#i think about this topic all the fucking time.

[archaicbones]

There is nothing morally reprehensible about eating any animal. Including animals we see as pets. Dogs, cats, horses, rabbits, guinea pigs etc. You dont have to eat your pets. Nobody is going to force you to. But it is none of your fucking business whether or not another person chooses to eat a dog or a cat. None. They are animals like we are animals. They hunt and kill like we hunt and kill. This is not a moral issue. Horses are not worth more than cows. Dogs are not worth more than chickens. Just because we see our pets personally as companions doesnt mean other people have to see it that way. Some people have goats because they like them and want them as pets, but other people will raise goats for food for their family. Neither is morally "correct". We are all equal as animals. There is no inherent morality about what we chose to eat besides the conditions the animals are kept in. Is it morally wrong for the snake to eat the mouse? Or the coyote the rabbit, or the wolf the deer. Is it morally wrong for the cheetah to eat the baby gazelle, or the lion to eat the man? No. We are so far removed from the natural state of things that we assign moral superiority to food of all fucking things. It is ridiculous. Food is not moral. Things you think are "icky" are not inherently immoral. We have to stop treating "i dont like this" as "this is morally wrong" in every instance. It is harmful.

Westerners will argue that eating dogs is an objectively evil cultural practice because "they were domesticated to be human companions" like okay first of all look at how pigeons are treated in western countries today. Almost every single pigeon you see in urban and suburban environments are domestic pigeons they were domesticated over 10000 years ago, they have been common pets of humans throughout history and remain prized and protected in many parts of the world today. And your culture hunts them for sport, or poisons and maims them for the crime of shitting on cars and storefronts. I have a feeling your culture's exceptionalism around dogs is less about them being a domesticated animal, and more about framing nonwhite cultures as uncivilised. Second of all you're saying that a species' worth depends on its proximity to humans like that's supposed to convince me you care about animal welfare? Maybe you really do care, but regardless this argument does nothing but serve western hegemony

[alchemistc]

You never let me in, Buck sends, two of three sheets fully winded, and when he kicks his leg over the coffee table he nearly knocks over three empties.

They do this thing, right? Buck gets upset and before the tears can fall, because he's cried too many fucking times already, he makes himself angry. Picks at something that has come up every time he's done a post-mortem on the last six months.

And then he sends that shit to Tommy. Because - because who the fuck else is he supposed to talk to about it? The guy who'd sucked him off in the hallway of a nightclub two weeks ago? The woman who'd spent an hour quietly helping Buck understand that yeah, he was very much bi, and yeah, some people did not like that shit? Maddie, or Chim, or Hen or Eddie, who still might interact with him on the job? Bobby? Fuck, not Bobby.

Bobby who'd blinked at Buck and offered platitudes and apologized to Buck like it was somehow his fault Tommy was good people but he was the kind of good people who just walked out on something that could have been something.

I should have pushed more. I know I should have. I just thought since I was trying to share everything, you were too.

My mistake.

Three months and Buck isn't over it. He's far enough into the mourning process that he thinks this one is always gonna sting, and not for the reasons Tommy thinks.

That's not fair. I'm sorry.

The texts get delivered. Tommy reads them. Buck's had read receipts on since the first time Tommy went quiet on a call and Buck freaked out a little - but back then they were still working towards something. Back then, sometimes Tommy would pull out his phone and open the thread just to give Buck sign of life.

He was always doing that. Heading shit off at the pass.

Buck had just never realized he'd be able to do it to hurt him, just as well as take care of him.

Every four weeks like clockwork Buck gets a response. He has no fucking idea why it's four weeks, what the third Thursday of the month has to do with Tommy feeling gracious enough to give Buck some clarity. He'd never known enough about Tommy, is the thing he's coming around to. He'd done everything he could to bring Tommy in, make him a part, and Tommy had let him. Tommy had distracted him with quippy words and a clever tongue and with being so fucking willing to be integrated into Buck's life that Buck just - hadn't noticed.

No one will say it, but he Bucked It Up in the worst kind of way.

He's waited until Third Thursday to send these texts. He actually hasn't sent anything at all, until this moment, and he wonders if Tommy noticed. If he cared. Tommy picks and chooses from Buck's random thoughts, parses out details like he's reading from a manual and Buck is off topic two thirds of the time. Buck doesn't actually know why he's been answering, all this time. He wonders if, in the last four weeks of silence, he thought he was finally done with Buck.

He wonders if it had hurt.

Buck sets his phone down to stand, skating across to the kitchen in his socks for the pizza rolls in the oven.

His diet is shit. His body feels like crap. He's one more drunken nights sleep on the couch away from emptying the rack in his fridge down the drain and giving sobriety a try. The last person he'd slept with had hinted that they'd prefer not to use condoms and Buck had almost let them.

Buck has worth. He knows he does. It's just sometimes when he remembers that every person he's ever loved has either walked out on him or let him walk away when he needed them, he struggles to find that worth.

His life has meaning, and all that jazz.

Buck sort of wonders if Tommy hasn't finally blocked his number, as he tosses a too-hot pizza roll in his mouth and huffs on the lava cheese burning his tongue. After the last message Buck had sent, three weeks ago, he wouldn't exactly be surprised.

(This is basically just an unhinged grief journal with an unreliable second narrator. Do you know what it's like to realize you're still in love with someone who never let you know them?)

There's been no response to that. Fair. Buck hadn't even actually said the words. No, he'd jumped right into the sharing a life part, cart before the horse as always when emotions were high.

The pizza rolls get tipped onto a plate and are immediately swimming in the heavy pour of ranch he'd prepared after he set the oven to preheat.

It cools them off a lot quicker than popping a hole in each seam and waiting.

It's been eight years since Buck has really even thought about that little trick.

When he opens his phone there's no response. No receipt. Just stark words waiting to be acknowledged.

I gave you my family, Tommy. You didn't even introduce me to your team at Harbor.

It's startling to realize after the fact. He doubts Tommy had meant it that way, but he'd basically spent six months being love bombed only to have the rug ripped right out from under his feet.

And yet. Months later and he still wants to know. Know why. Know how he could have done it, with tears in his eyes, with full awareness that it was already gonna hurt. Know Tommy - anything he'd part with, really, that wasn't something every random acquaintance also knew.

Cool, he'd been jealous of what Buck and the 118 had. (Buck had tried to give him that. Or at least he thought he had.)

Great, he didn't talk to his dad and Gerrard was a shitty captain. (Buck had spent an hour once explaining the first time he and his dad had spoken about Daniel without screaming at each other. Tommy had listened to the rants about Gerrard and offered physical comfort and a 'sounds like him' and Buck had just been so relieved to have an ally amongst the 'life is just like this sometimes' crowd that he'd never examined that.)

He was a Kinsey six who'd been engaged to the first woman Buck had ever really loved and they'd never dug deeper than that.

And Buck had apparently interpreted some of the shit he'd said that night wrong, but he still doesn't think it's fucking fair that Tommy can't trust him to know his own fucking mind well enough to know he hates sleeping around and he'd found the sort of connection he was looking for. He'd found it. Even with the lack of reciprocation. Even with the quiet behind Tommy's eyes that he'd never let Buck in on. Even with the -

His phone buzzes on the coffee table.

Can we talk?

Buck kinda hates those words in that order now. They'd been the start of something twice, but they'd always been leading to an end, if Tommy had his way.

Once every four weeks, apparently, Buck sends back and takes a vicious bite.

His phone chimes with an incoming call.

Buck stares at the name he hasn't had the stomach to remove the little heart from. Lets it ring through to voicemail and then shoves three more pizza rolls into his mouth and doesn't care if they burn off his taste buds.

His phone rings again.

"What?"

"I'm outside your building. Didn't want to make any assumptions that I'd be welcome without asking first."

Buck can feel his ribs cracking under the lurch of angry laughter. "What the hell?"

"Well the parking around here is miserable again, so I figure that's a sign."

"Are you driving right now?"

"Hands off. I'm on Bluetooth. So. Should I circle the building a fifth time or call it now and go home?"

Buck gets stuck on fifth time.

There's no way he hadn't been driving since at least before Buck sent that first text.

Buck sighs. There's absolutely no reason to be hopeful about that. For all he knows, Tommy has just decided dousing any residual flames is just another thing he has to do in person.

"My Jeep's in the shop. I'll buzz you into the garage."

Tommy's silent for a long, long moment. The quip comes anyway. "I keep telling you that thing is a money pit."

"I'm not really feeling the flirty banter, right now, Tommy, so maybe just let me know when you're at the gate."

He does. He hangs up the phone twenty seconds later with a plain "See you soon."

Buck doesn't have time to change. Fix his hair. Hide the sheet pan with half a dozen pizza rolls still laying on it, because he'd cooked way too many again.

(He could absolutely do one of these things but if Tommy's gonna throw this at him, he's getting every little slovenly habit Bucks's picked up since he walked out that door.)

The knock comes while Buck's shoving the last two rolls on his plate into his mouth.

He's still chewing with his mouth open to blow out the steam when he swings the door open, and Buck feels the first inklings of pleasure ripple through him at the sight of Tommy.

He looks like shit.

"You look like shit."

Tommy's brow ticks up. He stares pointedly at the glob of not-cheese that's going to absolutely ruin this sweatshirt.

"That tends to happen when you spend an hour in an armchair two sizes too small picking at trauma you've been hiding from your therapist for six years."

Buck opens the door wider. Holy crap. Tommy might legitimately be more fucked up than Buck.

Tommy's smile is strained. "Can I come in?"

Buck holds his gaze. His eyes are a little red. He's got a red spot along the side of his neck, like he's been rubbing at it. Buck only recognizes it as a comforting motion because he's replayed him doing it half a million times right before he ended things.

"Depends. Is this the last time you respond to my mean, rude, asshole texts for an hour after therapy rubs you raw?" Third Thursday Therapy, is apparently what does it. Buck is - god. He just wants -

"God, I hope not," Tommy says, and Buck takes a step to the side to let Tommy in.

[hearts4werka]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 Introducing… zombie!chris .ᐟ

Died in the 00’s, some ghost-hunting kids accidentally brought him back to live from the grave, family died many years ago, torn up clothes, scars and sew marks on his limbs, greenish-withered tint to his skin, a specific scar going down his eye he likes to make up stories about how he got it, quite flirty, charming, face card is at max, has a special rotten spot in his heart for innocent!reader, loves how delicate reader’s skin is, compares hand sizes but without a few fingers, even tho he may be undead he does know how to fuck well, doggy style enthusiast, loves classical music, quite a prankster, likes to scare reader whenever her nose is in a book too long, doesn’t want to dress up for Halloween even tho reader wants to match costumes, adores the fuck out of dogs, loves watching reader get flustered when he calls her ma’am darling or sweetheart “Oh cmon, darling, you have to watch your step next time than have your nose stuck in those books”

| ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 - things I assume he would say |

🧟‍♂️ - “Do you need a hand, ma’am?” He asks while detaching his arm and waving it around.

🧟‍♂️ - “Fuck… um- could you sew my dick back onto me, please?” He gestured down to the place where his dick is now missing from.

🧟‍♂️ - “I don’t need new clothes, I’m fine with these, they add character to my person!” “But people think you’re dressed up as a zombie all year.” “Well they can go fuck themselves for all I care,”

🧟‍♂️ - “Now do I have to? I have no idea how to bakee…” He whines but you grab his hand and drag him into the kitchen, but try not to be too rough as his arm is pretty flimsy.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 introducing… innocent!reader .ᐟ

A big sweetheart, loving family, virgin, loves all small animals, pink bows, mostly pastel clothes, delicate skin, gentle with anyone & everyone, always wanting to help, books enthusiast, clueless, falls for Chris’s pranks, a scaredy-cat, very lovable, secretly is falling for zombie!chris even tho she shouldn’t, blames all of it on the books, very curious about zombie!chris & tends to ask a lot of questions, adores baking fresh pastry, wants to create her own bakery but is too scared too, soft spot for zombie!chris, feels bad for him, always tries to convince zombie!chris to do something new, forces him to bake with you knowing he secretly enjoys it, bit of a crybaby, hates being mean, cozy like a little cute grandma, very innocent on a lot of topics, “S-stop calling me that, it makes my face feel weird”

| ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 - things I assume she would say |

🌸 - “You’re such a unique creature, sometimes I wonder how you’re even real” She cluelessly wonders while she runs a hand through his hair.

🌸 - “Let me just grab my sewing kit and you stay here, ‘mkay honey?” She reassured before getting up from her seat and going into her kitchen.

🌸 - “Can you tell me the story of how you got brought to life again?” She asks curiously, loving to hear how he tells the story each time.

🌸 - “Can we pleasee go bake some cookies? It’ll be great bonding time…” She pleads, giving him the sweet puppy eyes that always make him say yes.

-

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ! : if anyone has any questions about these two, please ask me them, it can be any questions you have and I’ll gladly provide as much information about that topic as I can, I love talking to y’all and hope y’all have an amazing day wherever you are 💗

𝐀𝐔’𝐒 ! | check out this & this!

𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 🏷️ | - @sturnsxplr-25 - @strnzzvsp - @luvvs4chriss - @sturniolosweetheart33 - @pussypie456 - @choclatestarfishwithahat - @venusxsturnio - @bagsbyclair0 - @sturnstvs - @dykes4chris - @hoe4matt - @cayleeuhithinknot - @strnilolover - @marrykisskilled - @phone4pills - @emely9274 - @cupiidk1lls - @lily-strnlo - @nicksgirlfriend - @sturniolosiphone - @sophand4n4 - |

[nanamimizz]

𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋�� 𝚩𝐈𝐑𝐃, 𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐃𝚬𝐃 𝐂𝐀𝐆𝚬

author's note: thank you so much @rabbbitseason for commissioning this piece as well as your patience and understanding <3 ! reader's features (fem reader, pale skin) are described as requested by commissioner. 4.1k words.

tags: 18+ minors dni // kidnapping // isolation (mentioned)// manhandling // size difference // overstimulation //penetration // mating press // let me know if i had missed something.

synopsis: 4 months ago the stellaron hunters had come knocking at your door - they had work for you, they had said. you don't think fucking your charge was the work they had in mind.

When you had first been approached by the Stellaron Hunters, it had been with an elegant woman dressed in a fine black coat. She was in your living quarters lounging away in your chair drinking from a wine glass that most definitely wasn’t yours. On your coffee table was a bottle of red wine, the label in a language you didn’t recognize. You heard a quiet laugh one that you imagined the cat would make when it has cornered the rat. Your heart raced in your chest, panic nigh high as you gazed at the woman’s empty pink eyes with her voice deep and hypnotic on your head.

“Listen to me. Close the door,” You were obeying with your heart racing in your chest as your hand went to input the code that locks your quarters from the inside rather than the outside. She finishes the last of her wine the tint a red so deep it was almost black, tinged her lipstick darker that it once was. She had praised you for your compliance as if it was voluntary and then - the world went back.

“Listen to me - go to sleep.”

The world turns dark.

You awake with the same woman next you, sitting on a plain chair like the kind you see in hospital shows the IPC likes to push. Your head pounds but you soon realize that you are fulled dressed and you let out a exhausted sound.

“Good thing you are awake - I thought I might have used too much force on you.” The woman speaks voice slow and measured like she’s talking about something so mundane like the weather rather than the concerning topic of your kidnapping. Her coat rests on the back of her chair rather than her shoulders like when you first saw her as if she was trying to add an air of causality to the conversation.

“You’ll have to grow out of that for the work we brought you here for little bird.”

“What have you brought me here for?” You ask finally finding your voice that you thought was lost to you. The woman merely smiled and explained it all to you in a soft and measured words like priceless silk on your ears. You had been picked with handler work for a specific team member. One who often loses himself to his madness to the point he poses a threat to others on the team. Which is where you come in as a one that has caught the gaze of the Harmony you would prove useful in subduing this particular member. That was 4 months ago - that you know off. You aren’t taken out to the field, and all you do is wait for your charge to return from his missions. Your world is limited to the well furnished 2 bedroom suite you share with him.

Blade - wanted for a bounty of 8.13 billion stands before you soon enough. He is tall and broad, standing a full head above you looming with great muscled mass. Saffron colored eyes burn through you like you are a mere dying ember rather than the one that is made to control him. The first few times you are with him where quiet affairs, merely extending your power to him when something too dangerous would glint across his eyes when returning from a mission with the others. A mere touch of his shoulder and an incantation had his eyes dimming and muscles uncoiling.

They were quick and quiet affairs - you find yourself quickly growing attached to the routine of comforting your charge after missions. You think you can you live like this for some time, longer thought you would before this became your new reality.

Until today.

He comes back from the mission bloodied and wild, freshly healed jagged line glowing pink among the pale palor of his skin visible by the long cut going down his dark shirt. You are docile and naive when you first see him spoiled rotten by routine that you merely approach him frowning at how long it will take you to fix the tear going down his shirt to notice his hand coming out to grip you by the back the neck.

The same way one would do so with an unruly kitten.

Your hear races and you look up at him with eyes dilated with fear and to him in his haze only makes him growl at you. He picks you up and your feet dangle off of the floor like that - with merely the strength of his fingers on the back of your neck and he has you on the bed bouncing on the mattress with you looking up at him with wide eyes. Your heart beats wildly in your chest and you swallow when you feel something hot run through your veins at the show of brute strength. You tremble like an animal caught in a steel trap when you feel the heat of his calloused hand gripping your ankle entirely, fingers meeting as drags down to the edge of the bed where like always he looms over you.

A shadow that scares you, that frightens you that - bewitches you. He looks into your dark, blown out eyes that aren’t as scared as they should be and the way his lips twitch at the glimmer of timid lust peaking through makes him rumble in his chest. You squirm in his grip, hiking up your leg in an attempt to pull away but even you find that lacking, as you look up at his handsome face and burning eyes. You find that you don’t mind this, not when it ties into all your fantasies you have - all from being left alone for so long with nothing but him.

“Say you want me too.” It’s the first time he speaks, voice deep and rough with desire so deep you almost couldn’t bear it. You gulp, pulling your leg up futility as your mind races. It would be dishonest to say no you admit yourself. You have always found Blade attractive, the sight of him shirtless an often occurrence would be the material of your fantasies at night when you think he’s asleep in the other room separate by thin walls. When you try to pull your leg up again you fail because he instead tugs it up to him, settling your heel on his shoulder and placing a surprisingly tender kiss on your calf. Something in you wobbles, and you can’t help but notice how the small gesture makes your legs relax and open up to him.

