#i love messy fics

[axxio-sriracha]

I love writing the most convoluted fics ever, like I think at this point one of my wips is like a love octagon??

So James and Lily are together and she's pregnant, but James is having a secret affair with Regulus

But also Regulus keeps sleeping with Barty, and Evan keeps sleeping with Mary who's definitely in love with Lily... only Barty and Evan love each other they just have an open relationship and like having sex with other people too.

Also Remus and Sirius are together but they go on a break when Remus finds out Sirius is keeping Jegulus' love affair a secret and Regulus and REMUS drunkenly snog while Sirius hooks up with marlene?? Marlene is in love with Dorcas but Dorcas doesn't know she's gay yet??

Also it comes out like halfway through the fic that Regulus and Lily had slept together right before she and James did and now they aren't even sure if the kid is James'??

So James breaks it off with BOTH of them and sleeps with EVAN??

It ends up turning out that it IS james' kid but lily has been having an affair with Mary the whole time??

AND THEN JAMES SLEEPS WITH SIRIUS???

WHO'S REGULUS' BROTHER???

Ooh it gets SO complicated

[sully-s]

Clark: Why do I always miss the gossip missions?

[heartsoremania]

Johnny is a greedy kisser

He’s like an untrained dog, humping your thigh while he slobbers and licks into your mouth. He’s so gross about it too, groaning and grunting into it, pinning you in place with those big paws of his.

He’s grabbing at your waist, fingers digging into your skin until you’re squirming under the pressure of it, that feverish intensity.

And he’ll whine and complain when you try to pull away for air. Like a needy puppy that’s too damn big for his own good.

He’ll let you take one breath, staring at you with those half-lidded eyes, glazed over in delirious voracity, and then he’s back on you. Biting at your bottom lip, cock throbbing when you whimper in protest—he likes when you put up a bit of a fight, likes cradling the back of your skull as if you’re not pushing at his stupidly burly chest and arms.

And he does it while he’s splitting you open on his cock too. He’s breathing into your mouth, drooling all over your lips, and sucking on your tongue as if he’s trying to suffocate you :( he loooooves making a mess of you

[spookievan]

date nights with spence <3

[sceletaflores]

isn't it messed up how i'm just dying to be him?

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: and there it is. there’s that glimmer of attention, that hint of acknowledgement of him. the heavy look of rage taking over your features, the bite in your tone, it’s what art’s wanted for months. your undivided attention.

—or: art tries to get through to you about patrick, it doesn't go how he thought it would.

word count: 6.2k (i'm so sorry lmao pls still read it's good i promise)

warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), switch!art a little bit, creampie, kinda hate sex but not really, more like angry sex, swearing, fighting as foreplay, art is lowkey a little gay for patrick (it's literally canon), tiny bit of manipulative!art, art is just kinda an asshole in disguise honestly, hints of mean!reader cause i live for that shit, tashi and reader are cute besties, art being a bad bro, porn with too much plot, no use of y/n.

authors note: so this is basically a re-worked version of art and tashi’s dining hall scene when he’s trying to convince her that patrick isn’t in love with her. it’s really similar just way more messy and angry and with sex. this is literally just a tiny thought i had that somehow spiraled just a little bit, but i needed some lowkey asshole!art in my life. i had so much fun writing this, like way too much fun lmao. title is a lyric from fall out boy’s "sugar, we're going down swinging" cause that song fucks so hard and it's soooo art coded. okay bye! mwah xoxo

psst! tftw series masterlist!

Art Donaldson is a patient guy. He's nice, understanding, empathetic. It's something he prides himself on, lots of guys on campus are pricks, but not him. He's "the sweet blonde guy that plays tennis, like, really well!" according to most people who've met him.

That being said, he's not blind to the fact that you frustrate him to the point of wanting to shout himself hoarse and rip his hair out.

It's been a while since he and Patrick met you for the first time at the Open, and Art has been through hell and back about a million times over by now.

He still so vividly remembers watching you step onto the court, the almost visceral reaction he had. The crowd was cheering and clapping nearly as loud as they were for Tashi. There were even a few signs made in support of you scattered throughout the stands. Big poster boards plastered with your name and your winning streak and pictures of you playing, tennis balls and rackets drawn from markers decorating them.

It was obvious you were a favorite, and it was more than obvious how much you lived for it.

Smiling and waving to the crowd, fully basking in their respect and adoration. You were nearly glowing, Art couldn't take his eyes off you. He could tell that Patrick was thinking the same thing, if the way his thigh tensed up where it was plastered against Arts was any hint, his breath slightly catching as you started stretching.

"Goddamn..." Patrick had muttered under his breath. Art could distantly see his hand clench on top of his thigh when you bent over to tighten your laces. He always tries to be less shameless than Patrick but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t just as affected by you, fighting the urge to shift in his seat.

After you and Tashi walked up to the net with matching smiles and shook hands for a little longer than usual, it was time to start. Art watched as both of you got in position on the opposite ends of the court. Both of your faces lost the easy-going, excited expressions you’d shared when you first walked out, hardening in concentration as Tashi got ready to serve.

Patrick and Art openly gawking at the two of you would have been embarrassing if it wasn’t so fucking justified.

You and Tashi made magic happen on that court. 

It was powerful hit after powerful hit. Tashi’s backhand was out of this world, your overhand was a monster. Every rally, every volley, every serve was pure perfection. Art had never seen tennis played like that before in his life, he couldn't help but get sucked into your world the longer he watched.

The match was close, completely neck-and-neck throughout each set, neither of you willing to give an inch to the other. Tashi won by a single point, hardly wasting any time before she vaulted over the net to come barreling into your open arms, crashing into you so hard it knocked the two of you to the ground.

You both grasped at each other like lifelines on the hard concrete of the court as the announcer crowned Tashi the 2006 girl’s U.S Open champion.

Art let out a long breath and deflated a little deeper in his seat. His mind racing, he didn’t need to look at Patrick to know he felt the same. They sat in silence like that until the stands were practically empty. 

“What time did you say the party was again?”

Art pointedly ignored Patrick staring at him with a shit-eating grin on his face, stretching his arms out in feigned nonchalance. Patrick just snorted, shaking his head and squeezing Art’s thigh.

That was then, now Art sits across from you in the Stanford dining hall at the same table you two eat lunch at everyday, trying to stay cool as you complain about the latest biology lab you’re doing. 

He’s hardly listening to you, too busy trying his best to not glare too obviously at the hoodie you're wearing. One that he knows for a fact belongs to Patrick. You must have kept it the last time he was in town. The Nike swoosh embroidered to the front almost mocks him. Art puts his water down with a little more force than necessary.

