#i get so angry on behalf of others instead

[not-poignant]

You've been getting death threats? 😕 I'm so sorry that's happening to you. I fuxking hate antis man

Hi anon!

Thankfully not for a while now, but it does happen from time to time. I'm generally not targeted as much as some so I fly under the radar a lot, but I do filter out the majority of the hate and weirdness because I just don't see the point having it here / giving it a platform!

I hate how much damage abuse/bullying does, but I sadly can understand how people end up with fancop / anti mindsets, especially when young. It's very sort of logical to go from 'I hate pedophilia (or rape or incest)' (a normal response) to 'I hate anything that causes it (or rape or incest)' (a normal response) and then making an illogical leap to 'people who write about it in fiction deserve to die and I have a right to destroy them because they're basically as bad as the criminals because they create more criminals and are criminals themselves.'

It starts in the most logical place. And I gotta say, people love being able to hurt others under the banner of a sense of righteous anger. When you feel justified ethically, abusing others, you don't have to deal with shame or guilt in the same way as just targeting someone in highschool or college (or in the workplace). Instead you just get to profoundly dehumanise invisible folks in the internet, and feel like that's activism. That's disgusting, absolutely abhorrent, but I do understand how people get there.

I used to get a lot angrier about it on Twitter, and I still do sometimes, especially when I see the direct harm it causes our communities, when it suffocates creators (many of whom don't even want to draw or write this content, but just feel judged and starved out of fandom), or worse, destroys their lives. I'm very angry on behalf of the people who are scared to post fics or art etc. because of the antis in the fandom/s around them, because it's unfair, and it's hard to convince people to just 'post whatever you want' when it's realistic that some of those people will be abused for it.

So yeah, the hatred makes sense too. It's like...indefensible behaviour and so different to just having general NOTPs / squicks / not liking certain ships. But I do sometimes look at folks who take anti positions (especially the ones who don't realise they're doing it, because they're generally permissive of like 90% of stuff including a fair bit of problematic stuff except like One Thing they're triggered or squicked by), and think... 'You've been fearmongered into believing abusing real people is appropriate behaviour, and if you're lucky, you're one day going to have to deal with the shame and guilt that comes from knowing you've actively tried to destroy people's lives online, and have done harm to many vulnerable people in the process. That's going to be a hard journey for you, but if you make it through to the other side, you are going to feel so much better about yourself as a person, and so much less afraid of your own thoughts, and your intrusive thoughts, and it will be worth it, I promise.'

If they're unlucky, they never realise, and then we all pay the cost for someone who just lives in a state of moral panic forever :/

Anyway, for the most part I'm not really hurt by it personally because I a) have a background in university media studies and know that - scientifically speaking - antis are wrong about (nearly) everything they say, lmao, and b) can tell the difference between reality and fiction and know there's not a 1:1 correlation between the two, and c) I've experienced a lot of different kinds of abuse (sadly) and I can see most of it coming from a mile off these days and I'm not going to wear the shame and guilt people try to dump on me, because they're too juvenile or immature to process with and sit with their own discomfort that others are different to them and have different taboo fantasies to them.

Tl;dr anon - I'm doing okay! Antis do a lot of damage. I get where they're coming from but it never excuses their abuse. The hate they send doesn't really affect me these days, which might be why they started to leave me alone more sdalkjs

[hannie-dul-set]

IT’S NOT WORTH TRYING TO LEARN OTHER PEOPLE’S LOVE LANGUAGES.

p — MYUNG JAEHYUN x fem! reader. g — humor, fluff, park sungho learns a lesson about minding his own business. w — swearing, death threats (as a form of flirting). 1.5k words.

requested by — @gluion “go kill yourself x “i’m pretty sure they have a crush on me”

note — part of my ship dynamics: insane edition gimmick. this is very the breakup soup coded. i just like writing about a bunch of idiots stressing about the dumpster fire love life of their friend. enjoy.

myung jaehyun’s friends are pretty sure he’s had a very stable, very loving, very normal upbringing.

“stop staring at me, you fucking creep.”

“sorry, i didn’t mean to make your heart flutter. can’t help it when you’re so pretty.”

“i’ll stab your fucking eyes out.”

“my eyes are all yours, pretty.”

so they can’t wrap their head around why he’s acting like he has not a single ounce of self-respect in his body. sungho and leehan watch as their pitiful friend gets shut down again by the most venomous glare, hostile sneer, deflected by the biggest pair of heart eyes in the world that’s ever longingly following your disappearing figure out the library door. “she wants me so bad,” he concludes with a self-righteous smile as he arranges his notes into one neat stack. sungho and leehan share a look. god almighty, please grant their friend wisdom and salvation.

“what...what makes you say that?” sungho attempts to prod. the first step to finding a solution is to figure out the situation. they need to know why myung jaehyun is so down bad for you, and why he’s so convinced that you feel the same way.

“huh?” jaehyun perks up. like he’s genuinely confused sungho has to ask that. “she was so flustered earlier. couldn’t you tell? it was adorable.”

“she threatened to mutilate you…?” 

jaehyun beams. “she sure did.”

there...there is no point trying to understand him, sungho concludes. leehan is, for lack of a better word, getting mildly frustrated. “hyung, what the hell?” he raises. “if telling someone you want them dead is an indication of romantic feelings, then my middle school bullies must’ve been head over heels for me.”

a silence. a pause. “we’ll unpack that later,” sungho tells him. then shifts his attention back to problem child number one. “you. you’re a grown man who has full autonomy over his actions and feelings, and i know that. but as your friend, i just can’t keep watching you being disrespected, jaehyun. i can’t help but get angry on your behalf when you greet her good morning and alll she does is tell you to go fuck yourself!”

admittedly, sungho got a little bit heated at the end there. but he has every right to feel this emotion on behalf of his dense and seemingly unaffected friend— who is still sitting there, a smile on his face, hands on his lap like a patient buddha who has learned the true meaning of peace and serenity.

“sungho-yah,” jaehyun starts with a pleasant hum. “there’s no need to worry. the feeling is totally mutual. i’m telling you, she likes me back.”

speechless.

in fact, sungho and leehan are beyond speechless. they have no idea where this ungrounded certainty comes from. they certainly have even less of an idea on how to fix his lovesickness, bordering on insanity.

so, reasonably— they call for backup.

“the only way for him to get his shit together is if he asks her out for real and finally gets rejected for good,” taesan declares confidently. somehow, they see a point. riwoo lets out an echo of agreement. woonhak asks why they’re all excluding jaehyun from this after school garage meeting. “do you guys know when he’s planning on doing that?”

“no idea,” leehan answers. “but maybe we can pressure him into it.”

“so, should we encourage him instead of telling him to give it up?” sungho raises. taesan affirms. sungho lets out a grunt and a huff. “god, that’s gonna be tough.”

a resounding voice of dissent arises from woonhak. “i don’t get why you’re all going against jaehyun-hyung!” he yells indignantly. “let hyung love whoever he wants! this is a free country! you guys can’t dictate his love!”

“he’s received fuck you’s straight in the face and swears she’s flirting, woonhak. you’re too young to understand.”

it’s four votes against one. woonhak can’t win against his hyung’s determination to save myung jaehyun from his self-dug pit of pitifulness that he’d been in ever since laying eyes on you at the freshman orientation. god, they never should’ve went. he never should’ve shot down jaehyun’s suggestion to just skip it. maybe then, myung jaehyun would still be normal.

but this is not the time to lament and regret. it’s time for sungho to right his wrongs. it’s time to bring jaehyun’s self-respect back, they decide. and it starts with a wake-up call in the form of your inevitable, brutal rejection. 

which, for some reason, does not happen as planned.

“what?”

“we’re going on a date.” jaehyun is as chipper as ever and sungho’s ears are starting to ring. “thanks for the encouragement, sungho!”

it’s ringing. it’s ringing so badly. “wait, what do you mean you’re going on a date?” he attempts to clarify, grabbing jaehyun by the shoulders because this is two-parts concerning, one-part kind of…proud? this guy actually succeeded? “she said yes? she didn’t tell you to fuck off and die in a hole?”

“she did. she looked pretty while saying it.” jaehyun answers with a bright grin. nevermind. this is all parts concerning. sungho “she also told me she’d kill me if i pick her up late after her class tomorrow. we’re going to have dinner at the thai restaurant that just opened. riwoo recommended it.”

sungho does not understand. he cannot understand because you, who seems to hate all of myung jaehyun’s guts for no discernible reason, agreed to go on a date with him? hello? has jaehyun been right this whole time? do you really reciprocate his feelings? or is this just some new form of torture? is his friend a masochist? is he the weird one for making a big fucking deal out of this? is this how relationships work nowadays?

a thought enters sungho’s mind.

hold on a second—

“anyway, i gotta go, dude. a pretty girl is waiting for me.”

—what if this date is a ploy for you to finally get the chance to kill him?

oh my god.

“wait!” sungho’s face is pale. his eyes are wide and frantic. “don’t—don’t go on the date!”

“hm?” jaehyun bats his eyes at him, taking a moment to think. then sparkles in realization. “oh! don’t worry. i’m not gonna show up looking like this. i’m gonna head home first to change.”

“that’s not the problem! jaehyun! no! no!”

this is it, his friend is going to die. that is, unless, he shows up on your date just in time to stop it. yes. there’s still a chance. he knows where the date is happening. he’s gonna tell the rest of them because there’s no way in hell they’d allow myung jaehyun’s cause of death to read stupidity by misconstruing your murderous intent as affection. they are not only going to save jaehyun’s life— but his dignity as well.

“remember, be quiet. be inconspicuous. they can’t figure out we’re here.”

hopefully, things go as planned this time. all five of them are gathered in a booth at the said thai restaurant, the eventual scene of the crime unless they do something about it. sungho is surveying the scene to find where you and jaehyun are seated. leehan nearly trips over his unnecessarily long trench coat while trying to cover more ground. woonhak is using the menu as cover but has since gotten distracted and has started to pick out his order with riwoo and taesan. “hyung, is the khao soi good?”

“yeah, we should order it.”

“what drinks should we get?”

this is hopeless. this is a mess. their best friend is about to die and all they can think about is dinner.

no matter. sungho can still take care of this himself. his eyes scan the main restaurant wing, from left to right, until his eyes double over in a screeching halt to the back of a very familiar round head—

“huh.”

the back of a very familiar round head that doesn’t seem to be facing the threat of decapitation.

sungho sees you and jaehyun sitting across from one another, jaehyun’s fairly loud voice raising over the music and utensils clattering, people chatting and passing by. “you’ve got something on your face.”

“touch my face, and i’ll kill y— hey!”

first of all, sungho wants to claw his own eyes out seeing his friend being disgustingly sweet. second, jaehyun did touch your face with a napkin and it does not seem like you’re attempting to murder him. in fact, you look flustered even. flushed despite the harbored glare, still seated despite your apparent derision and disgust. the back of jaehyun’s head looks exceedingly happy. the dots aren’t connecting. sungho is malfunctioning. 

“should…should we interfere…?” leehan asks, his nose barely peeking out of the trench coat collar.

“i think...i think we should just leave them alone.”

“but isn’t his life in danger?”

“i misunderstood.”

forget misunderstanding. sungho can’t even behind to understand in the first place and has settled that he wouldn’t even try so long as myung jaehyun is happy— happy with being on the receiving end of fuck you’s and go to hell’s in response to his you’re so pretty’s and see you tomorrow’s, happy with getting his advances swatted away and shut down, happy with whatever the fuck is going on between you and him that sungho really can’t just wrap his head around.

IT’S NOT WORTH TRYING TO LEARN OTHER PEOPLE’S LOVE LANGUAGES. © hannie-dul-set, 2024.

[cuubism]

Covetous

E | Dreamling | 6.6k

fishbowl rescue, hurt/comfort, sex as a reward, dub-con, the intricate rituals that let you have touch and intimacy without admitting you need it

“Dream,” he says carefully, sitting down on the coffee table across from him. It’s new to him still, this name. Pulled from his stranger’s hoarse throat on their way out of the manor. Dream. His poor friend. Dream looks up at him. His expression is guarded. Wounded. “I owe you,” he says, in his low, sibilant voice, “a boon.” As a reward for his rescue, Dream offers Hob what he's always wanted most. Dream himself.

--

Hob’s beloved stranger is free. Miraculously imprisoned, and then freed by Hob’s hand. And never has freedom looked so fucking awful on a person.

He’s sitting on Hob’s couch like a crumpled bird, wrapped loosely in one of Hob’s shirts. It’s so oversized on him, even more than it normally would be on his narrow frame. His knees are knobby, his cheekbones sharp, hands pressed together in his lap in a mimicry of the way the manacles had bound his wrists. Bruised wrists, bruised throat, shadows under his eyes. God. Hob should have chained up Alex Burgess and thrown him in the glass cage for a change.

“Dream,” he says carefully, sitting down on the coffee table across from him. It’s new to him still, this name. Pulled from his stranger’s hoarse throat on their way out of the manor. Dream. His poor friend.

Dream looks up at him. His expression is guarded. Wounded. “I owe you,” he says, in his low, sibilant voice, “a boon.”

“For what?” Hob says. Dream continues looking at him meaningfully. “For rescuing you? No, you don’t.” He really thinks Hob’s that much of a profiteer?

“We are not even friends,” Dream says lowly, and ouch, that one hurts. “And you have risked the secret of your immortality to aid me.”

Hob refrains from saying that he considers Dream his friend, even if the bastard doesn’t return it.

“I will not leave that debt hanging,” Dream says, voice gaining strength. “Long have I been bound for use of my power and I will not have the same from you, Hob Gadling. Demand something of me, that this debt may be cleared and we be free of each other.”

“Okay, okay.” Hob raises a hand to placate him. He really wants rid of Hob that badly? That’s some gratitude. Insisting on transactional payment, when Hob rescued him because he cared about him? Assuming Hob must want some grand favor from him, when all Hob’s ever wanted is a second of his time and attention?

He lets out a long breath to calm himself. He’s so… frustrated. And angry, though it’s really more anger on Dream’s behalf, now without outlet as his captors are all dead.

“All I’ve ever wanted from you is you,” he says.

“Indeed?” says Dream with a bitter little laugh. Hob has never known him to have a particularly charitable view of things, but his imprisonment seems to have twisted that even further, carved him into a shell that only knows what it is to be hurt. “Not even your immortality?”

“You offered that,” Hob says. “And I would have gone after it whether you were there or not.”

Dream lets out another awful, dry laugh. Hob’s always wanted to hear him laugh, to know if he ever did, but not like this. “Seized it,” he agrees. “Demanded it. What was never for men to have.”

“That’s never stopped me,” Hob says. Dream is not the cause of him wanting to live, even if it was that chance encounter with him that enabled it, in the end.

“No,” Dream agrees. He meets Hob’s eyes again, challenging. Echoes Hob’s words: “All you wanted was me.”

“All I wanted was you,” Hob says. Some of the truest words he knows.

“Why?” says Dream, brow pinching. Genuinely asking. “I have given you little enough.”

Exactly, Hob thinks. Because I get minutes of you every century. Because being with you for those minutes is like touching another plane of existence entirely. Because you’re the most gorgeous and interesting thing I’ve ever seen and your attention, your interest, your approval is like a drug to me.

Instead, he says, “You know me. Greedy to the core. Given enough time, there’s very little in this life that I can’t manage to get. Except for you. Your time. You’re always at a remove. So high above.”

Dream nods as if this makes sense to him. A more acceptable explanation than that Hob might simply want to be with him. And it’s not untrue. But it’s certainly not the whole truth.

“It is agreed, then,” Dream says.

Hob frowns. “Sorry. What is?”

“All you have wanted was me,” Dream says, as if Hob should obviously know where he’s going with this. “Let the boon be sealed.”

“I don’t understand—”

Dream glares at him. He has always been quick to anger, but now it leaps off his tongue, smolders and burns for the slightest opportunity to rage. Well. That makes two of them. “Do not toy with me. I am not oblivious. I have seen the way you look upon me—”

Hob chokes.

“—so do not play at ignorance. If I am what you want in reward, then let it be done.”

Hob feels himself pale. Is he actually suggesting…?

“Dream—” He starts to reject him out of hand. To suggest some other favor if Dream is so hell-bent on it. Information, maybe, about Dream’s life, all the things Hob’s always been obsessively curious about. But.

Dream is not wrong. When Hob had said, all I ever wanted was you, he had meant it more broadly, but Dream’s interpretation of the statement is not incorrect. Hob does want him. In his bed. In his life. Has since he first saw him. Definitely has since Dream had looked at him from under his lashes like that in 1789, given him that damned smirk. He’d thought, in that moment, that Dream might want him too—it was one of the things that had given him the boldness to claim friendship a century later.

Hob wants him, wants to touch him, and have him, and see what he looks like when he’s losing himself to pleasure. Wants it feverishly. Painfully. And the way Dream is looking at him— there’s want there. In those shadowed eyes. In that body, bent and forced into an unnatural shape. He’s not looking at Hob with revulsion at the prospect. He did come up with it himself. And. Hob’s not sure he’s a good enough person to turn down his one chance at that offer. He’s not sure he’s a good person at all.

“Fine,” he says, and Dream looks briefly surprised, and then resigned, accepting. Like he had, fleetingly, thought better of Hob, but was not wholly surprised to be proven wrong. That hurts, too. But if Dream won’t even let them be friends, with the understanding and care contained therein, well, so be it. If Dream’s angry enough to do this to himself, then maybe Hob is, too.

