again: I wouldn't have an issue if Rachel was just writing a story exclusively revolving around heterocis men and women. I'm just frustrated and tired and annoyed that she keeps lying about it, and doubly so that this comic and its creator who claim to be "feminist" have inspired other people in the same headspace to continue to perpetuate that cycle through works that are clearly inspired by LO and never challenged the things LO promoted - violence towards "unconventional" women, violence towards POC, and erasure of queer people. And worst of all, for writers like Cait Corrain, it's more than just writing a really bad book with really bad messaging, it's going so far as intentionally targeting those same groups of people that are regularly vilified in works like LO - people who are just existing, who don't pose a threat to anyone, but had the misfortune of becoming the target of a white woman's insecurity.

I don't know what the answer to this problem is. I don't know what form the solution will come in, if any, to address the ongoing issues with Greek myth adaptions that are being sorely written through an "America as the default" point of view and praised for "rewriting the script of Greek mythology", quite literally cultural appropriation happening live right before our eyes all for the sake of cheap entertainment. Maybe it'll take the failings of works like Crown of Starlight to really get people talking about it. But so long as the roots of these works - such as Lore Olympus - are still being protected and marketed en masse by the same kinds of people who don't see the issue in Americanizing other cultures and their stories, then Lore Olympus and Crown of Starlight will not be the last ones to cause harm to the source material - and the cultures that source material is born from and a part of - they're taking from.

I opened this post with a question, and I'm going to close it with another to really leave it as food for thought. That question comes from another video that I'll link here for you to watch at your convenience that spends even more time diving into and discussing the nature of works like this that have seemingly attempted to "deconstruct" the very dogmas that they still wind up reinforcing all the same.

Does the romance genre have a white supremacy problem?

(yes. yes, it does.)

[butterbabyflapjack]

✧˖° Brian Moser x serial killer fem!reader

✧˖° summary:

The Ice Truck Killer’s back in town, and somehow he's stuck babysitting you; Miami's newest would-be killer.

Helping you out wasn't at all his original intention–he'd rather see you dead, you know far too much–but he supposes he could spare an evening to undomesticate that hungry beast inside you. Show you how to really live your life.

In which Brian helps you kill someone who utterly deserves it, and the kill room turns into a horny sex-fueled bloodbath.

✧˖° wordcount: 5k

✧˖° chapters: one, two, three

✧˖° ao3

✧˖° warnings: serial killer fem!reader, reader insert, explicit sexual content, rough sex, passionate sex, fucking in a kill room, dark romance, dark comedy, canon typical depictions of blood and gore, enthusiastic consent, mutual pining, impact play, playing with your food, serial killers in love, banter, dirty talk, voice kink, trauma bonding, babysitting a serial killer, implied sexual abuse of a child (you're killing this mf don’t worry), torture (you’re torturing this mf don’t worry), Brian is his own warning, enemies to lovers, biting, daddy issues?, blood play, a bit of angst a dash of bloodlust & a heavy splash of spice, Brian loves to fluster you and he won't shut the hell up going about it, Brian survives season 1 in this house

✧˖° author's note:

This is ridiculous, horny, bloody, silly and dark (in essence, a very dark romantic comedy), so please heed the tags!

Starts after season 1, but with Brian escaping. Sorry if there’s any rough spots, I kinda rushed editing this.

ch.1 is from Brian’s POV, and the rest of the story is from yours. And there aren't nearly enough problematic female characters in the world so I'm making you one 😃

Hello again, Miami. 

Didn’t think I’d see you again this soon.

What’s it been? Eight months? Since I was your most highly sought after criminal?

Guess I just couldn’t stay away.

Time flies when you’re laying low.

Guess I just missed you.

But really, my reason for coming back to dear old Miami–my home, both my real and spiritual birthplace–has a name, a life, and a face. Your name, if you’re really so curious. Your life. Your face. And I intend to leave what remains of all three of those things behind to the hungry bellies of gators before once more absconding stage left. 

But why, you might ask? Why do I want to kill you? Horrified, scandalized, even. For what reason had you to die by my skillful hand? And the answer to that is simple: death doesn’t need a reason. Death simply is, and I simply enjoy it. 

Though…

Regardless of that irrefutable fact…

I’ll admit. 

This particular death–your death–has a slightly more personal reason. And that reason, or at least its causation, was currently chit-chatting with me on the phone.

“Your plane lands at eight?” Dexter asked, and I didn’t waste time with a nod when he wouldn’t see it. Simply staring out across the coast of Costa Rica, the sunset reflected within the dark shadow of my gaze.

Costa Rica… and I’d really wanted to retire somewhere cold.

Not that this was retirement.

It was more of an… unplanned, involuntary vacation. Just until the heat from the feds cooled down.

Then again, I wasn’t waiting for the temp to drop before planning this little excursion back to Miami. But you’d sorta forced my hand in that regard, now hadn’t you?

“Hope you don’t mind if I crash on the couch,” I said, good-natured, and I knew he wouldn’t object. My brother couldn’t feel much–much more than myself–but I sensed a sort of guilt in him for how he’d previously driven me off those eight months ago. Choosing a fake sibling over a real one, one who actually knew who he was… I’d say the guilt had good cause.

I could hear him at his quaint living room/office combo’s computer, typing away at something. Perpetually Distracted Dexter.

“Yeah–yeah, that’d be great,” he said. 

I exhaled a little sigh whilst listening to the soft waves roll in beside me. “Why do I feel there’s a but coming?”

“No buts,” said Dexter. “I just, uh…” He seemed distracted, but not by whatever he typed. “I’ll just have a friend over tomorrow. She’ll probably be here when you arrive.”

Ah.

The friend.

The one I’d been silently wishing Dex would just kill himself. Grow suddenly bored of you.

Wishful thinking.

He seemed quite fond. 

He wouldn’t shut up about you. Always and forever droning on.

It wasn’t romantic, this interest, or so I’d come to suspect over all these past droning months. I didn’t exactly ask about that, though, half because I really didn’t care and half because of how much the subject of you annoyed me, raised over and over again and ugh, just give it a rest already. 

Dex shouldn’t have ‘friends’. The mere concept a fairytale, a mask to people like us. It should be just he and I, two hunters against the world, hunting whomever we like.

“Ah,” I voiced aloud, with the sugar-flaked pleasantry of someone who wasn’t at all picturing severing your aorta with an icepick. “Your little friend will be there to greet me. How nice.”

Dexter must have misread the edge of sarcasm as some sort of concern. “She already knows you’re coming. Don’t worry, she can be trusted.”

Just more proof that my do-good, misguided brother is far too trusting.

“Well,” I said, as though accepting this point as fact. You really can be trusted with my and my brother's secrets–such relief! “I look forward to finally meeting her.” And carving and slicing and dicing her.

I must have forgotten to include that last part out loud, and thus Dexter had no objection–even sounding strangely relieved by my show of good faith in at long last having this introduction.

“See you tomorrow night,” he said, and my lips formed a little smile–instinctual, without any warmth.

“See you then,” I said, then hung up.

And now; here I am. Back in the ever-enchanting sunshine state. My former playground of frozen, meticulously broken toys, and it feels much more like home to be back than I even expected, with just the small matter of ridding you from these sentimental, familial walls.

Walking the concrete pathway to Dex’s Palm Terrace place was nearly surreal, assaulting the walls of my person with waves of distant memories. I’d broken into his beachfront apartment so many times before. Snooping around, getting to know him. Leaving gifts tied up with little red bows. I was basically murderous Saint Claus.

I had only one bag, having traveled here light–a black leather crossbody, which I thumbed the broad strap of whilst knocking with mild knuckles against the door.

Silence. Then, footsteps. Then–

Dexter throws open the door, a smile formed ear to ear like a big, goofy animal. 

“Brian,” he says, and somehow it melts me. Chips slightly away at all that frigid, cold frost round my cruel, vacant heart. And his eyes dip over the state of me. The longer hair, dark curls well past my ears, now; just long enough to tuck back but not long enough to stay there. The dark scruff which coats my angled jawline in the absence of shaving for so long.

“Dig the beard,” Dexter says. “Quite the disguise. Bet the ladies love it.”

I smile at the compliment, though if he'd hated the look I'd feel much the same. “One does what one has to to effectively blend,” I return. And it’s hard not to feel somewhat warm, somewhat seen, understood, by my brother before me. The only person in this world who accepts who I am.

Well, not wholly.

Thanks for nothing, Debra.

Still. Since the death of our mother, Dex is the only place I’ve ever belonged, and seeing him now I’m abruptly struck with just how long it’s been.

I don’t wait for him to welcome me in–he’s probably too cordially stunted to properly welcome me, anyway. I just step right up and throw both my arms around him, my baby brother, my other half; cuffing him firmly on the back as I breathe him in.

“It’s been too long,” I say, holding him there for a moment, before pulling back.

Dexter’s expression is torn into a million indecipherable things, but amongst them is his affection for me. The brother who’ll always see him for who he really is. Who truly fathoms that insatiable beast inside him.

The bliss of our reunion’s forced to end, however, because this house has a rat problem. And as I hear a small, feminine throat being cleared from the fluorescent-lit depths behind my brother, my curiosity gets the better of me.

Time to finally put a face to the name I’ve been loathing for weeks.

And there you are. Standing before a metal-limbed armchair nuzzled inside the living room, like you’d sat there then stiffly stood up; uprooted at the sound of my knocking. Frozen, now; lingering. Like you’re caught in a trap you don’t know your way out of. Hands fidgeting as they twist at the hem of your shirt. 

It’s like you know you don’t belong here–that this moment is Dexter’s and mine–and for the cleverness of that, at least, I must inwardly applaud you. Though that’s decidedly where all my praise ends.

This is one of those social situations I’ve learned so well to navigate through life in the foster system, masking my aberrance. Awkwardness. Other people’s–not mine. And though I could so effortlessly put you at ease as you stand there fidgeting, I find it more entertaining to draw that part out. For a while, at least.

I must admit, I hadn’t pictured you at all in my head. What you’d look like. Not as anything more than an aggravating, compromising blip I’d soon snuff out the threat of. But if I had pictured you, I wouldn’t have imagined you looking, so…

…Well.

You’re not…

Unnatractive. 

I feel one dark brow slowly raising.

And you’re only a friend…?

Whatever must poor Rita think? Seeing the two of you together?

Dexter. You dog.

My eyes trace your expression as you awkwardly hover there in the length of my speculative pause. Myself perfectly content to allow you to hang there in a noose of discomfort all night, and then some. Though eventually I know one of us will have to say something.