“Okay.” It’s whimpered out, said with enough force that is makes the dark strands of hair stuck to your face blow in the soft breeze from your lips. A word so simple and so small makes the villain above you tremble from his wanting and you can’t even catch your breath in time when he lunges forward to press a kiss so deep to your lips you worry Blade wants to consume you. Like a snake with a mouse, a wolf to a rabbit, him to you. The kiss is so violent you gasp when you feel the nipping of his teeth at your bottom lip and Blade is no different here than he is in combat. Your mouth is open and he presses his tongue into the soft cavern of your mouth, letting it flow past your own in a seductive waltz that’s enough to make you moan for him. The sound makes him purr, you feel the rumbling in his exposed now healing chest and you feel so helpless when one of his hands goes to grip your thigh, fully wrapping around its softness to pull it up and away so he can press the whole of himself against you.

It’s enough to make you blush, warm and vivid as you squirm from the feeling the weight of him pressed against the most intimate crux of your thighs - you can feel the swell of his bulge stiff and hard against your aching cunt. Blade pulls away from your lips not without nipping at them one last time to make you whimper and you can see the same thrill-sick smile he wears on his handsome face when in a fight leering down at you.

“Tastes sweet, give me more.” You feel lost in a haze, his words lulling you just like Spirit Whisper does - so you nod your head emptily your eyes dilated and wanting for him. Your mouth is relaxed, letting out sot whines when you feel his calloused hands go to grip your body, they sink and squeeze the soft flesh of your breasts his thumbs finding the peaking tips of your nipples to pull and play with at his leisure. You remind him of any sort of small, soft furred pet so easily pleased by gentle little touches that it makes Blade chuckle into your lips.

“So easily pleased, I will enjoy having my way with you.” He rumbles voice so deep it lulls you deeper into the searing heat in your belly as your chest gets played with more and more until you squirm beneath him. Desperate and keen to have more you let your hand sneak down to the bottom of your top and begin to try to take it off, desperate to feel his skin on your own rather than be groped through your clothes.

“More - please more, I want to feel you please.” You plead, lifting your top until your soft stomach is revealed and your hand is taken over his own that grip the sides of your thin shirt and rip the material away from you in a show of pure strength.

“More?” he laughs like your pleas deeply amuse him, like the thrill of debasing you is enough to make him break from the fog of his mind to smile at you with glinting fangs in the dark of your room. “Very well then, I will give you all that you ask for and more.”

Your flesh is no different then you spirit - both belonging to him now that you feel the bare skin of his hands gripping at whatever is available to him. His hands pass over the softness of your stomach the touch almost ticklish until you feel how his hands grope at your chest. His hands are warm and rough - their touch against your breasts makes you sing the soft cry of your pleasure. Blade watches you faithfully, keeping his eyes on your flushed face even as his own face descends to where his hands are pinching and pulling at your supple flesh.

The peaks of your nipples are hard against his fingers and the ache in his jaw is too much to bear. You have no warning to his touch - you are so deep in it now, pleasure is like the waves of the coast’s on your home planet you think dazed. His mouth comes to seal around one of your nipples and like a torrent the heat buzzes down to your stomach from how good it feels. You are whining, squirming from beneath him your hips grinding against his form having your chest played with. You can hear him grunt faintly from below you, and you flinch when you feel one of his hands go to your bottoms and tug at them until you hear another haunting rip. The cold air of the ac is felt on your bare skin, making you shiver from the difference of temperature. His hot mouth that moves from one nipple to the other, the cold air on the heated, sticky flesh of your cunt that flutters at the attention your nipple gets as the other one fizzles from the stimulation. Your hands go to Blade’s hair, lost in the dark blue tresses and you whine weakly at the peaceful look of serenity on his face.

“You enjoying yourself?”You ask, mind addled by the lust and your hips settling in a rhythm against his own crotch as your rub your own need against the bulge in his pants. Saffron eyes open and the burning red is so consumed by the inky black of his pupil that it alone answers your question. He answers you with not with words but with actions, the feeling of his fingers at your the wet seam of your cunt. He merely rests them there, letting the pads of his fingers touch the leaking slick like honey that drips out of you so sweetly.

“I think we both are.” Blade says pulling way from you, strings of spit following him as this fingers cautiously press into you. It makes you gasp, arching into the touch as his fingers find the glistening pearl of your clit that wants for pressure, to be touched and to be used. Whining into the air between the two of you it makes you tremble the dexterity that Blade shows as he beings to twirl his sticky fingers around your pearl.

“I am glad Kafka sought you out,” Blade mumbles to you, pressing a final kiss to the peaked nub of your nipple before bringing his attention to your lower half , “You deserve to be rewarded for your work.” Any though you might have had is gone as you feel his finger press into the entrance of your cunt - his fingers are long, longer than your own and it make you break out in shivers at just how full only one feels. Your hands that have hanged at your sides uselessly curled into weak half fists, now come to clutch at his broad shoulders with dull nails leaving the skin red as you feel his finger pump in and out of you.

“Are you really that happy I am here?” The question comes out wobbly and more pathetic than you would have liked but your heart soars when you hear his deep hum of agreement. It makes your cunt flutter, the needy thing it is and you feel him shift to press another finger against you. You are a whimpering little mess, squirming and gasping at how good it feels when he curls the two fingers that have made their way inside of you. He does it rhythmically, on sound counts of one, two, one, two that make you leak down to his broad palm.

“Yes, I am,” the words come out breathless and your thigh aches where it is held in place so Blade can watch how your flushed cunt takes his fingers like it never wants to part with them. Your wanting makes you a mess and the bits of praise he gives you clearly make you want for more as you twitch up against at his admittance.

“Always so very helpful, even now - you are a true gift brought to me. A small pleasure to spoil myself with.” Blade speaks to you and it’s almost too much. He never says much but each word spoken in that deep voice you would dream about at night is making your chest ache after spending so much time alone. The pleasure of having his fingers feel around that special bundle of nerves in your cunt. Your fingers dig deep into the muscle of his shoulders and your back arches like a bow about to be released as you cum with a half breathed gasp for the first time this night.

His fingers keep moving, prolonging the pleasure until it comes out in rivets - sticky and messy now at your thighs that cools off immediately when exposed to the air of the room. You are watched ever presently, and burning black eyes watch you like prey at how your tilt your head back to gasp into the pillows bearing the gentle slope of your neck to him. His lips brush against the soft skin and you are so lost in the sea that you don’t feel him there until you bear the stinging of his teeth digging into the skin there.

You gasp, tensing up and stiffen until he pulls away - with a dark mark blooming the fairness of your skin with the perfect indents of his teeth imprinted on your skin.

“There.” Blade states simply as if it was the most common thing in the world to do. You don’t even have time to react before you feel two strong hands lock around your thighs and twist you around, laying you on your back with your knees pressed to your chest. You feel exposed and meek like this, trembling beneath the weight of him as Blade fluidly like a panther upon the weak rolls his shoulders a mere show of how easily he can overpower you.

You let out a squeak - a sound so thin you are surprised he even heard as you how he smiles vaguely at you from above you. But you find that you can’t even meet his gaze when as you feel something hard pressed against you. The length and girth from the touch alone paints it in your mind as impressive but you squirm when feel it’s leaking head press against you. It is futile however, a rabbit can not rum from the trap once it’s leg is caught and there is no where left for you to turn too as Blade presses the length of himself into you slowly, deliciously. You feel like a fish out of water, failing to catch your breath at just how big it feels ; your fingers or your fantasies could have never prepared you for this, the real long, hard and hot thing between your legs.

Your nails are racking down the muscle of his arms, leaving trails of fire in their wake that quickly heals over leaving his skin like porcelain while your own figure it stained with bruises in the shape of his finger tips. Blade fairs no better than you, mouth agape and brow beaded with sweat at your tightness despite it being lax and wet from his fingers your poor pussy struggles to accommodate him. Spreading your legs to have both placed on his shoulders he’s pressed against you completely. Skin against skin and he is quick to press his face against yours - to press kisses into your gasping mouth as he continues to drive his length into you.

“Good - you are doing very good, just take what is left.” He murmurs in between tugs on your bottom lip and you nod your head emptily whining vaguely at the prospect of there being more. You don’t even know when it is you started to weep - messy and noisy little bleats of it being too much for you when you can feel his hips flat against yours. He rest inside you, full and pulsing in your walls and you can feel Blade’s heartbeat dancing at the same pace as your own.

You open your mouth to speak but find nothing comes out as you moan with how good the drag of his cock feels against your walls, stimulating every part of your being to your innermost self to your core. Your eyes water with fresh tears and you stutter out gasps of his namesake, making him shiver down to the marrow of his spine as he drives further into you. His form crowds yours on the bed, bending you in half completely as Blade has his way with you. The sound between the two of you grow louder and louder - the smacking of his hips against yours, the endless moans between the two of you and the wet shucking noise your messy cunt makes from how good he fucks you fill the room in a degenerate orchestra.

You make the mistake of peering down at where you connect and let out a withering gasp that Blade matches with a thin laugh. You see it - strings of your slick cling to the flushed sides of his cock in a creamy mix and you let out a cry as Blade feels you clench on him.

“Do you like that? Do you enjoy watching yourself get fucked? He asks you, voice heated and breathless as he gazes at you from above. He takes in your flushed face and half lidded eyes and the way your mouth hangs letting out soft and needful little sounds. Your confession comes out tumbling from your lips - wet and pathetic little babbles of mindless “yes.” Your hands that clung to his shoulders go to wrap around his neck and lace through his hair to pull and tug. Blade moans, back arching and angling his hips to hit you deeper, another scant few inches sinking into you.

“Fuck me - please, please.” You whimper into his lips that brush against yours, flushed and kissed raw. He nods, obediently and the pace picks up and you blush bright red when you hear the beat of the headboard beating against the wall. Gasping, your clit aches for more attention and you find your own hand coming down to folds of your cunt to rub wet little circles to the needy nub. You cum just from that, having the pearl of you clit petted a little and with every inch of Blade buried so deep inside of you feel him in your stomach. You don’t even have the strength to tell him, just letting out a wailing cry as you cunt turns soft around him.

Blade grunts from above you, brows burrowed and set as he sneaks his own hand down between the two of you and presses the rougher skin of his fingers against your twitching pearl. He rubs at the sensitive thing, even if it makes your thighs tremble and your hips buck from it being too much - he does not stop. You already came and in a desperate attempt you try to pull your head out of the water without knowing that Blade is the one who will tell you when to breath.

“One more, give me the one.” He murmurs into your lips, taking your bottom one in between his teeth letting it grow red from the bite before pressing his tongue into your mouth. Your eyes are rimmed red and crossed as you feel another orgasm coming, the rubber band begging to be snapped again on his cock but it grows too hard too fas and you don’t even recognize the pitched and whiny noises you make. Everything is a blur of sensation, everything too much yet you yearn for more and more. You let your mouth drop and slide your tongue against his mindlessly as it becomes harder and harder for your to think or to try to speak. You only murmur helplessly to him,

“I can’t - can’t come again, it’s too much.” Blade shakes his head at you, giving you harder thrusts that makes you feel the head of his cock against your limits, the wall of your cervix and you tremble beneath him.

“You can, give it to me. I won’t ask again.” His voice is clear but you catch how it wavers at the end and it feels like seeing the arms of the titan Atlas wavier under the weight of the sky. His strokes go from hard and deep to shallow and fast as your cunt flutters around his weakly. Leaning up with your last piece of strength to lift your neck you press your forehead to his, eyes close in bliss as you whine your warnings to him about the end of your rope. With a final touch to your clit, you cum with a pained squeal of his name. An orgasm so strong it makes your pelvis ache and burn as your own hips circle and jut out to try and match his.

Blade does not falter, stamina endless as he fucks you through the waves of your orgasm that make you wither, legs limp on his shoulders as he pulls away from you - hissing at how his cock catches against the seam of your cunt. Blade rests his length on your stomach, flushed a dark pink and leaking onto your soft skin as he pumps himself to completion over your stomach. His cum paints your pale skin into a translucent pearl and he shudders with the notion of more - more of you, more of this, forever.

But for now, you will rest prettily beneath him, as he gently takes your legs off his shoulders - if you were more lucid you would think it’s funny. You never would have thought a man like him would be capable of being gentle. But you see it, in the way his hands rub against your thighs and you are being tucked in. Your eyes are almost shut completely before you feel a gentle touch to your cheek. Groggily you open your eyes, and Blade gazes upon you with an unreadable expression despite the red on his face and his messy hair.

His touch is careful and delicate as his brushes hair away from your dewy cheeks. Weakly, you lean into his touch eyes closed and relax as your hoarse voice asks,

“Is this…how it will be?”

“Would that please you?” He asks back, hand stilled on your cheek as your eyes struggle to open. His face unreadable but open. You fight back a small smile as you realize that he wants to know, to know if he can make you happy.

“Yes.” You utter as you relax into his touch, fulling closing your eyes and settling into the bed more comfortably. You don’t see it but you hear his amused huffed all the same and the way he rubs his thumb against your still blushing cheek.

“Then it will be this way.”

[darlingdaisyfarm]

takin’ what’s not yours

chapter 1

tags: pre portal, hurt/comfort, angst, Stan & Ford needs a hug, reader too, emotional manipulation, everyone needs therapy but that’s not happening, mystery trio dynamics if you squint, billford?? hmmm

author note: guys i swear this was supposed to be a shameless porn threesome fic, but then Ford and Stan showed up with a whole suitcase of unresolved issues im so sorry

“You’re gonna change the world, Ford.”

“Only if you’re there to see it.”

***

Backsmore University. What a fucking place.

It wasn’t just the old brick buildings or the ivy creeping up the sides. Not really. It was the people. The crazy mix of the smartest, weirdest people you could imagine. You were one of them, no doubt. An absolute nerd with a lab coat on 90% of the time, a mess of papers and equations in your backpack and a head full of ideas and knowledge. But unlike Ford, you weren’t shy about showing it. You thrived in it, honestly. Lectures? Boring as hell, but the energy in the halls? The potential of every single person you met? Yeah, you were there for it.

One of these was Ford Filbrick Pines.

The ultimate BMU enigma, the textbook definition of nerdy. For some reason, his persona always made you think he was hiding some secret genius-level insanity behind his weirdly serious face. 

You’d laugh about it with your friends, the way he avoided talking to anyone. Classic “genius who’s too good for people” type.

He was everywhere, and yet, nowhere at all. Seriously, you could walk through the student lounge, see him hunched over a pile of research papers in the corner and just know you were witnessing something profound. He didn’t get what you were about at first.

You were funny, obnoxious even, always the first to crack a joke or make a ridiculous observation in class. Meanwhile Ford would just stare at you with those big eyes like he was trying to figure out if you were some kind of social experiment.

But then you started talking, typical nerds topics. About quantum physics, mathematics, about the mysteries of the universe, about everything. He’d scoff at how crazy your ideas were but then, just a second later, he'd be scribbling down some insane theory of his own that he wouldn’t even tell anyone else about. And you’d get it. You both would sit in the library, trading theories and arguing about the tiniest details of space-time.

You were the loud one, in Ford’s opinion, the one who could hold a conversation about quantum theory and drag Ford to a campus party all in the same breath. He’d grumble the whole way, saying it was a waste of time, rolling his eyes at your insistence that he needed a little break. He’d follow you through those sticky, badly lit student lounges, watching you laugh with people he’d probably never even look at twice.

These late nights when you’d drag him out to stargaze, pointing out constellations, half-naming stars you didn’t know, laughing when he’d shake his head, muttering about inaccurate astronomy. But he always went along with it, always ended up laying beside you on the grass, looking up at a sky he could never quite make sense of but was desperate to understand.

The graduation day. You clearly remember that one.

The sun was so bright you could barely keep your eyes open and everything felt like a dream. You had your cap crooked on your head (you were probably running late, as usual), your tassel swinging as you walked across the field, your friends beside you, shouting and celebrating like you were all in the fucking “after party of the year.” But then you turned and your eyes saw Ford, who was clutching that damn diploma like it was a golden ticket. He looked different somehow, like he’d finally unlocked a new version of himself. 

The Stanford Pines himself, recipient of Backsmore’s largest grant for his “eccentric” research, standing with his square academic cap, although it was comically slipping off his head. He looked out of place, like a scientist among a sea of partying students who could barely remember their names half the time.

So, you did what any good friend would do— you adjusted his cap for him, (plus you wanted an excuse to touch him), made some dumb joke about how he’d better not screw it up. He’d roll his eyes, but you knew he liked it. He needed it.

“Hey,” you grinned, “looking pretty fancy for someone who spends all their time talking to aliens or whatever.”

Ford smirked. “I’ve already got a date with a space-time continuum. But you can join if you want.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile didn’t leave.

***

Outside, the world has turned into a kind of cold, quiet hell. Snow falls in thick slow flakes, burying everything in a suffocating blanket of white. And Stan stands there, jacket pulled tight against his chest, staring up at the looming silhouette of his brother's house.

It's freezing, but Stan hardly feels the cold. Not really.

It’s quiet here, but it’s not peaceful. Silence feels heavy, like it’s watching him.

His thoughts are pulled back to a time that feels both recent and impossibly distant.

Ten years. Ten goddamn years. It’s been a decade since he's seen Ford’s face. Well, of course he doesn't expect Ford to look like something completely different, they’re twins after all. But at least now Stan knows what Ford would look like with a mullet.

Stanford was always the smart one, the golden kid, with big brains and hands that tinkered with mysteries beyond Stan’s understanding. And now. . . after all these years of silence, Ford finally decides he needs him. It’s a postcard, a single damn postcard, that drags Stan out of the muck and dumps him back here in this town, holding secrets and god knows what kind of twisted shit his brother’s got himself mixed up in.

After everything Ford did, after leaving, after barely even thinking to check in after all these years, Stan knows he shouldn't feel this way. But here he is. Waiting. Hoping. Hoping against hope, as if somehow, that tall figure would come striding down the snowy path, arms filled with books and that same serious look on his face. That same one he had as a kid when something big was on his mind. 

Stan shakes his head, letting out a breath that forms a small cloud in the icy air.

“Ten years, and you drag me here for what, Stanford?” he thinks.

Stan takes a deep breath, the cold seeps right down to his bones, but it’s not the winter’s chill that makes him shiver. His heart pounds as he stares at the weathered door in front of him, trying to shake off the surge of memories of the two of them, inseparable, back when they thought the world couldn’t touch them. But that was more than a lifetime ago.

He mutters to himself, “you haven’t seen your brother in over ten years. It’s okay. He’s family. . . He won’t bite.” or at least Stan hopes so and then he knocks, half-heartedly, already bracing himself.

The door swings open with a sudden jolt. Before Stan can even greet him, Ford’s voice booms through the biting air. "WHO IS IT?! Have you come to steal my eyes?!” his trembling hands grip a crossbow, pointed directly at Stan, and the first thing Stan notices are his brother’s eyes — wide and paranoid.