He expects Dream to tell him how exactly this is supposed to work—presumably he has specific rules defining it as a debt and marking it paid—but for a long moment he just keeps sitting there in the aftermath of Hob’s agreement. Crumpled. Hands twisted together, bruises on his fingers. So Hob takes his hands, pulls them out of their violent twist. Dream lets him, going limp. That resignation. That, Hob doesn’t like.

He leans down and kisses Dream’s knuckles, then turns his hands over and kisses his palms. If he’s going to live out the long-held fantasy of having sex with his old stranger, then he’s going to do it the way he imagined. Not whatever way Dream expects of him.

When he looks up again, the cold touch of Dream’s hands lingering on his face, he’s just quick enough to catch Dream looking at him not with resignation, but with longing. It flees his face as soon as their gazes meet, but the afterimage lingers behind Hob’s eyes. Slides under his ribcage like a knife.

“Come on, darling,” he says, the endearment slipping out like that very knife pulled from a wound. He stands, pulling Dream to his feet with him. Now is probably not the best time to do this, but he suspects Dream will insist on it, wanting to be free of Hob—of their debt—as soon as possible so he can carry on his business unimpeded.

Hob leads Dream to the bedroom well aware of the blade he’s hanging over his own neck: if he does this, Dream won’t come back. He’ll clear their debt and that will be it, he’ll return to his mystical world and cut contact, end their prior agreement, knowing well exactly what he can expect from Hob, and that Hob really hasn’t changed at all.

Unless. Unless Hob can give him a reason to come back.

Dream is silent as he follows. He stops in the middle of the bedroom, feet bare on the carpet, Hob’s shirt hanging loose on him, face set in a harsh frown that trembles and wavers when Hob turns to him and, instead of pushing off his shirt and dragging him forward, takes his face between his hands.

Hob’s never had Dream this close. He can make out each strand of Dream’s hair, and the precise shade of his eyes, sea-storm blue. There’s defiance, there. Fire. Challenging Hob to take what he feels he’s owed. If he dares.

Challenge. Not resentment. Not revulsion.

So Hob kisses him.

He’s not a saint.

He’s not a saint, he’s exactly what Dream thinks him to be, greedy, and hungry, and unchanging. And he has wanted Dream for a very long time.

It’s easy to kiss him, the way it’s easy to slide a razor across one’s skin, the blade so sharp it barely stings. It’s easy to take his mouth, press inside, bite at his lower lip, hook his fingers around the sharp hinge of Dream’s jaw. Catch him. Gather him. Press warmth into his skeletal frame. It’s easy. It feels natural.

It feels natural like hunger. Natural, like seeing Dream standing over him in the inn that very first time, and the bright exploding sense that all before this had been obscured by smoke, and now for the first time he was seeing.

Dream makes a sound low in his throat, a moan quickly bitten off into a growl. Hob half-expects him to be passive, to decide he just wants to get it over with, but he’s not. He kisses back. Angrily, as if to punish Hob for his audacity, bites at Hob’s lip, grips his hips hard, the sharp points of his fingers digging in. It’s the intensity Hob always expected of him, when he fantasized about his stranger wanting him; it’s the low curl of his voice around Hob in the inn — you… dare? — grown claws.

Hob dares. Hob’s always dared. He dares to push the shirt, his shirt, off Dream’s shoulders, and he dares to pull his own shirt off over his head. He dares to walk Dream back towards the bed, and guide him up onto it, and to kick off his shoes and to follow him. He dares to study Dream’s bare form, laid out before him, but that is not a sharp dare, that is… a caress. A dream, in which he might hold his stranger close and trail fingers along every inch of his skin and his stranger none the wiser but feeling it, maybe, as a far off breath over the back of his neck. Stolen, that dream, but given back kinder.

Hob studies the gorgeous, bruised, sharp lines of him, the smudge of his hair, the shadows of his eyes, elegant fingers and sprawling legs and precise, round nipples, the stillness of him in repose, mouth slightly open, watching. Dream is more charcoal sketch than man, a memory of a lover drawn in the late hour, strong, pressed lines, and careful shading. If this all goes terribly wrong, if he can’t convince Dream how he really feels, that’s how Hob will remember him. As a shadow, a daydream, a vision filtered through the prism of the past.

He leans down from his place between Dream’s legs to kiss his sternum, then his belly which shivers at the touch, then low on his pelvis. Dream doesn’t move. When Hob looks up at him, he’s watching intently, eyes gone dark. With a measured touch he lays his fingers along Hob’s temples, dragging them to the corners of Hob’s eyes, nails sharp like claws, a sheathed threat. God, the audacity of Burgess to think he could keep this thing chained. Hob closes his eyes and, shivering with dangerous pleasure, lets Dream run his fingers over them, then retreat.

Dream’s sharp nails frame his cheeks. His voice rumbles above Hob, the turning of clouds, his tone fond, almost, but dangerous too. “My rescuer…”

Yes, Hob thinks, always.

“You have saved me,” says Dream. “You have returned me to my realm. And to myself.” The words have a sense of finality. “Now. Seize your prize.”

Seize, no, Hob thinks, but prize, yes. Dream is a prize, every second with him is. One Hob’s done little enough to earn, but takes eagerly either way.

“Take your reward of my body,” Dream continues, thumbs stroking Hob’s cheeks. “But know this.”

Hob opens his eyes and looks up at him. Dream’s voice is portentous. His eyes are swirling pits, dark, shadowed, and alluring.

“Know this,” he repeats, holding Hob’s gaze, “one cannot have a dream and remain unchanged. And to be so close to the Endless…” he runs his thumb over Hob’s lower lip. “Even more so.”

“Good,” Hob says. He doesn’t have to think about it; what more could he want than to be changed by Dream? He already has been.

Dream’s eyes flash with surprise, but slide quickly into satisfaction. It’s sick, almost, that look, like he would see Hob made twisted and wrong for what he wants, for what he’s taking. Fine. Good. Maybe Hob deserves it. The thought doesn’t make him want to stop. Dream can pierce him with his claws and undo him and Hob will only keep looking for him in every shadow.

He feels blissfully on edge from the danger. He ducks his head, Dream’s hands slipping off him, and goes low on Dream’s body, pressing his lips to the base of his cock, where he’s half-hard. Interested.

In Hob’s earliest fantasies of getting his mouth on his stranger it had not been like this. Dream had been powerful and strange and Hob had wanted to worship him, and to have Dream’s touch in his hair speak approval. But this Dream has no haughty approval left to offer him, only ashes and rage. And all Hob wants now is to taste him. Touch him, as Dream said, and be changed.  

He kisses his way up Dream’s cock, swipes over the head with his tongue, wraps his fingers around Dream’s bony hips. Then takes the head of his cock fully in his mouth, pulling a shallow gasp from Dream. His thighs tremble, his hips twitch up into Hob’s mouth. His stranger, always so controlled, must be terribly sensitive after having no pleasure at all for so many years. The thought causes an undeniable thrill.

He relishes in the weight of Dream on his tongue. In the shivering sighs of Dream above him, even more. His hands come to Hob’s hair, and his grip is not hesitant, it’s sharp. But he doesn’t try to move Hob. Only connects them through that point of pain.

He tastes metallic—not only his prick, or the drop of pre Hob pulls from him, but his skin too, when Hob pulls off and kisses his inner thigh, and the crook of his hip. There’s a tang to his skin that sticks to Hob’s tongue. He thinks it’s a relic of the magic that captured him, or the magic that had gotten him out. He wishes he knew the true taste of Dream’s skin.

Hob raises himself up on his arms, goes back up Dream’s body to capture his mouth. Dream tips his head back, baring his throat. Gentle now, instead of fighting. Hob bites under his jaw, wringing a cry from Dream’s lips. He adds his own bruise to the ring of them already painting Dream’s neck, then kisses over it, and the others besides, kisses pressing just hard enough to edge into pain.

Dream moves under him, legs wrapping around Hob’s hips. Hob gets one hand between them and finally unzips his trousers, takes himself out, grinds his cock against Dream’s. Rough fabric drags over Dream’s skin. Hob finds he likes the thought of it showing on Dream’s thighs later, the raw friction of them. He doesn’t like to see Dream battered, bruised, but with his bruises—well. That’s a different matter.

Dream catches his jaw and turns Hob back to his mouth, pulls him into a biting kiss, his tongue sweeping over Hob’s teeth. Then he meets Hob’s gaze, a hint of that dark imperiousness that Hob knows so well back in his eyes.

“If you intend to claim me for yourself,” he says, voice frayed at the edges and dripping shadow, “then do so fully. I will have all of your passion for me. Or nothing.”

Hob swallows hard, throat sticking. “That is quite a lot of passion, my friend.”

If anything, that only makes Dream seem more satisfied. “So it seems.”

Does he know what he could get Hob to do for him, in another situation? Here, now, Dream is for him—or so he’s set the bargain. But there is little Dream could not twist Hob’s passion for him into, if he only asked. It’s a dangerous thing to feel, and yet Hob is not afraid of it. There are worse things to lose oneself over than obsession with a strange, dear friend.

“I’ll have you, then,” he says. “If you insist. For now. But, you should know: if you find yourself trapped like that again, you can call on me. All of that passion also means that I will come for you.”

Dream’s eyes flash. “I will not be trapped like that again.”

Hob takes his wrists and presses them down into the bed, mimicking the circles of bruises bestowed by the manacles. “You were trapped once.”

Tendons flex under Hob’s hands. “Now you will bind me yourself?”

You bound me first, Hob thinks. As fast as a dog on a chain, as firm as a dog coming back and back again to the house where it was once left. Waiting. It’s a miracle he doesn’t want to force Dream to stay, just to stop waiting. It’s a miracle, given everything, that he finds the thought more sickening than anything else.

“We went over that, didn’t we?” He kisses each of Dream’s wrists, over his pulse, then releases him.

For a long moment, Dream leaves his hands where Hob pressed them, studying him. “I suppose so,” he says, considering.

That pain returns, what had first pierced him through when Dream proposed this ‘trade.’ You don’t think better of me? Perhaps Hob doesn’t deserve being thought better of. You don’t trust my friendship? It hurts more than anything, to think Dream believes Hob could do that to him. For not believing it to come as a surprise.

It hurts so much he nearly abandons this whole exercise, this pretense that— that he could actually want to take something from Dream, could want some reward from him, no matter how tempting it is when dangled before his face. The thing is that Dream is the great love of Hob’s life, and he isn’t Dream’s and he’s had to try to come to terms with that, and Dream’s body under his is making it harder, not easier.

“Hob.” Cold fingers find his jaw, and Hob realizes he’s closed his eyes, head hanging low. Dream tips his face back up, runs his thumb over the corner of Hob’s mouth, and Hob opens for him. There’s a new look in Dream’s eyes now, but he can’t quite read it. “Seal the bargain.”

The intensity of him bolsters Hob’s confidence, sets the want stirring in him again. He knows Dream doesn’t mean a kiss, but Hob kisses him anyway, sealing them together. Dream burns under him. His fingers frame Hob’s face, fire in each point where their skin touches. Dream wanted Hob’s passion. Well, he can have all of it.

He digs in the bedside drawer for lube, Dream tracking him with his gaze. He looks curious as Hob pours some out on his fingers, hitches Dream’s leg up further and reaches between them, pressing a finger to his entrance. Dream opens easily to him, gasping as Hob’s finger slips in.

“You needn’t— go to this trouble,” he breathes, unsteady. “Surely you need no reminder that my form is not human.”

“I’m not interested in your pain,” Hob says. Clearly, in this form, Dream can be hurt, the proof is all over his skin. Hob’s fantasies about him are myriad and sometimes dark but none have ever involved Dream hurt so Hob can take his pleasure. “I think you’ve had quite enough of it already, don’t you?”

Dream’s eyes flash in offense, and he opens his mouth to speak. Hob just holds his gaze, daring him to say that he wants to be hurt. But he doesn’t. His mouth closes again. The look on his face slips to something softer and hesitant, another crack opening in his assumptions about what this is. It’s almost trust.

Hob thinks that Dream would claw the expression away if he could see his own face. Better, then, that only Hob can see it, so he can hold it close, treasure it for longer. This is what Hob really wants, his real prize. Dream’s trust.

Even when you give me license to do something horrible to you, he thinks, I won’t.

Hob is a selfish man, but his most coveted treasure, often lost, always lusted after, is Dream’s regard. He doubts he’ll ever truly have it, but each flicker of new belief Dream shows him is a precious gemstone and he clings to them.

“Very well, then,” Dream finally concedes.

His body shivers, then sinks into the mattress as Hob starts moving again, working in and out of him. Dream is so serious and stoic that Hob had thought it would be difficult to get him to relax at all, but Dream just gives to him. Hob pushes a second finger in, and Dream groans, arching his back, gripping Hob’s shoulder with bruising fingertips. God he is beautiful like that, leaning into pleasure.

Hob meets his eyes, then, as he works him open, and catches, briefly, that look again. And that look—oh—it’s wanting. He wants.

It’s revelatory and exhilarating to see. Hob would do horrible things for that look. Anything to make him feel good.

He works Dream open like that, breathing in his quiet moans and the flex of his body under his hands. The way he tenses and relaxes in lengthening waves, played like a song at Hob’s fingertips. Then he settles between Dream’s thighs, Dream’s legs bent up around his hips. Such a vulnerable position he’s let Hob bend him into after so long curled in that sphere. It makes his breath catch; he has to treasure it.

As he lines himself up, he seals their lips together again, wrapping himself over Dream and pressing him under his weight, kissing him deeply. Dream gasps against his mouth as Hob pushes in. Hob breaches him so easily. Dream just opens to him.

Hob moans, overcome by the heat of his body. His grip tightens in Dream’s hair and Dream tilts his head back, exposing his neck for Hob to kiss. Hob kisses under his jaw, tastes his hammering pulse, drags teeth over the vulnerable skin of his throat, wrapped in bruises. Gives an experimental thrust of his hips and relishes in the way it punches Dream’s breath from his lungs. It’s delicious the way he responds, the way he feels, how sensitive he is, the sense Hob gets that if he could just play him right he could bring him out of his cage and make him feel, could be the first in a very long while to have and hold this creature and bring him pleasure—a gift, a privilege.

So this, then, is getting everything he’s ever wanted, and nothing at all. Dream delivered to his hands but as a sick prize, a one off trade for friendship. It makes the rising pleasure congeal in his throat, but Hob can only do what he always does. Make the most of it. Prove himself. If he can.

He sets himself to that task.

He covers Dream with his weight. Sets up a steady rhythm that has gasps and moans pushed from Dream’s throat. Dream’s body is tight and hot around him but better is each sound Hob can wring from him, those pleasured cries that curl through Hob’s belly like magic spells. He must be doing something right, to get those sounds, Dream must want it, must enjoy it. Dream thinks he himself is the reward, but no, it’s his pleasure—if Hob could bottle it he thinks it would make for greater power than whatever Burgess was trying to force from him. If Hob could keep it, he would be the richest man in the entire world.

“That’s it, darling,” he praises as Dream meets each of his movements, fingers gripping tight at Hob’s back. And instead of growling at him for calling The Lord of Dreams darling, Dream just shivers. “There you go, love. Is that good for you?”

“Hob,” Dream says, a ragged breath. Hob kisses him, catches that sound, and all that Dream shows him, that Dream gives him, pours all of it back into how he fucks him, steady, powerful rolls of his hips saying, I’m here, I’m here, I’m here. Familiar, if now sweeter, to stepping into a vaulted basement, finding a well-known stranger through a haze of violence, chained hands and twisted limbs, and sure, strong touches, I’m here, I’m here, can you hear me? I was dreaming about you.

All that and Dream thought he wanted a reward.

All that and Dream made the reward his own starving body.

Hob pulls him close, wraps his arms around his back, presses his nose into Dream’s throat and breathes in. That way they’re pressed all together, skin-to-skin, he can feel each rise of Dream’s chest and the shivers still running through him and Dream’s fingers finding his hair and digging in. He was down there for decades, Hob thinks. Decades.

“Do not stop,” Dream orders. Hob hasn’t stopped moving, though he has slowed, now that they’re pressed so tightly together. But he follows Dream’s word. Doesn’t stop. Keeps rocking into him. Dream’s cock rubs against his belly, pressed between them. Meanwhile Hob kisses up Dream’s throat, over the bruises there, and under the sharp line of his jaw.

Decades.

Hob can’t fix it, but he can fill Dream up with everything he feels. Can rock them together, so close they could be one, can wrap his arms around Dream’s back and feel Dream’s thighs tightening around his hips and Dream’s breath over his ear. He can want, so hungrily, and taste Dream’s skin and hear the slick sounds of their bodies connecting and, in the corner of his hearing, his own imaginings of this moment almost loud enough to actually hear—

No. No those aren’t his dreams. Dream is panting and with each breath Hob feels skin— heat— care— want— these scattered flashes of feelings, and when he kisses Dream again, catching his mouth, Dream tastes like ash, and static, and his eyelids have fluttered shut.

Hob’s breath catches wet in his lungs. He hooks an arm under Dream’s thigh, hitches his leg up and presses in deeper, wringing a cry from Dream’s mouth. With the sight of Dream bent open before him, taking him like he was meant for it, heat rushes through Hob, his thighs and chest and belly burning with it. He bears Dream down hard into the bed, instinct taking over as his hips stutter quick and he comes.

Dream moans, low and ragged as Hob spills in him. Hob struggles to breathe through the tight heat of Dream clenching around him, overwhelming now, Dream’s limbs wrapped around him and heartbeat shaking under Hob’s chest. He almost pulls Dream close like any other lover, driven by the sleepy satiation and the pleasure of touching him. But Dream isn’t like any other lover.