Patrick and you being…whatever the two of you are now was something he tried his best to be okay with in the beginning.

Patrick’s his best guy, Art should have been so stoked that you were into him as much as he was into you when the two of them walked up to congratulate you and Tashi at the Adidas party. Only being able to steal you away from the house after you said your goodbyes to Tashi and her parents, inviting you to join them down at the beach.

It was obvious you were playing into Patrick’s attempts to get in your pants. Not blushing or averting your eyes shyly when he blatantly checked you out, throwing out smart comebacks to his sleazy lines, looking up at him through your lashes and biting your lip.

It would have been soul-crushing if Art wasn’t such a good friend. So, he stifled the rising feelings of jealousy and plastered a smile on his face as he watched Patrick shamelessly flirt with you.

It wasn’t like it was your fault. Art didn’t come on as strong as Patrick, he never did. Plus it wasn’t like he and Patrick had talked about who could try and score with you prior to the party, anything was fair game.

Besides, you were nice enough to Art that night. Chatting about college admissions and smiling at him over your coke bottle. Sure, it stung seeing you laugh at Patrick’s stupid jokes while the two of you smoked off the same cigarette, but there was nothing he could do about it.

You choosing Patrick had nothing to do with him. Everyone always chose Patrick, he was used to it by now.

At least he thought he was, but the longer it was just you and him, the more angry he felt each time Patrick would visit and steal all your attention. It wasn’t just jealousy or frustration anymore; it was a gnawing, consuming rage that twisted his insides every time he saw you light up around Patrick.

Patrick didn't fucking deserve you. You were too good for him. Nothing like all the easy, ditsy girls he fucked his way through at the academy. You were special, unlike any girl Art’s ever met. Patrick would just take you for granted. He'd grow tired of you, completely dismissing you when he got bored enough. Any day now he'd call Art to spill on his latest hookup with some chick he met on tour. 

But Art didn’t want to sit around and wait for that day to come. He couldn’t stand the thought of you being hurt by Patrick’s inevitable indifference. The idea of you, heartbroken and discarded, made his blood boil. You deserve more than that. You deserve someone who sees you for who you truly are, not just a trophy. 

Art knows he could be that person for you if you’d give him a chance, if for once you’d look at him instead of Patrick. He just has to find a way to get you to understand that.

“Pat texted me this morning,” you say from across the table, boredly poking at your pasta. “He’s gonna be here later this week, says he wants to go see 30 Days of Night. You and Tashi should come with us.”

Art hums noncommittally, not looking at you as he takes another bite of his salad. You do this a lot– extend invites to Art and Tashi when you and Patrick go out.

Art knows you think you’re being nice by trying to make them feel included, but getting invited usually means having to watch Patrick touch you and kiss you and walk around with his hand in your back pocket.

Art’s fork stabs into his salad roughly. He takes a slow breath, trying to calm the emotions starting to swirl inside him. “Yeah, sure,” he says eventually, forcing a smile. “Sounds fun.”

He sneaks a look at you from under his lashes. You’re already looking at him, brow raised at his clipped tone. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

Art shakes his head, waving a hand dismissively. “No, no, it’s fine. I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” you say slowly, still watching him with a hint of skepticism. “Are you alright? You’ve been weird all day.”

Art lets out a small laugh, but it sounds more sour than sweet, and finally looks up at you. You look back expectantly, concern lingering in your eyes. “Nothing, it’s just…” he pauses, drumming the fingers of his left hand on the table, “the fact that you two are still going out surprises me. That’s all.”

He regrets it as soon as he says it, words sounding way more patronizing than he wanted. His chest immediately tightens with guilt, but he doesn’t wince or shrink back like he normally would, just keeps his eyes on you.

Your brows furrow, a tiny frown pulling at the corners of your lips. “What?” you ask, fork stilling in your hand. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Art just sighs, putting his fork down and leaning towards you. “I know Patrick better than you do,” he says with a tiny shrug, “he’s always had a hard time with…commitment.” He says slowly, searching for the right word.

You don’t say anything for a couple seconds, eyes scanning over his face slowly like you're examining him. Art forces himself to not start squirming under your intense, studying gaze.

You don’t seem to like what you find, eyes narrowing as you push your tray away from you and lean back in your seat. “Are you seriously shit talking your own best friend right now?”

Art’s brow raises, that wasn’t the reaction he was expecting, at all. His jaw ticks in annoyance, his hand balling into a fist on the tabletop.

“I’m not trying to shit talk him,” he says calmly, voice tinged with frustration. “I’ve just seen how things go with him. I’m looking out for you.”

Your eyes harden, disbelief mingling with irritation. “So, what? You think you know what’s best for me or something? Are you my keeper now?”

That pisses Art off, now you’re just being an asshole. His brows furrow, arms crossing in front of his chest defensively. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” He says, tone harder than before.

You scoff, anger spilling over your face. “Well what the fuck do you mean then, Art? Because you dancing around whatever it is you obviously want to say is really starting to piss me off.”

Irritation flares in Art’s chest, piercing and sudden. He swallows it down, breathing out his nose slowly to try and calm himself. The air between the two of you is tense now.

You’re loud enough that a few people sitting at tables nearby start to quiet down, discreetly trying to listen in.

“Patrick doesn’t love you.” Art says spitefully, his fingers grip the muscle of his arms tighter. It’s childish, but he doesn't care.

Your eyes widen, clearly caught off guard. You recover quickly, letting out a disbelieving laugh as you push away from the table with a harsh scrape of your chair. "Excuse me?" Your voice cuts through the air, sharp and incredulous.  

He stays silent, letting the weight of his words hang heavy in the air. Your eyes narrow, searching his face for any sign of retreat, but Art meets your gaze head-on, jaw set stubbornly.

You stand with your arms crossed over your chest as you stare down at him. “Why are you telling me this? Why do you care if Patrick loves me or not?”

Why do you care? The question makes his heart drop down to his stomach. Dread mixes with the anger in his chest. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go, he doesn’t want to make a scene in the middle of the dining hall. You’re just being so difficult.

You’re jumping to defend Patrick, not even trying to hear him out, just like you always do. Still refusing to give Art the attention he deserves. It’s fucking infuriating.

“I’m just saying,” he says, voice distant and cold, “he hasn’t been in love with you for a while. He’s told me.” 

It’s a lie, he’s hardly spoken to Patrick recently, but he’s in this now. He may as well go for broke, he always plays to win after all. 