Stan looks at Ford, steps back a little, blinks, then blinks again. He tries to mask the pang of hurt as he lets out a shaky laugh, “Well, I can always count on you for a warm welcome.”

Ford lowers the weapon slightly, narrowing his eyes suspiciously and then, as if finally recognizing the person standing before him, he blurts, “Stanley, did anyone follow you? Anyone at all?”

“Eh, hello to you too, pal.” Stan grumbles, but to his surprise, Ford grabs him by the clothes, yanking him roughly inside before he can even process it. "Ah!" he exclaims, stumbling forward, before the door slams shut behind them.

Ford, still skittish, shines a flashlight in Stan’s eyes, his fingers trembling as he holds it, blinding his brother. “What is this?!” Stan shoves the flashlight away.

Deep down, though, he tries to mask the pang that Ford’s mistrust strikes in him. What happened between you two? Mom would be so upset about their relationship. They used to share everything, trust each other without question, without even a word. Now here they are, stumbling through a reunion that feels like walking on broken glass.

"Sorry,” Stanford answers quickly, studying Stan’s face as if looking for lies hidden in his eyes. “I just had to make sure you weren’t. . . It’s nothing. Come in, come in.”

Stan follows him, the warmth he thought he’d feel upon seeing his brother slowly cooling into something he doesn’t want to admit that feels like disappointment. He watches Ford flit around the room, casting paranoid glances, clutching onto a battered old journal like it’s the only thing holding him together.

The shack is cluttered, papers scattered on the floor, strange devices cluttering the tables, books piled high. Wow, Stan thinks, the whole place screams my brother has been here alone too long.

It makes Stan's chest tighten.

“Uh, you gonna explain what’s going on here? you’re acting like mom after her tenth cup of coffee.” he is trying to defuse the atmosphere somehow, to make contact, but inside, his heart aches. He missed Ford; he missed him like hell. And to finally be here, standing right next to him, only to find him. . . like this. Seriously? It’s almost too much to bear.

Ford, ignoring the gentle jab, clutches the journal tighter. “Listen, there isn’t much time. I’ve made huge mistakes and I don’t know who I can trust anymore.” he doesn’t meet Stan’s eyes as he glances at a skeleton in the corner, twisting its head away from him.

Stan’s heart drops. This is bad, worse than he thought.

He steps forward, placing a hand on Ford’s shoulder, a touch he hopes can somehow bridge the miles and years between them. “Hey, easy there. Let’s talk this through, okay?”

But Ford pulls back, a strange, paranoid look in his eyes. His fingers trace the spine of the journal as he glances at Stan. “I have something to show you. Something you won’t believe.”

Stan's brow furrows, his curiosity piqued despite himself. What could it be? Some kind of super scientific bullshit that opens doors to parallel worlds? A time machine? A wormhole? Black hole made at home?

He looks at Ford, how the man hasn’t aged a day physically, but the exhaustion, the fear, the isolation, it all is painted on his brother’s face. It’s painful to see. It’s heartbreaking to think how Ford might have been living in this place, alone with nothing but his thoughts, trapped in his own world of mistakes and fears.

Stan manages a weak grin, masking his own fear for brothers sanity in his heart. "Look, I’ve been around the world, okay? Whatever it is, I’ll understand."

That twist in your chest, that awful, prickling feeling that something’s wrong.

You’re curled up at your kitchen table, sipping your tea with that kind of numbness you get when you’ve been overthinking too much. You told yourself to back off. He needed space. He needed time.

But when Stan’s eyes scan the giant, hulking portal machine in front of him, he can’t hide the bewilderment as he adds, “There’s nothing about this I understand.”

Ford’s hand wrapped tight protective around his journal. It’s the only one left, his last remaining key to understanding, to protecting everything he’s worked for. 

But now Stan stands across from him and his face clearly shows something what can be called betrayal.

Ford’s been distant. Secretive, even. The last time you two spoke, it was tense, full of anger and words you didn’t mean. It shouldn’t matter, you tell yourself, but the thought of him out there, alone, is like a weight pressing down on your chest.

Ford tries to explain as if Stan would understand. “It's a trans-universal gateway, a punched hole through a weak spot in our dimension. I created it to unlock the mysteries of the universe. But it could just as easily be harnessed for terrible destruction. That's why I shut it down and hid my journals, which explain how to operate it. There's only one journal left. . . and you are the only person I can trust to take it.” he steps forward, holding the journal out to Stan, eyes pleading. “I have something to ask of you: remember our plans to sail around the world on a boat?” Stan’s face shines with smile until he hears next shit his brother say. “Take this book, get on a boat, and sail as far away as ya can! To the edge of the Earth! Bury it where no one can find it!”

I should’ve just stayed, I shouldn’t have left.

Your fingers curl around the warm mug, but sadly the heat doing nothing to soothe the anxiety creeping up your throat.

You set it down on the counter, trying to shake off the feeling. It’s just the storm, it’s just you being overdramatic. It doesn’t mean anything.

But the knot in your stomach refuses to untangle.

Something’s wrong.

“That’s it? You finally show your face after ten fucking years and all you’ve got to say is ‘get away’?”

Ford's hand drops and disappointment flashes across his face. “Stanley, you don't understand what I'm up against! What I've been through!”

“Oh, yeah?” Stan can't contain his emotions. How dare he?! “You don’t understand what I’ve been through! Three different prisons, Stanford! I’ve chewed my way out of a goddamn car trunk! Meanwhile, where have you been? Living it up in your fancy house in the woods! Selfishly hoarding your college money, because you only care about yourself!”

With a sigh, you stand up, setting the mug down on the table as your dog, a sweet, eager little spaniel, looks up at you with wide, curious eyes.

Ford's temper snaps because he can't believe what the fuck his brother is talking about. “I’m selfish? I’m selfish, Stanley? You ruined my shot at a real life! At my dream school! And here I am, giving you a chance to do something meaningful and you still can’t get it through your head!”

You glance over at your dog, a scruffy, affectionate spaniel with big brown eyes who’s been staring at you from the corner of the room.

Stan raises his eyebrows. “Yeah? You want this fucking book gone?” he yanks a lighter from his pocket, the flame flaring up as he flicks it. “Fine. I’ll get rid of it right fucking now.” he holds the journal over the flame, daring Ford to make a move.

You can’t shake this feeling, this urge to go find Ford, even if it means dragging yourself out into the goddamn blizzard.

“I’ll be back soon, girl,” you murmur, pulling on your coat. You don’t know what you’re looking for, don’t even know what you’re hoping to find. But you have to see him. You have to know

Ford’s eyes widen, panic flashing across his face. “No!” he lunges for it, reaching out, but Stan yanks it back. “You don’t understand!” Ford shouts, desperation pouring through him.

But Stan takes a step back, holding the journal dangerously close to the flame. “You want me to take it? Well, then, I’ll decide what to do with it.”

“My research!” they jerk the book back and forth, playing a fucked up game of tug of war, their yells echoing through the lab as they struggle over it.

You can’t shake the feeling, it’s like something’s dragging you forward, pulling you toward him, toward the unknown.

It’s late and the woods are fucking silent, which is weird for Gravity Falls. You’ve been running for what feels like hours, your chest burning, your mind tangled in a mess of thoughts you can’t quite shake. Every goddamn thing with Ford lately has been a disaster, hasn’t it? One fight after another, with him shutting down, disappearing into his head like he’s always been known to do.

The last words you shared with him are still fresh in your mind, “this is it, okay?! I can’t do this anymore.” he didn’t even fight back, just. . . stared at you like you were the problem. Maybe you were the problem, you don’t know, but damn it, you cared. You couldn’t just pretend like everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t. That’s why you’re out here, because you’re not about to let him get swallowed up by whatever the hell is going on in that messed-up head of his.

And now, here you are, halfway to his place with nothing but your gut telling you that whatever was going down at Ford’s place was way worse than you thought.

When you enter, you hear the kind of noise— angry, violent, something breaking and you know Ford’s involved, you just know it. You don’t care if you two haven’t spoken in days, if things between you and him are a mess of unsaid things and frustrated silences. He’s been acting so off, and now, hearing the absolute mayhem erupting inside, you’re terrified.

The sounds are loud, shouting voices, furniture crashing, angry grunts. Your heart fucking stops as you push the door open so fast it slams against the wall. You’re not thinking, not caring that maybe you shouldn’t be here, but it’s too late to stop now.

At first, you think you've completely lost your mind, because you're seeing two Ford Pines. And then you think, either you're the one who's gone crazy, or Ford has, because he's literally fighting with himself.

But as you take a breath, both Fords turn to look at you, and that’s when it hits you: this isn’t just some bizarre mirror trick. There’s Ford and then there’s someone who looks a whole lot like him, but is definitely, absolutely not him.

“What the fuck is going on?” your voice rings out much louder than you meant, but you don’t care. Your heart is pounding way too hard and your feet are planted, legs shaking with adrenaline and worry. You’ve seen Ford in a mess of emotions, but never like this. Not this bad.

The second the door slams open, both of them freeze, but it’s the mulleted guy who speaks first. “So you got yourself a chick now, huh? Thought you were too busy playing goddamn Einstein to bother with things like that.��� his angry eyes narrow at you, and you’re not sure if it’s anger or. . . jealousy? Frustration? You don’t have time to decode it.

This guy have absolutely the same features, same nose, same intense, serious brow, but his whole look is just rougher, like he’d been living a life Ford would never survive.

And your blood boils.

“No, fuck that,” you snap, glaring at mullet-man. “You don’t talk about me like that.” then you glance at Ford. “Ford, why the fuck didn’t you tell me about—”

but you get interrupted by Ford’s clone, Ford’s twin, whatever. “Name’s Stan. Stanley Pines. The brother of this genius. Bet he’s never even mentioned me, huh?”

Your stomach churns at the words. Fuck that, no way. This isn’t about you, this is about Ford.

“What the fuck is wrong with you two?” now you are shivering not only from the winter cold, but also from the absolute chaos of what is happening. You turn to Ford, eyes desperate, desperate to know, to understand, to find answers. “What’s going on? Where have you been? I couldn’t get ahold of you. You just. . . left. And I—” you stop yourself, biting your lip. This isn’t the time to scream at him for all the unanswered questions, for all the shit that’s been left hanging. Not yet.

Ford doesn’t seem to get it. His eyes flick between you and Stan like he’s trying to piece it together, but nothing adds up. "I don’t— what are you doing here? We— we said goodbye," his voice is strained, like he’s trying to convince himself.

“No, Ford. You said goodbye! You fucking disappeared! I don’t even know why, and I— fuck, just explain yourself, okay?” you can’t keep the desperation out of your voice anymore.

Stan is watching with his arms crossed over his chest, and he still doesn't look too pleased, but it's not just anger. Although you don't have time to deal with his point of view. You need answers. You need Ford to talk.

Ford opens his mouth to say something, but then the anger, the frustration, all of it just snaps. "I didn’t want you involved in this. . .  anyone involved. This, this thing with the portal, you wouldn’t understand—"

You don’t even let him finish. “Stop. Just stop, yeah? You don’t get to just disappear like that, Ford. I don’t care about the journal or the goddamn portal anymore. I care about you. Why the hell are you so fucking determined to push everyone away?”

Ford tries to get himself together, though he looks like he’s been caught with every secret he’s ever buried. “This— this doesn’t concern you, alright? Just— just leave, go, this is between me and him.”

Stan scoffs. “Oh, yeah, classy, Sixer. Let’s bring her in just to shove her right back out, huh? Really hitting your all-time high here.”

“Shut up,” his brother snaps.

But Stan’s just as stubborn, glaring right back. “No, I don’t think I will. Not when you’ve dragged some poor girl into this whole shitshow. Real nice, by the way, real nice! Does she even know what you’ve been up to, huh? All the crap you’re into?”

“I said shut up, Stanley. I shouldn’t have called you— God, I regret calling you! You’re just here to make things worse, like always.”

The words land harder than you thought they would. It's not like you didn’t know Ford could be an asshole, but hearing him say that directly to his brother hits a nerve, like a punch to the gut. 

You see Stan’s face change, his mouth drops open, his eyes so wide, like he’s been slapped across the face. He looks like he’s been gutted. It takes his breath away, because he didn't expect to hear this ten years later, and it's obvious that Ford's words hit him too deeply.

However, your own heart drop to your stomach too. Fuck. You didn’t know what was worse — the fact that they were tearing into each other or the fact that Ford could say something like that to his own brother. It’s too much, even for you. You want to scream at Ford, demand that he stop, that this isn’t helping anyone, but you’re paralyzed.

But Stan’s hurt turns into something else and he spits back, “You think I wanted this, Ford?! You think I wanted to be the fuck-up brother?! You’re the one who dragged me into this whole goddamn mess now. You asked me to come! You! So don’t go acting all high and mighty like I’m the one screwing your life up right now!”

And then, in that moment, everything goes to hell.

Before you know it, they’re back at each other’s throats. Ford lunges forward, grabbing the journal, but Stan’s not letting go, the damn thing passed back and forth between them like it’s a live wire, all anger and resentment boiled down to this one book as each of them trying to get a hand on it. 

You rush forward, hands outstretched to push them apart, anything to stop this from going too far, but in the heat of it all, Ford jerks back, elbow flying and you feel it land in your ribs, knocking the wind right out of you and it really fucking hurts. The pain shocks you so hard you gasp.

Ford’s eyes snap to you instantly, widening in horror. “Oh my god— I’m s-so sorry! are you alri—“ he reaches toward you, himself can’t believe he just did that to you, but he barely gets a word out before Stan’s fist slams into his jaw.

This time, Stan hits so hard, putting all his resentment into the punch that Ford stumbles dangerously close to the portal, which is buzzing. You watch in absolute horror as his body goes too close, the fucking thing flickering and humming like a beast about to devour him whole and for a heart-stopping second, Ford looks like he’s going to fall right in.

You’re out of your mind in an instant as you scramble to your feet, adrenaline spiking, crazy fear in your eyes. Without thinking, you reach out, grabbing Ford’s arm, pulling him back, using every ounce of strength you have to pull him back. “Ford, no! Get back!”

Stan’s standing there, frozen for a second, scared himself by how far he had come. His chest rises and falls in heavy breaths and his face is fucking pale as he stares at his brother’s body half in portal, but the guilt is written all over Stan’s face. His bruised hand is still raised, like he wants to hit Ford again, but it’s shaking. Did he. . . did he just. . ? God, he didn’t mean—

“You!” you scream, still tugging Ford away from the edge, but the portal’s pulling like a magnet and you’re fighting with everything you have. “Help me, now!”

Snapped out of his daze, Stanley rushes over, grabbing Ford. You tug harder, your muscles screaming as Ford’s body gives a last push toward the rift, but finally, finally, together, you both heave him back, dragging him away from the portal and out of that damn pull. His feet hit solid ground and you both just collapse.

You’re gasping for breath, hands still fisted in Ford’s coat, both of you holding on like if you let go, he’ll slip right back toward that nightmare.

Ford’s breathing heavily, disoriented, his hands gripping your arms in fear. 

Stan’s still looking at Ford, his face torn up because he doesn’t know whether to say sorry, to yell or to just walk the fuck out to not ruin something else. There’s realisation in his eyes and, for the first time, Stanley is seeing what his anger’s capable of. That punch could’ve been the end of everything.

“Brother. . .” Stan’s voice trembles. “I didn’t mean to—”

You don’t let him finish. “No, you didn’t mean to. None of you meant to,” you snap, but it’s not anger in your tone, it’s damn fear, panic, it’s this deep fucking worry. You turn to Ford. “But this shit needs to stop, okay? Right now. Please.”

The silence between you, Ford and Stan stretches out as if it’s some aftermath of a bomb going off. Ford’s still on the floor, breathing hard and it’s not the near-death experience that’s fucking him up, but the bitter realisation of what could have really happened if that damn portal had taken him in.

“So that’s it, huh? After ten goddamn years, this is how you treat me? Almost shove me into a portal like it’s nothing?”

Stan opens his mouth, but Ford isn’t letting him get a word in, he’s too riled up now, all that anger and pride churning in him, boiling over. “Do you even understand what could’ve happened? What you almost did? You haven’t changed one bit, Stanley. I should’ve known better. Should’ve known you’d just fuck everything up, again. Just like you did back then.” Ford’s voice sounds colder than the winter outside. “Remember the science fair, Stan? You destroyed my experiment because you were too fucking selfish to think about anyone but yourself. I could’ve had everything. You took that from me, my chance at West Coast Tech, my chance at anything and then you have the nerve to make me the villain?”

It hits Stan harder than any punch ever could. Stan doesn’t even blink, his whole body stiff, shoulders slump.

His mouth opens like he wants to fight back, but there’s no fight left in him, the words are stuck in his throat. He doesn’t say shit, trying to process everything at once. But there’s nothing to process. Ford’s right.

“Yeah, I get it,” Stan mutters, holding back tears. “I’m a fucking failure. I know that, Sixer. Always have been. I’m sorry.”

But then he does the one thing you didn’t think he would. He turns around, slow, defeated, too fucking tired to argue and fight anymore.

And just like that, he starts walking away. But deep inside Stanley is crying like a child, expecting Ford to stop him. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t say a word, but he wishes Ford would care, at least once. 

You’re fucking shocked, feeling helpless rage and anger, heart pounding with confusion and disbelief. You thought. . . well, you don’t even know what you thought! That they’d hug it out? Have some big, tearful reunion? Not really! But this mess of accusations and bitterness and old scars is so fucked up. Completely and utterly fucked up.

Ford stands there, all silent, watching Stan’s back as he walks away, not moving an inch. The pride, the stubbornness, the wall he’s built around himself. Oh god, that guy is so fucking smart he doesn’t know how to feel anymore.

You look back at Ford, at his rigid stance, he won’t even move, won’t even try to call Stan back. You can’t believe it and something snaps in you, something fierce and hot because you’re done with all this bullshit.

“You’re not even gonna ask him to stay? Fuck, what is wrong with you both?”

Ford’s face tightens, but he doesn’t respond, doesn’t even flinch. And it drives you insane, watching him cling to that pride, that goddamn logic of his that’s somehow more important than his own damn family. No fucking way is this ending like this. Not after everything you’ve just seen, not with Ford standing there like a goddamn statue, too proud or too blind or too stupid to do anything but let his brother walk out.

You storm past Ford, ignoring his surprised look as you push past him, practically running after Stan. “wait!” you shout. But Stan doesn’t stop, doesn’t even glance over his shoulder.

“Stan!”

“What?” he snaps at you.

You step closer. “You’re not leaving,” you say, staring him down like it’s a challenge.

He lets out a dry, humourless laugh, shaking his head. “Trust me, sweetheart, it’s better if I do. I don’t belong here.” he jerks his thumb back in Ford’s direction. “Pretty clear I’m not welcome.”