And his erection is still pressed to Hob’s belly, and Hob won’t leave him wanting, whether that was considered part of the bargain or not. He carefully pulls out, and moves back down Dream’s body to take him in his mouth.

Dream goes tense, startled, and comes in his mouth with a gasp. Hob swallows him down eagerly, every drop, then looks up in time to catch Dream with his head thrown back on the pillow, neck craned, eyes closed, mouth open, thrown into in a shock of pleasure. Then he sags back to the bed, tension fleeing him again.

Hob’s very glad he didn’t miss that moment.

The urgency of arousal gone, Hob presses his face deep between Dream���s thighs, inhaling. Just feeling him.

Tentative fingers find his hair.

“What are you doing?” Dream asks, voice low and hoarse.

He seems… surprised, Hob thinks. By the indulgence. What, did he think Hob would get to have him and then cast him aside? Callously decide he’s had enough, declare their exchange completed, instead of devouring everything he might be allowed?

“Feeling you,” Hob says. He strokes a light hand up and down over his hip. Gentle, now, not charged with desire. He’s been wondering, since rescuing him, when the last time was that Dream was touched. Long before that, even: did that strange creature in the inn that first night they’d met have anyone who dared to lay hands on him?

He looks up again to find Dream studying him from under his lashes. “Truly,” he says, and if there’s a bit of a shake in his voice Hob won’t mention it, “you remain quite daring in seizing what you want, Hob Gadling.”

“Try not to do so much seizing, nowadays,” Hob says.

“A better man,” Dream says. The tone is somewhere between mocking and considering, like he can’t quite decide if he wants to be sarcastic about it or not. “Yet, you agreed to the exchange.”

Hob kisses low on Dream’s pelvis, then his belly, which shivers at the touch of his lips. “Are you surprised? I’ve always been a selfish man. And you offered me the grandest treasure I can imagine.”

“I am your grandest treasure?” Dream says, voice faint. “I was Roderick Burgess’s great treasure,” he says, but without the bite in it that there would have been before. He tentatively touches Hob’s temple, then cheek, light fingertips like he could impart some much-needed wisdom into Hob’s brain through the touch. “Would you, too, keep me for your own pleasure, Hob?”

“I’d keep you for your pleasure,” Hob says without fully thinking it through, and Dream’s eyes flash—almost offense, as before, but more so heat. His fingertips scratch at Hob’s skin, sharp as claws. “No, Dream, part of what makes you so beautiful is that you can’t be kept.”

Hob’s stranger is no ordinary lover to be plied with sweets into staying, no ordinary pet to be collared in jewels. Hob well knows what it is to think of him, to want him, to wait for him, to wish, more than anything, for his brief arrival, the sighting of a rare bird, the passing of a once-a-century comet.

“It is the chase, then, that’s compelled you all this time,” says Dream, like he has all of it figured out now. And like he’s maybe a bit disappointed by what he’s figured.

“It’s the wishing,” Hob says. I always knew I couldn’t keep you, he thinks, pained, but that didn’t stop me from wanting you. Dreaming about you.

Dream’s expression softens, ever so slightly. “What does it mean for you, then, that you’ve had me? Fulfilled this dream? Will you grow bored, and move to other pursuits?”

Hob can’t help it, he laughs. “Does the sun get bored of chasing the moon across the sky? You’ve only made me hungrier. Now that I know what it’s like, how will I ever be sated?”

Now that I know what it is to touch you in pleasure, he thinks, how will I tear my mind away from having you as my lover? How will I ever stop thinking about having you, about being with you? It’s a devil’s bargain he’s struck, in more ways than one, and his throat clogs with anticipatory grief. He no longer worries Dream will disappear on him forever, for he seems to have enjoyed himself, but when he leaves for a time to wherever it is he goes in the eons they’re apart he will leave behind a gaping tear in Hob’s heart that may one day scar over but will never fully close.

Dream’s fingers frame his jaw, surprisingly gentle. He tips Hob’s head up to face him. “Hob,” he says. That low voice is a caress. His expression is… almost fond. Hesitantly so. “Truly you are so intrigued by me?”

“Intrigued? More like in love with you,” Hob says, then immediately wants to cut out his own tongue.

Dream blinks once, twice. Says, “…Oh.” And Hob thinks, for the first time, he’s not only surprised him, but truly made him speechless.

Does he truly not know it already? Perhaps Hob has not said it in so many words, but he has never exactly been reserved, never subtle about his emotions the way Dream is, has never bothered to try. He’d thought Dream could read it plainly on his face all these years, and had only taken offense once Hob voiced it, once he implied that there might be reciprocity, for it couldn’t be offensive to be worshiped, could it? But to imply that his vaunted stranger might care for him in return, that was a presumption that could not go unpunished, or so Hob had thought.

“You freed me,” Dream says, working through it as he speaks.

“And I told you I didn’t want a reward, but you insisted.”

“All you wanted was me,” says Dream.

“Your attention,” Hob says. Cards on the table now. “Your interest. Your time.” Your care.

“Oh,” Dream says again. Hob’s really managed to strike him dumb. Is he so used to people only wanting things from him that he can’t possibly fathom it?

“I wasn’t trying to insult you when I called you my friend, all those years ago,” he says quietly.

“No,” Dream agrees, contemplative. “I suppose not.”

His questing fingers trace Hob’s throat. Hob swallows hard.

“Guess you’ll vanish back to your duties now,” he says. Too bitter. “Boon granted and all.”

Instead of vanishing, Dream says, “You… love me.”

“Don’t need to keep saying it if you’re just going to tear it up,” Hob says. “Yes, I saved you because I love you. I killed people for you because I love you, don’t you know I don’t just go around killing for anyone in this day and age? God forbid it was necessary I’d do it again and that time there wouldn’t be any boon.”

Hob’s not sure he strictly had to kill all of them. Could probably have chased some of the guards away in the end. He wasn’t exactly thinking compassionately once he caught sight of Dream in that sphere.

“Did you kill them to gain my favor?” Dream asks.

“No.” He meets Dream’s eyes. “For the pleasure of it. And I would again— not for your favor, but for the way you’d look at me.”

For the way Dream had looked at him, when Hob had dropped the last guard’s limp body to the ground and had pressed a bloodstained hand to the glass cage. The wonder there, when Dream—still his stranger, Hob hadn’t yet gotten his name—had raised his own shaking, bruised, chained hands to touch back.

Hob had been surrounded by carnage and he’d still felt like he’d done something right. For the arbiter of what felt right was no god he’d ever been taught to worship, but the dark figure who’d granted him immortality. The dark stranger he loved, who could have laid a hand on his forehead and bid him do anything and Hob would have done it, and felt it righteous.

Dream lays a hand on Hob’s forehead. His fingers are cold. Hob takes that hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing his knuckles, warming the skin with his breath.

“I believe,” Dream says lowly, “I may still owe you.”

Hob sighs. “Dream, we went over this, you never—”

Dream covers Hob’s mouth with his thumb, stilling his words.

“Such great services rendered,” Dream continues, solemn gaze fixed on Hob’s, “and at such risk to yourself, surely deserve more reward. Your loyalty, your…” his eyes track over Hob’s body, where Hob’s still half-draped over him, appreciative, “consideration, surely beg a higher price.”

Hob is caught on his expression. Pinned in place, as he so easily is by Dream. “What did you have in mind?”

“When I have retrieved my tools. And restored my realm.” His tongue darts out, briefly, to wet his lips. “Perhaps I might return.”

“Perhaps you might,” Hob says. He’s slow but he’s gradually learning to catch on to how Dream communicates. That’s if he can wrap his mind around the impossibility of what he might be saying. “Perhaps you might… grant me more of your time. As recompense.”

“Yes. And perhaps you might. Consider. What you want of me while I am here.”

“I’m sure there’s plenty I’ll want with you,” Hob says, throat tight. He finally pushes himself up from where he’s still draped over Dream, and instead lies on his side next to him, so they’re at eye level. He pushes an unruly strand of Dream’s hair behind his ear. An act that still feels somewhat daring, but less so with each passing moment. Dream studies him, eyes wide and dark. Oh, Dream, Hob thinks.

“Maybe I’ll take some of that payment now,” he says.

“Will you?”

“Too greedy not to take everything on offer.” He uses the hand still dug into Dream’s hair to draw him in close, press their bodies together, wrap his arms around Dream’s back, palms flat over the sharp edges of his shoulder blades. Dream’s heart beats quick under his fragile ribcage, uneven breaths ghost over Hob’s shoulder, and tentatively, Dream’s bony arms come up to grasp onto him. He presses his face into Hob’s throat. His hair tickles Hob’s cheek. And Hob thinks, with a deep, throbbing pain, no, actually, there are greater rewards than his pleasure.

He holds Dream for some moments, until Dream’s skin, perpetually on the edge of cold, has warmed at all the points where they’re touching. Hob draws a blanket from the base of the bed over them. Dream shivers, the shake of cold leaving the body, then settles back against him.

“I hope this shows some measure of thanks,” Dream says quietly, face still buried in Hob’s skin, “for your service.”

Hob breathes out hard, chest heavy, but steadies his voice before responding. “How about I let you know when we’re even?”

Dream lets out a long sigh. “Very well. I will trust you to carry the scale.”

Dream’s trust alone is worth more than gold, in Hob’s estimation. But he thinks Dream might not point out if Hob measures it in pyrite. He thinks, as he runs his hand up and down over Dream’s sore, bony back, as Dream sighs again, melting into him, that neither of them might mind if that scale stays tipped for a very long time, indeed.

Perhaps, Hob hopes, until there’s no more need for it at all.

[cryptidghostgirl]

CHUBBY! READER X ALASTOR

I'm soooo sorry that I'm requesting something else this just came to me and I needed your storytelling expertise to bring it to life 😢

ALSO ALSO ALSO this one has a trigger warning so please read with the thought that YOURE PERFECT!!!😤(if you write it)

OTAY OTAY soooooooooooo reader has been apart of the hotel for awhile and has developed a crush on Alastor from afar and the small instances they do cross paths but hesitates to approach him on her own because well we're shy and HES THE RADIO DEMON anyway reader doesn't have to worry about distance between them because Alastor is AVOIDING HER ALL ON HIS OWN 😯 AND somehow reader gathers the courage to approach Alastor but sees his relationship with Rosie (they're besties, platonic soulmates definitely) and thinks 'wow, she's so beautiful and...thin' and proceeds to lock herself away from everyone (SOLITUDE) and skips meals (starving herself), Alastor is the first to notice shes missin and pulling away but doesn't know how to approach her without stumbling over his words (i like to think that hes a heartbreaker to other women like his fans but with someone that he likes with real feelings hes fumbling in the dark because he could get rejected instead, i will die on the hill) so so so he hesitates to ask reader whats wrong till he hears her throwing up or she says something awful about herself and Alastor gets angry on her behalf and reader goes silent, only for Alastor to take a breath and tell her that 'shes hurting herself, for a shallow reason such as looks', and reader goes 'i thought you liked to watch others downfalls' and then hes like 'not your downfall, never you' 😔 reader starts to cry and shouts "im not Rosie', confused Alastor finally starts putting the pieces together and grabs reader hands and sincerely says "good, i wouldn't rosie anyhow, or anyone else for that matter', reader continuing to cry tells him to stop lying that this joke isn't funny and Alastor kissies her hand as says "whos joking? I only want you, your perfect" then then then slowly Alastor starts to help reader look at themselves in a more positive light [[fit this in somewhere???????Alastor tells reader why hes so close to rosie (he's clueless about reciprocated love so he goes to Rosie because canon that she knows matters of the heart...right?)]]

A/N as always i am obsessed with your request. Also I 100% agree with the assessment of Alastor's ability to talk to people he actually likes. I am literally so obsessed with this request. Also I am assuming from your previous comments you wanted the same bunny demon character?? Please forgive me if I am wrong but I did it for her (because I love her dearly and she is based of meeeee and I'm egotisticalllllll). Kisses bestie <3 <3

Downfall (Alastor x Chubby!Bunny Demon!Reader)

Paring: Alastor x Reader

Word Count: 4,076 (I got a little carried away)

Warnings: BODY IMAGE ISSUES!!! EDS!!!! I think that's it but they're in all caps for a reason so if you have ED issues maybe don't read this one??? It is hurt//comfort tho so maybe do???? Idk. If you get triggered by ed descriptions, don't. If having a fictional character tell you you're perfect the way you are and beg you to stop destroying yourself because they can't bear to watch would help you, do.

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List 

Alastor Master List

Click here and leave a comment if you want to be added to any taglists or send me an ask about it.

It had taken months. Months of wondering what he was like, of stolen glances, of furtive daydreams. Months of building up courage, of backing down, months of hoping and dreaming. It had taken endless encouragement from Angel, countless pages in her diary. It had taken a million deep breaths, ten thousand trembles of her hands. Months, it had taken months.

It wasn't like Y/n had never spoken to the man before. That wasn't really the issue. She wasn't scared of him, just scared. The simple idea of being alone with him was an intoxicating mixture of terror and utter bliss. Y/n didn't know how to handle it, she didn't know how to handle him.

Alastor was untouchable, nearly semi-divine in her eyes. Sure, he was fucked up, but they all were. At the end of the day, his facade was as easy to see through as a cheap paper crown from a Christmas cracker. Beneath the wide smile, the sharp teeth, the stories, Alastor was just a man. He cared deeply for the world around him, for the people around him and those in his life. No matter how hard he tried to disguise it, it always shone through to Y/n.

It wasn't like she had never spoken to Alastor before, she had just never spoken to him alone before. Every interaction they had ever had was as a part of the larger group of Hotel residents and staff. On the rare occasion they ran into one another in the hallway or happened to each be in the kitchen at the same time, Y/n froze up. Words turned to stones in her stomach and all she could ever seem to manage was a gentle nod, a shaky smile. It frustrated her to no end.

Finally, she had worked up the courage to talk to him. It was all Angel's idea really, she would never have had the thought to do such a thing on her own but his pushing had been relentless and at last, Y/n had agreed.

And it had taken months, months! This was her third attempt to go up to him. They had even lowered the stakes, Angel saying all she had to do was have a single normal conversation with the man and he would let her off the hook, stop his pestering and teasing. It was just her luck, really just her god damn luck.

Sir Pentious had informed Y/n that Alastor had left the hotel to see a friend, Charlie had given her the address of the cafe he had said he would be at should they need him. Everyone was all smiles, all encouragement. Y/n reminded herself to yell at Angel later for spilling her secret although, she guessed she shouldn't have expected anything else from the hotel's biggest gossip.

Putting on her favorite outfit, her hair all done up and makeup perfect, Y/n had slicked her ears flat against her head in determination and stepped out onto the streets of Pentagram City. It didn't take long for her to find the place, a sweet little cafe on the outskirts of Cannibal Town with white wrought iron chairs and a cheerful pink and purple sign. It hadn't taken her long to spot the bright red of Alastor's suit through the window either, standing out against all the muted purples and dark blacks of the other cannibals enjoying their meals within.

"It's fine. It's totally not weird that you're going up to him in a cafe he's having lunch in with a friend, that you.... oh my god Y/n!! He's gonna think you were stalking him! You should just go back and- no! You promised. Y/n, you can do this."

She took a deep breath, centering herself in that little core, that rod of who she was, that shot down the center of her being. Raising a closed fist to her chest, she shut her eyes.

"You can do this, Bunny." she reaffirmed, "You can do this."

Opening her eyes, she crossed the street. Her hand was inches away from the door's handle, her heart racing but set on what she was about to do, when Y/n noticed exactly who Alastor's 'friend' was.

Across the table from him, sipping delicately on a cup of tea, was the most beautiful demon Y/n thought she had ever laid eyes on. She had long, dainty fingers, thin and spidery, and the most perfectly proportioned body. She was tall, long legs sheltered by her skirt and a tiny waist that threw her hips and chest into contrast. The woman's hair was neat, tucked up beneath a wide brimmed hat. Her clothes were classy, her smile was bright and charming, the black holes of her eyes were... were... were everything. She was everything, everything Y/n wasn't.

Suddenly, the weight of her own body against her bones became all too real. She felt the urge to never be touched again, the same strange sickness of her youth sinking its teeth into the softness of her stomach, her thighs, her arms, all of her. Her hand lowered from the handle, Alastor laughing at something the woman had said to him. He seemed relaxed, more at peace than Y/n had ever seen the man before. If that wasn't love, she didn't know what was.

It took a second for the other residents of the Hazbin Hotel to realize the change. Y/n was good at this, she'd had practice. For years, she had worked to move past it all but the threat of a relapse had always hung over her head. It was her sword of Damocles, her fated demise.

Y/n retreated in to herself, she couldn't get the image of that woman out of her head. Poised, statuesque, thin. God, Y/n had never wanted anything more than she wanted to be thin. She wanted to rip fistfuls of flesh from her body, she wanted to wither away so only something beautiful remained.

Alastor was the first to notice. He had a soft spot for the rabbit demon who always seemed to be full of that soft, discrete joy and unending kindness. She was a more toned down version of Charlie. She was genuine and completely herself, no holds bared. She had such a hope, she had such a goodness, it made him wonder why she hadn't ended up in Heaven instead.

The truth was, behind the bravado and the grin, Alastor was scared of Y/n. He was scared he would touch her and she would rot away or worse, that she would run. She was just so good, so intrinsically wondrous, and he was the opposite. She was a fresh rose and he was the person coming haplessly along with a pair of gardening shears. She was radiant, she was carved fresh from marble, he was down bad.