Your face contorts grimly, another disbelieving laugh punches it’s way out your chest. You don’t seem to notice the amount of heads turned in your direction, or maybe you just don’t care. “Oh, he’s told you that has he?” you parrot back mockingly, head cocked to the side as you stare daggers at him, “That’s fucking bullshit Art!”

Art clenches his fists, jaw flexing in anger. He’s never seen you this mad before, never expected to be the cause of it. But at the same time he’s fucking angry too. Angry at you. Angry at Patrick. Angry at himself.

His eyes narrow, holding your own heated gaze without backing down because if there's one thing he hates most, it's losing. “You don’t get it do you?” He mutters quietly, shaking his head in dismay. 

Your jaw tightens, eyes blazing as you lean forward, bracing your hands on the table to get up in his face. He can smell the familiar fruity sweetness of your perfume.

“What’s there to get? The only thing I’m getting right now, is a front row seat to you being a vindictive little prick.” You bite out, breath fanning over Art’s face. “Who even said I wanted Patrick to be in love with me? Who said I gave a fuck about any of that?” You question sternly, brows furrowed as you scowl at him.

Art scoffs loudly, his face twisting in disgust as he rolls his eyes. His blood boils at having to sit here while you bitch him out. He wants to strangle you, to take you by your shoulders and shake you so that you’ll listen.

To make you see what he sees. To make you love him. “Please,” he hisses through gritted teeth, shifting so he’s leaning across the table just as you are, his eyes dark. “Everyone wants Patrick to love them. Everyone wants his attention. You want it.”

You just blink at him, taken aback by his outburst. You stare at him, not budging as your eyes scan over his face for a second time. And there it is. There’s that glimmer of attention, that hint of acknowledgement of him.

The heavy look of rage taking over your features, the bite in your tone, it’s what Art’s wanted for months. Your undivided attention.

After a few tense seconds you just laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “You might be the worst fucking friend in the world.” You say simply, like you're reading off this week's forecast.

Maybe he is.

Art can feel the heat rising to his cheeks in anger, in embarrassment, in hatred, in lust. The way you’re looking at him makes something stir deep in his gut. His heartbeat echoes in his ears.

You’re so mad, but in that you’re giving him a hint of your attention, giving him the time of day, and you’re still fucking defending Patrick. Rage seethes in him, hot like fire. Yet even in this moment, you’re the only person that really matters. The intensity of your gaze pulls at something raw inside him.

“He doesn’t deserve you.” His voice is lower, pinched with thinly veiled frustration threatening to boil over.

"And you think you're the expert on what I deserve, Art? Last time I checked, your own love life’s track record isn't exactly stellar."

It’s a low blow, bringing up how Tashi rejected him a while back. He hadn’t told you about that, so Tashi must have. He laughs, but his lips are pulled up in a sneer.

"Don’t start deflecting,” Your name falls from his lips sharply, stabbing through the thick tension in the air. “This isn't about me, it's about you. You're setting yourself up to get hurt, and I'm just trying to warn you–"

"Yeah, well, I didn't ask for your fucking opinion," you snap, "maybe you should focus on your own damn problems.”

Art’s jaw tightens further, his frustration finally getting the best of him. "Fine, do whatever the hell you want. But don't come crying to me when Patrick does what he always does— leaves you for someone new."

You stare at him incredulously, shock and anger warring in your expression. "I can't believe you just said that."

"Yeah, well," Art mutters bitterly, looking away. "Believe whatever you want. Just know that he’s playing with your feelings.”

You huff, throwing your arms out at your sides in frustration. “What fucking feelings Art!” you say loudly, not quite shouting but you’re getting there. “Sure, Patrick and I fuck but that doesn’t mean we’re playing husband and wife with each other!” 

You’re definitely way too loud, voice steadily rising in volume the more you talk. Seemingly not caring about who’s around to hear you yell about fucking Patrick. “In fact,” you continue, shaking an accusatory finger at Art, “you’re the one trying to get in my head and play with my feelings, you fucking hypocrite.”

His mind whites out, filled with blinding jealousy all over again. He wants you so fucking badly, he could be everything you needed. Why can’t you see that? How could you be so blind? How could you not see that Patrick was using you, just like he used everyone else?

Art leans further across the table as you speak, his hands coming up to grip the edges of it tightly. “You’re so fucking naive, you know that?” He snaps in a biting tone. It’s harsher than he’s spoken to you during this whole fight.

Your voice drips with sarcasm as you lean forward, eyes locked on his. "Oh, well forgive me for not seeing the truth according to Saint Art."

“So fucking naive.” He repeats, spitting the words across the table meanly.

“And you’re a fucking pussy.” You bite back, leaning in even closer so Art can see your lips form around the words maliciously. You sway close enough that the tip of your nose bumps against his. His breath catches, going ragged in his throat. You’re so close to him. He can smell you, can practically taste you on his tongue.

He wants to take you in his arms, to hold you and kiss the anger off your face. The only thing keeping him from lunging out is the way you look. Your whole body is rigid with anger, eyes dark and cheeks flushed. You’re so beautiful. He has to remind himself that he’s supposed to be pissed at you and fight the urge to pull you in and really taste you.

But then you're backing away completely, “I won’t waste my time on stupid shit like this,” you mutter, turning to pick your bag up off the floor. “Thanks for lunch, Art.” You say sarcastically, not even looking at him as you turn on your heel and walk towards the dining hall’s exit before he can respond.

Art’s heart lurches forward at your words, not with pain, but with want. He watches you leave, the regret quickly setting in once you’re not here to play into his resentment. It hits him like a cold shiver, he wants to feel good for speaking his mind, for telling you how it is. Maybe on some level he does, but it’s overshadowed by how awful he feels.

Art stares down at his unfinished salad, appetite gone. He sighs loudly, standing up to toss his own tray plus the one you left behind. He tries his best to ignore the stares he can feel following him as he walks out.

ᯤ

Art wallows in misery for the rest of the day, skipping the practice he had planned after lunch. He just locks himself in his dorm, laying on his mattress and staring at the ceiling as he replays the fight in his mind. Replaying every word you said to him, every word he said back to you, every angry look you gave him. 

He thinks about texting you a thousand times. Typing and deleting different messages until he eventually gave up. He knows you’re beyond pissed, that him reaching out will only piss you off more and he wants to try and salvage this before you completely shut him out. The thought of losing you is why he never wanted to bring it up in the first place, regret settles in his gut like a ball of lead.