“Bullshit,” you respond, what makes Stanley raise an eyebrow, looking a little surprised at your bluntness. “I don’t care if he’s too proud to say it, but you’re his brother— I mean, you think this is how family’s supposed to be? You think he doesn’t want you here?”

“Look, kid, you don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. Me ‘n’ Ford? We’re a lost cause. Always been. Ain’t no point in tryin' to fix it now.”

“Oh, come on! So you fuck up, he fucks up— you’re both disasters. That doesn’t mean you just give up. I don’t care if it’s been years or what the hell happened between you two. You don’t just fuckin’ quit on family. That’s not how this works.”

Stan’s mouth twitches and he looks like he’s gonna bite back with something snarky, but he doesn’t. He just lets out this tired sigh, rubbing his hand over his face. “I don’t wanna hurt him more than I already have. I always mess things up. I’ll just make it worse. So what’s the point?”

You take a deep breath, trying to rein in the frustration pounding through you. “The point is, you’re his brother! And if you don’t stay, if you don’t try to work this out, you’ll both regret it. You can’t just leave him to deal with this shit alone.” 

Stanley opens his mouth, ready to throw out another excuse, but you cut him off.

“Look, Stan,” you change the intonation to softer one, “I don’t know the whole story here. I don’t know what went down between you two and I’m sure as hell not saying it doesn’t hurt like hell. But this whole thing you guys are doing? Pushing each other away? It’s not gonna make anything better.“

“Fine, fine. But don’t expect me to be the hero, alright? I ain’t got no magic words to fix this shit.” Stan sighs and looks down like he’s too damn tired for this conversation.

When you and Stan make your way back inside, you see Ford still there with his back to you.

Stanley huffs out a laugh, trying to shake off the tension. “So, Sixer, when’d ya start collectin’ all this junk? don’t tell me you got a whole damn museum in here.”

Suddenly, Ford huffs a dry laugh that sounds a little bitter coming from someone like him. “Wouldn’t expect you to get it. Takes more than a few brain cells to appreciate real science.”

Stan’s smile falters, well, it was pretty rude, but he thinks he deserved it. You and Stan share a look, but before you can say anything, Stan just shrugs it off, letting out a forced chuckle, his voice trying to stay light. “Ha, yeah, same ol’ Ford. Ya always had a way with words, didn’t ya?”

There is only silence in response, but when you come a little closer, you finally take in the sight of Ford holding a goddamn crossbow.

Wait, what?

Your eyes go wide and the first thing that hits you is the cold sweat creeping up your spine.

Stan and you freeze. Confusion mixing with a little fear as you both look at Ford, What the hell is going on with him? Since when does Ford carry a crossbow around like it’s no big deal?

Stan raises an eyebrow, trying to lighten the mood with a joke, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. “Hey, bro, you planning on hunting something tonight or just ready to, I dunno, take out some deer in the backyard?”

[loveanddeepspice]

𝕋𝕖𝕞𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔾𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕖

✞ synopsis:  you've come back to the small town you grew up in for a visit. though your relationship with the catholic church and faith in general have been strained since you were younger, you find yourself drawn back to the church... or more specifically... the new priest... you aren't ready to share your secret sin with him... but you may not be able to help yourself.

✞ pairing: sylus x curvy fem!reader

✞ rating:  18+ (minors do not engage)

✞ cw:  religion (catholicism), priest, lapsed faith, adultery, priest kink, suicidal mention, dead parent, sex, masturbation, drugs (marijuana), mentions of other drug use, drinking (more will be added when/if they arise)

✞ disclaimer: this fiction explores a romantic relationship between a lapsed Catholic and an unconventional priest. it is not designed to be inflammatory or critical. catholic authors were asked to participate in the process. we hope you enjoy it, but we know that these topics can be sensitive, so please skip this fiction if it will in any way offend you.

✞ chapter:  6 / ?

✞ co-authors:  redbriony, confuseddoughnut (they do not have tumblr)

✞ ao3 link:  here

✞ chapter synopsis: "the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it." - oscar wilde

✞ index: chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5| chapter 6

Please comment on this post if you want to be added to the tag list for updates!

Despite what happened, you would have done anything to face Father Sylus again. 

He was the type of person who radiated energy from within, dedication unlike anyone you had ever met - which could be a good or a bad thing. The thoughts became an obsession, all that seemed to fill your brain. The recollection of his touch made you sweat. It was the last thing you thought about before drifting off to sleep, the first thing you thought about when you woke, and the next few days stretched.  One thing was sure: you longed to see him again, if only for the courage to apologize.  But did you even have to apologize? He was the one who had kissed you first, right?  It was so unbelievably confusing. You’d talk yourself through circles; for once, no amount of sleeping seemed to help.  You weren’t even given the option to sleep it all off anyway or mellow properly in your self-pity. Upon learning of your ‘arrest’ from Talia, your father forced you out of the house that Sunday to go to church with him.  “What’s going on with you, Y/N?” Dad raised his eyebrows and frowned as he gripped the steering wheel, and you could tell he was trying hard not to get angry or frustrated. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, hon. You came back, and you’re acting weird.  Can you just tell me what’s wrong?”  Shaking your head, you shrugged, trying your hardest to maintain eye contact on the door handle, ignoring your dad’s question and wishing he’d just leave you alone.  “You went from being happy to totally distraught since you moved out. What am I supposed to think here, huh?”  ‘Maybe everything went to total fucking shit,’ was what you wanted to say, and tried not to roll your eyes. Dad tried so hard to not act like the authoritarian or pushy father, especially after your mother had died. He was never like that. And it was because of that you figured it was time to be at least a little truthful.  “I quit my job. I don’t know what I’m going to do from here, but -” you said, “I just…needed some time to think things through.”  Your dad parked the car and turned to offer you a subtle smile. You were convincing enough, obviously. “Okay, fine. Work in the store until you figure it out. It’ll be like old times.” One hand gripped the steering wheel as he looked at you, almost seeming to peer into your brain as his eyes flicked ever so slightly. “So, uh, is this about your mom? I didn’t know you were still upset about that. I should’ve tried to talk to you more.”  You bit down your reply, feeling a bitter taste in the back of your throat, and willing it away.  “No, it isn’t. Just forget about it.”  A long sigh filled the small space as your father pressed his lips together. “Christ, I can’t be mad at you right now. I’ve always let you do what you want.”  This was strange, a particular ache settling inside and spreading to your limbs like an infection. Maybe it wouldn’t stop now that it had started. And the first instinct was to get away and run. Run and run and just get away.  “Hon, Y/N,” Your Dad’s voice was pleading, and you nearly missed it. “We can go talk to -”  “No!” You blurted, immediately regretting it, mortified at just the thought. How did you speak so fast? “No, it’s fine. Let’s just go inside. We’re gonna be late.”

You didn’t feel any better inside the church, but you weren’t expecting much to begin with. All you could do was suck it up and seat yourself beside your dad. It wasn’t crowded, but there were a few unfamiliar faces, so maybe not everyone would notice your fucked up mood. 

Everything felt surreal. You were sitting there in church with the sun streaming through the stained glass windows, and your gaze landed on the one depicting the Virgin Mary.

The word ethereal came to mind. 

Everything seemed like it would evaporate into thin air. Like if you moved too quickly, you’d wake up from one of those dreams that just turned out to be inside of another dream. 

And when a hush fell over the congregation, you had no choice but to look forward. No matter how your brain fizzes or your fingers tingle. You were forced to look at that handsome face in front of the church and feel the emotion well inside you. Something that felt different than embarrassment or frustration. 

Even from this distance, Father Sylus exudes that particular aura, daring to fill the whole church with its strength. You are once again reminded of how inescapable his presence is—not through belief or goodness, but something, someone who felt unearthly, even celestial, as absurd as it felt. 

Ethereal. Once again, with that pretty word. How could you even begin to explain it? It was so easy to feel some sort of bitterness, perhaps even selfishness. Who could blame you? Everything always seemed too simple when you looked at it from a distance. 

“Good morning,” He began, his voice taking on that strangely powerful, lilting cadence. He paused, hands clasping, and his posture was different. Shoulders broad, spine straight, chin lifted slightly. “I want to take a moment before we begin to discuss why we’re here.” 

You were drawn to his words, which had formed an invisible link to you. Maybe if you closed your eyes like you did at night, you could picture that night in the car. It felt foolish because you were certain your own thoughts were desperate. How stupid did it make you seem, trying to replay the sensation? A stupid crush. That is all you wanted it to amount to, even if looking into his fiery gaze had made you feel like you were melting.

“We’re here, in the house of the Lord. Why is this?” 

If a month’s insistence on chasing after a flame could be compared to anything -

 “Free will.” His tone picked up. “Through our actions, we make conscious decisions. As far as humankind is concerned, free will also makes us human.” 

Your breathing stilled. Something terrible seized your gut, a cramping feeling causing you to grit your teeth. 

“This is a sanctified place,” he continued, voice rich and filled with energy. “Within these walls, you should experience peace. Not conflict or anger. All are free here because it is with our actions that we build ourselves.”

How the hell did he manage this? The words continued spilling from his mouth, something pulling you further. And after a pause, his gaze filtered over the room again - and landed on you. 

Time was beginning to stand still, and you swore your face began to heat up. But, thankfully, the look didn’t linger on you, moving on as he cleared his throat. 

Well, fuck. 

There was only a tiny shift in expression, and perhaps you were the only one to notice how his pause seemed more lengthy than those before it. 

"We - uh.” Father Sylus made a show of glancing down at the notes before him and shuffling a few pages. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat again, a little louder this time. “What I mean to say is, with free will, we struggle against our urges and temptations. Sin beckons - uh,” another loud cough. He looked nervous. Vulnerable. In more ways than one. 

Father Sylus hastily pushed aside the pages, shoulders lifting in a deep breath before looking again at the people gathered. He straightened a little, and his powerful tone returned as he folded his hands neatly. “So, how do we resist? It can be hard to…admit one’s faults.” He let out a little huff of air, glancing down again. Then, he stepped away from the podium, stepping along the carpeted dais, hands clasped behind his back and thumbs tapping against each other. 

The congregation started shifting. A glance here and there, unable to guess what he would say next. Probably wondering why their priest was acting so…off. If you weren’t glued to your seat in, well, any number of the emotions you were feeling now - you would have high-tailed it out of there already. But instead, you were frozen in place, feeling like an outsider, feeling the shift in the air more than the others around you. 

“Take those feelings and multiply them by ten.” He stated, looking towards the back of the church at nothing in particular. It was as if he was somewhere only his mind knew. 

“Opportunity is often just an invitation to sin, yes. Free will is a man’s greatest power but also his biggest weakness. With that power comes responsibility. Satan doesn’t come dressed in a red cape and pointy horns in the middle of the night.” 

Oh God.

 There was a tense pause and stillness, and you wonder how you managed to sit here and listen. Those crimson eyes trailed around the room, but for another second, a brief and terrifying second, they burned into you.

“Satan comes as everything you’ve ever wished for.” He laughed, bitter and slightly hoarse. Then his eyes snapped forward again, unabashed. 

He coughed, cleared his throat again, and gestured with a finger above his head. “We all - well, we all think we can overcome any challenge. Big or small. Big and small.” Father Sylus let out a shaky exhale. “Um, the point is...The point is that the devil is ready to collect when you can’t. So, the point is that - uh,” His tone shifted to something smaller that made your insides tremble agonizingly. A breathless, tight sort of anxiousness that stole through your lungs and caused your heart rate to increase. It was impossible to deny that despite the words coming out of his mouth, you actually wanted to hear him continue. “Um, sometimes I think the hardest thing is that we are human, and we are weak.” 

Before he could even continue, his voice cracked. “I’m sorry.” He swallowed, grimacing, an anguish that you recognized. “Excuse me.” He looked like he might break, the wavering tension almost stifling the room, his expression almost tormented. 

“I’m sorry. Excuse me.” And with that, he disappeared into the back, leaving everyone shocked. 

Everyone except for you. 

“And that’s why I’m never going to church again.” You rolled your eyes as you leaned against one of the shelves in your dad’s store, looking over at Rafayel, who was leaning against the counter, making it his personal mission to get every last drop out of an iced coffee. “You should have seen the look on his face. What a fuck up.” 

Rafayel wrinkled his nose, looked around the otherwise empty store, and then glanced at his phone. “Yikes. Poor guy.” He sighed and tapped his foot on the floor. “Talia came home and said he had a migraine - but it’s even more hilarious that a near-public breakdown was because of you.” 

“My God, you are awful.” You frowned and stepped forward to lightly punch his arm, reaching out and catching his elbow with a grimace as he pretended to almost fall over. “That’s a horrible thing to say! You were the one who was practically encouraging me!” 

“I would never,” Rafayel huffed, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. “Anyway, it’s been almost a week now. You’re gonna have to suck it up and face him sooner or later.” With a firm nod, he shook off your hold and dusted his hand on the faded denim of his jeans, turning his attention back to his phone and shaking the ice in the cup he held. 

“How would I do that?” You asked. 

As if oblivious, Rafayel arched a brow and smiled tightly, peering at you over the edge of his phone. His tone was less-than-reassuring, sounding almost pitying. “No fucking idea.” 

You opened your mouth to argue but thought better of it as the shop door opened, just in time for the chilly afternoon to bring in your dad and Xavier. You took a deep breath at the sound of the bell and forced yourself to calm down.

As if on cue, Rafayel pushed himself away from the counter and looked in your direction. “Well, Y/N.” He said, tossing a wink in your direction that made you want to reach out and knock the silly grin off his face. “Good luck.” With that, he turned and walked out of the store with a shake of his head. 

Your dad mumbled something under his breath before tossing a wave a little too late and heading into the back of the small building. 

Unease had settled in your stomach at your friend's departure. You felt as if you had more to say, ask, or get a general idea of as you stared at the shop's door. You ran a hand over your tired face and sighed. 

“Hi,” Xavier gave you a careful, controlled smile as you turned toward his voice. “Need help with anything?” 

You tried your best not to fidget or bite your lip. “No, but it’s nice of you to offer.” You shrugged and glanced away briefly. “Why? Got nothing else to do?” 

“Uh, I work here?” He blinked as he stepped forward. You could take in his softening facial features now that he was closer. His smile didn’t quite fade as he looked around the quiet shop. “Anyway - I um. I tried to call you last night? About dinner?” 

Tilting your head in confusion, you froze. Then, you processed the sentence. 

Dinner. Shit. 

“Oh! My phone went missing. I’m sure it’ll turn up soon or something. Wasn’t the nicest phone anyways,” you brushed some hair behind your ear. “I still can’t figure out how it disappeared!” You forced a laugh at your lie and shifted uncomfortably.

You’d completely forgotten about agreeing to go out with him. How fucking stupid were you? So caught up in the idea of -

“Well, uh, I didn’t plan much. So it’s okay, we can just do something another night. Right?” Xavier suggested, and you couldn’t tell if he had let it go so quickly or was suspicious about your behavior. 

Either way, you smiled, rationalizing with yourself for what felt like the millionth time that spending time with him would be a good thing. Any way to keep your mind distracted. Clearly, he still wanted to go out with you, and you certainly wouldn’t say no. After all, who could blame you for latching on anyone who showed the slightest interest? 

This would be a step in the right direction, right? Things would get better. They had to. No matter how weird it felt for you to think so. 

“That’s fine. Sorry, my head’s all over the place.” 

The worst part of it all was the sudden weight in your stomach, the ache in your chest that was becoming all too tiring. Something pushed you in the complete opposite direction of the young man in front of you, towards what you really wanted, and had no explanation for why you did. 

“Y/N?” Xavier spoke again and stepped closer, watching your expression with careful scrutiny, his hand reaching out to touch yours, giving you a new feeling of unease. “Hey, um, - you alright?” 

Your heart wrenched a little at the worry, and you wondered exactly how pathetic you appeared. “I think so. Can you take over? I gotta step out for a while.”

It grew colder as you walked along the sidewalk, sticking your hands inside your jacket pockets. Clouds gathered in the distance, inching their way towards the suburb. The air smelled fresher, as if it might snow lightly sometime at night. A breeze swept over the street, stirring pieces of your hair from its confines, and you briefly thought you should have remembered your scarf. 

Then, you came to a stop in front of the church. 

You looked down at your outfit, the jeans and the oversized blue sweater you had found in your mom's closet, when you couldn’t be bothered to do your own laundry. Perhaps she would give you strength, or at least enough willpower from wherever she was to give you the courage to turn right the fuck around and go back home.  She was always straightforward in that way, even without the drinking. If only you had taken after her in that aspect. 

For a moment, you almost turned to leave, giving yourself the opportunity to simply walk away and go home. However, after a few seconds of mental debate, you stepped along the worn walkway and up the steps, slipping your hand out of your pocket to place it on the worn wooden door. 

Somewhere in your mind was a glimmer of hope, the possibility of resolve.

Now that you had gathered whatever courage you had left, you took one last, bracing breath before pushing the door open. A jolt of energy speared up your arms, a buzzing sensation against your fingertips. Once you were inside, everything felt eerily silent. Almost too silent. But as the familiar warmth enveloped you, your body relaxed slightly as you shrugged off your jacket. 

The last light from the day was casting through the windows, and the interior was a muted, golden glow and soft orange. It felt warm in more ways than one. Despite the hushed nature of the building, energy thrummed within you. The atmosphere was inviting, but for some reason, you couldn’t quite muster the ability to step forward any further, feet stuck to the floor beneath you. It was ironic, yet in a way, expected; you felt like crying or throwing something, but maybe punching Father Sylus would give you the most satisfaction. 

The chapel seemed alien to you as you made your way further inside. 

Loneliness was all-consuming, a fear ever present and threatening in the back of your mind. You wondered why it hurt so much. And, you considered whether you have ever experienced a real connection in your life. You zeroed in on the cross beyond the rows of pews as if you could use it for answers. It glinted a little in the evening light that filtered through the stained glass. Your eyes felt dry as they fixed upon the illuminated wood, searching, listening, walking towards the front of the church like a mouse. 

“You think this is funny, don’t you?” You asked your question out loud. The silence of the building taunted you in return, and something constricted within your chest. The rush of it all was consuming, filling your every thought with hope and expectation. A breath sucked in, and you shook your head, blinking. Everything felt off, and you had no idea what your body was supposed to do with itself. “This is so fucked. You know, this is all…just so messed up,” you choked out the whisper and, with a small gasp, swallowed. The emotions swelled. Heavy and pounding and suddenly overwhelming. 

Who gave a shit? Nothing would change. 

But, maybe - 

Would God be willing? Could He lift the spell put on you that would continue to grow? 