This is our fated and much anticipated formal introduction, after all.

So at what feels like long last, I throw you the lifeline that is my smarmiest smile. Knowing full well you won’t know it’s not real. No one but Dex ever does.

“And you must be the friend I’ve heard so much about,” I greet you pleasantly, my deep voice threaded with warmth. Though, peculiarly, that unsure tension in you remains stubbornly in place. Seems if anything only to grow, despite my intent to disarm it. 

Huh.

Oh well–it doesn’t deter me. Killing you will be so much easier if you don’t see it coming, so I’m keen on you liking me, letting your guard down. Thus, I graciously continue:

“You have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to finally having you right in front of me.”

Maybe a bit of truth will lube you up. And I watch as your lower lip’s sucked in between your teeth for just a moment whilst you eye me; the motion drawing my studious gaze like a shark’s to blood. 

“And why is that?” you ask, which admittedly I wasn’t expecting. Such a nervous mouse, yet you’d put me on the spot.

I can’t place your nerves. I’m perfectly charming. And yes, you’re aware I’m the notorious Ice Truck Killer, but I’m not sure why that would be alarming. Not with the company you keep; namely, my murderous brother. So it must be something else.

And I so hate not knowing things.

“So I can be introduced to you in person, of course,” I say, like it’s obvious, and it should be. Striding in past Dexter as he steps aside to allow me in, shutting and latching the door behind us all; a roomful of killers, or so I’ve been told.

Our eyes never stray in my steady approach; not yours, not mine. My height soon towering over yours, which isn’t unusual for me when meeting new people, nor when standing near almost anyone. Offering my hand and a smile I’ve been told is quite dashing. “Dex has had such wonderful things to say about you.” And I’m sure he has, I just couldn’t be bothered to remember any of them.

My smile could melt steel as if it was butter.

“I’m Brian.”

I won’t lie, I expected you to crumble. Most women love this move. The confidence, the approachable self-assurance. But you eye my outstretched hand as though I might pull you into the fires of hell with me were you to take it, before craning your neck to meet my gaze once more.

“Charmed,” is all you say; unmoving.

Something about that irks a small ripple up my nape, but I just allow my hand to drop graciously back to my side. All practiced, svelte charm still in place. It’d take a lot more than that to dischevel me.

“So,” I say, by all appearance unconcerned by the lack of civility in my brother’s ill choice of friends. “It almost feels like I already know you, what with the way Dexter’s gone on and on.”

Your gaze steals over to Dexter, hovering there in the distance behind us, before you smile up at me again in a way which feels forced. And I suppose you’re not the talkative sort, though why you keep glancing at Dexter as if waiting for something from him, as if he’ll swoop in and save you, I’m uncertain about.

In due time I’ll figure it out.

“But there’s still one thing I’m curious about,” I say, turning to make myself comfortable. It has been a long trip to get here, after all. 

I plop down like a wolf amongst sheep atop Dexter’s hideous couch, legs spread like I own the damn food chain. One arm draped out along the length of its backrest as I eye you somewhat expectantly, still rigid in how you stand. Imagining what you might look like strung upside down by your ankles with a lengthy strap of duct tape kissing those soft lips, holding them shut for me. 

The shadows beneath my eyes pinch.

It’s a lovely image.

Maybe you’ll see for yourself.

“And what’s that?” Dexter asks–bravo, Dexter–at least one of you’s courteous enough to ask. And I tilt my darkly curled head at him.

“How exactly did the two of you get to know one another?” I ask. Watching him. Eying you. Hoping my focus might rattle you–just a little. “I’m sure it’s an interesting tale.”

“I’ve already told you,” Dexter says, and he probably has, at least in his unabbreviated sense. “We work together at the precinct.” He dons his playful tone I often find so silly but right now I find I detest. “The lab geek and the cop~”

“Right. But that’s not what I mean,” I slice into his futile comedy routine, “What I mean, is: how did our friend here come to know you’re one of Miami’s most heinous, uncaught serial killers?”  

The other, of course, being myself; excepting the whole uncaught thing.

Dex is lucky I’m so forgiving.

I put it forth bluntly, with little room for either one of you to wiggle out of answering. And though my radiance of charisma remains, my intensity’s keen. ‘Cause I must admit; now that I’m here, I’m curious about you. Especially when you seem like such a rabbit in a household of jackals. Weren’t you supposed to be some like-minded killer or something? Perhaps I should have paid closer attention whenever the unwanted topic of you had come up in mine and Dexter’s conversations, instead of bitterly tuning you out. 

Strangely, Dexter doesn’t seem to know what to say, and neither do you. Like the story’s too long, too elaborate. As though there's pieces the two of you’d rather omit. 

Fascinating.

“She helped me out,” Dex says at last; monotonously shallow, like the words aren’t even his, like he's rehearsed this. “In a time of need.”

I quirk a subtly mocking brow at him from where I’m idly lounged on the couch. 

“Why do you sound like a generic thankyou card?” Why, indeed. “C’mon, baby brother–I want specifics. You can tell me.” My dusky gaze passes from him to his lovely, curious friend, hovered opposite the ugly coffee table before me. “We’re all friends here, right?”

It would seem that my smile unnerves you. Which might be annoying if it wasn’t so entertaining a thing to see.

Dexter sighs before trying a more human answer, leaning one bulky shoulder against his white, open-backed bookcase that separates his living room from the office attached. 

This whole effectively communicating thing is hard for him.

“It was sort of an accident,” he says, like that’s far more telling. The lacking details seeming to spur you to chime in. 

“It was really just me being in the wrong place at the right time,” you elaborate, with the passive front of one pretending the ice they walk on won’t at any moment begin to splinter. Folding your arms against that pensive look I toss you, which I tilt my head in silent question of. Why so nervous? I’m far from daunting, aren’t I? 

“I was called to check out an anonymous tip,” you continue, averting your gaze from me far more often than one normally does. “Some sort of suspicious activity at an abandoned storage shed near Palmetto. Myself and my parter.” 

You glance at Dex, as if he might continue the tale for you, might rescue you from this, but when he merely quirks a little smile with a similar shrug, you’re forced into proceeding.

“It was supposedly related to a case–which it wasn’t, not that that matters, but…” You let out a breath. Seeming to steady yourself, the recollection, though for all your nervous fidgeting your tone is surprisingly calm. “I walked into the storage shed, it was unlocked, and… And I saw Dexter. Sawing someone’s arm off. Someone who was strapped down to a table in a plastic fucking tutu.” 

You glance at Dex, as he detachedly watches you. 

“Someone I knew from a previous case,” you continue. “Someone who deserved whatever it was Dexter was doing, and much more than that, too. Which is exactly when I shut that fucking door and assured my partner there was nothing to see here, and we left. Left Dexter to do what he does, undisturbed.”

That’s the end of your story, and I picture the scene, all while some predatorily protective part of me insists on clarifying, “So… That’s it? You saw my brother chopping a man into pieces, and were immediately okay with it? Go Team Dexter? Just like that?”

I try very little to hide my disbelief, ‘cause I don’t buy it. In my experience with cops, and I’ve had plenty, you all tend to be such sticklers when it comes to casual bloodshed and carnage. What’s more, your uptick in nerves isn’t exactly selling me.

My lashes lower in my deliberate examination of you. “Why’d you really not turn my dear brother in?”

In lieu of answering, you once more eye Dex, and that look between you says something.

“It’s complicated,” you say at last. Like you’re waiting for Dexter to speak, but he’d rather wait on you.

The pair of you. Really. You’re like a couple of tongue-tied, helpless kittens. Must I string this conversation on for you?

“Enlighten me,” I say, with something of an edge.

Perhaps I should’ve kept the disarmingly fake smile, because if anything you thrust your guard up.

“Look, I don’t owe you a full explanation of what Dexter and I have been through, okay?”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” I viperously put forth, my pretense of pleasantry slipping. “Seeing as how you know so much about myself. And all without my express knowledge or permission.”

An impermanent issue. One I won't leave Miami without personally seeing resolved. You know far too much–you’re an issue. For Dexter’s sake and for mine, we must unfortunately bid you bon voyage.

“I’d say it’s only fair I know a little more about you,” I continue, cordiality slipped back in place. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

The delicate line of your jaw tautens, eyes wavered with wariness and doubt. Refusing to spit out any more, though the longer you’re subject to my critical appraisal, the more the twine of your stubbornness unwinds.

“I… I need someone dead,” you admit at last.

Ah.

There it is.

“And, after seeing Dexter doing… what he does…” You bite your lower lip, as though struggling to recollect straying thoughts. “I need his help. I need his help to kill someone.”

I take my time mulling about your words. Piecing together the part you still aren't saying.

“So… You won’t turn Dexter in, so long as he helps you kill someone. Did I get that right?” 

You bite down harsher–immediately shake your head. “No, it’s–it’s more complicated than that!” 

But by now I’m barely listening. Turning instead to lift a wry brow at my brother, who’s watching this whole fiasco with a can-I-please-leave-yet look plastered upon his face.

“This is the friend you’ve been telling me about?” I wonder vaguely. “The cop who’s blackmailing you into helping her kill someone?”

“I’m a detective,” you cut in, like that matters, like I care, and I feel my eyes already rolling.

“Detective,” I sarcastically amend, with a scathing glance at you. “So sorry to offend, Detective Whoever-You-Are. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m talking to my brother.”

When you mutter back your name under your breath, I make a show of ignoring it.

“So, what?” I instead ask my foolish, good-hearted kin. “You’re actually going to help her kill someone?” 

His lack of answer’s enough. And at his arms-folded silence, I ruminatively tut my tongue.

“Doesn’t seem like you, Dex… Not the edict-ruled brother I know.” I try not to let my tone grow too ingratiating whilst goading, “What about your beloved code?” 

Dexter exhales a stiff breath. Putting forth, “It’s more than that.”

“More?”

“Like she said, it’s complicated.”

“Has the word ‘complicated’ been redefined as ‘indescribably moronic and impossible to explain’ sometime in the last fifteen seconds?” I return, incredulously flat. Eying their strange and stilted silence with dwindling patience. “What aren’t the two of you telling me…?”

You’re biting your lip like you’re biting back words, and I watch, waiting, biding my time for those bit-back words to get the better of you–though surprisingly, it’s Dexter who breaks first. 

“It’s nothing about that, it’s…” He rubs the back of his sand-colored head, roughing his hair up with tense distraction. “Well, it is about that, in a sense. I didn’t know how to bring this up. I just… I have to leave town for the weekend,” he finally gets out. “First thing tomorrow morning, I’m headed out.”