And yet, there was a small part of him that hoped, despite the shit show in the dining hall, that you’d see the quiet care he showed, the way he was there for you, and choose him for once. But hope was a dangerous thing, and Art wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out.

Hours go by with nothing from you, it’s the longest you’ve gone with talking since the semester started. He forced himself to study for his biology final in a lazy attempt at taking his mind off you. You’d usually be in his dorm room right now, all spread out on his bed like it’s your own as you talk his ear off about something like your asshole psychology professor. 

The longer he sits at his desk the longer the ache in his chest consumes him. Art would do anything to know what you were thinking right now. He’d grovel for your attention, he’d fall to his knees and beg and plead if that’s what it took for you to forgive him. 

He’s getting ready for bed when his Blackberry pings on his night stand, it’s almost embarrassing how fast he rushes over to it. His heart stutters in his chest when he sees it's a text from you. It’s only two words, a simple ‘come over’. 

Art’s never moved faster in his life, rushing out of his room with only his phone, wallet, and keys. 

He makes it to your dorm in record time, nearly sprinting across campus to hurry up and get there before you change your mind. All that needy rushing completely vanishes once he’s actually outside your door. 

Art hesitates, staring at the little door decals taped on with your name written on them in black sharpie. He rests his ear against the door, but he can’t hear anything. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, brows pinched as he wrestles with himself.

“C’mon Donaldson, don’t be such a little bitch.” Patrick’s voice rings out in the back of his mind. He takes a breath and knocks on the door.

Barely a second passes before it’s swinging open and you're there, gripping the front of his shirt and dragging him inside your room. Art's back hits the closing door with a thud, his breath catching in surprise. His hands shoot out to brace on either side of the door, knocking over a racket resting on the wall. Everything he brought with him falling to clatter onto the wood floor loudly.

You look rough, eyes slightly red and puffy like you may have been crying. Your breath comes out in short, quick bursts as you stare up at him. All the anger he swore would come rushing back when he saw you drains out of him in a second.

His face softens, a tiny frown on his lips. "Hey, what’s going on?" he asks, voice a mix of confusion and worry. His hands come up to hover near your hips, hesitating at the last second, not sure if he should touch you.

Without a word, you’re flying forward while yanking him down by his shirt. Closing the distance between the two of you with your lips crashing against Art’s. It’s so sudden, so completely out of left field, that Art stumbles forward a few steps, hands gripping your hips tightly to steady himself.

It’s almost pathetic how easily he kisses back, not even hesitating. Flashes of Patrick’s face go through his mind as he eagerly reciprocates, not stopping him from pulling your hips flush against his. He definitely might be the worst friend in the world, all the loyalty he felt to Patrick tossed out of his mind the second your tongue slides past his lips.

It’s intense, there’s no romance or gentleness about it. Your lips move against his almost violently, all the aggression and anger from earlier still very much there. He’s never kissed a girl like this before, it’s not how he imagined his first kiss with you would go. He’s still getting hard in his sweats anyway.

Your tongue fucks into his mouth roughly, it reminds him of the time he and Patrick kissed when they were still at the academy for “practice”. He moans loudly into your mouth, letting you dominate the kiss and just trying his best to keep up. Your teeth clack against his roughly, biting down on his bottom lip hard enough to have him whining embarrassingly high and needy.  

“It’s over with Patrick,” you breathe hotly, slick lips brushing his with every word. “I want you to fuck me.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Art’s dick feels hard enough to burst out of his sweats by sheer force, but he pauses, pulling away from you with a hesitant look. "I-" he tries, voice cracking slightly. He can feel his cheeks starting to burn as he clears his throat. "I don't think that's a good idea. It's so soon, and I mean you're obviously going through something and I don't want to take advantage of yo-"

An incredulous laugh bursting from your lips effectively cuts Art off, your eyes roll to the ceiling in dry amusement. “God, Art.” you scoff, both hands pushing off his chest to create space between the two of you. He keeps his hands on your hips, the thin material of your bottoms bunching in his grip. “You’re such a fucking little bitch, you can kiss me but you won’t fuck me? What is it? You scared of Patrick or something?”

The taunt hits Art like a slap across the face, he freezes for a second before disbelief gives way to white hot rage. You just stare up at him smugly, lips red and wet. Art bares his teeth, using his strong hold on your hips to force you backwards until your knees hit the edge of your bed.

“You’ve pushed me and pushed me and pushed me,” he spits, glaring down at you as he speaks. “Acting like such a fucking brat. You want me to fuck you?” He pushes you back onto the bed roughly, covering your body with his, letting his weight sink you deeper into the mattress. “Fine, I’ll fuck you.”

Art sits up, ripping his shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere behind his shoulder. Your greedy eyes rake down the toned muscle of his torso, hands coming up to lightly scratch your nails over his abs. His breath hitches, goosebumps breaking out all over his skin. He grabs your wrists, forcing them down and pinning them to the bed. “No touching.” he chastises, leaning down to bite the skin of your neck roughly. Sucking hard enough that he’ll definitely leave a mark. 

His dick twitches against the inside of his sweats at the thought of you walking around campus with his claim staked on you, at the thought of Patrick, if he was still coming down, seeing it and immediately knowing who left it there. He slides his knee between your legs, he can feel the warmth radiating from your pussy, can feel how you’re so wet it’s soaking through your bottoms and onto his thigh. 

You hiss at the sting of his teeth, trying to squeeze your wrists out of his strong grip. Your thighs tighten around his knee, hips bucking up against him. “Are you gonna fuck me anytime soon, Art? Or do I need to find someone else that’s not all talk?”

Art chuckles darkly, nipping at the sensitive skin of your collarbones. “You can bitch and moan all you want, but I haven’t even touched you yet–” he leans forward to whisper directly into your ear, “–And you’re still fucking soaked for me anyway.” He drags his tongue along the shell of your ear in a dirty stripe. 

You let out a keen, pretty and high, grinding your hungry pussy against his knee faster. He lets go of your hands, grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your stomach. Tossing you around like it’s nothing, just manhandling you.

“God,” he groans, big hands coming up to knead the meat of your ass, spreading it lewdly making you moan softly. “You’re so fucking hot.” He whispers, words falling from his lips like he couldn’t hold them in any longer.

Art keeps one hand tight on your hip, the other fumbling with the drawstring of his sweats so he can push them down to finally free his aching dick. Letting it spring out to slap up onto his bare stomach, trailing a thin line of pre-come across his abs. 