“Mom is dead, and she’s not coming back.” The words spilled and dropped like shattered glass. “And, uh, it’s just like, that’s fucked up. Isn’t it? Please, it’s - well, I wish I knew, God damn it. Motherfucker!” You swore louder than you should have, not recognizing your own voice. A feeling that had no name gripped your heart. This was it. You were giving up. “Totally fucked up. And you go and make me do stupid shit? What kind of test is that?” 

Only silence answered. You wondered how you should feel. As angry as you were, it felt strange to voice it. Finally, saying the words brought unusual comfort, and it was too easy to admit everything now. “Yeah, yeah. You should really apologize, God. Lord. Jesus. Whatever.” 

“I’m sorry.” The voice that spoke back did not belong to you. Echoing off the walls and the stained glass, it sent a jolt up your spine, causing you to spin in its direction. Leaning against a doorframe was Father Sylus, looking down at the floor, that shameful expression resurfacing on his face. You witnessed the repentant facade as he lifted his head and looked at you. 

It felt like a flood rushed through you, coursing, washing away the anger, seeping into every cell, and filling you with something new. Warm and soft, somehow breaking you apart as it passed. Something indecipherable but true. 

Something almost wonderful and exhilarating. 

He looked like something you could draw. That raw, exposed sort of aura. 

That same warmth enveloped your heart, the comfort expanding across your chest. There was something profound and affectionate within his gaze and the sense that you had underestimated what was truly meant by the phrase ‘care and concern.’

It could have been a few seconds. Or minutes passed as you stood rooted to the spot. The beating of your heart seemed to echo in your ears. Blood pulsed through your veins, the silence around you growing louder. 

“For what?” You were almost afraid to speak up. 

“For whatever you’re feeling,” Father Sylus stated plainly. Then he straightened, and his look shifted, and for a split second, he stepped forward, only to pause with his fingers twitching at his sides. Maybe there was confusion flickering in his gaze. Or longing. But he still didn’t move from where he stood, as if unable to break the tension he had with himself. After a time, he studied your face and added, “For everything and for nothing.” 

After a moment of thought, you shook your head. “That’s vague.” 

“It’s all I’ve got.” Father Sylus ran a hand behind his neck, almost nervously, eyes shifting and gaze searching. Another pause lingered between you, and you blinked a few times. He opened and closed his mouth, finally settling on placing both his hands on his hips, inclining his head to look at the stained glass windows. “That…and guilt.” 

His admission seemed weighted, and his voice was heavy. You watched him take a step forward, then hesitate. 

In that second, there was a great leap in understanding. You understood that he would not look directly at you because it would break this sacred reverence between you and whatever else was going on within his mind. 

Maybe it’d always been a game, and perhaps you knew deep down that this would be his next move. The inevitable, silent communication. Slowly, you folded your shaky arms over your chest. The look that flashed in his eyes made you shudder. With a new boldness, you swallowed and whispered: “Why are you telling me this?” 

Exhaling hard, you weren’t sure whether to scream, laugh, or cry as you awaited your answer.

He swallowed, his dark gaze teeming like a fire in the low light, the red burning. His lip curled. “Because I feel like you can understand it. Why I feel this way.” 

A sick urge, sharp and needy, had you crossing the space between you, the air shaking and trembling as he finally took another stride forward. Your eyes traced over his face. Deep and pained and beautiful. His chest heaved. A strange, bittersweet satisfaction filled you. 

“I - I can’t stop thinking about -” you broke off, words quivering as you spoke. “Us. The other night - it keeps going through my head, what I said, and -” your voice was breaking again, the achy, miserable desperation settling in. 

You could tell he was holding his breath, hands now clenched into fists, gaze searching and uncertain. “I didn’t mean to deceive you.” The words hung heavy as he stepped closer, finally closing the distance between you, tilting your chin, and forcing you to look at him. The grip held you firmly, though his eyes remained gentle and pleading. “I want nothing more than to pray - beg for your forgiveness. Try and restore whatever trust I’ve betrayed - but in all truth, God, I -” 

Another thick swallow, and he paused, the corner of his mouth twisting. He squeezed your chin lightly as if in search of some answer. Then his hand fell to his side, his head turning to look at the cross behind the altar. Something burned beneath your ribs. 

“What is it?” You whispered, trembling with the effort of not spilling all your unresolved thoughts. “Tell me - tell me something, anything, or - or -” You stopped yourself, feeling a little pathetic at not being able to formulate the proper words. 

“My path was never exactly clear, but,” Father Sylus swallowed thickly, sounding more scared than ever. “Someone I loved when I was younger - she -” A long sigh escaped his lips. “We were each other's firsts and…We loved each other very much.” He exhaled again. His face creased into sadness, reminiscent and haunting. A sharp pain, almost. One that lingered from emotions held within. The truth was there, plain as day, naked, heartbroken, and fragile. “She died when she was eighteen.” 

Pain squeezed at you mercilessly, tight and almost bone-crunching. You stepped closer, your brain slowly putting it all together, realization hitting. Then your bottom lip trembles as you reach out, taking hold of his hand and squeezing it. “I’m sorry,” you manage to say after a moment, “that must have been -” Another pause, trying to settle your lungs into a steadier breathing pattern. 

He squeezed your hand, looking at you, catching your gaze and holding it, unwavering. “I went to her funeral in a church far bigger than this one with twice the congregation. And later that day, when they put her down into the ground, I listened to the Monsignor pray over her soul.” He looked away again, this time up at the beams in the ceiling. “And I really listened to what he was saying for the first time. And I don’t know why, I just suddenly felt…” He trailed off, and you moved your hand further up his arm, willing him to continue by pressing your fingertips gently into his forearm. 

He smiled at the ceiling, faint and apologetic. “I felt at peace. Everything clicked into place. As stupid as that sounds. It was like something I couldn’t understand but needed. And, well,” he shrugged. 

“At last, it finally made sense to me,” he muttered. “The power God holds over us was always right there.” Then he turned to face you, his fingers reaching and resting on your cheek, tracing the soft skin of your jaw. “And now, I stand before you - finding these feelings again, the first true connection I’ve felt in years. I don’t mean to doubt anything…but I don’t know how to...” 

He let his voice drift off before tucking your hair behind your ear, movements tender. You wondered what he could see in your expression. 

“How did she die?” You asked quietly as if the question would destroy something in the air, but you needed to ask it anyway. 

The corners of his mouth trembled as he stroked his thumb along your jawline, offering you a small, grim smile. “She was mad at something, drank herself sick. Decided a joy ride on a motorcycle might be a good idea,” he turned his gaze to the ceiling again, and it finally hit you that he kept doing that as a trick to keep himself from crying. “She lost control and swerved, hit a wall head-on. Died on impact. Stupid girl with the dumbest ideas. She used to talk about seeing if the world curved or if the stars continued forever. She was funny and smart - but not as smart as she should have been. Her blood alcohol level came back three times the legal limit.” 

“That’s horrible,” you breathed. The puzzle pieces were assembled together. A crash. Drunk. How similar it was to your mother. Only your mother hadn’t met death head-on. It was still one of those things that made you wonder; which would have been worse? The chance was so similar yet unique. Still, as Father Sylus spoke about it, you swore you felt the faint sorrow he must still carry within himself.

“Sylus, I’m -” 

“Don’t be sorry.” He said, finally regaining a certain poise about his face, somehow managing to look warm even at this moment, smiling very softly. 

At his words, you realized you were breathing harder than before, and it didn’t go unnoticed as he scanned your face. You didn’t know what was wrong with you; you felt an emotion you could no longer explain. He had experienced loss, same as you, just not in the same way. 

Father Sylus let out a dry snort. “It’s not a happy memory, but something good comes from pain. Distrust to trust. Fear to courage. Hatred to love. To an extent, those things make you understand and appreciate everything.” 

You nodded, unable to stop yourself from wrapping your arms around his middle, convincing yourself you would forget how to breathe if you didn’t. You embraced him because it felt like the right thing to do, the smoothness of his shirt beneath your fingertips. His hand ran up along your side until it rested on your neck's base, soft, gentle, and warm. He exhaled a little before resting his chin on the top of your head. 

As he held you, you realized that this was what you had wanted. This was what you had really been aching for. Everything shifted again, changing, rushing with a tangle of nerves and dizziness. Nothing else would settle more easily than being cradled right there, where you could breathe him in. 

“Hey, do you -” He leaned back, both hands cupping your face, tilting it to meet his own. It took him a moment to formulate his question. “I shouldn’t ask, but - do you still want me?” 

Of course you did. More than anything. 

But even then, you should have stepped away. Should have walked out without another word, back to whatever fucking regular life you thought you had. But with whatever strength you had left, you pushed everything aside and quietly said, “Yes.” 

He had pressed you against the wooden door of the office, pinning you in place after dragging you in there and shutting the door. Not that you really had any intention of going anywhere. Not with his lips moving against yours, the desperation sending sparks along your skin.  His tongue darted out, parting your lips and moving into your mouth. Hungry and forceful and tasting every inch.

“You know,” he said as he pulled back, taking a second to breathe, “It’s so hard to be good when you’re so…” He trailed off, leaving you to only imagine what he would say. 

No, you had no words or any logical thoughts, really. Perhaps this was the closest thing to heaven you’d ever feel, surely. And Father Sylus ran his hands down your sides, slow and possessive, grabbing fistfuls of your sweater and bunching it up. Heat began spreading throughout your body as his fingertips crept underneath and stoked along the sensitive skin. 

“Will you let me in?” He mumbled, his lips now on the underside of your jaw as his palms spanned across your stomach as if trying to map out every inch of exposed skin. The blood pounded in your veins, pulsing in rhythm with your heartbeat.

“If this is what it feels like to be tempted,” you mused, gasping as he sucked on the skin above your collarbone, gripping the front of his shirt. “I have already failed. Miserably.” 

Letting out a hot breath that sounded an awful lot like laughter, he pulled away, a smile stretching across his lips, amused. “I suppose you really have,” he chuckled. His hands gripped your hips and spun you around so you were against his desk. Then he ducked down to press more kisses along your throat. The shivers returned as he lifted your sweater over your head, tossing it aside with another wicked grin. And for the first time, you noticed the hint of a dimple in the corner of his mouth. 

After a moment, Father Sylus fumbled with the buttons of his shirt until that, too, was discarded, skin suddenly bare. The sight made you stop, observing for a moment. For the first time, your fingers reached out and touched the skin of his chest, moving over the muscles and across his stomach. You marveled at the way he flinched slightly, inhaling sharply at your touch. 

Everything felt…hot, heavy, and inappropriate in the best way. 

And before you knew it, his hands were running up along the bare skin of your stomach, a barely-there brush that made your breath hitch. Then his hands were behind your back, unhooking your bra as his lips found yours again, rough and fervent. As it was removed, there was not a second of delay before his hands cupped both of your breasts, squeezing and drawing his thumbs over your nipples. 

“You’re so beautiful,” his hands shifted, fingers resting along the waistband of your jeans. 

It was like every little action was becoming overwhelming, sending pulsing waves through every nerve, vein, and muscle. When he popped the button, slid the zipper, and slowly eased the jeans down, the pulsing only got stronger—dizzying with its intensity. It was challenging to focus on anything else that would make more sense. Your mind was clouded. 

“Wait,” you breathed, sitting on the desk, pulling the clip from your hair and tossing it to the floor, the waves tumbling out. His hands never left you, still roaming over every little centimeter of you they could get access to, “I -” 

It didn’t need to be said, whatever it was. Because a grin broke out across his lips. A bright, glorious grin as Father Sylus pressed another harsh kiss to your lips like he could swallow the words down.

Stepping closer, he maneuvered you onto your back, your legs dangling over the edge of the desk. The smooth, cool wood pressed against the length of your spine and shoulders as you heard something that sounded like a book fall somewhere behind you. He gripped the soft flesh of your thighs, blunt nails digging in. Breath hitching, your heart thumped at the roughness and passion of his movements. Something animalistic and unrestrained lay just beneath the surface, waiting, ready. 

“Let me,” he urged quietly, fingers winding over the lace underwear, dragging them down the length of your legs. Fingers stroked up again, curling and caressing your inner thighs, one hand finally reaching the place where you were already desperate, soaking wet, and aching to be touched. Without hesitation, a digit dipped, sliding along your slick folds and slipping in easily. The motion made you bite down on your tongue as his other hand ran along the underside of your knee, urging your leg up and apart. 

You felt the pad of his thumb gliding over the little bundle of nerves, back and forth in a way that made you groan. 

“You are,” his voice was low, almost a growl, and his teasing continued. “So gorgeous, laying there. I can’t stop looking at you.” One finger became two. Slick and hot as they moved into you, each stroke moving deeper. All too suddenly, his lips were crashing down against yours, kissing you hard and desperately as if set on devouring you whole. 

The only thing keeping you stable was grabbing his shoulder and his upper arm. The sudden rise of pressure rushed around you. His thumb slipped, pressing down a bit more on your clit, drawing another gasp from you, a sound that filled the room. Then he pulled his hand away, an invisible weight settling when the digits were gone, leaving you empty and still aching for more. 

“I’m on birth control,” you managed, eyes blinking rapidly as you processed that this, in fact, was actually about to happen. The fullness beneath your belly was spooling tighter, coiling. 

It was only a few seconds; that’s all it took for him to undo his belt buckle, his length freed. Straining, leaking, begging to be inside you. The size of it makes you swallow a certain anxious lump in your throat. 

“Please.” The word spilled out before you could stop it. The coil inside you grew more and more tense and throbbing. You needed it now; the consequences didn’t matter, nor did the guilt or shame. “Please.”

His breathing hitched as if a long controlled flame within had been ignited. One of his hands rested on your hip, the other hooking under your opposite knee, parting you further and steadying himself. The tip of his cock pressed at your center. You didn’t have any time to prepare because, at that very moment, he was pushing further, sliding into you inch by inch. 

The heat and fullness and pleasure coursed, trembling through you. 

“Sweetheart,” he breathed, face buried in the crook of your neck, but you could hear the grin in his tone, the soft desperation in his voice. “You, you -” but his breath choked off as he pushed all the way inside, the moan that ripped through him cracked and hoarse. 

It took you a moment to feel him fully, gasping for air and dazed beyond what was really necessary. Holding tight, you wrapped an arm around his neck, exhaling hard. The room became a haze around the two of you, the entire moment almost suspended, paused, put on hold. 

When he moved his hips again, you whimpered as he hit somewhere deep, and your pleasure spiked. 

“Fuck,” he whispered against your skin, raising himself just enough to look at you, eyes glinting with a certain fervor. A little dark, a little feral, something wildly possessive and hungry and yearning all at once. “Oh, fuck,” he hissed, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes. Another jolt shot through you. Another strong thrust, this one harder than the last, followed by another. And another. It took a minute for him to set a rhythm, but when he did - you were sure the air was being pushed from your lungs each time. 

You couldn’t do anything but hang on. His mouth met yours in a sloppy, forceful kiss. Gasping and shuddering, you tried not to shout at the next jolt. The constant grind fills you every time. Deeper and sharper. The steady, thrumming pleasure. Intense and focused, as if Father Sylus were on a mission. Searching for something. Finding each sweet spot with whatever desperate greed drove him. Like now that he’d had the taste of something forbidden, he wanted the best of it - anything you could offer. 

He shifted slightly, and before you knew it, he hooked your leg over his shoulder, the deep angle making you arch from the desk. 

One hand tangled in his hair, the other on his shoulder, gripping hard and pulling him closer, trying to keep him buried deep inside of you. The friction built, the pace driving forward and drawing the pressure up, leaving you malleable and aching for release. But somehow, wanting it to last as long as possible. 

When the pleasure spooled tighter and tighter, every breath came short, coming fast and shorter. Until finally with one long, breathy whimper of an exhale, release washed over you, crashing like a wave. His name slipped out of your mouth, some deep, instinctual part of your brain keeping you present enough to utter it, still pulsing around him, shaking. 

And that brought him there, a little broken sound falling from his lips. Hips snapping, driving just the slightest bit further until he groaned into the side of your neck, spilling inside you. After a moment, the stillness settled between the two of you, heavy and thick. There was no actual sound other than ragged breathing. 

You stared at the ceiling, trembling and a bit boneless, wholly dumbfounded and satisfied. Then, with every ounce of energy left, you sat up, placing a hand on his chest.

“You okay?” 

A rush flooded through you at his question, and you struggled to make sense - to be logical and reasonable. 

“Yeah,” you said quickly, “I just. I…” What was the right wording? You trailed off, eyes focused somewhere beyond him. Struggling, you kept your eyes away. How could you possibly articulate the warmth that had settled over you, the lift in your confusion that had been gnawing at you until this moment? How could you explain feelings that make no real sense? 

“I feel at peace.” A near whisper because your words made it tangible, whatever it was. And really, you did feel lighter. It was as if something weighing on your shoulders had lifted in a way that wasn’t just because of the act that had been performed. 

“Really?” A sharp inhale of his breath. 

You nodded, reaching out to hold his face and running your thumbs along his cheekbones. Father Sylus slowly returned the nod, a tentative but wonderful, hopeful smile quirking up his lips—something bright and genuine, untouched by bitterness or remorse.

Serenity had sunken in with a comforting familiarity. Settling inside, like the feeling of returning home. Like the truth had opened its door. Acceptance and serenity. Understanding. Clarity, even. The knowledge you weren’t as broken or faulty as you thought. 

A moment passed, no words spoken. Then, still breathless and maybe a bit disbelieving, Father Sylus reached out and traced a cross on your brow with his thumb. 

“Did you just -” You blinked, a bit indignant as you huffed. “Did you just…bless me?”

He looked a bit sheepish, hands resting on your shoulders, thumbs rubbing gentle circles along your collarbone. “Guess I did.” With a slight chuckle, he leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on your forehead. 

Tag list: @celestialforce, @readerxyourbabe, @babyx91

[skele-bunny]

Thinking about Aether and Dew baby...

This follows Calida's timeline!

CW - Pregnancy, Mentions of past Traumatic Pregnancy (but this is a fluff post!)

It's been a good few years, now. Calida now a rambunctious teenager, the ministry settled down while there's no tours for a good while. It's comfortable! The topic comes up one night, Dew settled in the bed with Aether on their day off together;

"Firefly?"

"Hm?"

"Promise you won't bite me if I ask something?" An eyebrow raise but Dew promises. "How would you feel about another baby?"

"Another?" Dewdrop sits up a little, resting more on the headboard as he grimaces some. "I dunno, Aeth... Calida's was rough as is. I had her early, and all the complications, and just the mental side of it? I'm not sure... Why?"

"Just been thinking, that's all. Maybe something in the air, all the babies I've been helping deliver with the siblings. I dunno either. Just thought, maybe, it would be nice to have tiny feet running through the den again."