I’m too nonplussed to hide the creeping edge of my bemusement.

That’s what he’s been having trouble saying?

He drops this like it’ll land like a bombshell on our entire reunion, before rushing at whatever my bland expression, “It’s just for a few days. I’ll be back Monday bright and early.”

To be honest, I’m mostly confused about why this seemed so hard for either one of you bumbling idiots to tell me. Or why you’re bumbling about it at all. Why should I care if he’ll be gone for forty-eight more measly hours after we've been separated for almost a year? And for many, many years before that? Does he actually expect me to mourn him till Monday?

“Big plans with the family?” I venture coolly, and Dexter’s broad shoulders bunch into a shrug, as though he’s cornered and a shrug is all that might save him.

“It’s a whole thing,” he explains. “Cody has a scouting trip, then Rita wanted to make a whole weekend out of it with the grandparents–I’ll spare you the details.”

Yes, thank you for that.

Dexter the family man. It’s so sweet it’s nauseating.

“So you’re taking your fake kids camping so you can keep playing domesticated dad to a woman and children who’d hate you if they knew who you really are?” My smile’s so feigned it hurts. “Sounds like a great time.”

My brother, the shrugger, shrugs once again. Doesn’t even try to defend my interpretive accusation. “I gotta be there.”

“Well have fun on your little adventure,” I muse; side-eying him. “Not sure why it took you this long to tell me. I’m sure I’ll find some way to busy myself in the meantime.”

You and Dexter exchange that look again. That look which betrays how you still haven’t shared whatever’s so lodged down your throats and wherever this is really going, and by this point it’s driving me toward wanting to just rip open your necks to drag whatever it is out, myself.

“Well, actually,” my brother begins, struggling once more with saying things. “I’ve already got an idea that’ll keep you busy in mind.”

I steady him in the crosshairs of my vision. Well. Now we might be getting somewhere. And I can’t deny my interest, much like my frustration, is piqued. 

“Oh?”

“A favor, really,” he adds, without elaborating, and I really am going to rip the words right out of him.

“Are you going to tell me what that favor is?” I’m finally forced to ask, before glancing exasperatedly at you. “Or perhaps I should defer to your translator?”

There you go, nervously rubbing that elbow again, though I find myself oddly mesmerized by the motion of it. I can’t say for what cause, other than I’m not blind, and you’re obviously attractive. Watching you anxiously stand there is becoming one of my favorite pastimes.

“I, um,” you mumble, so quietly I almost can’t hear you. A nervous mouse again, one my nature is stirred to chase. “Well. Dexter was going to help me with–you know… What I was saying before. We have everything planned for tomorrow, and it has to happen tomorrow.” You seem strangely adamant about this, and I don’t care enough to question the ‘why’, just as I don’t care for the ‘who’–I’ll take your word for it. “But, um, with Dexter out of town…”

Helpless, as if to say any more’s an impossible task, you glance to Dexter for support.

“Really, the two of you,” I lowly muse. Eyes glistening between the pair of you, alight with my wicked amusement. Stretching out more broadly on the throne of Dexter’s hideous couch. “You could almost put a full sentence together so long as you tag one another in after every breath.”

The taunt’s enough to unlodge wherever Dexter’s tongue’s at. 

“I need you to help her kill this guy while I’m gone,” he finally says bluntly. Arms folded, expression stern, yet hinted by what may as well be him begging me, which in itself, is…

Well. He’s never asked me for anything. Not like this. Though I certainly don’t owe him any favors…

“I know you know how to set up a proper kill room,” he states, and he should–he’s seen my imitation of his plastic-drenched kill room, firsthand. I’ve studied his work more than anyone. Emulated it to perfection, and all for a happily-ever-after he refused to take part of, spat cold in my face.

For a moment, I feel almost human in how I can’t seem to react or respond to this request. Though as I watch the mirrored hope in you both, as the idea of this slowly settles, I find that it doesn’t completely bore me…

My eyes drift to you. Singling you out. Stringing round your anxious expression. And you’ve mettle, at least, to not look away from the barbs of my musing intensity.

So. This is why you’ve been acting so sheepishly inept. You need big bad Brian’s help with something.

It’s laughably cute, the idea of you killing, and already I know I’m going to do it. But I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t make you sit in it a little. Take my time in toying with you, first.

“You want me to babysit your blackmailing little friend here,” I say to Dex, with raven-dark eyes still on you, “while she attempts–and correct me if I’m wrong here–her first kill?” 

I can tell you can feel how my gaze is dissecting you. Pulling apart, piecing together, assessing every piece and shape and shade of you. It makes you squirm, and I love it; sparing a moment to slide my tongue over the sharpness of my teeth as I feast on such a beautiful reaction. 

I turn back to Dex. “What makes you think she’s even capable?”

“I’m capable,” you insist, drawing my gaze again. And even through those nerves roused in my presence, you appear quite convinced of it. 

Interesting. 

“I can do this,” you again allege. With such frail confidence, but confidence nonetheless. “I just… need a little help.”

I tamp down the rearing head of my inquisitiveness. Ensure my interest remains vague in how I lackadaisically eye you. 

“Help with what, exactly?” I slowly ask. And it’s not a no, which I’m amused to see is so surprising.

You blink a few times, eyes growing wider, more determined–before you’re explaining, quickly, as though whatever luck this is may run out.

“Getting him to the kill site,” you say succinctly, with all the puffed-up bravado of a fluffy little rabbit pretending that they’ve slayed a fox before, and it really is amusing. “Moving the body. Clean-up.”

I let my watchful silence drag on. Held in supposed indecisive contemplation. Should I? Should I? Until, when I can nearly hear your fretting heartbeat, I feel one corner of my lips slowly quirk up. Watching every minor movement of you like a fox might a meal, might a rabbit, and find I really wouldn’t mind taking a bite. 

“Don’t need help doing the deed, then?” I subtly ask you.

Your eyebrows flicker to a knot. Lips pressing flat, before you shake your head at me. “No.”

“You sure?” I further goad, with silken smoothness. Loving those little cracks of hesitation along your lovely surface so much I’m inclined to hammer in even more of them. “‘Cause I won’t kill him for you. You have to do that, yourself. And what’s more, if you for any reason chicken out on me and can’t follow through with all this…” I calmly smile. “I’ll simply leave you there all alone with whatever maddened mess of whoever this man you’ve left behind.” The idea of it sparks a delicious flame somewhere deep below my cavernous lack of heart. “After ensuring he’s woken up, first, of course. Aware. Pissed off. Untied.” 

I smile my cheshire smile as that resolve in you flickers in place; the smallest glow, so nearly snuffed out already. 

“So?” I spur in your uncertain silence. “Do we have a deal, little killer?”

And still, you hesitate. Seeming to weigh my words with care, along with the cost of your own, which I certainly appreciate. You’re not as stupid as I’d originally believed, in any case.

At long last, you nod, but I don’t move, don’t even blink from how I wolfishly watch you from my throne of Dexter’s couch. Not until you say the words out loud. And you will, if you want my help. You have to.

If that’s a flash of resentment within those pretty eyes of yours, it only causes my broadening smirk.

“Fine,” you say at last, after thickly swallowing. “We have a deal.”

And surely light must dance in my entertained eyes as I bite back just how pleased I am by this answer. 

This should be fun.

[comicaurora]

A work had a controversial installment or arc, and it is widely regarded as bad for the story/franchise at large. Is it better for any future installment to retcon (hard or soft) and revert the status quo to pre-slump or to try to pick up the pieces without throwing the baby out with the bathwater, if one even exists?

Oogh. That's a tough one, considering how many questionable writing choices I'd personally scrub from existence if I had my way, but in general I think it's better to commit to the bit rather than constantly rewriting. Bad writing can be salvaged in hindsight - wasted characters can be strengthened in flashbacks, consequences of glossed-over tragedies can be explored later, dubious dialogue can be rendered profound through callbacks. Look at how Hayden Christensen's been playing Anakin lately and how much people like what he's doing - it doesn't make the prequels not lousy, but it does make them hold together a bit better in the grand scale. Half the fun of twists and reveals is how they reframe past plot points, and if a writer is careful they can add to a story in ways that reach back to the weak parts and strengthen them.

In contrast, the "never mind all that" school of writing makes it very, very obvious to the audience that the writers don't know what they're doing, or at least don't agree with each other, and spotting the hand of the author like that disengages the audience like nothing else.

Tbh I think Star Wars is a really interesting case study for this, since they've been playing both sides sidious-style for ages. Lucas kept digitally remastering the original trilogy and burying the version people saw in theaters, and nobody liked that - hence all the arguments about Han shooting first, because Lucas changed that after the fact to make him more uncomplicatedly heroic. Then the prequels were a mess, but accepting them as What Happened led to shows like Clone Wars (which overall slapped) and Kenobi, which wasn't perfect but did strengthen the characters, including Owen and Beru, who in the original were entirely flat spacefillers designed to die at Refusal Of The Call O'Clock. And bridging the gap between the prequels and OT gave us Rogue One, and then Andor, which are collectively the best star wars has ever been. But the sequel trilogy had AGGRESSIVE retcon-fights between Last Jedi and Rise of Skywalker, the most overt Never Mind All That I've ever seen - and NOBODY liked it.

Overall I think committing to the bit wins out, even if it's rough for the creators to look their past fuckups in the eye and find a way to make them feel intentional.

[bunabi]

You don't have to respond to this, I just don't have anyone irl who likes DA as much as me, but as a big fan of Origins I keep hoping for the next game to scratch an itch for me and with each game I get further and further from what I'm looking for. The in depth character backgrounds (that had real impact on the game!), the combat (it turns out I lothe RTS unless it's DAO but for some reason I love DAO's combat so much), and the impact of your choices are all things that seem to diminish with each game. I also agree with your frustration at not being able to be mean, I'm usually a goodie two shoes in games but my favorite Warden was one I made pragmatic and comfortable with authority to a dangerous degree because the brutal choices in Awakening result in the best outcomes for Ferelden. Plus even if you prefer the kind choices, you can't make choices unless you're given them. Luckily there's BG3 and Avowed coming out but it still feels like such a loss every time a new DA is released.

I wanna respond because you raise good points. 😔👍🏿

I feel the same way. I'm ride-or-die for Thedas as a world — the lore is easy to jump into and the amount of half-truths makes speculation really fun — but the games have strayed further and further from my personal tastes.

No DA entry is the same in its approach or execution, so I think having mixed opinions is completely natural.