Women had never been a priority or a problem for Alastor. Living and dead, they flocked to him. He knew his reputation was to blame, not to mention his looks. They could be fun for a while. Alastor saw charming them as a game, a good way to pass the time. This was different, Y/n was different. Alastor didn't know what to do so, he did nothing. He avoided her like the plague and when he couldn't, he practically ignored her, barley spared her a word.

Alastor was untethered, completely in the dark and so, he did what everyone does when they feel like that: he went to talk to his best friend. When he had gotten back to the hotel after his rather illuminating little chat with Rosie, Charlie had asked him if he had seen Y/n. It felt like divine chance, a cruel joke of fate, that the demon Princess would bring up the very source of his problems so soon after having at last pushed past his pride to ask for help.

When he had revealed the truth to the gang, that no, he had not in fact seen Y/n, they seemed deflated. There had been some sighs, some shrugs, shared glances he didn't understand and then everything had gone back to normal except, it wasn't quite normal.

Where Y/n could normally be found causing trouble, making mischief with the people who had so quickly become her friends since she had started her stay at the hotel out in the open, there was now a distinct lack of her jovial presence. She began taking her plates to her room at meals, showing up to group activities less and less, claiming she was tired or had a stomach ache. Alastor noticed every time he did manage to catch a glimpse of the marvelous and strange creature who had captured his affections so, she seemed utterly exhausted. Y/n was always bundled up, even on the warmest of days.

He wanted to go talk to her, wanted to ask her if she was okay. Alastor was worried -- genuinely worried -- about her. The only thing that stopped him from knocking every time he passed her perpetually closed door, was that he knew himself too well. He knew that the minute he entered, he'd lose his courage, that the words would become mush in his mouth.

It was pure chance, right place wrong time, that he heard it. Alastor had been following his normal routine, heading up to his radio tower for a broadcast after a group activity. Today had been Operation Navigation! As Charlie had dubbed it. She and Vaggie had built an obstacle course and everyone had a partner who was blindfolded and had to be guided through. When they got to the other end, the pairs had switched. Miraculously, Y/n had shown up to this event.

Alastor had watched her carefully, noting her sluggish movements and the way it took her a second to fully register what anyone was saying in a given moment. It was out of the ordinary and his worry only grew. He knew he was going to have to do something about it eventually but just didn't know how. Maybe it would require another visit to Rosie.

As he walked past the lobby bathroom, Alastor was pulled from his thoughts. The door was slightly ajar, sending shards of light out into the darkened hallway.

"Why isn't it working!"

Came the hushed yell of defeat. It was Y/n's voice, he'd know it anywhere. Alastor stopped walking.

"Why do I have to be..."

There was a sniff, the sound of something hitting the wall. Alastor realized it had been Y/n at the sound of fabric against the wallpaper. He could see her in his minds eye as she slid down the wall, pulling her knees into her chest.

"Why can't I just be skinny."

Y/n's words were muffled, soft and shaky.

"Why can't I just be pretty. Why do I have to be... to be..." her words were briefly broken by a sob, "why can't I just be good. I can't even fucking starve myself right. I wish..."

Alastor's body reacted before his mind could catch up, he knocked gently on the door. There was a little yelp of surprise from within, a few sniffs and some rustling fabric.

"Yeah?"

Y/n's voice trembled as she tried to keep the tears at bay.

"May I come in?"

Alastor heard the sharp intake of breath. It was too late to back down now. The silence was thick between them, it felt eternal.

"Okay." Y/n agreed at last, her voice small, and Alastor stepped into the room.

It was exactly how he had imagined it. Y/n was huddled on the floor next to the door, her knees tucked up under her chin and her arms holding her shins tightly. Alastor noticed that the thick, woolen sweater she had been wearing earlier had been tossed to the side, laying haphazardly beside the sink. Y/n sniffed again, trying to smile.

"Everything okay?" she asked and Alastor fixed his eyes back on her.

Y/n's eyes were rimmed with red. Her ears lay limply around her face which was stained with tears. Her skin was covered in goosebumps, she shivered.

"No. It's not."

She seemed a bit taken aback by his answer, not having grasped the reality of the cracked door earlier.

"I don't... what's wrong?"

"You are starving yourself." Alastor replied in a matter-of-fact voice.

Y/n's eyes went wide.

"Fuck... I... fuck!" she buried her face in her knees, "You weren't supposed to hear that."

"Are you trying to die!?" Alastor asked,

He didn't mean to yell, he didn't mean to be this angry. Everything he said seemed to send shockwaves of regret through his body. No matter what he did, he couldn't seem to stop himself.

"Are you... I just... are you stupid?!"

Y/n looked up at him again, her eyes wet with fresh tears.

"I-"

"You what." Alastor scoffed, "You want to be pretty?"

"I..."

"You want to be pretty so you lock yourself away? You make your friends watch as you... as you what, as you get thin? As you destroy yourself?"

She was crying now, truly crying. Alastor looked away, a hand to his head. He took a deep breath, everything was going wrong. When he looked at her again, her cheeks were flushed from a mixture of shame and hurt.

"I just..." he took another deep breath, sinking to his knees before her, "Why would you hurt yourself so badly for something as.. as shallow as your looks?"

Y/n sniffled, frantically trying to wipe away her tears.

"What, I thought you liked to watch other people's downfalls." she tried to shoot back at him but her words came out stuttering and broken through the thickly falling tears.

Y/n refused to meet Alastor's gaze. Everything was going wrong. She was horribly embarrassed, she felt like a butterfly and Alastor was the terror who had opened her chrysalis too soon. He wasn't supposed to see her like this, he wasn't supposed to see her now. He was only supposed to get the after. It was all for him, after all, wasn't it?

Except, Y/n knew the truth of the matter. Alastor had been the trigger but, these behaviors were too well engrained. She might not have known it then, but she'd been looking for an excuse all along. It was all for her, every inch of agony.

His heart dropped at her words. Was that what Y/n truly thought of him? It would make sense, it was the face he presented to the world after all. He had just thought... he had hoped... Rosie had said....

Rosie. That was the answer. She had told him to be honest, to be vulnerable no matter how terrifying such a prospect could be. She had said it was the only way they ever had the slightest chance.

Alastor reached a hand out gently, turning Y/n to look at him. Her skin was soft to the touch, the beating of her blood thrumming against his fingertips. With the utmost care he could muster in his clawed and rotten hands, Alastor wiped her tears away. He couldn't meet Y/n's eyes but heard her sniffle, watched as the flow of sorrow slowed.

"Not your downfall." he said, his words like quiet feathers falling through the air, "Never your downfall."

At last he met her trembling gaze, fear coursing hotly through him, mingling with his blood. She took a few short, stuttering breaths before bursting into tears once again. Alastor flinched slightly as her head fell forward onto his shoulder.

"But I'm not that woman!"

"Woman... what woman?"

"The one you were with at the cafe!"

"The one... Rosie?"

Y/n nodded, sniffiling slightly as she tried to calm herself down.

"You saw me with Rosie? How?"

"I went... I'd been working up all this courage and... I just wanted to talk to you and Charlie and Pen said you'd be there and... and... and I'm not Rosie!"

Suddenly, everything clicked into place. He had been right all along, Rosie was the answer. With the air of someone who hadn't had much physical affection given to them in their life, or received any for that matter, Alastor slowly wrapped his hands around Y/n's shaking back.

"Good."

"What do you mean 'good'? She's so beautiful and she made you laugh and she's just... she's so beautiful and thin!"

"She is beautiful, and a lovely woman but, I don't want Rosie. Or anyone else for that matter."

Y/n's sobs redoubled, she began to struggle against his grip.

"Let me go! Stop lying, Alastor."

Alastor released Y/n from his grasp and she pushed herself back against the wall, utterly mortified and unable to stop. She crossed her arms over her chest, looking away.

"Stop joking, it's... it's not funny."

"Who is joking? I..." Alastor took a deep breath.

Rosie had been right, it was terrifying. He hope she was right on the second part too, that it would be worth it.

"Y/n, have you seen yourself?"

"Yes! Why the fuck do you think I want to be anything else?!"

Alastor got to his feet, holding a hand out to Y/n.

"Come with me."

"No." she mumbled, scooting further away from him if it was possible.

Under another circumstance, he would have chuckled lightly, he would have found her reaction adorable. This was neither the time nor the place and so, summoning his shadows, he transported them both into the darkness of his room.

Y/n looked around, pulling herself to her feet.

"Where... where are we?"

"My room." Alastor sat down on the edge of his bed, "Come here."

Hesitantly, Y/n took a few steps forwards. Once she was in reach, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into his lap. The feeling sent sparks through his body, Alastor tried his best to ignore it. There were more important things than the pleasure of the moment. Y/n struggled against his grasp, the tips of her ears dragging slightly across his arms.

"Alastor! Let me go! I'm too heavy!"

"No, you're quite perfect actually."

"I don't want to be touched! I don't want you to... you're making me want to tear my skin off, please."

"No." his voice was firm.

"Please, just please let go of my waist at least."

To this, he relented, one of his arms falling loosely onto her lap as he held the other up, snapping his fingers. Shadow's flooded into the room, bringing with them a full length mirror. He felt Y/n tense in his grasp.

They came to a stop, setting the mirror on the ground before them. Y/n turned her head away, her eyes shut tight.

"Please stop, Alastor. This really isn't funny."

"Y/n."

"No."

"Y/n."

"No!"

Y/n, please."

She had never heard him say the word before. Slowly, she opened her eyes, craning her neck to look up at Alastor.

"I want you to see what I see when I look at you."

"You promise you wont be mean?" Y/n asked suspiciously after a moment.

"I pinky promise."

He had seen her do this before, with other residents of the hotel. A simple locking of pinky's was all it ever took to make a promise, to assuage her doubts, to show she cared. Y/n's eyes widened slightly. Slowly, she reached her hand out, locking her pinky with his. They shook their hands once, the way Alastor had seen her do it a thousand times before.

"Wait." Y/n said as he made to move his hand away, looking away bashfully, her cheeks a bright pink and her voice quiet, "Don't let go."

"Okay."

Taking a deep breath, she turned to the mirror. It was terrible, she felt bile rise in her throat.

"Y/n, you are so... every inch of you is perfect." Alastor took a deep breath, the way his voice trembled not escaping Y/n's notice, "You have... amazing legs. I know everyone's all obsessed with Angel's but, he has nothing on you walking around on those sticks. You're... you're all soft curves and lace. If you were made of anything, you would be satin. You are a nymph rising from the lakes, a wild maenad in the woods. Your eyes shine like true stars, not what we have here. Did you know rabbits were always my favorite animal?"

Y/n giggled slightly, her tearstained cheeks flushed pink.

"Well they were. They still are. Your ears are just to die for, dearest."

He felt her ears twitch slightly against his back at the comment and Y/n watched through the mirror as his smile softened at it's harsh edges.

"Your grace is what the Greeks wrote about. You... Y/n, the first time I set eyes on you, I felt like I was drowning." Alastor looked away, unable to meet her eyes even through the glass, "Like you were a siren and I was nothing more than a hapless sailor at your mercy."

"But you never talk to me."

"You never talk to me!"

Y/n laughed again, smiling a gummy smile.

"I don't have to talk to you to see who you are, Y/n." Alastor continued, his hand that was in her lap turning so his palm rested gently on her thigh, "You light up any room you're in. You are charming and clever and constantly on the look out for places you can instill your special breed of controlled chaos."

Trembling, he shifted his hand in Y/n's so he held hers, raising it to his mouth. The heat of his breath on her skin drove Y/n wild, her breath hitched.

"I am glad you're not Rosie, I don't want Rosie. I don't want anyone else except for you."

Alastor planted a soft kiss on the back of her hand and Y/n's smile only grew, her tears long forgotten now as she watched Alastor's reflection.

"You are perfect. Please, don't change yourself, don't hurt yourself, trying to be something else. I'd miss you."

Slowly, he let their still clasped hands fall into Y/n's lap.

"Do you see now?"

Y/n turned back to the mirror, her head tilted slightly to one side as she hummed in consideration.

"No." she admitted, "But I think I might be able to start."

"One step at a time." Alastor rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand in comforting circles, "I'll be with you the whole way, if you'll have me."

He held his breath, waiting for her reply. Y/n met his eyes through the mirror, her brow furrowed.

"That depends."

"On what?"

"Who is Rosie?"

Alastor could have laughed, he nearly did.

"She is a very old and dear friend. I was going to her for advice, that day."

"You? Needing advice?" Y/n paused before shaking her head, "Nah, I don't see it."

She laughed lightly at her own joke and Alastor smiled softly back at her.

"It was advice about you, actually."

Y/n turned herself in his lap, looking up at him with her legs on either side of his own.

"About me?"

"Y-yes."

He cursed himself internally. Alastor hadn't meant to stutter, she just looked too lovely sitting there and looking up at him with her pretty pink lips slightly parted, her cheeks flushed.

"Well?" she asked expectantly.

"I..." Alastor felt the heat rising in his own cheeks and looked away, "well, I didn't know how to approach you."

"Wait, you were avoiding me this whole time?" Y/n laughed and Alastor nodded, "I thought I was avoiding you!"

"Wait, you were avoiding me?"

His gaze snapped back to hers and she laughed again.

"Yes! I was terrified to speak to you! You're so cool and hot and just... I'm not good at things like this!"

"You think I'm hot?"

"Is that all you got out of what I said?"

"Maybe."

They both laughed this time. Alastor's chest felt lighter than it hand in years.

"So," he began once they had both calmed down, "is that a yes?"

"To what?"

"To letting me... be... with you."

Y/n smiled, reaching a hand up to his cheek.

"That's a 'will you be with me?' I think actually."

----

Tags:

@willowshadenox @i-love-jafar @elfyeet @reader3 @lazygirlfanfic0-0@kahlan170

A/N Y'all, there were one or two times I almost wrote my name while doing this one. I've been writing x reader fics for eight years, this never happens to me anymore. I think I related a little too hard. I am x reader fic writing too close to the sun.

[gay-dorito-dust]

we better get a part 2 for that ford fic YOU KNOW WHICH ONE IM TALKING ABOUT

🙂maybe- okay this is my formal apology to those I’ve hurt with the Ford fic by being a little brutal at the end.

Part 1

*a few hours after the confession*

‘You what?!’ Stan exclaimed as Ford finished telling him about his current situation.

‘Stanley please not so loud, they could hear you-‘

‘You walked away from the person you liked, and not only did you walk away from them but you walked away from them AFTER they confessed to you?! What the fuck Stanford!’ Stan ignored his brother and continued to yell, not understanding how badly Ford has truly fucked his chances with you this badly, god knows if Ford will ever get the chance to make up for this because Stan knows from Mabel that you were heartbroken. ‘What were you thinking?!’ He adds, becoming angry on your behalf since you were too distraught to even feel anything other then anguish.

‘I don’t know! I fucked up I get it!’ Ford replied, equally as frustrated at his actions earlier today, feeling his heart break each time he walked past your room just to hear heartbroken sobs and questions regarding your self worth and it was all because of him. Ford then sits himself down on the edge of his bed and rested his head in his hands, his mind replayed what could’ve been the happiest moment in his life, had he not been stupid enough to get up and walked away from you without explanation.

Stupid Ford, stupid. He thought to himself.

‘I thought this was what you wanted.’ Stan said as he calmed himself down upon seeing how bad his brother was taking this as he sat himself down next to Ford. ‘Isn’t being with them something you’ve always dreamed of happening one day? So why sabotage it for yourself and them?’ Stan then asked as he watched his brother with an observant eye, watching Ford as he caress the lucky stone you gifted him when coming across it while walking through the woods one day.

‘They deserve better than me Stanley.’ Ford said softly as he puts the lucky stone back into his coat pocket where it felt heavier than a small stone should, reflective of his guilt in what he did to you, and your hypothetical life together. He had you saying what he’s always dreamt you’d say, but he didn’t feel as though he was worthy of you and that you needed someone better; so he walked away and out of a beautiful, happy life with you because of his insecurities.

‘They wanted you Stanford, they always wanted you.’ Stanley reassures him with a firm hand on his shoulder. ‘It’s why they confessed to you because they want to be with you no matter what, they mustered up the courage to confess to you despite the fear of rejection, hoping that you wouldn’t be the reason their heart breaks and instead be the reason it laughs and smiles.’ He adds in hopes it encourages Ford to seek you out and makes things right, that and he wants to call you is sibling in law one day, not that he’d ever admit it aloud to anyone.

‘And yet I broke their heart by walking away regardless.’ Ford said defeated as he clenched his firsts. ‘What a fool I’ve been, blinded by insecurity and shame of myself that I didn’t see the hurt I was putting them through in the process.’ Ford then stands up with a look of determination. ‘I must make things right.’

‘Yes!’ Stan exclaimed as he stand up next to Ford, smiling widely as pride flooded his chest. ‘Yes you should! Go get them tiger!’ He cheers as he watched Ford march towards the door before looking back at his brother with a soft smile.

‘Thank you Stanley.’

Stanley smiles back at Ford, winking. ‘All in a days work of being the best twin in existence.’ He said jokingly.

Ford could only chuckle at this as he left his room to venture up the stairs and soon find himself outside your door once more as the nerves came back to him tenfold, but Ford knew that he needed to do this, that he needed to make things right with you once and for all. He takes a deep breath as his heart hammers in his chest as he knocks on your door and awaited.