You squirm under him, feet kicking out as you struggle in his hold. Your head craning over your shoulder and zeroing in on his dick, hard and red and leaking. “You came over here with no panties on, Donaldson?” you taunt, pushing your ass back onto the sensitive length of his erection. “How slutty–” 

“Shut up,” he snaps harshly, but his dick twitches where it’s dragging over the seam of your ass. He’s leaking like a faucet, leaking like a girl, all over your light green plaid bottoms. It strikes him suddenly, how familiar they look. He stares at the worn down fabric covering your ass, at the way his pre-come stains the material darker, at the way they hang too low on your hips, too big for you. 

“Are these…are these Patrick's,” he asks slowly, voice low as his fingers skim over the soft material. You chuckle wickedly, wiggling your hips back teasingly. 

“Yeah, they are,” you say, sliding your ass back and forth over Art’s dick. “You’re leaking jizz all over your best friend's pants, Art.”

Art groans loudly, chin dropping to his chest as hips jerk against your ass involuntarily. A full body shiver wracks through him like lightning, eyes screwing shut as he tries not to come all over your ass. “Shit–” he bites out sharply, voice rough and scratchy. He can distantly hear you laughing at him through all the white noise buzzing in his ears.

He breathes out through his nose, willing himself to calm down. He needs to be in control for once, needs to teach you a lesson for ignoring him for so long.

Art’s hands come up to the waistband of your– Patrick's– pants, fingers digging underneath the loose material and forcefully yanking it down along with your panties, only pulling them down to your mid-thigh. You yelp in surprise, hands gripping the sheets of your bed tightly. 

“I need to get inside you, right fucking now.” he rumbles thickly, flipping you onto your back again. He needs to see your face when he fucks you for the first time, needs to burn it into his mind forever.

“Fuck yes,” you reply eagerly, arms coming up to circle around his shoulders. “Finally.”

Art doesn't reply, eyes fixed on your bare pussy, so fucking wet and shining underneath the shitty ceiling light of your dorm. His mouth waters, he wants to drop to his stomach and eat you out until you're shaking and squirting all over his face. His dick drools at the thought, but he’ll have to wait. He needs to fuck you.

He takes his dick in his hand, dragging it through the silky skin of your soaked folds. He spreads your wetness around your clit, rubbing the leaking tip over you back and forth teasingly. You whine, thighs starting to shake on either side of him. He drags his dick back down to your clenching hole, lining up and slowly sinking inside the tight, wet heat.

Art doesn’t give you any time to adjust to the thick head of his dick breaching your tight hole, burying himself to the hilt inside of you with a sharp thrust. 

“Fuck!” you cry out, legs coming up to wrap tightly around his hips, digging your heels into his lower back. “Shit, fuck you’re– God, you're so fucking deep.”

“I’m going to use your fucking pussy however I want,” Your name falls from his lips, dirty and blistering. “because it’s the least I deserve for putting up with your bullshit for so fucking long, and you’re going to be good and lay there and take it.” He drives his point home with a mean thrust of his hips.

“Fuck you, Art.” you mutter back, trying to keep up the bratty act even though your voice is going breathless and needy.

Art doesn’t ease into it, pulling back only to start pounding into your pussy ruthlessly. Sharp slaps of his hips stinging your ass each time he drives back in, your eyes roll back in your head, slack lips parted in pleasure as he fucks you. 

Art can’t help but lean down to claim your mouth, kissing you a little too sweetly for the moment. He can’t help it, not when you’re under him making the sweetest noises, letting him fuck your perfect fucking pussy like he owns it. God.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Art growls, breaking the kiss to rest his sweaty forehead against yours. “You’re so fucking, tight. Feels so fucking– shit, so fucking good.” His hips speed up, desperately rutting into you.

“Art,” you whine, nails scratching down his back hard. “I’m so close, fuck I’m so close– keep going, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop–”

He cuts off your rambling with a kiss, groaning at the way his name sounds getting fucked out of your mouth. The loud squelch your pussy makes each time he buries himself back inside has his ears burning, he can feel you soaking the skin of his thighs with every thrust.

“Wanna feel your tight pussy milk me dry,” he grinds out through gritted teeth, picking up his pace. “Fuck, I‘m gonna come, I’m gonna fucking come.” He ruts into you harder, splitting you open with every thrust. The skin of your ass turning red and raw from how hard he’s giving it to you. 

Your hands come up to bury themselves in his hair, tugging sharply to make him look at you. “Inside,” you pant, eyes glazed over and wild, “come inside me Art, please. I’m on the pill you can, you can come inside me.” Your legs tighten their hold on his hips, ankles locking snugly over his lower back so he couldn’t even pull out if he wanted.

“Fuck!” Art shouts your name hoarsely, hips stuttering as he unloads in you. Hot come spraying the walls of your pussy. You let out a broken moan, your whole body shaking as you come with him. Your pussy chokes his dick so tightly, gripping him like a vice, milking him.

Art tilts his head up, catching your lips with his to greedily swallow down all your moans. He keeps going, shallow thrusts of his hips working you through the aftershocks of your orgasm until you’re kicking at his back, whining at him to stop. He collapses on top of you, his sweaty skin sticking to the fabric of your shirt. 

It’s quiet for a while, the two of you silently trying to catch your breath. Your hands come up to his head, sliding into the messy strands of his hair. “It’s pretty late now,” you say slowly, nails scratching against his scalp softly. “You could…you could stay here if you want.”

Art hides the wide grin breaking out on his face in your chest, arms coming up to circle around your waist. “Yeah, that sounds good.” He whispers back, squeezing the soft skin of your hips once.

It’s only later, when you’ve fallen asleep on his chest, that he stares up at the ceiling lost in thought. He’s too worked up to sleep, so fucking thrilled that it worked. His plan actually worked. You’re his now. He looks down at you, glowing softly in the moonlight filtering through your window, deep hickeys scattered across your neck. He drags his fingers along your cheekbone, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

This is what he’s wanted for so long, you.

You asleep in bed with him, you curled up in his arms, you with his come steadily dripping out of your swollen pussy.

Art can hear his Blackberry start buzzing on your nightstand, lighting up with an incoming call. Even from far away he can read the name displayed on the screen. Patrick. He lets it ring.

taglist!