Compared to Mass Effect which sticks to it's formula pretty closely from ME1 to Andromeda, DA is constantly changing. I think it could have benefited from more consistency. I understand why that wasn't always possible.

You're allowed to be disappointed or wistful or critical without it being construed as like...giving ammunition to bozos or tearing the developers down.

If we can't discuss those things what are we supposed to do? Sit in a circle pretending those features never mattered lol? That I never liked having more roleplay freedom, never liked companion relationships having more tension, never cared about tactics? No I don't think I will.

And I say this while fully accepting DAV for what it is. Even if I wasn't blessed with a code from EA I had every intention of playing it myself. I bought the art book. I've done two zines this year and contributed to two more. My career revolves around making art directly inspired by Inquisition's. Haven't read all the comics & books but I'm as 'hardcore' as it gets.

Me, of all people, being called a fake fan for wanting blood magic or not feeling the character model proportions shows how emotionally charged and unhinged things have gotten

All that to say: I think the best way to be a fan of anything is to acknowledge the good and the bad and let others do the same. So long as those conversations are in good faith there's nothing to lose and everything to gain fr.

[sitkowski]

sweet surrender (nick folio x oc)

pairing: nick folio x harper (oc)

cw: 18+ MDNI ⚠️ fake dating, kinda crappy parents, vaginal fingering. doing things on a motorcycle that probably aren't realistically possible.

word count: 3.8k

author's note: this one wasn't originally started with the intention of being posted around the birthday boy's day, but here we are. i've seen enough rom-coms and hallmark movies to know anything is possible. title comes from the song by sarah mclachlan 🫶🏻 dividers by @saradika-graphics

⇉ masterpost || taglist signups

Harper’s flip flops smack noisily against the asphalt as she hurries across the parking lot. She’s already seventeen minutes late, and her mother doesn’t like to be kept waiting. The second her hand is on the handle to the restaurant door, her phone pings loudly in her purse for the fourth time since she left work. She didn’t even think of trying to go home and change, knowing that it would only delay the inevitable more.

Inside the quaint little bar and grill, Harper’s mother sits in the back at a small table, disappointment evident on her face as she approaches the table. There were many things that she considered hell, and lunch with her mother was one of them. But she knew if she didn’t go, she’d just keep bugging her until her sister’s wedding. And somewhere between work and arriving at the restaurant, Harper came up with a possibly insane plan.

“Hi mom,” she sinks down in the chair across from her and grabs a menu. “Sorry I’m late. I had to wait for someone to relieve me at the bar—”

“I already ordered you a sweet tea. I know it’s your favorite.”

Harper tries her very best not to seem shocked at that, because she knows there’s probably an ulterior motive behind it. “Um, thanks.”

“Look, I know I’m a broken record here,” her mother begins, and there it is. “But I wish you weren’t coming to this wedding alone. You’re the last of my children without a partner, don’t you feel like the odd person out?”

It takes everything Harper has not to get up and leave right then and there. She tells herself that her mom is only looking out for her, that she just wants her to be happy. But somehow, she’s always equated happiness with finding someone, having a boyfriend. Being the youngest of four, and right now the only single child, she’s heard it all so much over the years, and it’s one of the reasons why she’s kept any relationships she’s had to herself until they got serious. Which, of course, hadn’t happened in a long time.

“I have a date for the wedding.” she blurts out instead. Harper is a liar. She has nothing remotely close to a date, but she sees the way her mother’s eyes light up, and she raises her hand before she can immediately start drilling her with questions about this nonexistent date. “It’s still very new, but he’s nice. And I’ll let you meet him before the wedding, at the final rehearsal. But for now, can we just keep this between us?”

“Oh absolutely, of course!” her mom says. But Harper knows, her mom is a liar too, and the entire family will know before the end of the day. “I’m just happy you found someone, I know you’ve got to be lonely in that house all by yourself.”

Harper opens her mouth to say something else, but the waitress arrives with their drinks and to take their orders. She’s never been so grateful for the distraction. Her mother even changes the subject before their food arrives. But now all Harper can think about is the fact that she has to convince her neighbor to be her plus one to a wedding.

It’s either a coincidence or a twisted act of fate that Harper’s neighbor is outside working on his bike when she pulls into her driveway. She and Nick aren’t exactly close friends; they’re friendly with one another, she grabs any mail that comes while he’s on tour for him and makes sure his three plants don’t die. He asks her about her day if they catch each other outside at the same time, and once they shared a few beers on his porch after she accidentally locked herself out. She baked him cookies.

And now she’s got to ask him this huge favor.

She knows she could get out of this with her mom, admit she lied or say this mystery guy broke up with her. But as she gets out of her car and looks over at Nick in his driveway, wearing a fitted black tank top and his hands stained with grease, she realizes she wants to prove a point. Her shutting the car door seems to grab his attention, and he turns to wave at her. She lifts her hand in return before taking a deep breath and walking across the section of grass that separates their houses.

“Is something wrong with your bike?” she asks by way of greeting.

Nick shakes his head, wiping his hands off on a rag from his back pocket. “Nah, I just like doing everything on it myself. I’ve got the free time right now.”

“No big tours coming up?”

“Not for a few weeks,” he shoves the rag back into his pocket and pushes his hair back out of his face. “It’s hot out, you want a drink?”

“As long as it’s alcoholic, please.”

She follows him up to his porch and he disappears inside. Harper sits in on the porch swing, picking nervously at her chipped nail polish. The worst that can happen is he can say no, that’s what she tells herself. She waits for Nick to come back, holding out a glass to her. Her eyebrows raise because instead of beer, he brings her whiskey.

“You look like you could use it,” he admits, before sitting beside her. The last time they did this, it was just two beers sitting on the porch steps so she could keep an eye out for the locksmith. It’s not lost on her that this is the closest she’s been to him before. “Everything okay?”

“Just…lunch with my mom. My sister’s wedding is coming up and she’s being extra…extra.”

“She’s stressing you out?”

“More like she won’t stop asking me who I’m bringing to the wedding as a plus one,” Harper takes a sip of the whiskey and rubs her forehead. “I kind of…told her I had a date, when I didn't.”

Nick winces sympathetically, “Ouch.”

She nods in agreement before taking a deep breath and looking over at him. “So I have this stupidly huge favor to ask, and I know you’re probably busy with your band even though you said you have a break, or maybe you just wanna be left alone in which case I will finish this drink and go, but do you maybe wanna pretend to be my date to this wedding?”

She knows that she’s babbling, and she sees the way his eyes widen a little at her question. He’s quiet though, for a lot longer than she thought he’d be, and she fully expects him to let her down gently when he speaks.

“Yeah, sure.”

“I totally get it, we don’t even know each other all that well so if you don’t want to I’ll find someone who—”

“Harper, stop!” he laughs a little, reaching over to put a hand on her knee to cut off her second round of anxious speaking. She blinks and looks down at his hand and then back at his face. “I said I would. I’ll be your fake boyfriend.”

She doesn’t mean to let out a little squeak and throw her arms around his neck, but she can’t help it. She lets go quickly, her face on fire. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, but thank you—”

“Hey it’s no problem, she’s obviously driving you a little insane and I don’t mind helping. I wasn’t kidding when I said I’ve got a few weeks off.”

“It’s seriously just two days, the final rehearsal dinner and then the wedding and reception,” she explains and he nods along. “Do you…do you own a suit?”

She doesn’t mean it in an insulting way, but she’s only ever seen him in t-shirts and jeans, and his riding leathers. That was a distracting enough image, and she quickly banishes it from her mind.

Nick doesn’t seem offended. “I can clean up when I need to. Unless you want to traumatize your mother in which case I am fully prepared to take you to this thing on my bike and make myself her worst nightmare. I’m flexible.”

Harper downs the rest of her whiskey, letting it burn all the way down her throat so that the flush that comes across her cheeks can be blamed on something else.

“Just a nice dress shirt will work,” she pauses and thinks about it. “And yeah, maybe your bike.”

She imagines her mother’s face when she shows up to the rehearsal on the back of Nick’s bike. It wouldn’t be so much the motorcycle itself, but Harper on the back of it in a dress. If this is going to be the way that she’s going to get her off of her back about dating, so be it.

“So, if we’re pretending to date, should I have a cover story?” Nick asks.

Harper hadn’t thought about that. Her mom was nosy, she was going to want every little detail of how she and Nick met, how long they’d been together, what their plans for the future would be. Even if it was just two days, she has to have some kind of details besides him having a motorcycle and being in a band. 

I mean,” he seems to be able to tell that she’s struggling with what to say. “We kind of already have our story, don’t we?”

“We do?” she doesn’t let herself get stuck on how that sounds. Our story.

“We’re neighbors who became friends, you came over and had a few beers when you got locked out of your place and it just…took off from there?”

It sounds so easy, and it’s not even a lie. She nods. “Yeah, that works.”

“So when is this thing? That way I’ve got time to get my bike nice and shiny.”

The day of the final rehearsal approaches quickly. Harper spends most of the morning out with her sisters, getting pampered for the day. They ask her questions about her mystery guy, and she gives them vague but believable answers. When Nick agreed to do this for her, he also gave her a little bit of a rundown on himself in case of situations just like this. She almost wondered if he’d had to be a fake boyfriend before.

When she goes home, she puts on the green floral dress she bought for the day, and even though she knows it’s not exactly practical for the back of a motorcycle, she likes how it looks. She’s doing the finishing touches on her makeup when there’s a knock on the front door. Feeling oddly nervous, Harper goes to answer it. 

Nick wasn’t lying when he said he could clean up when he needed to and he took her words to heart; the black dress shirt he’s wearing beneath his leather jacket looks really good on him. They’re kind of just standing there, staring at each other for a few minutes.

“You look gorgeous,” Nick says, and Harper blushes. His eyes drift down, and the corner of his mouth tilts up. “And while those shoes are very pretty, they’re not safe for the bike. Do you have any flats you can wear?”

Harper slips back into the house and grabs a pair from her hall closet, switching them out and putting her heels into a bag to bring with her. When she comes back out, she follows Nick down to his bike. He hands her a helmet, one that isn’t a full face like his.

“Figured you didn’t wanna sweat off your makeup on the ride.” he says, and she thinks he’s teasing her. “Have you ever been on a motorcycle before?”

She’d been on the back of a friend’s bike in high school, but it had been another style and she knew there was a difference between the two. “Nope.”

“Don’t worry, it’s the safest thing you’ll ever have between your legs.”

Harper’s mouth opens and closes again in surprise, before her eyes narrow. “Did you…did you just quote Girls Just Wanna Have Fun to me?”