Dewdrop just chews his lip and nods, eventually going into silence before going to the bathroom suddenly. Closes the door and stares at himself in the mirror for a bit, so many thoughts racing. He doesn't realize how long it's been until Aether knocks to check on him, Dew opening the door and looking up, holding his breath.

"Okay."

"Okay, what?"

"Let's have another. But on my conditions."

"What- Oh, okay! What's your conditions?" Aether can't help his tail wagging.

"We're gonna go talk to my therapist and double, triple, fucking quad check that this isn't just a breeding thing for you... A-and I only want you, or Phil, or- or just that really nice midwife you introduced me to at the Halloween party, Alexa... If... If I get pregnant again. No one else."

Aether just nods, taking Dewdrop's hand, leading him back to bed. "Those are all reasonable. I can call for an appointment in the morning. Sound fair?"

"Yeah... Sounds fair."

It's about two months worth of sessions, both privately and together, making sure that YES. They want this! Dew is mentally ready for this again, Aether isn't in some kink phase, etc. They even talk to Calida who's more than excited about a little sibling! Dewy gets off his testosterone and starts taking supplements, and circles his first heat for them to start trying. They keep everything quiet for a while, and even more months of failed attempts to conceive. It's about month four when Dew wakes Aether up, sitting on his lap with two positive pregnancy tests.

They're SO fucking excited but keep their expectations mellow. Dewdrop's health has much changed since Calida, plus they don't know if the egg will fully stay intact. Still, it is exciting for Aether to smell how fruity Dewdrop is. Constantly scenting him to see if there's any changes but also to cover the smell around the others. Every night Aether has his eyes full of stars and a gentle hand on Dew's stomach, whispering to Dewy what he sees, how small it is, but still so full of fluids and cells.

Two months, they agree to tell the others. It goes as they expect, excitement and extra affection, a ghoul pile that even Copia makes time to join.

"Have you started thinking about names or anything like that?" Sunny is laying her head on Dew's thigh, smiling SO wide.

"No, not just yet. Things can still change so we're waiting at least until near the end of the second trimester."

"Makes sense," Swiss chimes in. "Does Calida know?"

Aether is the one to laugh, leaning over. "That girl scared the birds away from how excited she got. She was the first to know."

Now, Dewdrop wouldn't trade Calida for the world. But he wishes he had this gentleness when he was expecting her. The kindness and a huge pack so that he doesn't have to strain and try to keep up, that he knew early, how accommodating everything's been. There's times he'll just hold his stomach and look in the mirror, so much deja vu of when he did it in hotel bathrooms while on tour. Speaking to Calida and telling her she was going to be the light of his life, and now he's doing it again. Just another piece for a puzzle he didn't know wasn't completed yet.

He's put on bed rest once more, too many high risks going on, and he starts eventually experiencing... Symptoms.

"What do you mean they're weird?"

"They're just fucking weird, Aether! Just, okay, tickle me."

He blinks. "You hate being tickled."

"I know! Just do it!"

He shrugs and does a little wiggle of his fingers before attacking Dew's sides and armpits. Listening to him squeal and laugh, grimacing and eventually - the TV turns on. Aether is staring at it while Dew catches his breath.

"See? Weird fucking shit! If I sneeze the lights turn on and off, when I get headaches my phone's battery dies, and like... It's so strange!"

Aether whistles a little, rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh we're so having a quint."

"Huh?"

Aether looks him dead in the eyes, but a big goofy smile. "You're having magick surges. Little bit is reacting to you, and quintessence is a hell of a thing. Starts while still in the womb, my mother in the pit had almost the same things happening. Less technology and more of like, levitation. We're having a quint!"

Dew blinks before breaking into cries. "Woah, woah! What's wrong, my love?"

"I'm gonna look like a fucking watermelon you ass-wipe!" Hitting him softly but still crying.

Poor thing isn't even six months yet, but he looks like he's eight! Mumbling about his feet hurting, his legs more swollen than normal, cravings that are insanity to even be thought of. It's when he's in the nursery, tying ribbons on the crib when he gasps at a feeling, holding his stomach... It happens again.

He doesn't even get the full trill out before Cumulus and Mountain are RAMMING into that door.

"What's wrong?!"

But, he's smiling, beckoning them over. Takes both of their hands and puts it on his bump, shushing them every time they try to ask. There's a kick and their eyes go wide, Dew just as much. It's much softer than normal kicks, but that's to be expected from the egg sack still around them.

Then, finally, a gender reveal. Expecting a tiny little girl, Aether excited as he's always been a girl dad, adjusting some of the things in the nursery to match her.

"Teddy."

"Hm?"

Dew is playing with a tiny onesie, keeping his eyes locked on it. "What do you think of the name Starshine?"

"Starshine?"

"Yeah," his thumb going over the embroidered star on the onesie. "For our daughter."

Aether hums, thinking it over a little before he nods. "Yeah... Yeah, I like that."

He makes it to full term, after an agonizing day and a half of his water being broken and no dilation. Clutching to Aether and Mountain, Alexa between his knees to help course their daughter out. Mountain's fur is sticking up from the amount of electricity from Dew holding him, then with how hot he is. There's a bit of a power surge at the final push before the lights come back. Dewdrop sobbing as he dead weights against the two, staring at the ceiling but ears completely focused on Starshine's mad cries as she's cut from the sack.

Good god they though Mountain was furry? That poor girl is gonna need haircuts WEEKLY. Aether and Dew laughing a bit as they're holding this purple blob of fur, some soft white on her belly and in her ears. Hair blonde, just like Dewdrop's.

Mountain congratulating them and helping Alexa clean up a little while the new parents again bask in the afterglow with their new daughter :3

[diangelodork]

DBDA (fuck it i’m calling it) nightly analysis #20!

tonight’s topic: does edwin understand that monty sees him romantically and when?

in opposition to the beliefs that i’ve seen many have, i think edwin understands the romantic implications that monty has for him from the beginning. he is repressed and likely has lots of guilt for being queer, yes, but he’s not an idiot. he knows that queer people exist, he just can’t accept that he is one. he probably actively avoided thinking about homosexuality in the thirty+ years of his afterlife pre-cannon because “yes, that’s a thing, but not for me.”

he is flustered by tck’s advances, of course, but he doesn’t seem surprised that they worked for him. he is a little ashamed and embarrassed, but i sincerely believe that he knew this about himself in the very v e r y y y far parts of his mind. he knew why the boys at school called him a mary anne, he just refuses to accept that they were right. he refuses to think about it.

when he runs into monty (pun intended) for the first time in E3 and monty flirts with him, he looks taken aback, not because it’s a man flirting with him, but because it’s a man flirting with him. he knows that this is flirting, on paper, and he would be able to recognize this were it someone else, but flirting among men is shameful and even if it weren’t, it is reserved for decidedly Not Him (tm). it is a thing for him to avert his eyes at. he is less than convincing when he tells niko that he doesn’t believe that monty was flirting simply because they’re both boys. he doesn’t believe that. queerness was no longer seen as a crime in the uk in 1967, well before he even escaped hell. gay marriage was legalized in 2013 so he would’ve been there when it became legal. he knows that being gay is a thing, it’s just not a thing that he, specifically, is allowed.

he does not seem all that surprised when niko tells him that two boys can “like-like” each other, because it’s something he already KNOWS. he’s using the fact that he’s from a time where it was illegal to be queer to pretend to be unaware. he cannot be held liable for liking men and cannot be questioned about liking monty if he plays dumb.

the next time they meet, he can understand that monty is flirting- that he took the time out of his day to chart his astrology specifically and is sitting with him to explain it. he knows that this is him expressing romantic interest. this is part of the reason that he’s not taken by much surprise when he asks him out in the next episode. truly, edwin hardly even flusters. he tells him he can’t go out with him because of the case, but reschedules a date for later.

he knows this is a date. again, he is not dumb. he knows that monty is and has been sending him major fucking signals this whole time and he is just now choosing to engage back fully.

when they eventually do go on that “walk” and end up at the swingset, he tells monty that they should “stop seeing each other.” this is an interesting choice of words because it is him verbally admitting that this is romantic. to stop seeing each other, you must first BE seeing each other. he knows these interactions to be modern day courting. monty has been actively flirtatious the entire time, but this is the first time he’s verbalizing that this is anything of the sort. he is rejecting him here. he is admitting that they should stop courting because he has been made aware of his feelings for charles and it wouldn’t be right to anyone involved if he were to keep pursuing monty. it wouldn’t be fair to monty because he would be entertaining romance despite being wholly in love with someone else, it wouldn’t be fair to himself because he would be living a lie, and it wouldn’t be fair to charles because he would be blindsided by all of it. he’s surprised that monty kisses him, not because he thinks that monty was just being a Good Pal (tm) this whole time, but because he was actively trying to reject him.

all this to say, my mans knows what gay is, he’s just been forced to pretend that he wasn’t all his life and that happened to stay with him into his afterlife. bro’s repressed and filled with guilt, not unaware.

[justallmyfantasies]

actin’ like a silly little boy

i wished we never fucked, and i mean that.

series masterlist

contains: 18+ smut! (unprotected piv), angst. bit boring sorry.

word count: 3.2k (lowkey thought it was more lolol!!!)

no it wasn’t normal nor was it real.

you guys had fucked, more times than you’d like to admit. going his house, you fucked, going your house, you fucked, meeting up together, you fucked. it was wild.

each time you met, it was like a dance. a subtle game of push and pull, a dance between desire and restraint. alex knew how to tease, how to build that aching need within you until you were begging for release. and yet, even in those moments of pleasure, he always seemed to hold back a part of himself, tantalizingly out of reach.

the secrecy added to the thrill, the discreet meetings in hotel rooms or secluded spots a delicious secret between you and alex. the rest of the world might know and love him, after all he was apart of a band but this side of him was just for you.

but as much as the sex was intense, you found yourself craving something more than just physical pleasure. there was a connection between you, a bond that went beyond the physical.

yet, alex seemed content to keep things the way they were, avoiding the topic of labels or emotions. he was always quick to distract you, to shift the focus back to the physical when you broached the subject.

“don’t look at me like that.” alex said, his words coming out more harsher than it should’ve. “we agreed this whole thing was just.. casual?” he paced around your bedroom. the wait for your response making him more nervous than usual.

you scoffed. “yeah, i know that.” you sat on your bed. you ran your fingers through your hair, getting stuck in the knots that had been brushed hours ago. “do you really think this is casual?” you said, emphasising the ‘this’.

alex's footsteps slowed to a stop, his gaze flicking to you for a moment before looking away. he was quiet for a moment before he spoke. "yeah, i do. don't make it into something it's not."

his response made you flinch. your heart ached at his words, but you tried to keep your expression neutral. "and if i do?"

alex let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. "then it complicates things."

"what is there to complicate?" you asked, your voice growing sharp.

alex leaned back against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. "our friendship, you know that!" he said, you could feel the tension in the air growing thicker with each word he spoke.

you laughed, the sound bitter and without humour. "friendship." you echoed, the word sounding bitter on your tongue. "is that what you call this, then?" you motioned between the two of you. "because it doesn't feel like friendship to me."

"we've been going on this for a year now and you still refuse to call it what it is." you continued, your voice growing more frustrated. "it's like you want all the benefits of being in a relationship without actually having to commit to anything. it's not fair."

alex pushed off the wall, his shoulders slumped. he sat on the bed beside you. the distance between you felt like a chasm. "i'm just not ready for a relationship, okay? i have a lot going on with the band and all..." he tried to explain

but you weren't having any of it. you crossed your arms, your patience worn thin. "and what about me? what about what i want?"

alex looked down at his hands, avoiding your gaze. "you knew what this was when we started. i never promised you anything more." he said, his voice quieter now, lacking the usual certainty.

you stood up, moving away from the bed, your frustration boiling over. "yeah, i knew what i was getting into. but i also thought that after all this time, you'd wake up and realise what you're missing. that you'd want more from me."

alex stayed silent, his expression a mix of frustration and guilt. you could see the internal battle playing out in his mind. he never could resist you when you were upset, but his resolve was firm. "i can't give you what you want, and i can't ask you to wait around until I can."

your heart felt like it was breaking. you knew that this conversation would come eventually, but it didn't make it any easier to hear. "so what do you expect me to do, then?" you asked, your voice wavering.

alex looked up at you, a mixture of pain and indecision in his eyes. "i don't know..." he admitted quietly. "i guess... i guess we just keep going as we are for now. i don't wanna lose you, i just..." he trailed off, searching for the right words.

your eyes hardened, your expression icy. "no, i’m not doing this." you said bluntly. "i’m not staying around like your little secret thing."

alex's face fell at your words. he stood up, taking a step towards you. "you're not just a secret thing to me, you know that." he said, his voice filled with a mixture of pleading and defensiveness.

you scoff, crossing your arms. "could have fooled me. you won't even call this what it really is." your words cut deep, and you could see the sting landing in alex's eyes. "i want you to leave.” you looked at him. your face not showing any expression. you didn’t have one to show, not right now. you walked over to the door of your apartment, opening it and looking up to him once more.

alex's expression was a mixture of surprise, hurt, and anger. for a moment, he simply stood there, trying to process your words. but finally, he nodded, reluctantly moving towards the door.

as he passed you on his way out, you heard him murmur your name, a hint of desperation in his voice. but you didn't turn around, didn't give in to the urge to call out to him.

the door closed behind him, leaving you alone in your apartment. a mix of emotions swirled inside you: anger, hurt, sadness, disappointment.

you sunk down onto your bed, burying your face in your hands. the silence felt deafening. you were sad, but not to the point of tears. why would you cry over a man? it was pathetic.

you tried to convince yourself that you had done the right thing, that you had to stand up for yourself. but as the night grew darker, a part of you wondered if you’d just made a huge mistake.

maybe you had hoped, deep down, that alex would fight for you. that he’d realise what he was losing and come back, begging for a second chance. but he didn’t. and that stung.

as the days turned into weeks, the pain of alex's absence started to fade into a dull ache.

you tried to keep yourself busy, focusing on your work, spending time with friends, and throwing yourself into hobbies. it wasn't always easy, and there were moments when you found yourself missing him fiercely.

but you were determined not to let yourself fall back into the same cycle. you had made your choice, and it was time to stand by it.

and so you pushed on, trying to forget about the what-ifs and the memories that haunted you. but there were moments when you caught yourself wondering if alex was thinking about you too. if he regretted losing you, if he ever regretted not choosing you. or if he was just moving on as well.

one night, as you tried to sleep, a knock on the door suddenly pulled you from your thoughts. you sat up in bed, confusion and curiosity mixing in your tired mind. peering through the peephole, your heart nearly stopped when you saw who was on the other side.

opening the door, you found alex standing on your doorstep. his face was a mask of uncertainty, his hair a mess like he’d been running his hands through it many times.

for a moment, neither of you spoke. you stared at each other, caught in a charged silence. you could see the emotions brewing in his eyes, the things he wanted to say but was holding back.

finally, alex broke the silence. his voice was rough and shaky, betraying his nerves. “can i come in?”

you didn’t respond at first, caught off guard by his sudden appearance. but eventually, you stepped aside, silently beckoning him in.

alex entered your apartment, looking around as if seeing it for the first time. you closed the door behind him, crossing your arms over your chest.

he turned to face you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of how you were feeling. but you kept your expression neutral, unwilling to show him any vulnerability.

“i know you probably don’t want to see me.” he began, fiddling with a loose thread on his jacket. “and i get it if you don’t want to talk, but i just... i had to come. i had to see you.”

the sincerity in his voice tugged at a part of you, a part that still longed for him. but you kept your guard up, refusing to let your emotions show on your face.

he took a step towards you. filling the empty gap between you both. his hands now placed on your cheeks as he leaned in to kiss you.

you initially intended to resist, to reject his advances. but the instant his lips met yours, all the resolve you had built crumbled away.

your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer as you kissed him back. the pent-up yearning for him flooded back, taking over your mind and body.

alex pressed you against the wall, his hands roaming over your body. his touch was both familiar and new at the same time, leaving a trail of heat everywhere he touched. he deepened the kiss, his tongue moving against yours in a way that made your knees weak.

you melted into the kiss, the anger and hurt you had felt moments before fading away. all you knew was the taste of his lips and the heat of his body against yours.

alex's hands moved under your shirt, his touch on your bare skin making you shiver. his fingers traced the curves of your body, igniting the aching desire you had tried so hard to ignore.

you pulled at the hem of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours. alex helped you undress him as his lips moved down your neck, teasing and tasting each inch of your skin.

he lifted you up, your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you towards the bedroom. his hands supported you under your thighs, his grip firm and possessive.

he laid you down on the bed, his body covering yours as he continued his kisses down your body. his hands roamed over your curves, every touch and caress sending waves of pleasure through you.

you arched into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as you gasped out his name. the memories of all the times you’d been intimate played in your mind, making you crave him even more.

he lifted your shirt over your head, his eyes taking in your bare skin in the dim light. you reached for him, your fingers tracing the muscles of his chest, feeling the pulse of his heart under your touch.

alex leaned down, his lips meeting yours again in a passionate kiss. his hands continued their exploration, moving over your skin leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

the room was filled with the sounds of your breaths mingling and soft moans escaping your lips. alex moved down body, kissing and nipping at your sensitive spots, his hands roaming to the hem of your pants.

he looked up at you, his eyes darkened with desire. “i need you,” he murmured against your skin. “i need you so bad.”

your body quivered at his words, a mixture of pleasure and yearning coursing through you. you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “i need you too.”

alex wasted no time in removing the rest of yours and his own clothes, his gaze never leaving you. he leaned over you, his body pressed against yours as he captured your lips in another deep kiss.

you pulled him closer, the feel of his skin against yours making you dizzy with want. his hands continued to roam over your body, igniting a fire inside you that was impossible to quench.

alex’s mouth moved down to your neck, whispering words of desire and need between kisses. his body moved against yours, seeking more friction, more closeness.

the room was filled with the sounds of your mingled breaths and whispered words of need. alex lifted your hips, positioning himself between your legs, his body pressing into yours as he entered you.

he looked down at you, his eyes filled with a mix of tenderness and need. “i’ve missed this,” he murmured against your ear. “missed you.”

your heart felt like it would burst at his words, the pain and anger you had felt before suddenly feeling like a thousand light years away.

you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him down for another kiss. your body arching into him, needing him closer, more intimately. alex’s hands held your hips, his grip firm as he began to move against you, creating a rhythm that left you breathless.

his mouth moved to your neck, his tongue and teeth grazing your skin as he left a trail of kisses down your collarbone. each touch, each movement, sent bolts of pleasure coursing through you.

you clutched at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as ecstasy built inside you. each gasp and moan that escaped you was met with words of need and longing from him.

his pace quickened, the intensity between you growing unbearable. you could feel him everywhere, his body surrounding you, his scent filling your lungs, his whispers in your ear driving you to the edge.

alex’s grip on your hips tightened, his own breath growing ragged against your skin. “look at me,” he whispered, “look at me when you let go.”

his words, the tone of his voice, sent a shiver down your spine. you looked up at him, finding his eyes locked on yours, filled with both need and vulnerability.

you could feel yourself nearing the brink, the sensations building to a point where you couldn’t hold back anymore. his name escaped your lips like a prayer, the sound coming out somewhere between a gasp and a moan.

as you let go, the world around you dissolved. the only thing that seemed to matter was him and the way you were feeling. your fingers dug into his skin, your body arching into his, your name a desperate gasp on his lips.

alex followed you over the edge, his body shuddering against yours as he mumbled your name like a mantra. a single word repeated over and over again, like it was the only thing he could remember in that moment.

you lay there, tangled in each other's arms as your breaths gradually slowed down, the room still filled with the warm, comfortable silence.

alex pulled you closer, holding you against his chest as if afraid you would slip away from him again. his chin rested on top of your head, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on your back.

you both fell asleep a while after.

the morning came, the sunlight streaming through your curtains. you woke up to find yourself still wrapped in alex’s arms, a sense of peace and contentment settling over you.

you both started to stir, stretching and yawning as the memories of the night before came flooding back. neither of you spoke at first, silently enjoying the contentment of the moment.

alex was the first to break the silence. “you’re awake.” his voice was rough, filled with a hint of sleep and something else – tenderness.

you nodded, shifting slightly to look up at him. he looked back at you, his eyes soft and searching. he gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his touch lingering on your cheek.

he exhaled deeply, as if he was gathering courage to say something. “i need to talk to you. there’s something i need to tell you.”

your pulse quickened, the words bringing back a hint of anxiety and uncertainty. you untangled yourself from him, sitting up against the headboard.