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[ninvic-art]

where my mind goes reading burakhovsky fanfic

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

but i crumble completely when you cry . .

katsuki comforts you

katsuki bakugou hates a lot of things

he hates people who walk slow, he hates people who chew loudly or people who talk loud in places they know damn well they shouldn’t.

he hates when people walk on the back of his shoe and he hates idiots like kaminari who talk during movies.

but most of all, katsuki bakugou hates seeing you cry.

it sparks something in him, something red, hot and so angry when he finds you in your dorm. tears running down your cheeks that show no sign of stopping. he hates it even more when you make eye contact and you curl into yourself even more from where you’re sitting on the floor.

katsuki immediately decides this is the thing he hates the most.

he’s on you in seconds, kneeling in front of you, searching around to get a peek of your face hidden in your knees. he places his hands on top of yours where they’re wrapped around your legs and his chest tightens when you flinch a little.

“ who was it ? who did this to you ?” he can’t recognize his own voice, his words come out so fast he barely registers what he’s saying.

you try to speak but nothing but more broken sobs and shaky breaths come out as you desperately try to catch your breath and katsuki realizes that you talking isn’t a priority right now.

his eyebrows are furrowed and he almost looks angry but he’s so, so worried. if anything, he’s angry at himself for being so helpless, for not being able to help you in a time where you clearly need it.

he grabs your shoulder softly and the weight his chest lightens slightly when you lean a little closer to him, before letting him pull you tightly into his arms

“breathe for me.” he utters softly, voice gruff and gravelly. he never actually talks this softly unless he’s around you, the difference is so stark it surprises him a little bit but he’s got more important things to think about. praise spills from him occasionally, muttering a “you got it. i got you” into your ear before pressing a kiss to your temple.

katsuki’s never really had to comfort anyone, he’s never felt the need to, but you’re not just anyone. your different, you’re his. his love his everything and he’ll be damned if he didn’t try his hardest for you.

you’ve calmed down a little bit, he noticed. you’re breathings calmed down a little and your sobs have been reduced to snivels. the tightness in his lungs is still there, but it’s less now.

“what’s goin’ on with you, hm ?” you’re grip tightens on his arm and you shove your head deeper into his chest. he moves his head away from your shoulder so he can place two small kisses on the top of your head

“talk to me, baby. needa know what’s up with you.” he pleads into the crown of your head. you sigh before speaking up.

“ i don’t know what’s up with me i just- it’s nothing bad i’m—” you’re desperately searching for the right words to use so what you’re about to say makes sense. “i just don’t—feel like myself today. i don’t know why, i just feel really bad today.” you let out a humorless chuckle and your voice dies out when you finish “m’sorry if i worried you” you sniffle.

he shushes you, his grip on you tightens when he hears you whimper “don’t..don’t fuckin’ apologize to me, got no reason to.” he spits. he sounds angry, and he is, why should you ever feel the need to apologize for feeling some type of way around him ?

“s’okay for you to feel that way..i do too, sometimes, you know ?” he knows you do. he knows you do because there are times where he comes to your room in tears, shaking and panicked. completely and utterly lost from the nightmares that had plagued him minutes before but knowing he had to come see you. you were there for him every time, gently soothing him and assuring him that he’d be okay. he owed it to you to do the same for you.

“s’okay to feel like shit sometimes, happens to the best of us.” he whispers “ but you can always come to me when you do, can deal with it together. an’ don’t go thinkin’ yer ‘bothering’ me either.” he says, parroting what you had just told him. “we’re together for a reason, dummy.” he’s soft spoken and his voice is so mellow despite his harsh little nickname for you, you could’ve missed it if he wasn’t sitting so close to you, it makes you a little dizzy and a little weaker in you’re already mushy knees.

he grabs your shoulders gently to get your eyes on him. they’re still a little glossy but they’re a little less dull when he looks at you “ we’re in this together, always have been, always will be, got it ? “ he asserts, waiting for your response. and then you smile at him, it’s faint but it’s there and katsuki feels like he can breathe again. he smiles back softly at you when you respond with a soft “okay.”

you suddenly grab onto him and pull him into you tightly, locking him in a tight embrace and squeezing like you’re pressing a lemon. it throws him off for a second before he’s squeezing you just as hard, pressing your body against his.

“thank you, katsuki. you’re the best” you hum. he presses a long lingering kiss to your temple as response, before squeezing around your waist “ course i am.” he gloats. the smirk on his lips grows when you snort in response “what’re you laughing about, hah? don’t think so? don’t think i’m the best ?” he jests, using this as an opportunity to tickle you mercilessly. you kick and squirm but it’s no use, katsuki doesn’t stop until you’re a heaving , giggling mess. tears in your eyes as you plead and beg for him to stop but he doesn’t let up even when you’re laying on the ground with him on top of you.

“ i ain’t hearing what i wanna hear, you know what i want from you, baby.” he chuckles at the way you desperately gasp for breath, choking on your own spit in the process.

“y-you’re the ! the best, ‘suki ! the b-bestest of the best !” you gasp out, pushing blindly at his face to get him away from you and he finally let’s you go. “felt nice enough to let you off with a warning, won’t end well for ya if you try me again.” is what he says, playfully warning you and waving his finger around in your face. you’re completely out of breath, there are tears in your eyes again but they’re happy tears this time and you still can’t stop smiling and giggling as you try to bite at his finger and katsuki is more than happy with this.

because katsuki’s favorite thing is your smile.

[justablah56]

I love you fics that are people clearly just projecting their thoughts about being arospec onto a character.

[scribblelimbo]

So I've spent the entire night doodling out a comic handling Thespius getting to touch Click's literal beating heart (on their request) based on Slipping Through Your Fingers (Go read it on AO3 if you haven't!) so I'm putting it under a read more below. It's pretty intimate and very roughly drawn so proceed if that sounds up your alley!

[ID: Two images of Thespius and Click Clack from Great God Grove, the first one shows them kissing and the second shows Thespius saying "I love you". /End ID]

[mellohiizz]

@saiintvalentiine hello. the npc fic left me absolutely in shambles i needed to draw them.

[gbirrd]

DUN-DUH-DUH-DUUUUHN!

suprise! i've been working as part of ANOTHER Bang! I paired up once again with the delightful @englandamericaitaly to create this piece for their fic as part of the @dpxdcbigbang !

you can read their fic here- a really fun read, and of course I drew the scene with my boy Duke. we gotta step up folks! not enough art of this weird little daylight-loving freak out here!

Image ID:

A drawing of a very dark train tunnel, with a rail track stretching down from the top towards the bottom of the image. At the top of the piece near the back of the tunnel is Duke Thomas in his Signal armour, giving off a strong yellow glow as he is crouched over Clayface, arm raised in a fist to punch him as his head is raised to look up with glowing eyes. Clayface's hand is wrapped around Duke trying to pull him off. At the bottom of the page near the front of the tracks, Jazz Fenton stands facing Duke with a faint green glow. Three shadowy figures stand behind her. In the top right corner there is a close-up panel of Jazz's eyes, in all green, and mirroring it in the bottom left are Duke's eyes in all yellow.