Smiling proudly, Nick takes the helmet out of her hands, putting it on her. She holds her breath as he buckles it for her, before pulling on a pair of black leather gloves. He grabs his own helmet and puts it on. With his help, she gets on the bike behind him. She’s able to tuck the skirt of her dress enough so it won’t blow when they’re on the open road. This part she knows enough about, and she puts her hands on his sides. Nick reaches down, wrapping his hand around her wrist and pulling until she gets the message, wrapping her arms tightly around his torso. Harper presses her cheek between his shoulder, clenching her fingers in his jacket.

There was nothing more exhilarating than being on the back of Nick’s bike. It’s not that far from their houses to the venue where the final rehearsal and wedding is being held, but she enjoys every minute of the ride. The parking lot is littered with familiar cars, and Nick parks his bike, cutting the engine. It takes Harper a minute to be able to loosen her grip on his jacket, and she can still feel the rumble from beneath her in her thighs. She lets out a shaky breath, undoing the strap of the helmet and taking it off. In front of her, Nick holds out his hand so she can lift herself off of the seat. When her feet touch the ground, her legs are still shaking.

She can see her mom and her sister Reece watching her from the alcove by the entrance, and it’s hard to miss the smirk on Reece’s face and the look of concern on her mother’s. Harper takes off her flats and slips her heels back on before fluffing out her hair. She watches Nick get off the bike, and he takes off his helmet, gloves and jacket. He’s got the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled to his elbows, and it shouldn’t be nearly as distracting as it is.

“Ready to do this?” he asks, holding out his hand to her. 

Harper nods, lacing her fingers through his. He pulls her closer and she swallows hard, unable to avoid the smile that comes to her face. “Yeah.”

Making the introductions almost seems like the easy part. Within minutes of meeting, all of her sisters are enamored with Nick, including the bride to be. Her mother is a different story, but Harper already knew that it would happen like this. She hears the words drummer and motorcycle club and puts on the most believable fake smile she can. But Harper genuinely wants them to like Nick, even if it is pretend. And for the most part, they do.

“And your band…it does well?” her mother asks sometime between the final rehearsal and dinner, and Harper feels the evening going downhill. 

“They’re viral on Tik Tok,” her grandmother says. Nick smiles that wide smile again and her grandmother winks at him. ��Leave them alone, dear. They seem very happy together.”

It eases the tension for Harper, just a little. Beside her, Nick puts his hand on her thigh in a comforting gesture, and she relaxes back in the seat.

The rest of the dinner goes okay, until her mother asks to speak to her privately. She leads her off to the hallway of the floor they’re on away from everyone else. Most of the day has been a blur but Nick’s been there with her the whole time, and she’s thought that they were pretty convincing.

“I know what you’re doing,” her mom says, and Harper frowns. “How could you hide something like this from us?”

“Mom, what—”

“The way that boy looks at you, there is no way that this is new. How long have the two of you been together that you couldn’t tell me, or any of us?”

She almost lets out a sigh of relief, but her mom’s words register with her. She thinks that they’ve been together for longer than she’s said, because of the way that Nick looks at her? From what she’s been able to tell, he’s looking at her the same way he has since they met. Sure, he’s touching her a little bit more, but that was all part of the plan. Wasn’t it?

“You just met him today, and you think he looks at me like, what?”

Her mom’s look turns wistful. “Like your dad used to look at me.”

The words are a punch to the gut, and not in an entirely bad way. Her parents were deeply in love once upon a time. But she doesn’t think that she and Nick know each other well enough for that to be true. Still, her mom wouldn’t have dragged her out here and said something like this unless she saw something that Harper apparently didn’t.

“Mom, there’s something—”

“Babe,” Nick appears in the hallway, and it’s obvious that he might have overheard something that was said, because he comes over, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Jolly wants me to stop by before we head home, would it be okay if we headed out now? I know things are wrapping up for the night.”

“You two go on, we’ll see you in the morning.” Harper’s mom says, answering for her.

She hugs Harper and gives Nick a polite smile before walking back into the banquet hall. It’s not until they’re in the elevator that Harper finally asks. “Who’s Jolly?”

Nick doesn’t take her home right away, turning the bike the opposite direction that they came. Harper doesn’t question it, she just burrows against him comfortably and lets him take her wherever he wants. She’d been grateful for the rescue while dealing with her mom, but she wonders what’s going to happen after the wedding tomorrow. She assumes that things will just go back to how they were before, the two of them being neighbors. It’s something, at least.

It’s dusk by the time Nick stops the bike, in a secluded little spot overlooking mountains and trees. Harper’s pretty sure she came to this spot with a boy when she was in high school. Nick drops the kickstand and takes off his helmet, and Harper takes hers off too. But he doesn’t get off the bike, and she stays leaning into him, enjoying the quiet and the view.

“I know you heard what my mom said,” she whispers into his jacket, and she feels him tense a little before he relaxes. “I thought it was all pretend.”

“And if I said that I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to ask you out for months and thought this was going to be the best way to do it?”

Harper sits up and pulls herself off the bike, and it’s just like he knows what she’s planning to do because he slides back on the seat, making room for her. He hauls her into his lap, her thighs spread over his as she sits facing him.

“I like you, Nick Folio,” she murmurs, draping her arms over his shoulders.  “I mean, you’re viral on Tik Tok after all.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “I like your grandma.”

“And what about me?”

“Oh, I really like you,” he says, before wrapping one gloved hand around the side of her neck and kissing her. 

Harper kisses him back, fisting her hands in the sides of his jacket, trying to get him closer. But she’s worried that too much motion is going to overturn the bike. It’s probably a miracle that it’s staying upright anyway. She slides her hands beneath his jacket, pulling at the buttons on his shirt. Her eyes widen at the sight of the tattoo on his chest, and she files that away for another time when she can drag this out and trace it with her tongue.

Nick pulls back, long enough to tug off his gloves and shove them in his jacket pocket before shrugging out of the leather and letting it fall behind him. Keeping his eyes on Harper’s face, his hands slide up beneath the skirt of her dress. Her breath hitches in her chest at the feeling of his hot hands on her inner thighs, skimming upwards until they touch the edge of her panties.

It’s not lost on her that they’re out here in the open where anyone could come by and see them. That doesn’t really matter to her though, not when Nick’s scraping his teeth over the column of her throat and pulling her underwear to the side.

“Is this okay?” he asks, voice low.

Harper nods quickly, reaching down to wrap her hand around his wrist and guide his hand where she wants it. His fingers slide between her folds, thumb teasing over her clit. She moans, head falling back and his free hand tugs at the top of her dress, pulling it and the cup of her bra down so he can get one of her nipples between his teeth.

A sharp cry escapes her when he eases first one, then a second finger inside of her, and when his fingers curl upward, she finds herself trying to lean back into the handlebars behind her. Nick’s fingers tangle in her hair and he pulls her mouth back to his. Harper nibbles on his bottom lip, tongue sliding over his as she grinds down against his hand.

Whimpering, she buries her hands in his hair, yanking at the longer strands. She’s already on edge, and she’d be surprised that Nick’s able to work her up so quickly, but she can’t think about anything else but this. His forehead presses into hers, eyes locked on the space between them, watching his fingers rock in and out of her. He moves them faster, adding in a third, and Harper’s lost beneath the orgasm crashing into her. The cry she lets out echoes in the air around them, bouncing off of the trees.

Nick pulls his fingers out slowly, bringing them up to his mouth to lick them clean. The sight and the aftershocks of her orgasm leave her dizzy. She starts to reach for his belt, but Nick catches her wrist, pulling her hand up and kissing her palm.

“Later, I promise. I kinda wanna get you home and into my bed.”

Harper can’t argue with that. They fix their clothes and she moves back behind him. As she’s putting her helmet back on, a thought occurs to her. “What happened to this being the safest thing I’ll ever have between my legs?”

“Honey, you haven’t seen anything yet.” he murmurs before putting on his helmet and starting the bike.

She grabs onto him, unable to keep the smile off of her face as he points the bike in the direction of home.

⇉ taglist:

@circle-with-me @deathblacksmoke @malice-ov-mercy @baddestomens

@ladyveronikawrites @dominuslunae @collapsedglasshouses @collidewiththesavannah

@thatchickwiththecamera

[spnbabe67]

Addicted to You

Kinktober Day 12: Quickie (D.W.)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem Original Character

Warnings: Smut, clothed sex, Dean in a suit

Summary: Tori just can't help herself after she sees Dean in his suit.

Word Count: 1195

Authors Note: Title based off the song Addicted by Saving Abel. Also this wasn't intentional but this is one of the shorter fics, ironic since the prompt is 'Quickie'

Second Entry for @jacklesversebingo 2024

Prompt: "I'd like to file a police report"

Tag List: @zepskies @king-of-milf-lovers @nightxcreature @opheliadynah

Tori knew she was staring, but how could she not? She and Dean were hunting what they had deduced to be a group of vampires. Bodies and cattle had all shown up dead and mutilated in this middle-of-nowhere town with lots of barns and abandoned buildings to be makeshift hideouts. They had set a time with the local coroner, a short, rotund man who had more hair on his face than on his head, all of it graying and sickly looking. No doubt attributed to the pile of junk food on his desk and their wrappers in his trash, not to mention the traces of alcohol on his breath. But their meeting wasn’t for another hour, so right now, she could enjoy the show. 

Tori always rose before Dean, mastering the art of slipping from his embrace without waking him. More often than not, she awoke with him wrapped around her, his strong arms anchoring her back against his chest, even breaths tickling the fine baby hairs at the nape of her neck. This morning wasn’t any different, he clung fast to her as if trying to mold their bodies together. Tori had managed to untangle herself from the Gordian knot of her lover's arms and legs without rousing him, stretching as she padded barefoot and naked to the shower. Dean only rolled over, slowly waking up, at the sound of the hot water boiling in the electric kettle they bring on hunts. Dean had objected to the purchase at first, but Tori had insisted on it, claiming she would never use the ones that were provided in the rooms. 

Dean in the mornings, pre-coffee, was the definition of a sleepy golden retriever puppy. His eyes blinked slowly like it was taking great effort to keep them open as he trudged across the patterned carpet to wrap his arms around her waist, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He mumbled mostly incoherent things against the white cotton button down she wore, swaying them back and forth ever so slightly. His body was still warm with sleep against her back, the short stubble on his cheeks and jaw poking at her neck. She’d placated her sleepy lover with a fresh mug of coffee and a kiss as sweet as the sugar she used to sweeten the liquid caffeine. After two cups of coffee Dean had perked up enough to smush together coherent sentences and to shuffle to the shower.