“what is it?” you asked, your voice steady though the nerves were starting to bubble in your stomach.

alex sat up beside you, his hands clasped together in his lap. he was quiet for a moment, a look of inner turmoil in his eyes. finally, he spoke, his voice betraying the tension he felt.

“after.. after the album is released, we’ll be going on tour.” he paused, looking at you as if gauging your reaction. “i just thought i’d tell you.”

the news wasn't surprising, and yet, a mix of emotions washed over you. excitement, because you knew how hard he'd worked for this. but also, a nagging dread, knowing that this would mean another long period without him.

“how long?” you asked, your voice quiet. alex took a deep breath, bracing himself for your reaction. only answer he could come up with was a shrug.

obviously you were proud of him, he and the band had worked hard on this. you knew that.

he ran a hand through his hair, his fingers scratching his scalp in a nervous habit. “i wish i knew,” he admitted, his eyes searching your face for any sign of your thoughts. “few months.”

the news hit you like a punch to the gut. a few months. you'd barely had him back for a day and now he would be gone, again, for months.

you tried to push down the growing anger and frustration, to be understanding and supportive. but a part of you couldn’t help the wave of anxiety that washed over you.

“i know it's not what you want to hear,” alex said slowly, his tone cautious now. he was aware of your feelings, reading you like an open book. “this is our dream. me and the lads. y’know?”

you swallowed hard, trying to keep your expression neutral. “i know,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. it was the truth. you did know that. you did understand how important this was for them. but it didn’t make the reality any less harsh.

alex reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. his touch was a mix of comfort and reassurance, but it didn’t completely still the turmoil inside you.

he looked at you, his eyes seeking yours. “i’ll try and get you to come with.” he pleaded, his voice tinted with desperation, “how about that?”

a tiny flicker of hope flared in your chest at his words, but you quickly quelled it. the logical part of you knew the reality of it.

“no.” you shook your head. “don’t bother, i’ll be fine here.”

there wasn’t any point to get your hopes up. he wasn’t the relationship kind of person. you knew that.

a/n: hi back again!! i was in like a depressive stage and kept writing depressing stuff… those are like scraped now (should stay like that too). but that’s why i wasn’t posting anything. but here we are. idk if this is any good but appreciate it. okay thanks bye.

[akirathedramaqueen]

CBT and Exposure Therapy: Blitzø Showcase

An important (really, don't skip) disclaimer

If you are contemplating whether or not you would benefit from any kind of therapy, consider consulting with your medical provider first. While I did my best to validate all the points made using publicly available resources, I am not a medical professional. At the very least, I strongly advise that you do your own research and not take some amateur's opinion about a character from a silly demon show for granted.

"Everyone in this show needs fucking therapy STAT!"

We hear fans screaming into the void every now and then. Me too. I plead guilty and I willingly put myself in custody. But I am not taking these words back.

Especially often it is being said with Blitzø in mind, who, as hinted earlier and clearly shown in the latest episode, Ghostfuckers, is not doing okay. Not in the slightest.

Which is . . . yes. Indeed, trauma-ridden Blitzø is a major problem for both him and those around him. Yes, we see him reaching his lowest point now exactly because he left these gaping wounds untreated for so long.

But the tricky question is—how, though? What to do? Will a good talking to a confidante help? Or, maybe, some kind of shock would snap him out of the spiral?

I've been pondering on this topic for more than 4 months, and, as the Ghostfuckers came out, I finally got all the data I need to prove a point. The show did all the job for me and effectively made Blitzø go through improvised versions of two popular therapy techniques. And, before I even start, I want to say—I am so glad with what we ended up with. What they did, and, more importantly, didn't do, aligns well with how it would likely happen in real life.

So buckle up, and let's see where it gets us!

Therapy # 1. Cognitive-behavioral therapy, or CBT

This is, in essence and with some corrections, your good old talking. Here you can find more information about it, so, if you're not familiar with the topic, I recommend following the link first.

But, very shortly: CBT is an extremely common approach to be tried while you're dealing with anxiety, depression, and a number of other mental disorders. What it aims to do is to help you get past unhelpful thinking (distortions) and learn not to act on it.

Looks like it fits the bill, right? Blitzø has a lot of issues with self-fulfilling prophecies, infuriatingly stupid assumptions, poorly thought-out actions . . .

But he's not like, you know . . . w-we're not, like . . . we're not doing a . . . w-we . . . what's betw— It's a transactional fucking, you see.

If you don't feel like coming, that's OK! I'm sure I can do without it for one month. :)

Stolas only cares about having a rugged peasant raw-dog him into his matress! It's nothing, ya know . . . it's nothing else.

You . . . no longer have any obligation to see me, to touch me, to bed me . . . You are— you are free of me.

He sees things which aren't truly there.

It's not Stolas giving him space after the disaster in the 'Ozzie's.' It must be Stolas not needing him anymore, getting tired of him.

It's not Stolas caring about Blitzø. He is a royal, why would he care how an imp's day he happened to be fucking was?

It's not Stolas setting Blitzø free and putting an end to a problematic transaction they had with the hope for it to grow into something more. It's him getting rid of Blitzø.

As a result, he ends up hurting himself and the relationship he had with that one sad gay bird he happened to fall deeply for but literally trashed in his own house twice, acting on nothing more than frenetic fear of losing Stolas, but in reality, driving him away even more . . . for good.

I mean, you royal fucks think you can do this every time, like you can just play with our feelings because we're smaller and not as important!

Ha! I'm right, aren't I? You get off getting plowed by people you look down on!

And I can sorry more people, everyone but you! 'Cause I don't owe you dick! Everyone, but you . . .

So, the case's closed? Let someone—say, Millie—talk to him and tell him how wrong he was about himself and the others?

Well, here's the thing. Despite him being infinitely wrong about Stolas's intentions, we can't deny the fact that every one of his beliefs was not, in fact, a distortion. It'd led him to wrong conclusions, yes, but it was built on the information he received and legitimate experiences he had in his life. Here are only some of the facts connected to only this situation with Stolas, but there are other problematic behaviors and other reasons for him acting the way he does.

Fact # 1. The circus fire did happen, and Blitzø was the reason for it. Unintentional, and of course it wasn't his fault, but it still ruined the lives of many people—him included. Blitzø cannot act like it never occurred.

Fact # 2. Hell is divided by class and race. Their situationship with the grimoire was an embodiment of that inequality. A lot of Blitzø's outburst during the Full Moon and later in the Apology Tour was connected to it, to his beliefs that Stolas is the same as the rest of the privileged circle. Beliefs, I stress, justified by the real world. Stolas is more of an exception, and even then, his behavior is only different when it comes to Blitzø. He still acts the same toward other imps.

Fact # 3. We knew about Stolas's intentions all along, but before that fateful Full Moon, what Blitzø saw was Stolas avoiding him and not communicating the issue the Ozzie's date had raised. And before Ozzie's? Stolas did act entitled and inappropriate. He was baby-talking to Blitzø and used derogatory terms while addressing him. The dude literally called him an impish plaything in the Truth Seekers.

Fact # 4. Blitzø's heavily implied (though not officially confirmed by the show) existing conditions—ADHD*, BPD**, PTSD, and dyslexia/dyscalculia***—do affect his life, and while Hell seems to be somewhat receptive of neurodivergence, he still has to deal with it every single fucking day. He is going to be avoidant and afraid to be abandoned at the same time. He is going to hate himself. His learning disabilities are going to make his life harder. No way around it.

Note: *, **, and *** contain links to separate meta-analyses from @timkontheunsure and @tealvenetianmask about the respective conditions and how they show themselves in Blitzø's case.

And my beef with CBT here is exactly that. CBT's goal is to gaslight you into believing your distortions hold no water and suggests you just ignore them. And, as I've shown with Blitzø, these reactions and assumptions aren't baseless. They are legitimate, and, in fact, sometimes help to get by. Even though it's a crooked crutch, you can't learn to walk properly by just throwing that crutch away. You're still going to limp, and oh, will it be painful.

This is oversimplistic and dismissive. Anxiety and depression don't come out of the blue, and with mental disabilities, it's even deeper. The class/disability stigma is alive and strong, and just slapping a "you're fine" bandaid on your traumatized self isn't going to help.

Therapy # 2. Exposure therapy.

Exposure therapy is another approach commonly used while dealing with traumatic past and its aftermath—PTSD, anxiety, phobias, and such. Again, if you're not familiar, there's the link for you, but very shortly—the therapist puts the patient in a safe environment and 'exposes' them to the feared object in question for limited periods of time. The goal is to eventually get rid of the targeted fear and decrease avoidance.

And Blitzø has got some phobias for sure.

The fear of letting everyone down. Again.

And the fear of abandonment. Again.

All of it is a result of self-hatred, sitting so deeply it rules his life and his vision of how others perceive him. Said it himself. Almost.

So, where and how does the show expose Blitzø to his traumatic past?

First, the most recent, and the most obvious one—Rolando and his slideshow of all traumatic events Blitzø ever had in his life.

Second—Blitzø's drug trip in the Truth Seekers. While it does not contain the events of the past as they were, it does force him to face his fears.

Are you worried I might have enough of it one day as well? . . . You're going to die alone! . . . You're going to die alone, Blitzo!

With some stretch, the third one is Verosika's 'Blitzo sucks' party. Where Blitzø was forced to see the consequences of his avoidance and rejection.

Note: to be clear, I do think the party does not show the true extent of Blitzø's actions and how much he'd hurt people. It was exaggerated by Verosika, and here I explain why this is the case.

So, what gives? Or, rather, what gives it not?

It might sound funny now, considering I brought it up myself, but I, once again, say this is not therapeutic, just as CBT kind of 'talking.' If anything, all these three events did more harm than good.

The D.H.O.R.K.S.'s goal in the Truth Seekers was to torture the information out of Blitzø. He was not supposed to overcome it. He was supposed to crack.

The Verosika's goal was to ruin Blitzø's reputation. She was working her ass off to prove he's just a heartless freak.

The Rolando's goal was to fucking kill Blitzø.

And okay, their motivations had nothing to do with helping him, but maybe it did, in its own twisted way?

No. The writers added this to push Blitzø past the breaking point, not to heal him, and to show us more of his lore. Each time he was forced to face his past or fears or consequences, he was only spiraling more.

The only thing which did him some good was . . . well, Millie finally seeing his bravado mask falling off. But the cost of it was way too high. Not worth it.

To the therapy's defense, some points why it would never work in the way it was done in the show:

Blitzø had never given his consent and was not ready to face it. I might be very rude right now, but go and try producing some explosion-like sounds in front of war veterans without letting them know first and see what happens.

The amount of fearful experience exposed was way too overboard. He couldn't possibly digest it in a healthy way.

The environment was not safe. It was straight-up retraumatizing, an intentional one.

So there's that.

But what helped then?

We've briefly brushed over the fact Millie did talk to Blitzø. While I did imply this might be an example of CBT, here are some key deviations from the classic therapy which made all the difference.

Millie didn't sugarcoat all the shit Blitzø did. He was hurting their business. He didn't pay her. He was reduced to Bethanie. It showed her opinion can be trusted.

Millie apologized for not being there for him sooner. She admitted she relied too much on Blitzø being bulletproof, unbothered by everything. She admitted she didn't support him in a way he always did.

While proving she could never hate Blitzø, she used their common story, one he knows and can recall. She used evidence to prove him wrong, not a "it's all in your head" bandaid. And more than that, later she proved it with action—not for one second did she believe Rolando and his shittalk about what Blitzø supposedly was thinking about her. Her unwavering faith spoke more than any words ever could.

Getting back to exposure therapy . . . Metaphorically, she reminded Blitzø he can handle a beating or two. And physically beat the infestor demon out of him, which, as we can see later, didn't really affect Blitzø that much. He wasn't even battered. So, apparently, when the said exposure is done by someone who genuinely tries to make you feel better and knows your limits well, it might just work?

And finally, Millie acknowledged Blitzø's pain. She didn't brush it away. She validated him.

What all of this is about?

Like every treatment, too much of a medicine can become poisonous. So are CBT and exposure therapy.

They might help, and lots of research shows they do in certain cases. But there are limitations to what they can and cannot achieve, and they have to be adjusted to each individual story, to each trauma, and they should not be applied as a way to mend the outcome of the trauma without taking into account the story it comes with. Again, legitimate concerns and experiences cannot be brushed away or ignored.

Actualy . . . we've seen where it leads in the show too. In the beginning, Millie was quite dismissive of Blitzø's worries—all of this over a . . . breakup?

And here it comes full circle.

Only when Millie started taking Blitzø seriously, did it help them progress. And look how quickly we've switched from a complete despair to a glimmer of hope! Isn't that a beautiful closing scene?

As a closing note—we do not need to 'fix' Blitzø. After all this shit he went through, there won't be a day where he wakes up and be like, "Hey, I don't hate myself anymore! And look, I'm not afraid to be abandoned or misunderstood!"

I'm sorry to break it to you, but this is a lifelong battle. Being mentally whole, healthy, and constantly happy is no more than a myth, and everyone has their own demons and skeletons to deal with.

What Blitzø needs is some good support system to pull him back when he's down.

And boy, do I hope that one particular owl will fill in that role of unyielding pillar for Blitzø each time our lizard will fall into that pit again. Look, I love Millie, but there's only so much she can do. She can't be always present, she has her own life . . . and her own disaster of a husband to look after (affectionate <3). Here and here @lost-romantique talks about Stolas's capacity of loving, with me occasionally nodding, ha-ha. But to be short—it's fucking immense. And since he loves words, I do believe he has all the energy to tell again and again and again how awesome Blitzø is. Even if Blitzø wouldn't believe it himself.

[mejaemin]

who cooked here?- na jaemin

wc: 1k

summary: jaemin wants to pick your next nail design, but why the sudden interest?

warnings: crack, fem reader, getting nails done, suggestive themes at the end

an: maybe the nail tech in me felt like yapping a little about my knowledge because i wrote this in like 40 minutes which never happens.. anyways the design nana picked is the middle photo !!

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it’s been two weeks since your last set, and honestly you hadn’t really paid attention to how they were holding on because of how busy you were. thankfully, you didn’t have to worry too much because jaemin definitely noticed.

you were sitting in the mall’s food court with your boyfriend, sharing a plate of food while you took a short break from walking. you’re about to reach for another bite when jaemin grabs your hand, gasping as he calls your name. with an unfazed look, you wait for him to share what he’s so shell shocked over.

“angel.. your nails are so grown out.” he turns your fingers that rest in his palm, examining the old and grown out design.

you playfully roll your eyes. “i can’t really afford to re-do them right now, so i’ve just been waiting for them to come off.”

jaemin softly shakes his head, looking up at you. “you really should’ve said something. i mean, i would’ve paid for you to fill them, get something cute put on. i still will, but- what’s that look for?”

with a raised eyebrow at the fact that he knows what a fill is, you shake your head and gesture for him to continue.

“well anyways, i’ll pay for your next appointment because you look so cute when you have your cute little designs on there right? and the babies seem to like it too when you scratch them with them on.”

with your free hand you pull out your phone and begin messaging your nail tech about another appointment. thankfully, they’re free two days from now so they ask for a design. “well.. since you like them so much, what design should i get? i just asked my nail tech and we’ve set a date but i need to send a design.”

at this jaemin perks up, his signature smile showing as he grabs his own phone and begins scrolling. “i’ve been waiting for this for so long, you have no idea. so first, i was thinking you could get almond because you just did square ones. and of course, i already saved a photo and the design is a pink one. everyone’s gonna know i picked it out for you.”

he pulls up the photo he saved of his design of choice and flips the phone over to you. “it’s cute right? i love how there’s chrome and the pearls are almost in the shape of a french tip. they would look really good on you. what do you think?” he smiles, looking at you expectantly.

it was hard to tell whether to laugh or cry at your boyfriend’s knowledge on nail art terms, your jaw dropping a little more the longer he talked about his design. obviously there’s nothing wrong with him learning about such things, but it’s a little random since you never shared them with him and he hasn’t expressed an interest in them at all.

you pulled yourself out of your thoughts to finally respond, “sure, they’re cute and we can do that, but why the fuck do you know so much about nail art?” you ask, letting out a bit of an awkward laugh.

“oh! well i remember i came and watched when i took you to get them done for your birthday and it looked cool so i looked it up a little and learned some about it because i wanted to pick for you one day.” he explains simply, leaving his photos app and showing you his tiktok search history which was full of ‘nail art’ ‘pink nails’ ‘cute nail art’ ‘nail art tutorial’. when you look back up at him you see his flushed cheeks and his gaze set off into the distance.

“that’s so cute nana, of course we can do your design. thanks for taking the time to learn about this stuff for me.”

he huffs, leaning back in his chair. “please, any good boyfriend would learn about the topics you care about. and this is nothing. you should’ve seen the lengths i went to before we met so i could find something to talk to you about..” before you can question him, he takes a forkful of the food you were sharing and pushes it into your mouth.