[sophsicle]

ohb sneak

[sallymew4]

EVERYONE STOP WHAT YOURE DOING RIGHT FUCKING NOW

EVERYBODY SHUT UP IMMEDIATELY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[gauntlings]

thinking about the detective & Rebecca's dynamic sm on this wednesday. the special hell of feeling alone so early on in life. knowing that in stories sometimes grief can bring families together, but not yours. looking at every future relationship or fling or situationship through the lens of being deeply, fundamentally unlovable. because why wouldn't you? what kind of lesson does absence teach? what lesson must be taken away to survive it? even if it's bred from necessity, what does that teach the mc about themselves? will they even know love when they first see it, especially if that love does not look the way they recognize. if it does not look like begging?

[star4daisy]

07/08 and 10/08 (heart and bed) - 539 words - @rosekillermicrofic

“This doesn’t mean we’re back together,” was the first thing that came out of Evan’s mouth between their frantic kisses.

Barty was so drunk on the feeling of finally having Evan this close to him again that he only nodded mindlessly despite the pang he felt in his heart upon hearing those words. The ones Evan always said when they lost control again and ended up pressed against a hard surface as they made out.

Barty wasted no time tearing his clothes off, he always had to act as if every time was their last time together, it pained him, but Barty was one to make the best of every situation he was in. Because in the end, it would always be Evan’s choice. Whatever he wanted, Barty would do. And he didn’t even mean it only on the sexual aspect of things. If Evan commanded, Barty would come back to him in a second.

“We can’t keep doing this,” Evan murmured against his mouth.

A garbled sound came out of Barty’s throat in protest, his mouth searching frantically for Evan’s when he pulled back. “Don’t stop,” he begged, his mouth latching onto Evan’s neck the moment he turned his face away from Barty’s.

He’d cling himself to any part of Evan he could reach. If Barty could’ve tied them together for eternity he would’ve. But since it wasn’t on the cards for him, he made sure to work his mouth against Evan’s neck the way he knew his ex-boyfriend liked.

He sucked and nibbled on the skin with just enough strength to make Evan groan against him and push his hips harder against his, hands flexing against Barty's sides.

“I mean it, Barty,” Evan pulled him away by the hair, his grip was harsh, just the way Barty liked it. “The guilt is eating me alive.”

Barty liked everything about Evan, he always had, but his sudden morality was becoming an obstacle to all of Barty’s plans to achieve what he wanted.

“Okay,” he agreed easily. “It will be the last time.”

Evan looked disappointed in him. Barty hated it. “You always say this,” he reminded him.

“I mean it this time.” Barty didn’t, but he’d say anything to get Evan back, to have him inside of him again. “I really do,” he tried to put as much sincerity as he could behind his words, turning his eyes soft in the way he knew Evan liked. “One last time, love. For old times' sake.”

Evan closed his eyes as if it pained him to stare at Barty’s face for long. “One last time,” he sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

“One last time,” Barty promised before pushing Evan into his bed. 

Allowing himself to enjoy the moment he had, only after he’d felt Evan coming inside of him would Barty start planning on how to get him to do it again and again. If there was one lesson they should’ve learned by now was that Barty would never grow tired of Evan and would never accept anything less than he’d had before.

What could he say? Barty had no excuses. When it came to Evan, Barty was greedy.

He would settle for nothing less than everything.

[allastoredeer]

Me : well maybe it's not that bad?

Me : looking for radioapple art and immediately get hit with big buff Alastor and tiny shorter than in canon Lucifer, Lucifer in a dress getting fucked by Alastor, Lucifer in a dress getting fucked by big buff Alastor, Lucifer who look like 5 yo and 'suave sugar daddy' Alastor who holds him and each with thousands of likes and absolutely zero of anything else than that

Me : nope 🙃😔

Save me Vox/Al artists, save me

Man, I love Vox/Alastor art so much.

I just love the Vox/Alastor ship as a whole, be it one-sided, mutual, or anything in between, and a lot of it stems from Alastor still feeling like he's Alastor.

I mean, I think people make Alastor a little more cruel and heartless towards Vox sometimes, but overall he still feels like himself. He gets to be dangerous and manipulative and he gets to be silly and whimsical. It's perfect.

Adding a cut right here because this post got WAY longer than I anticipated ⬇️

I think with RadioApple, when it comes to Alastor, people lean too much into this:

And not enough into this:

It feels like his fun, sassy, and whimsical side gets stripped away and he's turned into a stereotypically tall, dark and menacing love interest.

Where's his flamboyancy? His razzamatazz! As Susan would say, "Where's the showmanship? Where's the pizzaz? Fucking mediocre."

If I'm reading a fic or looking at art and I can't imagine their Alastor doing one of his girly-pop wrist flicks -

- then I can't keep going. His girly-pop vibes are too important to me.

Of course, when it comes to tone in both fics and art, sometimes fun and whimsical aren't what the artist is going for. But even outside of NSFW art and stories, so often Alastor just feels...bland. He feels too stiff. Too much like a suave, old fashioned, smooth talking gentleman, and not enough like a fun, silly, and sassy little freak who loves trolling people.

And with Lucifer if feels like they lean too much into this:

And not enough of this:

I feel like any, if not all, of Lucifer's flaws are brushed aside so often and so easily.

He feels softened and watered down. Like he's either a sad & awkward UwU boi all the time, or he's the most flamboyant, seductive little minx there is. And to be fair, he is both a very sad boi and a seductive little minx.

But rarely does he ever come across as powerful to me. A lot of the time he feels too normal. Or too sad and naive. Literally, like he could be any other sinner if I didn't already know he was the kind of Hell. And that's so funny to me because we've seen him openly and extravagantly display his powers multiple times in the show--not to the extent that he did in the finale--but he was definitely flaunting all the things he could do, make, or summon for Charlie during his musical-battle with Alastor. He was 100% showing off how powerful he is.

Not only that, but, honestly, Lucifer feels too open and sincere because that man is judgmental as fuck.