40 minutes later, Tori had to cross one leg over the other, thighs clenching as Dean walked out of the bathroom looking sharper than a freshly honed blade in his suit. So here she was, watching him out of the corner of her eyes as he made himself another cup of coffee, reading the paper Tori had grabbed while out grabbing them some breakfast from the dinner down the street. It was so, domestic, seeing him like this. She’d seen him in his suit more times than she could count, but every time she did it smacked her in the face just how hot her boyfriend is. 

She let out a low whistle. “I would like to file a police report.” She drawled, standing up from where she had been sitting at the table looking over the coroners report one last time before they headed over. Tori, wrapped the ebony tie around her hand, pulling him to her. “My boyfriend is unlawfully hot.”

Dean grinned down at her, dipping down to capture her mouth, hands landing heavy on her hips as he walked her back towards the table until she felt the corner press against the backs of her thighs under her ass. 

Tori slipped her hand to the back of Dean's neck, tugging on the downy soft strands. “I need you.” She murmured against his lips. “We've got time, we just need to be quick.”

Dean grunted his response, using his grip on her hips to turn her around. He dragged his hands down the outside of her thighs, hooking his fingers on the hem of her skirt and retracing his path upwards, pulling the skirt above the swell of her ass. Tori reached behind her, palming Dean's bulge through his slacks, feeling herself growing wetter by the second. Dean never failed to light that fire that had her wanting to jump his bones like they were teenagers again. Dean gently pushed Tori's hand away, undoing the fly on his pants, slipping his achingly hard cock out. 

Dean didn't bother to pull Tori's panties off, simply choosing to push them to the side, guiding himself through her slick, his other hand on her lower back, keeping her pressed against the table. 

“Hold onto the table, sweetheart.” Dean uttered lowly as he pushed himself into her. 

Tori gripped the edge of the table hard as Dean slid into her channel, not waiting to let her adjust before he was setting a quick rhythm. She felt him place a hand next to her head, hovering over her as he thrusted his hips against hers. She had to bite her lip to keep from moaning from the tight angle he was fuckbeg her at. Tori could feel every ridge and vein and contour of his cock that she knew like the back of her hand. The punishing pace Dean had set had them both fast approaching their orgasms. 

Tori moaned Dean's name breathlessly, reaching back to grab his hand, guiding it around her body to her throbbing clit. Like a maestro, Dean knew just how to pluck and strum and caress her needy pussy in the ways that had her inner walls clenching down around him and pulling desperate sounds from her lungs. Dean felt her shudder beneath him as her climax rocked through her, felt her inner walls pulsate around him in a way that nearly had him going cross eyed. He groaned, pulling away from her despite Tori's whine of disappointment to pump himself once, twice, until he came in erratic spurts into a tissue he'd hastily grabbed from the table. 

Tori leaned back against the table, breathing heavy as she put her panties back into place, shimmying her skirt back down her legs. She grinned over at Dean as he tossed the tissue, tucking himself back into his slacks. “That was hot.”

Dean matched her grin, somehow looking even hotter before. “Not as hot as you.” 

“Come on, lover boy.” Tori hummed, smiling as she leaned up on her tip toes to kiss him sweetly. “We need to leave before I decide to fuck you for real and we blow this hunt.”

She reluctantly pulled away, grabbing her bag from the floor. Dean shook his head, shaking himself from the lovestruck stupor Tori always seemed to put him in, chasing her out the door.

“Is that still an option later or?” He teased, smacking her ass as she dumped her bag in the backseat. 

“Depends on how good you are.” Tori quipped as Dean slid into the driver's seat, starting Baby.

“I thought you liked it when I'm a bad boy.”

Tori rolled her eyes, but grinned. “Just drive already.”

“As you wish.”

[helloalycia]

𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 [𝐓𝐖𝐎] — 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐎𝐑

one / three / four / masterlist / wattpad

summary: after Jackie humiliates you at a school party, you realise that she'll only ever see you as a kid and nothing more.

warning/s: mentions of cheating and underage drinking.

author's note: here’s part 2! glad you’re all liking it, this one was fun to write haha 🥰

I was supposed to be getting over Jackie, but it was impossible. Even when I was reminded that she was Jeff's girlfriend, I still couldn't seem to move on.

One time after a Yellowjackets game, Jeff and I were going on the pitch to congratulate her for leading her team to victory, and then she was reminding him to pick her up later for the after party and that was my cue to leave, but she asked me if I wanted to come.

"Oh, erm...," I started to answer, not really sure if I even wanted to go, but the look Jeff was giving me over Jackie's shoulder was answer enough. "It's not really my scene."

Jackie tried not to laugh as she studied me curiously. "You're in a band but you don't like parties?"

I smiled awkwardly. "A paradox, I'm aware."

She chuckled, rolling her eyes playfully, before looking back to Jeff. "Guess it's just us."

"What a shame," he said sarcastically, before pulling her close, and they began to kiss and I tried not to throw up as I left them to it.

Six months of dating and I still wasn't used to it. I prayed and prayed I could be put off, trying to find a new girl to hyper-fixate on, at least long enough for me to get over Jackie, but it never seemed to work.

Another time, I was at home practicing with the band in the garage when I saw Jackie out front, getting out of Jeff's truck with him. I recalled my mum saying she was coming over today, but didn't really remember until now. It didn't matter anyway because I found myself subtly checking her out as she walked across the front pathway with him, listening intently to whatever he was saying. It couldn't have been very interesting – I loved my brother, but he could drone on sometimes – but she was eating it up anyway, smile tugging at her lips as she nodded along.

Today, she was wearing some denim shorts, a strappy top and a jacket, making me forget what anything and everything was as I followed her movement, possibly drooling a little. I couldn't help it! She was everything.

The feeling of something hitting the side of my head pulled me back into reality and I let out a yelp, looking in the direction it came from.

"Wipe your mouth and pay attention," Y/BF/N said with a teasing grin, and I realised she'd hit me with one of her drumsticks.

Aaron and Tommy stifled their laughter as I cleared my throat and embarrassingly picked up the drumstick. We continued to practice some songs we'd learnt, both original and more covers, preparing for a gig Tommy had scored us at some birthday party in the fancy side of town. It was going well for a while, and I almost forgot about the Jackie distraction, until she decided to stop by.

"Hey, Jackie," the others greeted her as she stopped before the open garage door, smiling at us all.

"Hey," she returned, before her eyes fell to me. "Y/N, hey. I could hear you all performing upstairs – you sound awesome!"

We all mumbled our thanks as she chuckled at our bashfulness.

"So, is it cheeky of me to ask if I can watch you practice?" she asked, tilting her head and fluttering her eyelashes convincingly.

It didn't matter whether you had a crush on Jackie Taylor or not, she simply had the power of compulsion, and none of us could deny her request. So, we performed a few songs for Jackie as she complimented each and every one, amazed by our massive improvement since she'd heard us perform that first time at the dance.

As Aaron and Tommy went to get some drinks from the kitchen for us, Jackie approached me with an impressed look.

"Every time I think you can't get cooler, you prove me wrong," she said jokingly. "And you have a pretty voice. You should sing more if you can."

I smiled awkwardly. "It's not that good. I prefer backing vocals. But thanks."

She laughed. "Humble too, love it. Well, you're nailing it on the keyboard and guitar."

"Yep, that's our Y/N for you," Y/BF/N butted in with a cheeky smile, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. "Super talented this one."

"That she is," Jackie agreed, looking at me knowingly.

"You're talented with your feet, but this one is talented with her fingers," Y/BF/N continued, and I knew what she was trying to say, but god, it came out so wrong.

As I tried to recover from her words, certain my cheeks were hotter than the sun, Jackie suppressed the urge to laugh and Y/BF/N stumbled over her next words.

"Not like that," she said quickly, "like with instruments, y'know? I mean– the keyboard and–"

I had never wanted to die so badly in my life.

"You saw her at soccer tryouts!" Y/BF/N settled with, only doing more to embarrass me as I remembered getting hit in the face. "It's why she didn't make the team."

At this, Jackie finally let out a laugh, covering her mouth to contain it when she saw my reaction.

"It's okay, clearly music was your calling," she assured me, resting a hand on my shoulder. "Like Y/BF/N said. Better with your hands than your feet."

Oh, God.

The two of them laughing had me wanting the earth to swallow me up there and then.

—

The down side of having a sibling so close in age was being invited to the same parties, which meant seeing him and his girlfriend there when you really didn't want to.

My friends and I were at some house party, word having spread through my grade and Jeff's, and even though we hadn't talked to each other about going, I still bumped into him and Jackie in the kitchen.

"Y/N?" Jackie spoke first, surprised to see me. "I thought parties weren't your thing."

I paused, trying to think up something intelligible. "Just trying something new," I finally spoke.

She smiled with confusion. "Right... take care, yeah? There's seniors here and alcohol and–"

"I'm a year younger than you," I reminded her, a little annoyed she was treating me like a child, especially in front of my friends. "I'll be fine."

She sighed, unconvinced. "Right. Of course."

After exchanging a look with Jeff that meant 'avoid me at all cost', we all went our separate ways. Despite our distance from one another though, I felt like Jackie was keeping an eye out on me most of the evening. It was growing annoying, making me feel like a child whose mum was watching her play. I knew she probably meant it from a place of kindness, but it was frustrating.

Aside from that, the party was fun and I was having a blast with my friends. It was inevitable that we had a little to drink, but nothing that would have us regretting anything in the morning. At one point, I needed some air, feeling a little warm in the house and a bit tipsier than I probably should have been.

"You look hot," a girl said behind me, making me turn around, not recognising her. She must have seen my expression, as she amended with a laugh, "I meant warm, like sweaty. But yeah, you're hot, too."

Her confidence had me taken aback and I blinked, trying to let her words register in my glazed thoughts.

"I'm Eve," she introduced, before sitting one of the deck chairs in the garden.

"Y/N," I felt the need to do the same, sitting beside her. "I don't think I've seen you at school before."

"Same here," she said with a relaxed smile, no doubt as tipsy as I was. "I think I'd remember a pretty face like yours."

Again, I was surprised at how confident she was, and I wasn't sure if it was the alcohol, but I wanted to give it a go myself. "You're pretty cute yourself, Eve."

She laughed. "Smooth."

I smiled with amusement, waving a hand. "I'm usually smoother, but you caught me on a bad day."

She snorted at my joke. "Sure I did."