—

when the time for the appointment comes, jaemin’s elated and absolutely begs to come with you. your nail tech was a little apprehensive being that they had policies about visitors but he swore he wouldn’t talk the entire time so you were able to come to an agreement and brought him along.

the nail appointment starts and jaemin is sitting next to you, watching intently as your old design gets filed off and your new growth gets prepped. thankfully he stays true to his word and keeps quiet, but when you look at him you can see the gears turning as he studies the tech’s techniques.

once the nails are filled and have been shaped correctly, his smile grows as they begin being painted and his photo starts coming to life. he���s not being necessarily disruptive but he does start asking questions about the process and is truly watching in awe as your nail tech replicates the design with ease.

once the set is done, jaemin pays for the set and you leave. it makes you laugh how he’s nearly more excited than you are with the outcome, with your fingers locked and his hand swinging yours back and forth. once you leave the nail studio he lifts your intertwined fingers and begins snapping photos of your new set with a bright smile. once done, he lifts the phone camera up to your face, recording a video.

“so, angel.. i may have lied a bit about why i researched all this nail stuff and im ready to tell the truth now.” his smile turns into a smirk, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“don’t tell me, na jaemin, that you were talking to other females about this stuff or i swear-“

“no, no! i promise it’s not bad. just listen.” he laughs before continuing. “i really do think the designs are cute and i did want to pick one out just for fun.. but i also really wanted you to re-do them just because a fresh set on you looks so hot when you wrap your hands around my-“

“oh my god jaemin shut up!”

───── ⋆⋅ ⊹ ⁺ 𐔌 ᩧ ຼ ͡ ৯ ♡໒⁀ ᩧຼ ꒱ིྀ ⁺ ⊹ ⋅⋆ ─────

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

my thinking n understanding of world n everything around me… extremely rigid n think even that understatement… need be explicitly taught: “this exist on conceptual abstract level -> given list of practical examples of abstract thing -> often need be step by step hands on taught guided through how actually physically do that.” n if you stop teach at any step then there where my understanding end n if you not give enough examples or teach broken down enough steps then my understanding also stay that rigid.

which up to certain point vaguely is how everyone learn yes “there nothing special about that” but then that said everyone then get confused n frustrated n angry n exasperated when am know like, the equivalent of know “apple exist infront of me” n “people can eat apples” because taught that but not know “*i* can eat *that* apple infront of me” because no one explicitly taught me that n so go through entire life starved when could have been not hungry long time ago if ate that apple which could have done all along. or be taught abstract concept of fruit n only vaguely nod along to understand what it is until be taught examples of apple orange banana but now think apple orange banana the only fruit there is n not once even think to doubt that there more not even know can do that.

use apple n fruit as example because don’t wanna talk about what topic actually gave realization but trust me it as stupid as fucking apple n fruits

so many thing about my life answer to “why didn’t you do that” is “don’t even know can do that” but imagine what meant by “that” is most stupid basic thing in world

[thecircularsystem]

Okay, English teacher to the rescue, hopefully. Let’s try to simplify this.

OP: System posting is allowed to be silly.

Random Person: Yeah I hate the focus on trauma.

Korya: Hey, while I agree people are allowed to be silly, talking about the trauma part is still important, and too much focus on the sillies can be harmful.

OP: Actually systems owe you nothing. We don’t need to post about our trauma, I want to be silly.

Korya: Nowhere did I say you had to post about trauma. All I was saying is that everyone only focusing on the more fun aspects, like alters, and never discussing the traumatic aspects, like what CDD systems experience, can lead to misinformation.

OP: Sorry if I’m misunderstanding, but what you’re saying feels like you’re saying I can’t post about alters. It isn’t misinformation to share silly things. You can post about trauma, but you should be allowed to be silly.

(AUTHOR’S NOTE: The above statement is part of what Korya said originally! You are in agreement!)

Korya: Yes, you are misunderstanding me. To clarify, I wasn’t doubling down, and I was just trying to add to the conversation.

OP: You are not clarifying. I’m sorry I misunderstood. I said people can be silly, and you said they have to share their trauma or else it’s misinformation. All I said is we don’t have to focus on trauma. What do you think is misinformation about that?

(AUTHOR’S NOTE: Korya never claimed you can’t silly. They just said that always and forever only being silly is kind of erasing the trauma part of a trauma disorder pretty frequently, and EVERYONE ONLY EVER being silly can lead to aspects of CDDs and disordered plurality being erased. They never disagreed with your premise and said directly in their first response that they agreed with it.)

Korya: I have clarified and I don’t know how to clarify more. You started a conversation and I added to it with more insight. I didn’t respond to just what you said, but to what everyone has said on this topic in the past. Like I’ve said a few times now, I wasn’t calling you out (or disagreeing with you). You keep asking me for clarification, which I have tried to give. I explained that you misunderstood and you continued to say the same misunderstanding. I will stop the conversation here because the communication barrier is getting frustrating.

OP: You haven’t clarified shit and now I’m mad. I tried to be nice and polite but you rejected clarifying and rejected a conversation. You disagree with me and you said it’s misinformation to be silly online. You talk weird and I am now going to make fun of you for it, because I feel like you made fun of me for my lack of English skills, despite the fact that I brought it up. Fuck off and I’m now calling this post harassment of a teenager.

Korya: Well now I’m going to point out you’re legally an adult, and you’re arguing in an adult space about adult topics. Also your language barrier is the issue here.

……..

Does that clarify? =_=

TL;DR: OP, Korya literally said “I agree with you” and then added more thoughts. You read that and immediately went “that is a disagreement.” The word agree means the opposite of disagreement.

To further the actual convo Korya was trying to have (and Korya, I’d love to take this to discord or a different post!), people are absolutely allowed to post about the fun aspects of their disorder, but I do wish the trauma aspects were also celebrated. Or at least fucking welcomed.

Seeing constant posts of “I can’t believe people focus on their suffering, stupid fucking miserable people” really hurts as someone who tries to hold their trauma close for understanding and healing. I can’t grow past it unless I embrace it, and being told that it is bad to do so sucks — and many individuals (not OP, but many) in this topic of conversation treat my trauma as if it’s bad to even mention.

“DID/disordered plurality isn’t just about having silly guys in your brain, it’s about TRAUMA AND SUFFERING”

yeah ok sure. but it can also be about the silly guys. that’s okay too

[jsprnt]

your new boyfriend gets familiar with how your period affects your life

kenan yıldız x fem!reader

A/N: very important topic this one, based off real life experiences and research. please, if you are experiencing any of the heavy symptoms described, I urge you to seek professional medical attention/advice if you are able to!! based off of this request, thank you 💓

W/C: 1.928

red, it was absolutely everywhere when you woke up this morning.

on your sheets, the comforter, and, of course, a huge bloody stain on your favorite pajamas.

in your sleepy daze you thought you'd been murdered in your sleep, and your soul was looking at the aftermath of your bloody death.

though, with a sharp pain searing down your lower belly to your legs. you'd been notified of mother nature doing her periodic appearance in your life.

your period.

the word alone made you groan.

although at the end of the day, you were glad your body was healthy enough to actually have a period. there was a long list of reasons you of why dreaded shark week.

from expensive sanitary products, to the extra laundry you had to do, to the most inconvenient of all-

bloody cramps..

every time, you didn't fail to convince yourself a little devil was in your womb, poking at prodding at its walls.

it was only a matter of health issues, that made your cramps extra painful.

everyone close to you knew about it. you were lucky enough to have an environment that understood and helped you out when you desperately needed it.

though, you had recently started dating kenan, who knew absolutely nothing about the way your menstrual cycle worked.

of course, he wasn't an ignorant piece of trash. he knew the basics everyone should have been taught in biology class.

how a cycle works, and what happens in every different part of it.

he knew of the cramps that came with a period, but had never seen anything close to what you would experience every first day of your period. 

maybe, that's why you freeze up when you open your front door. peaking your head out, fully expecting the delivery driver to bring you the new shoes you had ordered earlier this week.

no, it most definitely isn't the delivery driver- it is your boyfriend. who had to show up at the most random time- without notifying you beforehand. while you stand behind the door in a bloody outfit like you'd just committed a sinister murder.

"hey, baby! I missed you.."

the words fly out of kenan's mouth. his dimples showing as he flashes you a giddy smile, before he comes barging in.

when he starts pushing the door open slowly. you back up, hiding behind the door.

a chuckle leaves his mouth, as he thinks you’re teasing him. so in return, he grabs the door handle, practically slamming it closed behind him as you make weary eye contact with him. leaving you standing there like you had a stick up your ass.

fuck, the cramps were killing you..

you watch kenan frown at your lack of enthusiasm. you're certain he'd just finished his morning run, as he's dressed in his sweatpants and a hoodie.

he looks so cuddly and soft. if it weren't for the bloody pants, and the painful storm in your lower belly, you would just cling onto him and never let go.

"uh- sweetheart? you okay?" he questions, stepping closer to you. his hands reach for you, his eyes raking up and down your morning face.

"I'm fine, just woke up!" you squeak, eyes widening as you hold your hand out to stop him from moving any closer.

having a period was the most normal thing on planet earth, but the bloody stains on you made you feel incredibly uncomfortable.

"I'm on my period- and there's blood everywhere. I thought you were the delivery guy, so I opened the door thinking it would be a quick package. but- you're here now, I guess.."

you blurt out the words in one deep breath, ending your sentence with a questioning tone.

looking up at kenan, you watch his brows go up in realization, the warmth in his eyes returning in a gentle understanding of your frenzied behavior.

"why didn't you say so, baby? I'm a grown man, don't have to tippy-toe around you being on your period with me.."

he says, reaching over to fix your bedhead a little, his eyes exuding worry and concern.

"I know- I know.." you say, waving him off.

"I guess, I'm just a little- shy about- all of the blood.." you swallow, clenching your thighs together.

you watch your boyfriend’s eyes dart down your pants. he does grimace a little when he notices the bloodstains.

"no need to be shy. I want you to be comfortable around me, our relationship is too important to me. I'd never want you to hide your pain or hurt.."

maybe it was the hormones, but the words sent a straight warmth to your heart. though, seems like you felt it in your womb with how much it was starting to cramp.

"are you well enough to take a shower?" he questions, frowning at the slight way you're clenching onto your lower belly.

you meet his brown eyes, nodding.

"yeah, just- give me a couple of minutes.."

he nods, before watching you wobble away with small steps.

kenan runs his hands through his brown hair when you're gone. sighing as he makes mental preparations on how to proceed further with the situation.

first, he decides to wash the outside germs off his hands. heading towards the kitchen sink, he washes his hands thoroughly before making his way to your bedroom.

he grimaces at the sight of the bloody mess on the bed. rushing to change the bedsheets for you.

the man was a football player, and with the bloody injuries they would get into, this was absolutely nothing crazy to him.

thanking his mom mentally for teaching him how to do laundry, he smiles when he gets the laundry machine to work.

he's done by the moment you come out of the shower, quickly having changed into the clothes he'd put on the bathroom counter.

"feeling better?" kenan questions, opening his arms to meet you in a comforting hug.

you sigh when you press your face into his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist.

"hurts so much.." you pout, barely able to contain yourself from screaming in pain.

a soft sound of worry leaves kenan's mouth, and he doesn't hesitate to pick you up and place you on your clean bed.

"you changed my bedding?" you question through a painful groan.

"mhm, I did. but, that doesn't matter right now. how much does it hurt on a scale of one to ten, baby?" he asks, hands running up and down your thigh, eyes focused on your face.

"like- seven right now. I just have horrible cramps every time, especially the first day. I've been to the doctor lots of times, but they just can't find a reason as to why it hurts so bad.."

tears start pooling at your lower lashline. both of helplessness and pain making you crumble right in front of your concerned boyfriend. your body goes rigid as cramps tingle down your back and upper thighs.

"I'm so sorry about that, baby. how can I help you? anything specific I can do?" kenan's voice is as soft as ever, his hand reaching to cup your cheek.

"nothing helps.." you begin to explain, sniffling.

"It's so bad- I faint almost every time. I took a painkiller already, and it's not helping..”

sweat starts appearing on your forehead, and pained groans start leaving your mouth. you bite your bottom lip to contain the noises, but your eyes water as you throw your head back.

"fuck, baby.." your boyfriend curses in helplessness. his hands reach down your belly, and he watches your nod in consent- before he rubs up and down your lower belly.

"it'll be okay, just breathe in and out, princess..”

he knows his words alone won't make the pain go away. but he's so desperate for the pain to stop, so he keeps trying to talk to you, soothe you with his words, and the hands rubbing up and down the places that hurt the most.

opening your eyes, you look at him with tears running down your face. with a shocking move, you grab onto his arm, digging your nails into his flesh.

"woah, baby.. hey-" noticing the change in your demeanor, he lets you squeeze and grip onto him as tight as possible.

"it hurts so much- I.." you pause as a wave of nausea and dizziness hits you. your head falling forward, as you take in a sharp breath.

that is his last straw.

he can't take seeing you in so much pain, that you're on the verge of fainting..

it breaks his heart into pieces. the very heart that started beating for only you the night he fell in love with you.

"enough. I can't watch you literally pass out from pain."

you don't even protest, knowing that this time, you really couldn't stand the pain anymore.

"we're going to the hospital now. I'd be a monster if I let you suffer any longer. give me a second.."

he pressed a reassuring and gentle kiss on your throat, before getting off your bed.

you squirm in pain on the bed, trying to regulate your breathing. the stabbing pain worsening by the second.

kenan quickly collects your phone, car keys, and necessary id card, before coming back and scooping you up from the couch.

you can feel your body tingle from pain, and you grab onto kenan's sleeve as another wave of cramps hit.

"hurts so much. make it stop, please.." you sniffle, begging for some relief, wanting to scream and cry- but even that took too much energy from you.

"I know, baby. I know, we're going to the hospital- it hurts a lot, but stay awake for me. hm? I'm going to get you some help, honey.."

you clench your teeth the entire drive to the hospital, sweating bullets as you scream out from pain on the hospital bed.

"it's okay, you're fine- I'm here. It's going to stop, just let the meds kick in, baby.."

kenan tries to say every comforting thing he can think of. his heart beating faster in the heat of the moment.

you look up at the iv hanging above your head. clenching your teeth together as you mentally pray for the liquid medication to work as fast as possible.

"did you see the doctor? didn't you want to dye your hair the same color?.."

a distraction could help, kenan thinks- so he blurts the words out before second-guessing himself.

your jaw clenches at the seemingly stupid question, but the off-topic conversation manages to distract you from your cramps for a few minutes- until your eyelids become incredibly heavy all of a sudden.

"I'm sleepy." you mumble, your grip on kenan's bigger, rougher hand loosening. the meds had kicked in faster than you thought, causing a wave of exhaustion to hit you.

"that's okay, sweetheart. take a little nap. I'll be right here when you wake up." kenan speaks, a relieved sigh leaving his lips as he nods at you.

with an exhausted nod, and free from the aches and pains in your body- the last thing you can register is the adjustment of the blanket on your body. 

not to mention- the sweet kisses placed on the dried tears on your cheeks, before you drift off the sleep.

just like he promised, kenan is right there when you wake up, pain-free.

only, this time with a takeout bag of your favorite food.

oh, how he was the most loveable man on earth.

and he was all yours too...

[katabay]

desmond & friends modern day assassin sequences…..I miss you……..

[commic-jester]

@chaoticconstellation you’re going to regret this.

anyway. tw under the cut for discussions of sexual assault/harassment, pedophilia, and suicide by nature of ann’s confidant and the story of persona 5 itself. and also, obviously, spoilers for p5/p5 royal

so, as we all probably Very well know by now, atlus is historically Really Fucking Bad at handling their female characters. like. like Really Bad.

this being said, i think the treatment of ann, especially mid-game, is quite possibly the worst handling of a female character i’ve seen in any media period.

let’s start from the beginning. as in, the beginning of the game. our first introduction to ann as the player is seeing her on our way to school before she gets in the car with an adult man, presumably a teacher of some sorts. this is later confirmed by ryuji, who refers to kamoshida as a creep MULTIPLE times. essentially, our first introduction to ann is the knowledge that she’s being groomed.

this isn’t necessarily a bad thing! well, it is a very bad thing, but it’s not bad that it was included. this is a real problem that plagues teenage girls around the world daily. including it in a video game brings awareness to it, and for the most part the topic is handled respectfully (at first, but i’ll get to that later.)

then, later on in the first arc, ann confides in the player that she is in fact being coerced by kamoshida, in exchange for her best friend shiho getting a starting spot on the volleyball team. she confides that she hates it, but she doesn’t know what else to do since society and her peers have already labeled her as a “slut”/just a pretty face.

then, shiho’s attempt. this is ann’s breaking point. she finally becomes so enraged with kamoshida’s actions that she physically cannot stand by any longer, and practically forces the player and ryuji to let her join the phantom thieves and fight back.

then, kamoshida is defeated. this is quite possibly one of my favorite scenes in the entire game. ann is given the choice to spare or kill kamoshida. she chooses to spare him, but make no mistake, it is not out of mercy. she chooses to spare her abuser simply out of the hope that he will rot in a cell and his own sins for the rest of his life, and suffer the way she and shiho and all the other students he tortured did.

this scene is what made me root for ann. it’s what cemented her as one of my favorite characters in the entire franchise. a stereotypical “dumb blonde” “sexy girl” character fighting back against her abuser and rightfully actively wishing suffering on him, therefore breaking free from that box of “just a pretty face”?? hell fucking yes!!!

…..so imagine my surprise when she’s immediately shoved back into that box. quite literally days later. as soon as we meet yusuke, it’s like that character development never happened. it’s back to ann being the butt of every sexual joke. it’s back to ann having multiple full scenes of being “bait” in a sexual manner. it’s back to ann being treated as exactly what she fought so hard not to be.

it’s almost worse that she voices her displeasure with these actions every single time. it’s like atlus recognizes their development with ann, but actively choose to ignore it, and it’s infuriating.

to make matters worse, the player can date adult women as a high schooler. including the teacher. what did we miss about the message of the very first arc? the first palace we ever did was to stop a teacher from having inherently abusive relationships with his students! what are we doing here!!!!

i don’t know. maybe i’m being dramatic, but it’s really fucked up to me how atlus will show such an amazing character arc as my introduction to the series, only to rip it away immediately after. ann takamaki could have been such an amazing character. she still is, but she could have been so much better, if only atlus and their writers didn’t hate women, and i DESPERATELY wish that was a joke or an exaggeration

thank you for your time. i need to go throw myself into the ocean.

happy birthday ann takamaki do you want me to kill atlus for you