You opened the door, looking worse for wear with dead eyes that were red from all the tears you’ve shed, wearing a fleece hoodie that Ford remembered brought you comfort from a long day at work, and just looking like you just needed a hug. ‘What do you want Ford.’ You said with no affection in your voice but more so annoyance and hurt.

‘I’ve…’ Ford found himself unable to speak again, he couldn’t convey his feelings into words at all and everything was screaming at him to leave you alone once again, to leave before he brook your heart even further but Ford wanted to be by your side to help heal your heart instead. ‘I’ve come to make things right my dear.’ He finally said and god did it feel good to finally say what his heart wanted to say at long last.

‘How?’ You questioned shortly, wanting nothing more than to shut the door in his face to make him feel how you felt, but your heart still beats for him whether you like it or not, even if he were to crush it in his hands you’d still love him regardless and that was the undeniable, undisputed truth.

‘By hoping that you’d let me help heal your heart and your trust in me again.’ Ford began, ‘I was a fool to leave you after you bore your heart to me my dear and I greatly apologise for that, in truth I like you too but to an extent that it goes beyond words to describe it accurately enough.’ Ford then reached into his pocket and pulled out the lucky stone you gave him and presented it to you.

Your eyes widened, you didn’t think he’d keep such a silly thing but knowing he did only made your heart crave him more. ‘Ford…’

‘Until I have earned your trust and heart back, I shall return the gift you have given me in hopes that one day I shall be lucky enough to be given it again.’ Ford continues with a somber smile but when you started chuckling, Ford couldn’t help but be a little confused. ‘You silly, silly man.’ You said as you gently pushed his outstretched hand back towards himself, ‘the stone is yours to keep, not give back and while yeah I’m hurt by what you did but I know deep down I could never hate nor distrust you ever. I like you too much to suddenly hate you.’ You admitted and Ford quickly pocket the stone before pulling you into his arms, holding you as tight as he could while burying his face into your neck.

‘Thank you my love, thank you so much for entrusting me with your heart.’ Ford said, voice slightly muffed but you were happy to be in his arms and found yourself smiling widely as tears of happiness streak down your face.

‘I’ll always entrust you with my heart, why do you think I gave you the lucky stone to begin with?’ You asked and suddenly everything same sense to Ford as he pulls away from you to lean forwards and kiss you on the lips softly, awkwardly but endearingly as you hummed in content, happy to have your happy ending become reality.

[captain-mj]

God I need a fic where Simon makes one of those offhand trauma comments before Johnny and gaz got used to them and they are just horrified

I was hoping I would get this ask! Obvious CW for talks of trauma, Ghost is nonchalant but others are horrified

Ghost sat down at one of the tables next to Soap and Gaz. He wasn't interested in eating at the moment, but if he sat in his room for another minute, he was pretty sure the walls would start talking to him. So he was in here instead.

Soap and Gaz waved at him and continued to talk. They usually did this and Ghost could just jump in whenever he felt like it. So far, he didn't find himself in a talkative mood so he just listened.

The current topic was their plans for the upcoming weekend. It wasn't technically a weekend, just three days they all had off due to two missions being scheduled a little further apart than expected. They planned to go down to the tracks for some reason to watch dogs race. Neither gambled to Ghost's knowledge and just watching them race seemed a little boring for such a convenient weekend time, but if that's what they wanted to do he supposed.

"You wanna join us Lt?" Soap smiled. "Maybe you can put some money down?"

"Last time someone around me gambled, I was gangraped. No thanks." Ghost flicked his eyes elsewhere to scan the room. He heard the clattering of silverware and turned towards them again. "Yes?"

Gaz looked... angry? "Lieutenant. It's really not right to joke about rape like that. Rape jokes are for victims and-"

"Who said I was joking?" Ghost stared at him. "And I believe if victims can joke about it, that means I'm allowed to."

Soap covered his mouth. "Oh, Simon I'm so sorry that's so terrible. I'm happy you were able to talk to us about it but..." He kept talking but Ghost just tuned him out.

"Ugh." Ghost eventually broke his silence to interrupt Soap and then leave. "Don't be such babies about it."

Gaz and Soap looked at each other and then tried to follow behind Ghost.

"Hold up. You can't just joke about that and then leave!"

"Just did. It wasn't hard."

Gaz quickly tapped Ghost's arm. "Sorry for assuming you were being insensitive."

Ghost shrugged, not really caring. "I'm a big guy. At least you guys believe me. Most people don't."

He wasn't sure what he said wrong but that seemed to make them more upset. “I thought you guys would appreciate that? Jesus.”

Soap looked so upset on Ghost’s behalf. “But that’s awful! You deserve support!”

Ghost stared at him, thinking about how he sometimes had panic attacks and could barely handle women touching him anymore. He had dealt with people hugging him, touching his back, trying so hard bring him back from that dark place. “Nah. Im good. Get fucked.”

[bri-cheeses]

Our Little Secret - Part 2

| Rosekiller microfic | Word count: 787 | Part one is here |

-

“Can’t you just tell me plainly like any other normal person?”

Evan ignored that.

“Ravenclaw party. Fourth year.”

“What?” Barty asked, shocked back into bewilderment once more.

“That’s when I figured out I liked guys.”

Barty’s response was a beat late. “Uh… okay?”

“Do you want to know how?” Evan pressed. He took a step forward. He wasn’t sure whether he was gratified or angry that Barty took a step back.

“Yeah, sure,” Barty huffed. “Whatever gets you to finally spit it out.”

Evan closed his eyes. Barty’s barbed words were almost enough to stop him from saying it, but he had already made up his mind. And he doubted that their relationship could really be salvaged now that they had both managed to mess it up so terribly, so really, there was nothing holding him back anymore.

He opened his eyes slowly, calling to mind dim lights, bad music, and too many teenagers in one space. He took a deep breath.

“You were dancing with this girl,” he began slowly. “I don’t even know who it was, because I didn’t spare her a second glance. Not when you were there next to her, dancing and smiling like you were having the time of your life. And then you looked back over to me and somehow you smiled even wider, then gave me this stupid little wink and in that moment all I could think was how much I wanted to kiss you.”

Barty’s breath hitched. Evan ignored it.

“Olivia Gleaves, fourth year again. The first ever girlfriend you had, who I hated so fiercely that Cas had to corner me and tell me to knock it off, that you were my best friend, yes, but that didn’t mean I could feel entitled to being your number one person all the time. And so I shut up and stopped glaring and I was a good little “best friend” until you two broke up three weeks later.”

“Barret Fay, fifth year. The first guy you ever kissed. Coincidentally, I broke my hand that night, and a dent found its way into the wall. Lucky for me, I suppose, that we had a big Transfiguration paper due the next day and I could easily write it off as frustration with schoolwork.

“December 16th, fifth year. We got caught under the mistletoe, and instead of laughing it off and kissing me on the cheek like you had with every single one of our friends, you refused to even touch me and spent the dinner afterwards eating in complete silence, and I made sure to never walk through doorways with you again during the holiday season.

“Cooper Covenhelm, sixth year. The first actual boyfriend you ever had, and the first guy to threaten me to stay out of the way and to not talk to you unless I absolutely had to. So I took the back burner for the next two months and let Regulus fill in as your best friend, then tried not to let anything slip when you finally cornered me and asked why I had been avoiding you. I don’t remember what I said, but you broke up with Cooper a week later and I felt so relieved I could hardly breathe.

“There are a bunch of other things I could talk about. The runs I started going on just to get a break from you and clear my head. All the people who threw themselves at me but I rejected because I was too hung up on someone else. The way Regulus figured it out at the end of last year and actually looked sad on my behalf, because, I’m assuming, he knew how impossible it was, too. The fact that I lied about what I smelled in Amortentia, the way literally everyone else in our friend group has figured it out, that time that you accidentally stole one of my shirts and I didn’t say anything because I liked how you looked in it… the way you kissed me last night, then told me just now that it was a mistake and I should keep quiet about it.”

“So you’ll excuse me if I’m a little angry right now. But I’m sure that you’re right. It was a mistake, and I’ll keep quiet about it because that’s what I’m best at, isn’t it?”

Evan waited a beat for Barty to say something, then shook his head when nothing came. He should’ve known better than to expect anything, honestly.

“I’m going to breakfast,” was all Evan said. And he turned around and walked away, cursing Barty for never being able to see him as anything more than a friend, and hating himself for hoping that he ever would.

-

(Part three)

[opiopal]

I like to imagine that everyone gets so into beels gridball games, mainly because its beel and they love and support him(this is a large amount of fluff)

first things first, Mc and Belphie make big signs to support beel, though neither of them know anything at all amount the game, since Mc is human and Belphie probably cant stay awake for any form of explanation of the game, but they still want to support beel!!

amso probably does his makeup supper dramatically and gets the cutest merch he can to take selfies in(with beel in the bg ofc), and I can imagine asmo helped to paint beels number on everyones faces.

satan probably researched like crazy and know all the rules, he's not as loud as everyone else when it comes to cheering but gets very angry on beels behalf whenever the ref doesnt do their job properly. get this boy a striped shirt cause he'd be a top tier ref.(only cause he knows the rules, pray if a player gets into an argument with him.)

if levi decides to be brave and actually show up instead of watching a stream of the game, he has to hype himself up to cheer for beel without getting embarrassed. he has fans with beels number on them that he waves around, he gets comfortable soon enough to get hyped about the game like how everyone else is, but he basically has to pretend he's at a consort.

mammon also gets super hyped and is probably the loudest out of everyone, he probably is hardly paying attention though and is just trying to support his little brother the best he can, (he probably makes a few bets with other demons, which for once he wins a ton cause he bets on beel, he uses his winnings to buy beel dinner after the game)((also to keep lucifer from being to mad at him for making bets on beel))

Lucifer, like satan, knows a lot about the game just because beel plays, but he totally goes a little soccer mom while watching, shouting and yelling, and he probably gets into an argument with a ref for flagging beel for something and then lists the exact rule and date it was written to prove that what beel did was infact not a foul.

[skiller0dani]

Touch | Kaz Brekker

M A S T E R L I S T Other Masterlist Shadow and Bone Masterlist

smut | mutual masturbation requests info w.c | 4.4k summary | Kaz is convinced you're angry with him, angry enough to leave him. Despite Jesper's reassurance, Kaz is utterly convinced you're about to leave him. He sends Inej to spy on you, he needs to understand what he did wrong...so he can win you back.

I've only read half of Six of Crows and have seen Season 1 of the show (rewatching it before I watch Season 2). So I apologize if I get things wrong Lore-wise. If I do get something wrong, please feel free to help correct me so I don't get it wrong again. I don't know much about Ketterdam or about the correct terminology about how to describe Ketterdam, please be patient and bear with me while I'm learning.

Possible part 2? ;)

Song

You were angry with him, Kaz was sure of it.

He didn't know what he said or what he did, but he knew he did something. You had been avoiding him, tucking yourself away in the back corners of the Crow Club, or running off with Jesper. You usually spent most of the day wherever Kaz was, in his office, or lounging in your shared bedroom until Kaz needed you. The two of you had been together for about a year now, and he knew you better than you knew yourself. That's how he knew you were angry with him, and by the lack of attention you were giving him you must be really angry with him. It made his stomach churn uncomfortably.

Jesper, who happened to be your closest friend, tried to reassure Kaz that you weren't upset with him but Kaz didn't believe him. Surely if you weren't angry, you'd tell him that yourself. Yet you sent Jesper to talk to Kaz on your behalf, had he really screwed up to the point of receiving the silent treatment? What on Earth had he done? Was he spending too much time away from you? There was a rather complex job he had been swept up in recently, along with someone with sticky fingers skimming from the pot. Or worse, were you finally becoming impatient with his touch aversion? Despite being together for as long as you two have been, he has yet to touch you at all. Not even a light kiss, nothing.

Kaz has briefly opened up to you about Jordie, about the firepox, and of course about Pekka Rollins. You knew why Kaz couldn't bear the feel of skin, but maybe you finally had enough. He knew you had sexual needs not being met, knew you were quite promiscuous before you had begun dating him. He felt insecure about that sometimes, about how it felt like you were sacrificing something to be with him. What if the sacrifice wasn't worth it anymore? Were you cheating on him? No, you wouldn't do that. You were many things but cruel wasn't one of them, Kaz has never known you to do a single cruel thing to anybody.

Still the fear kept clawing at the inside of his head, is that why you were spending so much time away from him? Why you kept sneaking off with Jesper? Did Jesper know about this? Was he covering for you? Kaz knows that Jesper is quite promiscuous himself, in fact that's how you met Jesper. A exciting night on the town before you had joined the Crows, which led you to Jesper's bed. Of course, the two of you realized you had no romantic or sexual chemistry and opted instead to see what trouble you could get up to in Ketterdam. That's how you ended up meeting Kaz, Jesper had brought you to him when you were in need of work. You joined the Crows, and the rest is history.

Despite how hard he tried not to, Kaz fell in love with you. He didn't show it, or say it really other than the one time he did say it. But he thought you knew, that's how you two worked. Neither of you required words or actions to know how you felt, but maybe Kaz had been wrong. Was he neglecting your needs? Did you feel satisfied and loved by Kaz? Were you seeking companionship and affection elsewhere? He couldn't stop his mind from spiraling, it was beginning to impact his ability to run the Crow Club. He often found himself distracted when his eyes landed on the empty spot you usually occupied next to him. It's what led him to seek out Inej, and ask her to do something he wasn't particularly proud of.

"You want me to what?" Her voice was incredulous, you were also a close friend of Inej's. She didn't feel right spying on you, and the seriousness in Kaz's gaze unnerved her.

"I need to know if...if she's seeing somebody else." Kaz explained, his head hung low and his gloved palms pressed flat against his desk.

"She isn't." Inej states firmly, she knows you're head over heels for Kaz. You've been utterly enamored by Kaz since you first laid eyes on him.

"She's been distant. Is asleep before I come to bed and is gone before I wake up. Spends more time with Jesper than she used to, hardly looks me in the eye. Something is wrong. I've done something. I've driven her away somehow, I need you to tell me who she's been seeing." Kaz says, his teeth gritting at the thought of someone else touching you, seeing your bare skin. Kaz needs to know who he is... so they can talk. Inej can't help but admit that your behavior has been odd lately, though she still doesn't think you're cheating on Kaz.

"Kaz-"

"She's going to leave me. It's a matter of time. Can I count on you to do this for me?" Kaz interrupts, this isn't a discussion. It's not something he's keen on discussing in depth either. He just needs to know. Kaz knows he's being unfair, he can see the way Inej has always looked at him. He feels guilty for taking advantage of her affections for him to ensure she spies on you, but he can't last another second without knowing.

"Yes, of course. I'll report back to you once I've learned who he is." She's out the window before Kaz even hears her move. He sucks in a shaky breath, he loves you. More than he's comfortable with if he's being honest, and the thought of you leaving him for someone who's comfortable touching you makes him angry enough to kill whomever the man is on sight. Angry enough to beat him until he's bloody and damn near unrecognizable. Kaz is a bastard of the barrel after all, they don't call him Dirtyhands for no reason.

Inej has been shadowing you for most of the day. You spent most of the day with Jesper, gambling, having drinks, searching for trouble. You had spent a bit of time quietly talking with Jesper, but the two of you know better than to talk loudly. You know spies like Inej exist, Kaz made sure to teach you how to keep your voice hushed. There was a pained look on your face as you sat with Jesper outside a pub. He had one of his classic warm expressions on his face, the one he uses to coax the truth out of you. He'd been victim to Kaz's anxious pestering and had decided to confront you about it. Inej hugged one of the nearby roofs, and tried to get close enough to listen.

"You can't tell anybody this Jes, I'm not joking." You say seriously and he nods instantly, scooting closer to you as your voice drops. You'd been having a problem lately, one you desperately wanted Kaz to fix but knew he couldn't.

"C'mon you know I wouldn't blab your secrets." He says with a playful smile, doing his best to ease your nerves. Jesper has also noticed you were spending more time with him than usual, but never questioned it because you were practically his sister. He loved spending time with you, but had begun to wonder if your relationship with Kaz was struggling. His concerns only heightened once he noticed how wound up Kaz seems to be about it.

"Is...everything okay with Kaz?" Jesper asks carefully, watching the look of disdain cross onto your face. Inej strains her ears, only catching Kaz's name.

"Yes. No. I don't know. It's all my fault." You push your head into your hands, feeling your entire body flush. The reason you'd been spending so much time with Jesper wasn't because you're angry with Kaz, it's because you feel no sexual attraction to Jesper. You could finally relax around him, being with Kaz all day has slowly gotten more and more difficult. You find yourself following the lines of his body with your eyes, the space between your legs dampening when you see Kaz's jaw tense or his fingers curl around his cane. He was driving you mad, you needed him so badly it was hard to think about anything else. You craved Kaz but you know you can't ask him to help with this particular problem...he isn't ready yet. That's fine, you'll wait forever if that's what it takes, but you don't want him to feel like he's neglecting you. Which is why you'd been avoiding him.

"Talk. What's bugging you? You're really starting to freak Kaz out." Jesper says softly, tilting his bottle back to swallow the alcohol inside it. Your heart sinks.

"I am? Shit." You didn't think he noticed with how busy he's been lately. Clearly he paid more attention to you than you originally thought. "Nothing is wrong, really. I'm just...frustrated."

"Why? What has he done?"

"No Jes, I'm frusrtated." You say, cheeks heating once the look of realization crosses onto his face. He chuckles.

"Oh. A year of unexpected celibacy hasn't done you any good has it?" Jesper teases, and you reach over to shove him. Inej is only catching pieces of the conversation, but the word 'celibacy' stands out like it's been outlined in neon lights. Okay, so if Jesper is teasing you about being celibate, you're clearly not cheating on Kaz.