We stayed chatting for a while, a little more flirtatiously than sober me could have ever managed, and I was very attracted to the dark haired girl who was the only thing on my mind right now. After about ten minutes, we somehow found ourselves leaning in, any chatter going out the window, and just when I thought I was about to get my first kiss off a really hot girl, someone interrupted.

"Don't you have somewhere better to be?"

I jumped apart from Eve with surprise, my eyes narrowing when I saw it was Jackie stood there, hands on her hips and fixing Eve with a glare.

"Jackie Taylor," Eve realised, looking to her with surprise that soon transformed into annoyance.

"Eve Perkins," Jackie said bitterly.

Now I was confused, standing up as Eve did. "Wait. How do you two know each other?"

Still glaring at Eve, Jackie answered, "Eve plays for the Lions soccer team."

I raised my brows with surprise. That explained why I'd never seen her at school before – she went to our rival school. Not that that mattered, but clearly it did to the captain of the Yellowjackets.

"Really? Making moves on sophomores?" Jackie asked Eve accusingly, and all it did was infantilise me and humiliate me.

"Jackie!" I scolded, to which she gave me a disapproving look.

"What? You're a kid, Y/N!" she told me in a manner that she definitely didn't have the right. "You shouldn't be here with her."

Eve, who clearly didn't sign up for any of this, rolled her eyes. "Whatever." She glanced at me before she left, adding, "See you around."

The alcohol was starting to make me nauseous, in addition to the utter humiliation I'd just suffered, and I instantly fixed Jackie with a glare.

"What the fuck, Jackie?!"

Dropping her arms by her side, she said, "What?"

"You had no right to do that!" I shouted at her, jabbing my finger in her shoulder. "You're only one year older than me, not my mum!"

Indifferent, she straightened up and held her stance. "I was just looking out for you, Y/N. You're–"

"No," I snapped, my head starting to hurt. "You're treating me like a fucking child."

Calmly, she said, "You're Jeff's little sister–"

"But not yours," I reminded her before rolling my eyes and storming off.

"Y/N, wait!" she called, but I ignored her as I headed back inside.

—

My first hangover wasn't one I wanted to remember, especially when I woke up with memories of every horrifying thing that occurred the night before. How the hell could Jackie do that to me in front of another girl? I couldn't believe she'd overstepped like that, treating me like a kid. I hated it. I hated that she only saw me as her boyfriend's little sister. Someone to look out for. Nothing more.

The Saturday after the party was spent with me wallowing in self pity and recuperating, but then the Sunday was even more annoying because Jackie was visiting Jeff. Just the sound of her voice frustrated me and I resorted to hiding in my room just to avoid her. Of course, she couldn't take the hint.

"Go away," I snapped at her when she let herself in my room when I didn't answer to her knocks. "Just because Jeff wants you here doesn't mean I do."

"Y/N, please, I'm so sorry," she said quickly, and I rolled my eyes, looking back to my notebook and pretending she wasn't here. "I was out of line."

Unable to stay quiet, I said, "Funny how you realise that now, huh? After you humiliated me?"

"It wasn't fair," she said guiltily.

I lowered my notebook, glaring at her. "I know it wasn't. But what could I expect from someone who only sees me as a kid?"

She rubbed the crease between her forehead as she sighed regretfully. "I didn't mean that."

I rolled my eyes and looked back to my notebook, ready to ignore her again, but she suddenly took a seat on my bed and took my notebook from my lap. Before I could protest, she gazed at me with her stupidly big convincing apologetic eyes.

"You're more mature than anyone in my grade," she told me truthfully. "It's nothing to do with age, the way I acted. I was just looking out for you because I care."

"Because of obligation," I corrected her bitterly, crossing my arms.

"No," she said with certainty. "Because I care. But... I shouldn't have reacted like that. Even if it was... Eve."

I considered her words, hating that she was already wearing me down. But she seemed sincere, and I never doubted it was from a place of kindness, though it was executed in the worst way possible. And to know she didn't view me as the kid I thought she did... it was reassuring.

"Why are you so bitter about Eve?" I asked, feeling like I'd missed something.

She pushed her hair out of her face as she struggled to find the words. "It's just a feud we've always had. She's captain of the Lions, the Yellowjackets' number one enemy. It's not your problem though."

I didn't know what to say, nor how to react, and she must've taken it the wrong way as she reluctantly glanced at me.

"If you like her, go for it," she said quietly. "I won't get involved again."

She sounded almost... disappointed. And now I felt stupid because it wasn't even about Eve, not really, and it was certainly not worth ruining my friendship – however circumstantial it was – with Jackie over.

"It was just flirting," I admitted, avoiding her eyes. "A kiss. Or almost kiss. I don't like her. I don't even know her. It was just a momentary thing... it's hard having someone be interested in me. Not everybody turns heads like you, Jackie."

Jackie pulled a face. "Are you crazy? Y/N, you're beautiful."

I rolled my eyes, not even sure why I was telling her this. "You're biased."

"No," she disagreed firmly. "You are."

Not in the mood to go back and forth about this, I said, "Look, it doesn't matter. Just... please stop treating me like this. It was humiliating."

"I promise," she said, resting a hand on my lap, palm facing upwards hopefully. "Do you forgive me?"

I glanced at her, seeing the puppy eyes she was giving me, probably without even realising. Yeah, she was always a head turner, and she'd never understand what it was like to be the opposite.

"Sure," I said, placing my hand in hers, eliciting a smile from her.

"Do you wanna join Jeff and I for a movie?" she asked, squeezing my hand before standing up.

"I'd rather gouge my eyes out."

She laughed, bringing a small smile to my lips. "Fair enough. Well... I'll see you later, Y/N."

"See you later."

—

16 years old.

Jeff and Jackie had been dating for a few years now, on and off and breaking up even more than usual lately, but I didn't doubt it any more than I usually did. That was where my first mistake laid.

He'd been out to a party with Jackie and Shauna, getting a ride with Shauna because his truck was getting a repair, and they'd pulled up outside the house about ten minutes ago. I couldn't care less, but my mum sent me outside to check what was up and also invite Shauna in for dinner, so that was why I headed out in the dark to knock on.

When I reached Shauna's truck, I lifted my hand to knock on the passenger door window, only to widen my eyes when I saw the impossible. Jeff and Shauna were kissing– no, that would be an understatement. They were full blown making out, her straddling him in the passenger's seat with their tongues down each other's throats.

They must have sensed my presence because they pulled apart with confusion before their eyes widened at the sight of me. Shocked, like I was the one who'd been caught, I lowered my hand and spun around to return to the house, but then I heard the door opening behind me and Jeff was calling after me.

"Y/N, just wait!" he shouted, before skidding to a halt before me. "It's not what you think."

I was still reeling from what I'd seen, glancing over my shoulder to see a mortified Shauna avoiding my eyes and driving away. Looking back to my brother, I saw the guilt in his eyes and knew it was exactly what I thought.

"You can't say anything," he pleaded, and that snapped me out of my silence.

"You're cheating," I said aloud, still in disbelief. "You're cheating on Jackie. With her best friend."

"It just happened," he tried to explain, but all I could think about was Jackie and how distraught she'd be if she found out.

"How long?" I asked him, as if it would make a difference.

He avoided my stare. "A few months."

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" I yelled, and he quickly covered my mouth to lower my volume, but I shoved him off me. "How could you do this to Jackie?!"

"I didn't mean for it to happen," he said quickly. "You have to believe me, Y/N."

My casually cool, slightly nerdy brother whom I'd looked up to my whole life was here, caught out for cheating on his girlfriend. I couldn't believe it.

"A few months," I repeated slowly. "You've been cheating on her for a few months."

She was gonna be hurt, but she deserved to know. He was my brother, but I couldn't just let her be in the dark. She deserved to know.

"You can't tell her," he said when he practically read my mind. And when I gave him a disgusted look, he grabbed my hands and continued, "No, Y/N, you can't. You–"

"Jeff, what the fuck?!" I shouted, pulling my hands from his. "I have to!"

"Think about her, about Jackie," he tried to make me see reason. "And Shauna. They're best friends. You tell her and you ruin that! Is that what you want?"

"You already did!" I yelled.

Panicking, he swallowed thickly. "Will you tell her?"

"She deserves to know," I muttered harshly. "You should've just ended it with her first. What the hell were you thinking?"

He didn't answer, and I was too ashamed of him to stand looking at him anymore, instead shoving past and heading back inside. I needed to tell Jackie, but he had a point. Her and Shauna were practically sisters – this would destroy her.

—

I was planning to tell her, I really was. She deserved to know the truth and I certainly wasn't condoning my idiot brother's actions, but wanting to tell her and actually telling her were two very different things.

Every time I thought about it, having the perfect opportunity at school to pull her aside or even when she visited the house during the week after I found out, my words got stuck in my throat and I choked. It wasn't an excuse, and I swore to myself I'd find her after school to tell her in private. But the worst thing happened.

She beat me to it.

It was lunchtime and I was grabbing some things from my locker, the hallway relatively empty as everybody was in the canteen, when I was suddenly pushed back into my locker. Surprised, I turned to see it was Jackie, stood before me with tears streaming down her face, her mascara a mess.

"You knew?!" she got straight to it, eyes searching mine.

Realisation crossed my expression, and before I could even answer, her eyes welled up even more.

"Fuck," she scoffed, hand on her hip as her other pushed her fringe from her eyes. "What a fool I've been. He said you knew and I thought maybe he was trying to upset me, but..."

Fucking Jeff and his big fucking mouth. Why wasn't I surprised he'd thrown me under the bus to make himself look better?

She turned to leave, but I tried to stop her desperately, awfully aware of how I probably looked like Jeff only a week earlier.

"Wait, please, Jackie," I said in a rushed tone, heart breaking when she looked to me with hurt. "I wanted to tell you–"

"Being an asshole must run in the family, huh?" she cut me off, before clenching her jaw. "And here I was thinking I could trust you."

"Jackie, you can, you–"

"You had your brother's back and I shouldn't have expected different," she sneered.

Guilt swallowed me whole as she turned to leave, her sniffling ricocheting off the empty halls and echoing into my ears like bullets. It was somewhat my fault for not going to her sooner, but I wasn't seeing reason as the only thing I could think of was my stupid brother and his big mouth.

I gritted my teeth as I searched the school for him, finding him hanging outside in the parking lot with some friends. As soon as I set my eyes on him, he seemed to notice and the colour drained from his face.

"What the fuck?!" I shouted at him, shoving him into his truck door.

"Woah, Y/N, just chill–"

"Fuck off, Randy!" I silenced his best friend.

"It's okay," Jeff assured his friends, who left us to our good old sibling dispute.