Going back to the "Dad Beat Dad" episode, there are multiple examples of him being a self-righteous little shit: 1) he was incredibly critical of Charlie's hotel the moment he stepped inside, even if he tried, and failed, to cover it, 2) he didn't even try to hide his disgust for Alastor's bar, which he didn't even know was incorporated by Alastor (who he hadn't even met him yet) and could've been incorporated by Charlie or Vaggie, for all he knew, 3) he wasn't taking Charlie's hotel or her plan for redemption seriously from the start, he didn't even have his mind open to the possibility, he wasn't there to hear about her plans he was only there to see her, and 3) when the hotel was attacked by the loan sharks, instead of making them go away or preventing the hotel from being damaged - which he could have very easily done with no amount of effort - he hung back and smugly reiterated that he was right and sinners can't be redeemed and Charlie should just give up on her goals/dreams because it's just not possible so there's no point in trying.

Like, Charlie was very clearly in distress over her hotel being attacked and destroyed, but he was too busy boasting about how he'd been "proven" right to see that.

He's very easy to anger and his ego is so easily bruised. Alastor got under his skin immediately and effortlessly - though I also believe that's on part that Lucifer doesn't have a high opinions of sinners anyway - and Lucifer 100% escalated the conversation/argument he had with Alastor during their first meeting.

See the whole scene of him referring to Alastor as a "has-been" and insulting the name he'd given the hotel, especially when you take into consideration that until Alastor said that he named the hotel, Lucifer thought it was Charlie who came up with it.

And I'm not going to say that Alastor was an innocent, picked on little baby in that scene, he was 100% riling up Lucifer from the start, but also, like...Alastor's lines weren't outright antagonist like Lucifer's were. They were more subtle, slightly needling and passive aggressive, but nothing that could really be taken as a insult.

This is literally the dialogue, word for word, of their very first interaction:

Lucifer: What in the unholy Hell is that?!

Alastor: Just some of the renovations we had done. Adds a bit if color, don't you think?

Lucifer: And you are?

Alastor: Alastor, pleasure to be meeting you, Sir, quite a pleasure. It's nice to finally put a face to the name. You are much shorter in real life.

Lucifer: Who is this? Who is this now - are you the bellhop?

Alastor: Ah-ha, no! I am the host of the hotel. You might've heard of me from my radio broadcast.

Lucifer: Hmm, nope! I guess that's why Charlie called it the "has-been" hotel, hahaha!"

Alastor: Ha ha ha, it was actually my idea.

Lucifer: Ha ha, well it's not very clever.

Alastor: Ha ha, fuck you.

Like. That's their first interaction. And if you go back and actually pay attention to facial expressions and body languages, this was the first time he's seen Alastor, and Lucifer was immediately disdainful.

I went back and screenshotted Lucifer's face, right after Alastor's first line (which was a relatively innocent in and of itself and didn't even sound that antagonist), and:

That's a lot of disesteem for someone he literally just met. At most, you could argue that it was Alastor's smirk or tone that set him off ⬇️:

But even that is such a small thing to get upset over.

I'd say the only time Alastor really started getting openly hostile towards Lucifer was when he wiped his hand after shaking Lucifer's cane (which Lucifer didn't even see as he was too busy fixing his hat) and commenting on Lucifer's height (as a shortie myself, can confirm, that'll get on the nerves very fast).

My point is, Lucifer was immediately unfriendly towards Alastor and escalated the situation just as quickly, if not quicker, than Alastor did. Alastor implied that Lucifer might know of his radio broadcast, and Lucifer jumped right to calling him a "has-been." He doesn't even know him. This is their very first meeting. He was judgy and dismissive of Alastor at first sight, and, let's be honest, he kind of threw the first punch with that "has-been" line. Alastor said Lucifer was shorter than expected, but it's not like he laughed, pointed at him and called him a undercooked little chicken nugget. I'm sure a lot of demons/sinners who've never seen Lucifer would also assume he would be taller and more menacing at first glance, and I doubt this is the first time someone was surprised with his height (still not cool, Alastor. We vertically challenged folk have feelings too).

But Lucifer was prejudice from the start and antagonized Alastor just as quickly, and way more openly, than Alastor did to him. And don't get me wrong, this isn't me saying that's a bad thing on Lucifer's part! This isn't me criticizing or scorning him for it. I think it speaks so much of him as a character!

Cause we've seen the soft and tender moments he has with Charlie. We know how much he loves and cares for her. But he's also egotistical, antagonistic, and judgmental as hell, and that's what makes him such a fun character to write about. He's awkward yet showy, smug yet caring, depressed yet prideful. And by god, this man will show off his power without hesitation. He knows he's hot shit. He knows he's the strongest person in all of Hell. He knows he's the top dog and he can do whatever he wants - even if he has no love or interest in interacting within the Pride Ring (as far as we've been shown).

He's got a lot of multi-facets to him and I adore it, and that's why I get so annoyed when all of that is stripped away and he's turned into this soft little sunshine UwU boi who's just a sad, sweet lil lamb who's done no wrong.

No! He has done many wrongs! There's a reason he and Charlie were estranged and I don't think it was Lilith's fault - or, at least, I don't think it was all her fault (I have many thoughts about Lucifer and Lilith's divorce, okay)

I didn't mean for this to turn into a full-blown character analysist post LOL but alas I tend to get carried away. This was all to say, I really enjoy RadioStatic because Alastor typically gets to keep his sadistic and whimsical side, and I appreciate that. His silliness means a lot a to me, and if he comes off as too stiff or formal, it takes me out of a story.

Lucifer's flaws and sheer power also mean a lot to me, and I wish there were more fics and fan-art that showed that. If Lucifer reads too much like a normal, every-day person, I lose interest. I like the idea of people getting used to him, and getting comfortable around his presence, only to get a sudden and overwhelming reminder that he is, in fact, an ancient and immortal being with immense power that their brains wouldn't even be able to comprehend.

I have so many headcanons about Lucifer as a fallen angel and how his habits and lifestyle developed over the thousands upon thousands of years he's been in Hell. Habits he's adopted that unconsciously help him duplicate the mannerisms and behavior of sinners and demons, but also those small, indistinct tells that are quick and subtle reminder that he could destroy everyone in Pentagram City with ease if he decided to; and also, those times if you were to look closely and really pay attention, you get the faint, unsettling feeling that there is something very un-human about him. A subtle, unnerving shiver down your spine as your instincts yell at you that this person is not a person at all, he's just passing off as one.

That shit gets me. Give me ancient, eldritch Lucifer and I'll love you forever.

I am sorry Anon, I did not mean for this response to get so big 😅 You gave me a paragraph and I gave you a novel. But yeah, save me RadioStatic artists, save me 🙏 I rarely have to worry about Alastor turning into a big, buff alpha man or a soft little UwU when he's with Vox, and I appreciate that.

Edit: Adding a screenshot of my tags here because apparently I wrote down too many and it cut off the character tags.