"The first thing you need to do is be honest with Kaz. He's starting to spiral, I think." Jesper says and you feel guilt surge through you like you'd been dumped in cold water. You didn't want to worry Kaz, you just didn't want him to feel guilty for something that isn't his fault.

"Second thing you need to do is figure out a way Kaz can help you get off without having to touch you." Jesper says, as if that's the easiest thing in the world. Your cheeks color red, and you take the bottle out of Jesper's hand to take a drink. Inej definitely heard that, the more drunk you two get the less careful you are. She slinks back over the roof, knowing that she no longer needs to follow you.

"How on Earth can Kaz make me cum without touching me?" You know you should probably feel more bashful talking to Jesper about this than you do, but the first time you met him you nearly had sex with him. He's seen your entire body bare and it was halfway through the evening that the two of you came to the conclusion that it just wasn't working for either of you. Thus is the reason why you're probably more comfortable with Jesper than you should be.

"Two words my naïve friend, mutual masturbation. That way both of you can get your rocks on without having to touch each other." Jesper says, sly smile making its way onto his face once he sees the gears turning in your head.

"I am not naïve." You complain, drawing a laugh from Jesper.

"You know if Kaz ever finds out we spoke about this, he'll kill you." You mention and Jesper rolls his eyes.

"I'd like to see him try, gonna go talk to him now?" Jesper asks and you stand with a sigh.

"Yeah, I can't make him worry any longer."

Kaz was pacing back and forth in his office the entire time Inej was gone. He barely heard her re-enter through the open window, and when he laid eyes on her the first thing he noticed was her flushed complexion.

"Well? Who is he?" He asked expectantly, his heart already sinking in his stomach. She caught you sleeping with another man, that's why she looks so bashful. Why she has a hard time meeting his eye. She caught you cheating on him.

"Kaz...she isn't cheating on you." Inej says finally, and Kaz feels his eyebrows pull together.

"No, that's the only logical explanation. She has to be. What did she do today?" He demands, not at all believing Inej.

"Went drinking with Jesper, and I overheard their conversation." She begins, and Kaz stays silent, urging her to continue. There's tension in his shoulders and on his face, though Inej doesn't really know how to explain what she heard.

"I think it would be better to let Y/N explain. Trust me when I say she isn't cheating, and she should be on her way here now." Inej says and as if on cue there's a knock on his office door. He turns to face Inej again, but she's already gone. Kaz turns to open the door, and is unsurprised when he sees you standing in the hallway with a guilty look on your face. He opens the door wider to let you in, and you enter his office quickly pacing in front of his desk. Kaz closes the door behind you, watching you with nervous eyes.

"My love, please talk to me." He hates pleading, hates how weak he sounds but he can't help it. He can see the distress on your face, can see the tension being held in your body. He wants to fix it, and for a second he goes to pull you against his chest. He wants to hold you, but he feels panic crawling up his neck at the thought of touching you. Curse Pekka Rollins for damaging him the way he has, for causing this rift in his relationship.

"Kaz I promise I didn't mean to make you worry. I still love you." You rush out, needing him to know that first. Some of the worry eases then, but the concern is still there.

"I love you too darling, what's wrong? Talk to me." Kaz pushes again, taking a step closer to you. His eyes study your face, your cheeks are flushed, bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you nibble anxiously.

"I'm well...I just feel uh frustrated." You say, putting it the same way you described it to Jesper hoping that Kaz catches on as Jesper did.

"Are you angry with me, love?" Kaz asks and you want to kiss him all over his face when you notice the adorably confused look on his face.

"No, not that kind of frustrated." You try again, and Kaz's eyebrows pinch together. Finally you see a look of understanding dawn his features and your cheeks turn even darker. So he was partially right, your sexual needs are not being met and you've finally begun to feel wound up. Kaz knew this would happen eventually, he's been hoping you don't leave him because of it.

"B-But I have an idea... if you're up for it." You start carefully, and Kaz swallows thickly. He's not sure he's ready to touch you, he wants to, can feel the urge bubbling beneath his skin. But he isn't there yet.

"Sweetheart I'm not sure I can touch you just yet," Kaz begins gently, guilt on his face as his eyes soften.

"You don't have to, just hear me out...please?" You beg, and the needy look in your eyes nearly makes his knees buckle. You feel like you could combust at any moment, the heat coursing through you is suffocating. Kaz has seen you naked by now, but neither of you have ever done anything like this.

"You could make me feel good, b-but I'll be your hands. Your voice alone could make me cum Kaz." You say shyly, watching his eyebrows shoot up at your words.

"You could make yourself feel good too, w-we could do it together." You explain, watching warmth crawl up Kaz's neck. A look you don't recognize crosses onto Kaz's face, it makes your entire body feel boneless at the intensity in his eyes.

"My pretty girl wants me to help her masturbate? Is that it?" His voice is low, a near purr and it sends heat straight between your thighs. Kaz knows you need more from him, and if his voice is how he can help meet your sexual needs then he'll do it. He'll do damn near anything if you ask him to. You nod instantly, already feeling tingles going south.

"Sit on the couch." He says, his voice rough as he pulls his office chair out to sit down in front of his desk. Before he sits, he turns for his office door.

"Undress." His voice is commanding, as is his presence in the room. You feel your heart hammering against your ribcage as your shaky palms shed your clothing layer by layer. Kaz also closes and locks the window before he sits back in his office chair. His eyes drink up every inch of bare skin that is slowly being revealed to him. You sit back against the couch once your undergarments fall to the floor and you're naked before him. You feel nervous, but the heat in his gaze is enough to make arousal pool between your legs.

"Spread your legs for me my love, I want to see you." He says, his voice still holding its commanding tone. It was obvious that despite the fact that he isn't touching you he's still very much in charge here- totally in control of your pleasure. You do as he asks, shyly spreading your legs and revealing your glistening folds to him. Kaz feels his pants tighten at the sight of you, you're practically dripping onto his couch.

"My poor girl, look at you. Must have been in desperate need of release for days. You should have came to me sooner, love." Kaz says softly, his voice making your body heat up. You nod fervently, your skin buzzing and you haven't even begun touching yourself yet. Subconsciously you seem to have submit to him already, accepting that he's the one in control. That you can't do anything without his say so, you should have known that he would be domineering in bed.

"Show me how you touch yourself when I'm not around." Kaz instructs and you send him a bashful look. You've never had such a direct audience to such an intimate moment before, but there's nobody else you could imagine doing this for. You lean back comfortably against the couch, your eyes landing on Kaz and you seriously have to bite your lip to keep from moaning at the sight of him. He's lounging back in his office chair like a King sat upon his throne. His legs are spread, and there's an obvious bulge in his pants. His eyes are dark and lust blown, his gaze glued between your legs.

You snake a palm down your stomach, your fingers lightly teasing your clit causing you to throw your head back.

"Keep your eyes on me." Kaz demands and you can't help but obey. You lift your head to keep your eyes on him as your fingers swirl circles on your clit.

"Tell me what to do Kaz, please." You whine, and the desperation in your voice makes his dick twitch. You see him subtly adjust himself as your fingers continue to play with your clit and run down along your slit. Kaz swallows harshly, his mind feeling unfocused and all he can do is watch the way you play with yourself.

"Push one finger inside yourself love, just one." He says breathlessly, and you obey and push one lithe finger in. You moan softly, pumping your finger but it's not enough. Your hips wriggle against the couch and Kaz can see that you need more.

"Play with your clit darling, and keep pumping that finger." Kaz instructs and the smooth undertone of his voice is making shivers run down your spine. Your other hand rubs harsh circles on your clit, and you feel like the temperature in the room has risen at least 10 degrees.

"You are breathtaking my love, an absolute vision." Kaz praises softly, he can't take his eyes away from your beautiful cunt. Your finger is wet with your slick every time it leaves your heat, and your lips are parted as soft moans escape you. He learned a long time ago that you like to be praised, that you crave those words of affection. He isn't big on being affectionate in public, but he usually compliments you every so often. If only to watch your cheeks darken and the goosebumps raise along your skin. He watches a shiver run down your spine at his words.

"You're doing so good my love, add another finger for me." Kaz says, and you push 2 fingers into your soaked cunt. Kaz palms himself through his pants, he's beginning to strain painfully against his pants.

"Kaz touch yourself, please I want to watch." You beg and Kaz swears in that moment he's died and gone to heaven. How could someone as beautiful and perfect as you be spread out naked on his couch? And yet he's still too afraid to touch you. He swallows thickly as he continues to watch you thrust your fingers into your cunt, and he's scrambling to open his pants enough to pull himself free. As soon as his cock is freed he's releasing a sigh of relief.

"Go faster my love, I want to watch you ruin that tiny little cunt." Kaz nearly pleads and you instantly pick up the pace, slamming your fingers into yourself. You moan again once you feel that coil winding in your stomach and heat sears through your entire body when you watch Kaz wrap a gloved hand around himself. You watch with lidded eyes as he begins to pump his shaft slowly, a soft groan escaping his lips. This is by far the most erotic thing you've ever done, and you've had your fair share of lovers before you begun dating Kaz.

"I'm- I'm gonna cum Kaz, can I? Please?" You ask, needing his permission before you let yourself release. Kaz growls softly, his own hand speeding up and jerking himself faster. He can see how fucked out you looked, he could hardly fathom how you'd look once he actually works up the courage to touch you.

"Yes sweetheart, cum for me. Look me in the eyes darling." Kaz says, and your eyes lock onto his as you feel your orgasm wash over you. You cry out softly, your body convulsing as you gush all over your fingers. Kaz feels his own orgasm creeping up on him as he watches you cum, you've never looked more beautiful. You suddenly get an idea and pull yourself onto your knees before him, making sure to keep your hands to yourself. You sit between his spread legs and look up into his eyes, blinking your doe eyes up at him makes him groan softly.

"Cum on my face." You say it so casually Kaz almost doesn't hear you. He feels heat sear through him once he registers what you've said, and he keeps quickly pumping himself. His head tosses back as the pleasure builds, but he can't help but pull his gaze back to you. You're waiting with your mouth open, eyes fixed on his.

"Fuck, you look so beautiful on your knees before me. Don't move my love, let me cum on your face." Kaz gasps, feeling his orgasm hit him suddenly. His chest heaves as white ropes of cum land on your face, mostly in your mouth. You hum happily as you swallow it down, wiping it off your cheeks and licking it off your fingers. Kaz watches with hooded eyes as you smile up at him, and then he does something you don't expect.

He leans forward and briefly presses his lips against yours to give you a quick kiss. It's quick, but its the first skin to skin contact with Kaz you've ever had. You beam up at him, and he's never seen you look happier than you did in that moment. He feels guilt seeping into his mind, has he really deprived you so much that a simple kiss brings you so much joy? Do you feel satisfied with him or is he damning you to a lifetime of longing for more? Kaz feels his skin prickling uncomfortably, but he leans down and presses a more firm kiss to your lips. He wants you to feel fulfilled. His lips move softly against yours until he feels nausea turn in his stomach and he pulls away. His heart is racing and he has to repeat to himself that it's just you, just you sitting naked in his office. He's safe, everything is fine. He has to repeat this to himself to keep the oncoming panic attack away.

All because of a simple kiss.

"Don't push yourself my love." You remind him softly as you lift yourself from the floor. He wants to reach out and take you in his arms, wants to press his face against the soft skin of your tummy. But he can't and he hates himself for it. Hates that you have to baby him and deprive yourself of the intimacy he knows you crave.

"Was this good my love, was it enough?" Kaz asks softly, hating how vulnerable he sounds. You turn, surprise on your face as you look at him.

"It was perfect Kaz, what's wrong?" You ask softly, reaching down to start pulling your clothes on.

"Are you happy with me? Am I fulfilling your needs?" Kaz tucks himself back into his pants and watches as you put your clothes back on. You look like a Goddess as you do.

"Kaz being with you has made me the happiest I've ever been in my life. You always make sure I want for nothing, where is this coming from?" You ask sadly, and your heart is breaking. How could he ever think he isn't enough for you as he is?

"You were sexually frustrated but didn't feel comfortable telling me because...because I can't touch you. Doesn't that bother you?" Kaz asks, hesitantly meeting your eye when you move to stand in front of him.

"Kaz...I just didn't want to make you feel bad. I don't mind that you can't touch me, I love you as you are." You reassure him but he still holds so much tension in his shoulders.

"You say that now. But can you handle not being touched...forever? I don't think you'll feel the same way 10 years from now." Kaz says, already having made his mind up on the matter.

"Kaz-"

"I want to take that step with you Y/N, I will overcome my...aversion...to ensure I meet all of your needs. Especially your sexual needs. Just be patient with me, please." Kaz says softly and you feel your heart swell at his promise. You nod with a soft smile, wishing you could wrap your arms around him and inhale his scent.

"I love you Kaz, always." You promise and you finally see the tension ebbing away from his shoulders.

"I love you darling."

[heavenlyvision]

next time? pairing: Bi-Han x reader wc: 800 warnings: tiniest bit suggestive (only if you squint), idiots, bad flirting, no pronouns or y/n used !! a/n; i wrote this because i was feeling silly and missing him. this is readers poor attempt at flirting with him and Bi-Han's odd and unreadable reactions :3 i just think he's neat !

Craving Bi-han, wanting him close by, wanting to feel his cool flesh pressed close to yours, his breath tickling your ear. It’s all you think about, it’s been haunting you day and night and you don’t know how to deal with it. The powerful need that’s been overwhelming you, it’s infiltrating you in ways that make you look like a complete idiot. Not only is he completely unapproachable but he must think you are some kind of idiot after every interaction you do have with him. It’s becoming too embarrassing, anytime you have to talk with him concerning something, you fumble and mumble and fall all over yourself in general, just from being in front of him.

Every time Liu Kang sends you to talk with Bi-Han on his behalf, you deflate a little, excited to have a reason to speak with him but mostly dreading your awkward and flustered nature. He could kill you on the spot… but he makes you nervous for a whole other reason. It’s getting hard to look him in the eyes when you’ve unfortunately thought about him in much more… compromising positions. Why are you sexualising the Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei?

Bi-Han looks down his nose at you, “Get it together.”

Your eyes grow wide, forgetting you actually have to speak for information to be exchanged, “Sorry! I uhm…. Got distracted.”

He doesn’t answer, unamused by how much of his time you’re wasting, he does raise a single brow at you though, still waiting for you to tell him why you’re standing in front of him.

“Oh! Liu Kang asked me to tell you he needs to meet later than he initially said, he’s gotten busy,” you’re shuffling from foot to foot, uncomfortable in front of him, especially since this news is going to piss him off.

You flinch as he groans and his hands move as he asks, “Why? What’s so important he’s made me come all the way here only to wait?” He’s still angry but he drops his hands again, taking note of the way you flinched.

“He… uhh…” you’re trying to think of something to cover for Liu, in all honesty he didn’t tell you why he only told you to tell Bi-Han that he’d have to wait a bit.

“You have no idea, do you?” You shake your head at him and he rolls his eyes, frustration palpable, “What good are you?”

You frown mostly to yourself, “I’m plenty good, it’s not my fault you’re impatient,” you huff. “You will have to wait, like every other human does at least once in their lives,” your words are direct, he’s upset you. You don’t wait for a response from him, instead turning back in the direction you came and walking away hurriedly.

Bi-Han is left standing, surprised by your outburst, not having expected it from you.

⋆⁺₊❅.

When you run into him again, he’s coming back from talking with Liu Kang, seemingly calmed down. You don’t approach him, you stay sitting where you are, waiting for him to pass you by. Instead, he shocks you by standing in front of you, it seems like, he’s always looking down at you.

“I’m not sorry for earlier,” he grumbles at you.

You are confused, mostly because you don’t really care anymore anyways, “…Okay?”

He stands idly for a few moments before asking, “What are you doing?”

You don’t really know how to answer that, so you awkwardly say, “Sitting.”

“You are bad at conversation,” he considers you for a moment before moving to sit next to you on the stone bench.

You guffaw at him, “Me?”

He only offers a simple, “Yes.”

The two of you sit in complete silence, clearly both of you are bad at conversation. You break it first, with possibly the stupidest question you could ask, stupid for so many reasons, “Do you… come here often?”

He eyes you, contemplating for a moment, before deciding not to answer at all. Apparently not deeming it necessary.

Something is apparently possessing you to have loose lips today because you go on to say, “You look… nice today, uh not that you look bad other days, I mean maybe you do but when…when I see you, you look good…uhm…”

It looks like he smirks for a second before it’s gone, “Are you… flirting with me?”

You cringe involuntarily, “I think I might be trying to, yes?”

“Interesting,” he smiles to himself and then stands, “Until next time,” he addresses you by name as he walks away.

What… what the hell was that interaction? What did he mean? Why is your heart racing so hard at seeing his amused smile. You can’t tell if he liked your flirting or thought it was funny how dumb you are. Oh gods, what will he say next time.

⋆⁺₊❅.

[lukolabrainrot]

For me it seems obvious that if N was to bring anyone who is not obviously work related and especially L, today all everyone would be talking about would be her relationship. SM, gossip mongers and everyone in between, would completely dismiss HER ACHIEVEMENTS and make it about a man. Bridgerton has become a BIG pop culture moment and them getting together would become a huge one as well, especially after leading the most successful season as a romantic couple. If they already were a public couple with craziness of the first days calmed down and a few public appearances, then yes he would be seen as just a supportive partner. For now though it would be nothing but complete shift of attention from her to them, him. So it actually makes sense for her to walk red carpet on her own.