"You told her," I said between a glare. "You finally told her the truth."

"I did," he confirmed.

I shoved him again, making him clench his jaw slightly. "You told her I knew! Why the fuck did you do that?"

Wincing, he said, "I didn't mean to. It slipped out, Y/N. She was upset and talking about who knew and then said your name and I didn't mean to agree but–"

"But you did and now she fucking hates me," I finished for him bitterly. "She thinks I condone your stupid ass actions and that I only cared about protecting my brother."

Defensive, he straightened up. "Well, didn't you?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "No, you idiot. I just didn't know how to tell her! Fuck."

He rubbed the back of his neck guiltily as I massaged the throbbing point on my forehead. As much as I hated Jeff right now, I knew it was partially my fault. If I'd just gone to her straight away, then she could have found out the truth when she deserved, and in a way less hurtful than she did.

"Y/N, I'm sorry," Jeff said with a sigh.

"Yeah, me too," I mumbled, before leaving him be.

It was up to me to fix this now. 

—

Jackie really hated me. No matter how hard I tried to get her attention or find a moment to speak with her, she'd completely avoid, glare at me or outright ignore me. I wasn't sure if anyone knew the reality behind her and Jeff's breakup, but her team were certainly suspicious when they saw the unusual distance between her and Shauna.

Only a week had passed, yet it was impossible to speak to her. The one time I believed I might have the opportunity was when I was going to the nurse's office during Music class because I needed to pick up a carpal tunnel wrist brace – turns out all that keyboard and guitar playing was taking its toll. It wasn't anything serious, but I definitely didn't expect to find Jackie in the nurse's office too, sat on the bed and holding some gauze to her forehead.

I had to do a double take when I spotted her, eyes widening immediately as I rushed to her side. "Oh my god, Jackie, what happened?"

She rolled her eyes, traces of tears on her cheeks. "None of your business. Just leave."

I took in the sight of her, noticing she was in her soccer uniform, probably practicing, but it was a little muddier than usual and her face had a little dirt on it. Did she fall?

"Jackie, please–"

"I said leave me alone!" she snapped, before wincing and readjusting so she could look away.

"Is there a problem in here?" the nurse returned to the room, as I was about to try again. She glanced between a teary-eyed Jackie and I, adding, "Can I help you, Miss Sadecki?"

For now, I accepted defeat and reluctantly stepped back from Jackie. "No, I... I mean, yeah. I was told I could get a wrist brace? My wrist has been hurting. Carpal tunnel."

"Over there," the nurse instructed, nodding to the opposite side of the room where some drawers were. "You should find one that fits."

I nodded sadly before going over there to look around. Meanwhile, I heard the nurse helping Jackie with her head, and then they began to talk and I may or may not have been slowing down my actions to listen in.

"Lucky for you, dear, it's just a scratch, but you banged your head pretty well," she was saying to Jackie. "Take these for the headache."

There was some movement as Jackie probably took her painkillers, and I glanced over briefly to see the nurse cleaning her cut and covering it.

"So, what happened to land this?" the nurse made conversation.

"Was playing soccer, just fell," Jackie mumbled uncharacteristically.

"That's unlike you, Miss Taylor," the nurse noticed.

Jackie exhaled deeply. "I've just been distracted lately, I guess."

I frowned to myself, not realising how all of this drama could be affecting Jackie's dynamic with the team, especially Shauna.

"You found what you're looking for yet, Miss Sadecki?" the nurse asked, startling me.

I grabbed the wrist brace and waved it in the air with an awkward smile. "Yes. Got it. Thanks."

She watched me over her glasses as I was forced to leave the room, but not before shooting Jackie an apologetic glance.

—

A week had passed with Jackie still avoiding me like the plague, and that was when I knew I couldn't let it go on any longer. The only way to get her attention was to show her that I genuinely didn't mean to hide the truth from her, to show her that I didn't condone Jeff's actions. And I had the perfect idea.

Once I was certain everyone at home was asleep one night, I snuck outside and used some permanent markers to graffiti the back of Jeff's truck. It was enough of an inconvenience to teach him a lesson and act as a little revenge for Jackie's sake, but not too much that it would cause world war 3. I was pretty chuffed with my idea to be completely honest, smiling at my handiwork.

The next morning, I knew Jeff would head straight into his truck without looking at the back, not far behind me, so I had no concerns in that area. Instead, I drove to school as usual, eyes scanning the parking lot for Jackie. As soon as I spotted her stood by her teammate Lottie's car, the two of them chatting, I headed straight over to her. Lottie saw me first, conversation ceasing, and then Jackie looked over and rolled her eyes.

"I'm not in the mood, Y/N," she said dismissively.

"I know, but just wait–"

"Take a hint," she said rudely, and Lottie dismissed herself, detecting the tension between us.

"You don't have to talk to me," I said quickly, before she decided to leave too, "but just wait and see. Please."

"Y/N–"

I turned around, quickly looking at the entrance of the parking lot to see if Jeff was here yet, and just on time, I saw his familiar truck driving in.

"Just look!" I told Jackie, holding her arm to stop her from leaving.

She furrowed her brows, curious and annoyed, and followed my gaze. The honking that followed his entrance was enough to hold her attention, and I held back a smile as everybody began to see what the commotion was. He drove past to find a parking spot quickly, and I caught sight of his red face in the driver's seat. Then the back of his truck was in full view, earning laughter from every student present, and I pursed my lips to hold my own in.

'HONK IF I HAVE A TINY WIENER' was written in thick black ink on the back of his truck, with a somewhat questionable doodle beside it. Some of my best work, I won't lie.

"You did that?" Jackie asked, and I looked at her with an apologetic smile.

"I did. I'm sorry, Jackie. I don't like what he did at all. I just want to talk to you."

Her expression softened, finally free of the hurt she'd harboured for me this past week, and I anticipated her response before Jeff suddenly appeared, worked up and embarrassed.

"Are you o–"

"Did you do this?!" he cut me off hysterically, looking to Jackie.

People were still honking their horns and it was very difficult for me to not burst into laughter.

"I didn't–" Jackie started, surprised, but I interrupted.

"Seriously, Jeff?" I said casually. "How would she have done that? Walk all the way across town to our house and do it in the night?"

He pressed his lips together, flustered, knowing I was right. And saying nothing more, he stormed off, steam practically coming from his ears. Only when he was out of hearing distance did Jackie finally let out a laugh.

"You didn't need to do that," she told me, though her expression said otherwise.

"I did," I said knowingly, holding her gaze.

She sighed, smile fading a little.

"I was going to tell you the truth, I swear," I said, using this as my opportunity to speak, but voice speeding up the more nervous I got. "I only knew for a week. I was planning to tell you as soon as I found out, but then he begged me not to and I was confused and I didn't want to hurt you and you found out and it was out of my control."

Frowning at the memory, she looked down at her shoes, lost in thought. The longer she stayed quiet, the worse I felt.

"Please, Jackie," I pleaded, "I'm so sorry."

"I believe you," she murmured, though still not meeting my gaze.

I wasn't optimistic – what if she wanted to leave it at that and never talk to me again? What if she couldn't hang around with me anymore because I reminded her of Jeff? What if–

She hugged me, silencing my doubts in an instant, and I sighed with relief as I wrapped my arms around her, squeezing her tight.

"I'm here for you," I promised her. "I hope you know that."

She nodded in my shoulder, not quite letting go just yet. "I know. Thank you."

[jesncin]

Re: the whole Si Spurrier Bi/Pan Johnstantine debacle thing

For context, Spurrier (the writer of the current Hellblazer run) explicitly had John self identify as pansexual in narration despite John being canonically bisexual. The cover of the issue (I believe this was the artist's intention, but can't confirm) also evoked the bi flag colors in its colorscheme. When asked about this on twidder, Spurrier doubled down (paraphrasing: "John shouldn't have any queer label, he's bad representation"), deleted tweets, and just left fans in a mess.

My tldr take: John Constantine is bisexual. Spurrier didn't and doesn't know the difference between bi and pan, mixed them up and spouted respectability nonsense to cover himself. He's an old man who doesn't fyuck with gay people, simply. I don't think he has deep seated hatred for the bi community or anything. He made a mistake (still a bad one) and didn't apologize for it. Shame this is the author spearheading such a prominent queer character.

The long take:

I see a lot of people bringing up modern media that reaffirms John's bisexuality but I believe it's important to look at the historical context.

John Constantine in his original Vertigo Hellblazer run was an inherently counter-culture character. A working class guy growing up in the punk scene, aligning himself with queer people, explicitly ACAB, a rebuttal to the classic Superhero tropes, etc. It's only fitting that Constantine's bisexuality was revealed in a similarly counter-culture manner. Under guest writer John Smith (and artist Sean Phillips and colorist Tom Zuiko), John just casually mentions having "the odd boyfriend" in passing narration about his struggles with commitment. This may not seem like a big deal with today's standards, but it's important to recognize that this issue came out in 1992. Hellblazer already had a handful of queer characters at this point and suddenly after years of queer coding, the main character just reveals his bisexuality in passing.

So that's the historical context in our comics world, how about within the canon of Hellblazer? Well, John was born in 1953 in Liverpool, meaning he was a teen in the 60s, formed and toured with Mucous Membrane all over the UK but mostly London during the 70s (as a young man in his 20s). When we cross reference that with what's going on in the UK queer scene at this time, it's no wonder why John is presumed to be bisexual.

[From Stonewall UK]

In the same article, Stonewall mentions that the term "pansexual" became popular in the 90s. While this aligns with when issue #51 reveals Constantine's "odd boyfriend" comment, it's clear that the term "bisexual" would be the term Constantine grew up with during his formative years. While this distinction might seem unnecessary or even arbitrary to some people, these identities do matter in their nuance and historical context. Identities and histories are not interchangeable after all. With all this context in mind, to me, John Constantine will always be bisexual.

To Spurrier's comment on "John Constantine shouldn't have any label anyway, he's bad representation/role model for any identity" (paraphrasing, I know he probably said this in a defensive moment since if he truly believed this then he wouldn't have explicitly had Constantine refer to himself as pansexual in Dead in America #7), I think using respectability in defense of a character as counter-culture as Constantine is a demonstrable example of Missing The Dang Point.

[from Nerdist article written by Jules Greene]

Spurrier, the gays like John Constantine especially in his og Hellblazer run because he wasn't a walking Pride ad. We like that he's a mess. We like that he's working class. We like that he's messed up and painfully human. If you don't understand that about Constantine, then you fundamentally misunderstand why people find him so appealing to begin with.