I understand why people are tired of all the teasing most of us are excited on their behalf, but let’s not forget it is not our lives, it is theirs, and they are real people who will move on their own pace, as they should. Where is all that patience we have all been talking about? If only we would stop getting impatient trying to prove some point, pay attention to N/L only, dismissing all the unnecessary noise, and stop getting triggered every time we see them hanging out with people other then each other or not give us the information we want on OUR timeline I think we will get good news much sooner.

They have indeed been playfully teasing us, I think because they are not quite ready to the intensity of attention they will receive when it becomes public knowledge (I mean they went through WT they can imagine what to expect) but they know that there are people who are excited and eager for a possibility of them together, so they give us little clues and hints that that might indeed be happening. I also think they underestimated the insanity of some of this fandom because instead of accepting what we are given and being quietly excited for them, they got angry about their narrative not being proven correct when someone else invaded her privacy to prove theirs’. I fear that might force them into quiet and we will get absolutely nothing from here. If past few months prove anything it’s that if they didn’t wish us to we would know 💩. I mean… where indeed IS L, we have not seen him (except for a blurry reflection and his hands) for months, 🤨 all we have is because they wished us to have it.

I remain hopeful for now that my first theory of those crumbs might be correct, which is that now with all this publicity out of the way for N (hopefully) they will get on set for BRT, and with security of closed set as well as supportive people around them will feel comfortable sharing their news while having an ability to be out of the public eye during the initial, inevitable insanity such news will cause. If I were in their position I would have acted like that, but again it is I, they will do things their way, so we should just sit down and wait patiently. And you know what? After past few days of public whiplash I kind of feel hopeful, good things usually come when you least expect them.

Ps. I am kind of shocked at my positivity, usually I am much more pessimistic.

I love this positivity Anon!!

I think I just had expectations for this trip (and you know what they say about expectations lol).

I think I just needed to touch some grass and remember to be patient and know that I don't actually know these people. When they want us to know, we will...

[coochiequeens]

There's something satisfying about when an abusive man is called out by other men. Or at least one man.

Rest In Infamy, You Haunted Castle

Why I believe the Neil Gaiman accusations

By GRAHAM LINEHAN JUL 19, 2024

I only met Neil Gaiman once, at an upscale dinner party where Derren Brown had been hired to do magic tricks like in the old-timey days. Between astonishments, Gaiman and I withdrew to a quiet corner where I pretended to be pleased that he was giving me a signed copy of ‘Sandman’. One of the unexpected advantages of being cancelled is telling people who took part in my harassment what I really think about their work, but this was a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, so I said the right things and we went back to being bamboozled by Brown’s invisible craft.

To give credit where it’s due, I later read Gaiman’s ‘Coraline’ to my kids which had them simultaneously terrified and hooked, and thanked him for it. Whatever my feelings about his earlier work, he was a real writer, practising his own invisible craft. From the evidence of that book, I thought he was probably a decent person too, an impression that continued until 2022, when we started to get into it over The Issue.

I may have asked why he wasn’t speaking out on behalf of JK Rowling, who was undergoing one of her regular cancellations for refusing to pander to the spoilt brats who loved her books but missed their meaning. A big name like his might have shifted the conversation and given her some much-needed support. He might perhaps have persuaded some of his fans to give the matter another look. This was when I assumed people like him acknowledged biological reality but worried about ‘coming out of the closet’, as it were. It took me years to realise that almost every celebrity mate of mine believed, or was pretending to believe, in the fashionable, American mind-cancer of ’gender’.

But back then, I was still astonished to find that he was a carrier of the virus, the mass delusion that by sheer coincidence, turned up after the arrival of the Internet. Whether it was Bill Bailey or Neil Hannon, Robin Ince or Matt Lucas, Arthur Mathews or Jimmy Mulville, it was always the same story. A sudden cloud of amnesia would form around my celebrity mates, a real peasouper, from which they suddenly could not see why we need female-only spaces, or why unhappy teenage girls will not find a miraculous cure for their woes in a double mastectomy. Far from sharing any of my urgency in the need to stop children from being irreversibly harmed in gender clinics, they instead downplayed, deflected and dismissed. “I never ask you to join in with my animal activism” grumbled Neil Hannon on one of the occasions I begged for his support.

“Couldn’t you pretend women and children are animals?” I thought.

My usual trajectory during these conversations saw me shifting from gobsmacked disbelief to fury and despair. The disloyalty made me angry, but knowing my friends did not care about their own daughters, wives, sisters and mothers was, and continues to be, destabilising in the extreme.

Gaiman went one step further. I can’t find the tweet, so I may be paraphrasing, but he said

"I hope you're kinder if your daughter ever hopes to transition."

I can think of no uglier thing to say to a parent. For girls, ‘transition’ means double mastectomies in their teens, hysterectomies in their mid-twenties, early menopause and a four times greater chance of having a heart attack than males of the same age. To have this decaying goth wish that horror on my daughter was more than I could bear. I wanted to rip his throat out.

Like a pair of grappling cowboys falling off a rooftop, our fight spilled into email. I sent Gaiman this article about the Tavistock. It was clear when he wrote back that he hadn’t absorbed it Like most celebrities in this fight, he appeared to have lost the ability to read.

“As I said before Graham, I hope that you'd be kinder if it was one of your kids who wanted to transition. “

He actually said it again. The piece was right there, detailing exactly what was happening to the children unlucky enough to wander through the Tavistock’s doors, and he chose to repeat that disgusting thing. Why?

That same year, just months before Gaiman was advising me on the value of kindness, a 22-year-old woman (‘Scarlett’ in the podcast) arrived at his Waiheke Island home in New Zealand for a babysitting job. Upon her arrival, she discovered that Gaiman’s wife of the time, Amanda Palmer, had suddenly remembered a sleepover, an appointment the child was apparently eager to attend.

So she and junior drove out of view, leaving the 23 -year-old Scarlett alone with Gaiman for the night. Within a few hours the 61-year-old man, without warning or invitation, appeared fully naked and slipped into the other end of her bath. Scarlett alleges that over the next three weeks, they embarked on a semi-consensual relationship, where Gaiman routinely ignored the boundaries she set. She alleges that he became angry when she would refuse these demands, used a belt to beat her, insisted she call him ‘Master’ and once sexually assaulted her so violently that she lost consciousness.

“… (the sex) was so painful and so violent that I fainted. I passed out, lost consciousness, ringing in the ears, black vision, the pain was celestial, you know, which is a strange word to use, but I couldn't even describe it in language. And when I regained consciousness and I was on the ground, I looked up and he was watching the rehearsals from Scotland of whatever they were filming, I don't fucking know. And he didn't even notice that I was passed out. And you know…there was blood. It was so so, so traumatic, and I asked him to stop. I said it was too much.”

Scarlett is a compelling witness despite, or because of, her contradictions. Certain things paint a picture of consent—she sexted Gaiman, to which he would send careful replies—and she laughs nervously when she talks about the alleged abuse. But when Gaiman’s side of the story is put to her, she turns cold as a knife and shows flashes of fury that she—in her telling—young, inexperienced and dazzled by Palmer and Gaiman’s fame and lifestyle, was used so casually and so brutally.

A few years back, I wrote about becoming a sort of Jessica Fletcher figure on Twitter. ‘Murder, She Wrote” but with paedophiles and predators. “Just as murderers seemed drawn to any location Jessica presented herself, “ I said. “My opining about women's rights and safety on Twitter appeared to attract the kind of men who can't sit still during a spelling bee.”

Among my adversaries was Peter Bright, the Ars Technica writer now doing twelve years for trying to buy two children to abuse. Luckily the children didn’t exist and the parents were actually FBI agents. Our exchange was brief and concerned safeguarding. I’m sure you’re all astonished to discover that he was against it.

Then there was ex-Labour MP Eric Joyce, who argued with me about the safety of mixed-sex loos in schools and was done for possessing the worst kind of child abuse images. More recently, I tangled with ‘Lexi’, who is now serving time for rape.

They all had one thing in common. They couldn’t leave alone those of us who were actively opposing the trans movement's assault on safeguarding, an assault that chimed nicely with their plans for the future. Each was returning to the scene of a crime not yet committed, each picking at a scab on their own character.

In 2018, at the height of #MeToo, Gaiman tweeted “On a day like today it’s worth saying, I believe survivors. Men must not close their eyes and minds to what happens to women in this world. We must fight, alongside them, for them to be believed, at the ballot box, and with art, and by listening, and change this world for the better.”

Well said. I certainly believe the women in ‘Master’. During my Jessica Fletcher period (a period which continues) no-one except Gaiman ever mentioned my kids. I think he knew it would cause me distress, and the second time he said it was just a twisting of the knife. Many of my colleagues in the media joined in with the trashing of my reputation, but Gaiman went that extra mile. I believe this is because he is a sadist. I think he is a man who finds pleasure in the suffering of others, and a man who does not see women and girls as fully human.

This was my final letter to him.

Dear Neil

I notice you’re still pretending you can’t read the Tavistock story. If you ever try and lay that curse on my kids again I will certainly share our exchange. Your privileged beliefs are harming children so to paraphrase Will Smith, keep their names out of your fucking mouth.

Thank you for giving me one last chance to say that JK Rowling will be remembered as a hero and you as a traitor to the kids who loved your books.

Rest in infamy, you haunted castle.

All the best,

Graham.

[bengiyo]

My Love Mix Up TH: The Adaptation Changes to the Class Play

I’m generally in favor of the cross-cultural adaptations of BL. I am on record saying plainly that I think the Thai version of Cherry Magic is the best version of the story we’ve seen brought to screen. However, I do not like what’s happening in My Love Mix Up and I need to talk about it. I’ve been thinking about the class play storyline since last Friday, and it bothers me because they fundamentally changed the messaging and themes around that sequence. 

I want to take the time to compare and contrast both versions of this because after two episodes, the Thai version is basically in the same place as the beginning of episode 3 of the Japanese live action.

Kieta Hatsukoi’s Take

We begin episode 2 with Aoki sorting the love triangle he’s suddenly found himself in, before committing to helping Hashimoto connect with Ida even if he confused Ida by claiming the eraser was his.

Seeing an opportunity, Aoki accidentally signs himself up alongside Ida to help on stage setup.

Before our complications ensue, there’s only 1 day left before they put on the show.

I’ll skip over the portion where they’re working on the stage stuff for brevity.

The next day, the leads reveal that they can’t perform because they got sick, and so the class has to scramble, and pragmatically decide that the stage design team doesn’t have any other responsibilities during the play and have the time to fill in the role. The class suggests Hashimoto but she’s clearly nervous.

Aoki, wanting to help her, volunteers to play Cinderella.

The class decides to let him play and agrees as a group.

Aida suggests Ida play the prince.

The class rallies to prep cue cards quickly so they can still do the play.

Aoki is not a great actor, but he commits to the bit and is willing to wear the drag required for the role.

Ida is also not that great of an actor, but he looks good!

After the play, Aoki has changed back into his uniform during the class party, but Ida is still taking pictures with people at the class’s request.

The class president starts a celebration of Aoki and Ida, but then the jokes take a turn and make Aoki uncomfortable.

The teacher, Aida, and Ida are uncomfortable about this.

Ida chides the class for teasing Aoki, reminds them that he did it for their sake, and leaves an uncomfortable silence. Aoki breaks the tension with a joke about himself, and the teacher shuffles the class out.

Finally, Ida checks on Aoki.

The My Love Mix Up TH Take

The Thai version opens directly with the class play organization before doing a simplified voiceover to check in with Atom, who says he wants to help them.

I’ll skip over the same stage prep stuff, and the leads calling in. The class suggests Mudmee play the role, but she is nervous about being on stage.

Atom tries to volunteer instead, and is immediately shot down for gendered reasons by the female director and then the rest of the class.

Half encourages them to select Kongthap as the Prince because he says Atom gets tongue-tied when he’s nervous.

We aren’t given a sense of the timeline, but it feels like they have a few days to work on this since Mudmee leaves rehearsal. 

Atom then stays behind to help Kongthap on his practice.

The day of the play, Mudmee’s stage fright gets the better of her, and so Atom takes the stage on his own.

The class rolls with it, and then two fill-in actors (one of which wasn’t recommended as an option because he gets too nervous and tongue tied) go on to nail three musical numbers that also include a dance.

Afterwards, Mudmee apologizes, and the female director says it was the class’s fault, so now is the time to celebrate.

Next, three boys begin to tease Atom in a most homophobic way.

Atom is uncomfortable, and Kongthap gets angry on Atom’s behalf. He chides them for teasing Atom who saved the class.

The female director then comes back, tells Kongthap he spoke well, and then kicks out the other three boys and their ‘toxic masculinity.’ 

After an awkward pause, the class is shuffled out for fireworks by another student, and Atom checks on Kongthap.

Why Point Out These Changes?

The reason why I’m so bothered about these changes is that it removes the collective responsibility from the story. 

In the Japanese version, Aoki volunteers and the class agrees to support his choice. It then requires them to work together to scramble and make sure the play is as much of a success as it can be with two unprepared actors in the lead roles. It also means that Aoki and Ida aren’t actually great at either role, but Ida is attractive in his prince outfit, while Aoki is funny in his drag. The play is a success! However, it is also the class that begins to collectively tease Aoki in a somewhat homophobic way. The teacher looks on, uncertain, and it’s Ida who chides the class for giving Aoki a hard time after doing something to help them. 

The fact that the whole class signed on to make Aoki Cinderella, and then teased him for playing an apparent queer role as a class matters! This works as a commentary about how we don’t mind enjoying queerness as entertainment, but then make fun of people for actually doing it. This lands especially hard because Aoki did this for Hashimoto’s sake, and he’s going through his own queer awakening. The role of collective homophobia, and how he is incapable of really hiding anything about himself, is a critical piece of the story to come. 

In the Thai version, the class explicitly rejects Atom and highlights his faults for why he isn’t a good choice. He then goes on to defy them, I guess, to help Mudmee anyway? It ends up not working for me because I don’t see what the point of Atom being secretly good at acting and singing contributes here when the play is just an activity they’re doing for their class. I don’t know what role exceptionalism is meant to play here because he ends up defying the class to help them instead. Moreover, the play has been the most well-funded and stylish part of the show so far, and felt out of place for a small class production.

Perhaps I’m overthinking it. Because these are the leads from My School President, and GMMTV has concerts to put on, they need to amplify these school play scenes to sell tickets later. Is the brand management around Fourth the reason they didn’t have the class sign on because then they would have to put him in drag? Director Au was an AD and performer on Bad Buddy where they decided to do an m/m version of a classic play. Why not do the same here?

I also find it disingenuous that the female director is the first person to shoot down Atom for not being a girl as Cinderella, and then is the one to kick out the three boys for their apparent toxic masculinity. I think by making it Atom’s choice to take the stage, the boys’ choice to troll Atom, and the director’s choice to get rid of them, it reduces the social politics of socialized homophobia down to an individual problem. By removing the collective role of the class in this situation, the show loses the potency of the role we all play in the consumption and production of queer media and the tension between wanting these shows for entertainment while holding homophobic viewpoints. 

I have other issues with this episode as an adaptation, but I wanted to focus on the big writing changes here. It’s frustrating because in a side by side comparison, the Thai show hits many of the same moments as the source material and the Japanese live action, but then it goes on to change and add things that generally confuse the story, and I wonder if that’s what contributed to some of the confusion in scenes I’m seeing from the actors in some of the new content (who I actually think are doing fine to good with the content). I also worry that removing some of the collectivist messaging and the supervisory role of a teacher is going to weaken a key storyline that should be coming in the future. 

[genshin-obsessed]

Hey pocky! Could you do polyamorous hcs with reader, Cyno and Tighnari? I just love those two, and you haven’t wrote poly in a minute, so sorry if this is out of the blue.

(Remember to stay hydrated ✨)

Hiya anon! You’re right, it’s been a while! I hope you like it!

8/1/24: umm idk how long this has just been sitting here completed. Cuz it was down in my drafts.. im really, really sorry anon ;w;

Cyno x Reader x Tighnari

There was definitely a spark between Cyno and Tighnari. They’ve known each other for a while and so they’re a bit closer.

But there was no relationship, as it was just a close friendship. That is, until they met you. You squeezed in perfectly within their dynamic.

As the two of them got closer with you, that’s when they really started to realize they had feelings for you.

It was the little things, you know? For example, Cyno would feel his heart beat faster and faster every time you laughed at one of his jokes. Or he’d have a greater need to keep you safe.

Tighnari started noticing that no matter how many questions you asked about his work, he would never tire answering them. He never felt irritated or annoyed, instead, he was more than happy to help you out.

There weren’t many jealousy issues. Meaning, you were laughing with someone else and they got angry. They did feel a tad left out, but not jealous, per se. Cyno does find himself wanting to make sure your friends all have true intentions.

It took, maybe a year or so, for both of them to come to terms with their feelings for you. Being as close as they were, the two chose to confide in other another. Which created an awkward situation to say the least.

Both were insistent the other take their chance and that you liked them more anyway. Tighnari figured you’d like someone like Cyno, someone who was extremely serious with his work, but could relax with his friends afterward- almost like a new person. While most people didn't enjoy his jokes, you did and Cyno loved to make you laugh.

Conversely, Cyno thought maybe Tighnari was more your type. Intelligent, a good leader, knowledgeable in the forest and his work and you always seemed more comfortable around him. You would often seek out Tighnari if you were bored or just needed a friend to hang out with since Cyno's work took him further away.

Neither came to a meaningful conclusion that day and so they decided to "help" each other out. Unfortunately, this led to both of them distancing themselves from you inadvertently. Cyno wanted you to get with Tighnari and felt the best way was to remove himself. So, he took on more work that took him out into the desert.

Tighnari believed that you should be with Cyno and would often cancel on plans in hopes you’d maybe make some with Cyno instead. He would often ask both you and Cyno to meet him somewhere and just wouldn't show up. While it made his heart hurt for longer than he'd imagine, the idea of you two being happy together brought him some solace.

That went about as swimmingly as you could imagine. Both were unavailable all the time and it just felt so odd. It felt intentional. You gave them the benefit of the doubt in the beginning and just assumed it really was work which was their go-to excuse. Until the day you thought Tighnari was “busy with work” and found him at the bar with Kaveh!

Oh, that was so uncomfortable and he tried to wiggle away a little, admittedly. It didn't wokr and... that’s when Tighnari explained that he wanted to give you a chance with Cyno- and unfortunately, had to confess on Cyno’s behalf which he felt so terrible for. It wasn’t his place to tell you how Cyno felt, but it was why he was avoiding you.

You asked about him- what he felt and he bashfully admitted he, too, felt something for you. He tried to make it seem like it was just a little playground crush, but you could tell it was full blown love. You decided all three of you needed to talk together. You hunted down Cyno and basically demanded he meet with you and Tighnari and he did without hesitation.

You confessed that you had feelings for both of them and didn’t really want to choose. They were both stunned and stumbled on their words, unsure of what to say.

It took a bit of talking but at the end of it, both Cyno and Tighnari were ok with you either picking one of them… or being with both of them. You, of course, went with the latter.

This relationship was mainly with you and not as much Cyno and Tighnari. So, for the most part Cyno and Tighnari were just “sharing” you. A term they’re not the biggest fan of. It took some time before the two realized their feelings for one another.

According to them, they originally felt something but assumed it was just their friendship. Like yanno… they were super closer.

But after being with you though- knowing they were romantically attracted to you- they started realizing their feelings for one another were extremely similar. For example, Cyno wanted to kiss you all the time and he wanted to kiss Tighnari all the time. But he wouldn't kiss Kaveh and that let him know it wasn't just a normal friendship.

So, this led to them talking about trying out a relationship with one another as well. That went extremely well, actually. Though, they still find themselves doting on you the most.

[monstermoviedean]

@angelsdean here: While I do agree with a lot of the bitter deangirl posting abt the Trap I also have always still liked the scene? and offer a slightly less bitter perspective.

I have always viewed the scene less as Dean thinking he NEEDS to apologize but more as Dean understanding Cas feels he needs Dean to forgive him. I read the whole scene (and episode) from the POV of Cas being very rooted in his own insecurities, and thus projecting out a bit and deflecting and being short with Dean. Because purgatory is magnifying Cas's own guilt and well, Cas isn't handling it well. And you Know i am the first to get angry on Dean's behalf and I DO think Cas is being a unfair, but, I think I also need to practice what I preach in the sense that, if it were Dean behaving like this I'd be talking abt his own grief and pain and motivating factors. and i think that applies to cas in this case. he's still in a lot of pain. Cas also bound by his empty deal, possibly purposely keeping Dean at arms length out of fear of triggering the deal if they reconcile too well. We see that "arms length" maneuver at play imo when Dean has more he wants to say and Cas cuts him off. I think, perhaps, part of Cas felt SAFE while they were "divorced" / fighting because at least then he KNEW he'd never be truly happy. Which just breaks my heart for both of them.

Anyways. Dean. We know he's a self aware king. And he's also incredibly emotionally intelligent when it comes to others. Empathy boy, etc. and Cas is his best friend. He knows Cas better than anyone else. And I think he knows Cas is beating himself up. Feeling guilty for everything AND displacing that guilt and anger. Because yea, Dean's been there. And dean's dealt with Sam and John doing similar things too. He understands. And yea it sucks that he's once again putting the feelings of others first, but at the same time, that's his MO. He's the one who cares abt everyone. He's the beating heart of the narrative. And he loves cas. He does. So of course he's going to make sure Cas knows he's forgiven (was always forgiven! implicitly!) and that Cas matters to him. He's his best friend. He never wanted him to leave! (the cut "of course I wanted you to stay" IS canon to me. He said that part quietly, internally, ok).

I view the whole prayer as Dean giving Cas what he needs. Telling Cas what he needs to hear in that moment (and it's not that I think dean doesn't means these things, he does! but I think dean didn't think it needed to be said-- that Dean forgives Cas. that Cas matters to him. but again, Cas is not at his best. In normal circumstances I think Cas wouldn't need to hear it. But just as DEAN is doubting what's real, what matters, I think so is Cas. Yes he told Dean they were what's real, but a lot has happened since then. He let bel's words in hell get to him a bit, for one. He's now feeling out of place in his family, not sure if he ever mattered at all. And so he needs a little reassurance imo. And that's what the prayer scene is to me. It's not about Dean begging to be forgiven. It's dean giving Cas what he needs for Cas to be able to forgive himself.)

As for the stuff abt Dean apologizing for his "anger" -- anger that was justified and part of his grief (he is allowed to be upset that his "son" killed his mom!)-- and "groveling": I don't like it. I don't like that Dean is seemingly positioned as "the bad guy" and the reason for their separation when Cas was the one who CHOSE to leave instead of stay and work things out. And when Cas, in his own pain, stopped giving Dean "the benefit of the doubt."

However. Despite hating it all from a deangirl perspective, I think from DEAN'S own perspective, this IS stuff he believes about himself. Dean has his own fears and insecurities and I think being "angry" and "becoming John" are genuine fears. And I think it's important to remember that what characters say about themselves isn't the Objective Truth. We KNOW Dean is most often "not mad, worried." We KNOW Dean cares so so much and loves so fiercely. We know he's more than his "off" moments. We give him that benefit of the doubt. But Dean? He'll beat himself up for everything. And Cas echos this in the confession when he tells Dean "you see yourself how our enemies see you....You think that hate and anger, that's what drives you. It's not." As much as I think yea Cas should've said all this sooner, I think this part is indeed a response to Dean's prayer. And it's basically Cas saying, "yea all that stuff you said earlier abt always being angry and your anger being the problem, no you're wrong<3 and I do know that you care so so much. About me and jack and sam and the whole world. And everything you do comes from a place of love and good intentions."

Would I have liked to have heard Cas say all this immediately after the prayer and would it have been more effective in relaying the message that Cas doesn't think Dean is ruled by anger or that Dean needs to grovel for his forgiveness over it? yea. yea I think the confession coming 9 episodes later kind of breaks up the flow of this arc. But in this reading, I am willing to give Cas some grace. Right after the prayer they were still under a lot of stress to get back to earth and stop Chuck. Cas is also feeling conflicted abt his deal. Not knowing what he CAN say to Dean. What is even safe to say. And the fact that (imo) a big part of Cas's moment of happiness IS getting to tell Dean how good he is and not Just the declaration of love, just shows that maybe it Wasn't safe for Cas to say all these things to Dean earlier.

Anyways. This has gotten very long but I just wanted to offer a different perspective, that doesn't absolve Cas of his wrong-doings or the part he played in their separation, but is more considerate of Cas's own POV. AND shows Dean being thee heart of the narrative and giving Cas what Cas needs to hear, being emotionally intelligent, but also being just as insecure as anyone else re: his own self-image.

publishing this now because i think you're making a lot of sense and i cannot tell you how much i appreciate your perspective and the time you took to lay it out! i want to respond more thoroughly later but i didn't want to let this languish when it's so dang important and helpful.

[sirianasims]

Chapter 43.8

“Marten! You’re here!”

Marten barely manages to drop his bag on the floor before I wrap him in a tight hug. He surprises me by not only hugging me back with the same enthusiasm, but lifting me and swinging me around.

“Hey Jules! What a lovely welcome, I’m sorry I’m so sweaty.”

“It’s fine, I can’t possibly get any worse than I already am. This heatwave is crazy.”

He laughs and gives me another squeeze as he sets me down, our cheeks briefly sticking together.

“Yeah, it’s bad, the train was like a sauna. I might ask to borrow your shower later if that’s okay, I don’t want to sweat all over your sofa. That would be a very poor way to thank you.”

“Sure, make yourself at home. I found a bunch of blankets and stuff, but we can figure out sleeping arrangements when you get back tonight.”

“You’re still sure you don’t want to come to GeekCon with me, right? I feel a little bad just leaving you here and using your place like a hotel.”

He sends me a crooked smile as we stand in the middle of the living room. It’s odd to be occupying the same physical space after only speaking online for an entire year. I know him so well, but now that he’s here, he somehow feels both strange and familiar at the same time.

“No, it’s fine. I really don’t want to go. We can hang out tonight, play some games, maybe even have brunch tomorrow before you go back?”

“It’s because Paul is going to be there, isn’t it?”

I bite my lip.

“No, not just because of Paul, I didn’t finish my costume either… but I also don’t want to see him, you know? I’m still kind of mad at him.”

“No, I get it, I didn’t go to my last four lectures in Quantum Computing Theory because my ex was in that class too and it ended pretty badly. But if you’re not going, I have a proposal for you. How about I skip GeekCon as well, and we go somewhere together?”

“What? But GeekCon is the whole reason you’re here!”

“I go every year, it’s fine. Come on, Jules, what kind of friend would I be if I just left you here to melt all by yourself? We could go somewhere fun, isn’t there an aquarium over in San Sequoia? We can be there in half an hour. It has to be cooler than here, too.”

An aquarium. Just the word itself feels refreshing, conjuring up images of deep, cool water. It’s been so hot lately that I’ve almost considered jumping into the harbour, but I’ve seen enough drunk guys peeing in it when I walk home at night that I never would.

“That sounds great, actually, but are you sure?”

“Hmm, you’re right, let me really weigh my options here. On one hand, I could go to GeekCon, where I’ve been seven years in a row, to hang out with other sweaty geeks in a giant glass cube while my dear friend that I am callously exploiting for room and board is suffering in the heat all by herself – or I could go to a nice, air-conditioned aquarium and catch up with someone I haven’t seen for a year. It’s a tough decision, I’ll give you that.”

“Fine, you’ve made your point, Marten, let’s just go!” I can’t stop giggling and he carries on.

“No no, let me think just a little bit longer. I could also go and follow Paul around and glare angrily at him on your behalf, I guess that’s a point in GeekCon’s favour.”

The mental image is absurd. Paul knows perfectly well who Marten is, and I realise that I don’t want them to meet again, preferably ever. What if they talked? Would Marten actually confront Paul about hurting me? Or would Paul ask him how I was doing? I’m still angry with Paul for how abruptly he ended things, something about it feels unresolved and will probably never quite make sense to me, but I’m nowhere near as furious with him as Miranda, Samara and Marten seem to be on my behalf. I want to hate him, it would be easier, but I simply can’t.

“Please don’t do that, it would just make it seem like I still care about him. I guess that means I’ll have to graciously allow you to hang out with me instead, then.”

“Thank you, you’re too kind.” Marten rolls his eyes. “Honestly, Jules, I do hope you’ll have slightly higher standards for your next boyfriend. Let’s go before it gets any hotter.”

The sun is still rising in the sky as we emerge from the station, promising that the day will indeed only get hotter. The blue metal siding on the San Sequoia Aquarium glitters deep blue like the heart of a glacier, promising relief.

“How did you even know about this place? I’ve lived in San Myshuno for over a year and I had no idea there was an aquarium this close.”

Marten shrugs.

“I think I heard about it at some point, figured it’d be fun to go if I was ever here for something other than GeekCon. I just never had a reason until now.”

Coming in from the bright sun almost blinds me at first, before my eyes slowly adjust to the dim light. Marten pays for our tickets using cash. I can’t remember the last time I even carried cash, but I know that Marten’s parents keep an eye on his bank account. They seem to believe that going to GeekCon and playing video games is a waste of his time, and he doesn’t want them to ask too many questions. I think they worry too much, Marten is perfectly able to ace all his classes while playing games, he’s legitimately some sort of genius.

The aquarium is even chillier than I hoped for, and now I almost wish I was wearing something with longer sleeves, but the bright colours and beautiful fish soon distract me from the goosebumps on my arms. A lot of kids are running around, their excited voices echoing between the tanks.

I take a few pictures for my socials, I need to get back in the habit if I want to build my following back up, even though I don’t know exactly what direction to go in yet. But some more consistent activity can’t hurt either way.

Marten gently nudges me with an elbow. “Typical influencer behaviour, can’t just look at the fish without documenting everything.”

“Hey nerd brain, it’s technically my job. Shut up and help me instead! And please try to look like you’ve taken a selfie before.”

“I haven’t, actually, I hear cameras steal your soul. Begone, witch!”

I elbow him in the ribs and he obediently positions himself behind me, his hands barely touching my shoulders. I look at the picture I’ve taken.

“Good job on the hover hands, am I still that sweaty? I’ve already hugged you, it’s too late to pretend we’re not both super gross.”

“Hover hands? I’ll give you hover hands!” He tickles me and I squirm, almost dropping the phone. “This is the thanks I get for not manhandling you like some sort of creep? So ungrateful, no more selfies for you, young lady!”

He starts walking away, but I quickly catch up and leap onto his back, taking a few more pictures while he laughs and holds on to my knees so I don’t fall off.

Marten shakes his head, still chuckling, as I awkwardly stuff the large phone into a pocket while hanging on for dear life with the other hand.

“You’re impossible, Jules.”

“I think you mean improbable. I’m clearly possible, I’m literally right behind you.”

“Smartass.”

He carries me all the way along the giant tropical tank, but I jump down when we get to a darker area towards the back. There are two smaller tanks here, one decorated to look like an ancient temple, the other containing a statue of a turtle. The wall is covered with colourful and intricate wood carvings.

I head towards a display that features a stunning necklace carved out of some kind of green stone. “This is beautiful. I love Sulani so much.”

“Have you ever been there?”

“A few times. We used to go on holiday to the Valley every other year, but now I only have my grandparents in Brindleton Bay left, so we either go there or travel to Sulani or Mt. Komorebi. My mom loves snowboarding, but my dad gets super anxious, especially after one of my brothers chipped a tooth. My parents go to Sulani by themselves every year though, it’s like an anniversary thing.”

“What, they just go on vacation without you and your siblings?”

“Yeah, it’s like a romantic retreat. I told you they got divorced once, right? Before I was born? So now they do a lot of things to keep their marriage healthy.”

“I mean, if it works, it works. My parents wouldn’t dream of letting me stay home when they travel. And we always go places they think will be, I don’t know, educational? We’ve been to some really interesting places, like Tomarang and Selvadorada, but we always end up spending most of the time in museums or on guided tours to heritage sites and such. Sometimes it would be nice to just hang out and have fun. Oh, and then we also go to Windenburg to see my mom’s side of the family once or twice a year.”

“One of my sisters lives in Windenburg now. I really want to go visit her when I can afford it.”

“Let me know if you ever go, I’ll teach you a few useful phrases.”

“Admit it, you’re just going to teach me rude stuff.”

“Honestly, yeah, probably. My mother would be so disappointed in me.”

The final part of the aquarium has various insects and butterflies, as well as some frogs and turtles. Marten stops in front of a terrarium and I eye it warily, but I can’t really see any bugs in it, just a few large twigs.

At first I’m not even sure what I’m looking for, but then one of the twigs moves, and I squeal and hide behind Marten. He shakes his head at me.

“Honestly, Jules, can’t take you anywhere. You’re scaring the poor stick insects!”

“Hey, bugs are already not my favourite thing, and this one pulled a jump scare! Why do they have insects here anyway, it’s an aquarium?”

“I guess they’re… branching out? Sorry, that was extremely terrible even for me.”

I shake my head, giggling.

“I hope robotics works out for you, because a comedy career certainly won’t.”

“Oof, she’s harsh but fair. I’m feeling pretty done in here, want to get some lunch before we leave?”

“Let me guess, you’re going to insist on paying for that too?”

“Obviously. You know me so well.”

We get coffee and bagels and sit on the picnic tables outside the small café. Next to us, a couple tries to console their toddler who is seemingly distraught that she can’t take any of the pretty fish home. I feel her pain.

“For the second year in a row, thanks for buying me coffee during GeekCon.”

Marten grins. “I was raised like that. I hope it’s okay? I don’t mean to impose, it’s just that I know you need to be a bit careful with your money while you figure out what to do next.”

“It’s fine, but you have to let me pay next time, or whenever I get things back up and running. Samara suggested just doing some outfits and skin care, but I’m not sure.”

“Would you ever consider going to university? I mean, assuming that finances weren’t a problem? I really think you’d enjoy it there, and it’s not like you have to go all out and get a PhD like me, I don’t even know what a PhD in design looks like. But you’d learn so much.”

“It’s not about the cost,” I reply, shaking my head. “I just don’t feel like the studying type, I think I’d be bored out of my mind. I like the freedom to do my own thing.”

“Of course, freedom is important. But imagine having all the knowledge from a degree too, not to mention the credentials. You could really take your stuff to the next level, and you’d get to know other people in the business, build a network.”

“I guess. But the idea of sitting in a classroom and doing assignments… it just doesn’t excite me.”

“Life can’t be exciting all the time, Jules, sometimes you have to invest in your future.”

I smile weakly. I hate feeling like I’m disappointing him. “I know you’re trying to help, and I appreciate it. I’ll think about it, but no promises, okay?”

“That’s all I’m asking,” he says. “Just think about it.”

beginning / previous / next