#like I've addressed that and now I'll go on to what I really think

[catofgooddecisions]

Hey, I'm going through something not quite the same but similar. I had long COVID and developed severe brain fog during the height of my freelance writing career. I began missing deadlines, dropping communications, getting confused in the middle of writing sentences, and developing migraines from trying to write assignments.

It was devastating, and I've never met someone else who was in a similar position until now. Bucket is right, take time to grieve. I spent years crying and feeling like someone had died. But after that, I slowly began getting back to writing. I agree with everything that's already been said, with some additions and comments.

1. I switched how I communicated with my developers. Instead of email, I learned that Discord was way easier for me because chatting was FAR less strenuous than email-speak. Nowadays, professionalism in general is draining, so maybe something to think about. What KINDS of writing tire you out most?

2. I save my energy for when it matters. If I know I'll be writing today I treat myself extra gently and ask for extra help. That even includes asking someone to help grab snacks for me so I'm not getting up and down as often (mind you, I also have physical limitations).

3. I'm open about my limitations. Feeling like I can not only share my struggles but feel a measure of control in managing expectations helps my anxiety and imposter syndrome a lot.

4. I basically changed everything about my writing process. I use mindmaps and braindumping instead of outlines. I write my first drafts in bullet points. Yes. Bullet points. I type in Google Docs instead of Word. And I spitball my writing ideas out loud with people more often the process.

5. Feed your brain. I only started seeing major improvements after I cut a lot of processed foods out of my diet, drank water as my only drink at home, and worked with doctors to address vitamin deficiencies and mental health.

6. Might not fit your situation, but I also started co-writing with my husband. It's been really fun and effective!

7. This one might be weird, but DON'T push through brain fog or processing issues if you're having a lot of trouble. Step back, rest, try again later. Yes, practice, persistence, and patience are key, but I was hurting myself trying to push against the resistance like I was exercising a muscle. Our situations aren't identical, but the brain is an amazing organ. Take care of it, exercise it with variety instead of intensity, and enrich it. See if that helps.

This past year I was able to enter and complete and writing competition with my husband, and it was really fun! So don't give up trying and be kind to yourself. Let's show the world what we can do! 💙

Hi, this is a really specific situation, but I'm at a loss. I had an accident that left me with lasting brain issues, and my writing has taken a hit. I went from being able to churn out a 3k word chapter in a day to needing an hour to write 50 words. I have so many ideas but can't express them, and I hate writing as a result. I know practice and just pushing through are going to be the main pieces of advice, but do you have any other suggestions or resources for someone who is having to re-learn how to be a writer?

Hey there! First off, I’m so sorry this response took me so long. Your Ask really stuck with me, and I wanted to give it the thought and care it deserves.

I can’t imagine how frustrating and heartbreaking it must be to go through such a big shift in your writing process. Losing that ease and flow—especially when you have so many ideas—is a huge adjustment. It’s a testament to your creativity and drive that you’re still thinking about how to keep writing despite the challenges.

You’re absolutely right that practice and pushing through are often the go-to advice, but I think it’s equally important to give yourself permission to grieve what’s changed. Writing can feel like such a core part of who we are, and when it’s harder than it used to be, it’s natural to feel a sense of loss.

Here are a few suggestions that might help as you navigate this:

1. Try Different Mediums: If typing feels like slogging through mud, maybe experiment with dictation software or voice-to-text tools. Speaking your ideas aloud could help you capture more words without the same strain.

2. Focus on Smaller Goals: Instead of trying to write full chapters, set tiny, manageable goals—like jotting down a single image or one sentence that excites you. Those little wins can add up and feel more achievable.

3. Explore New Ways of Outlining: If you’re struggling to get the words out, focus on the ideas instead. Create bullet points, mind maps, or even doodles to capture the essence of your story without the pressure of fully fleshed-out prose.

4. Be Kind to Yourself: This is the hardest one, but it’s so important. Writing isn’t just about the final product; it’s about the joy of creating. Even if the words come slower, every step you take is progress.

And don't forget to give yourself a ton of credit! Re-learning how to write in a way that works for you now is an incredible act of resilience. You’re still a writer, and your stories are still worth telling, even if the path looks different.

Hope this helps!

Bucket

/ / / / / / / / / / /

@theliteraryarchitect is a writing advice blog run by me, Bucket Siler, a writer and developmental editor. For more writing help, download my Free Resource Library for Fiction Writers, join my email list, or check out my book The Complete Guide to Self-Editing for Fiction Writers.

[risingphoenix24601]

Why (stage) Nessa is Ableist: An Essay

Disclaimer: I am disabled, but not a wheelchair user. I am chronically ill (EDS + all the bs that comes with it) and neurodivergent (ADHD, SPD, awaiting an Autism eval).

I will start with my personal perspective. My gripe with Nessa is that she is spoiled, her father favors her, and she expects everything to be done for her and soaks up everyone's pity. I'm not saying this never happens, but I feel like a lot of people just assume our parents coddle us and that our lives are easier, as if being disabled is some sort of advantage, and I've even seen us represented as going around looking for people entrap into helping us. When I was in high school, some kids found out I had a 504, became jealous (bruh, I'm jealous that you were born with high-speed internet brains) immediately assumed I was an arrogant prick who thought I deserved "special treatment," and took it upon themselves to make sure I felt like a burden. Believe me, being born into a world that doesn't know you exist is NOT an advantage.

Getting into more specific stuff: the movie did a great job correcting this, but since I'm talking about the stage version, I'm just going to list it: Elphaba's going to school just to care for Nessa, but I don't think she's in a position where she would need a full-time care-taker, so there's the trope of us entrapping people to do our bidding and that we're burdens on others (movie made clear that the dad is the asshole here and not Nessa). Second, many characters, some of whom don't know her at all, wheel Nessa around. You NEVER touch a person's mobility aids without their permission. Again, move fixed this. Third, Nessa says to Elphaba "I'm about the first happy night of my life!" Don't get me wrong, having a disability can really suck, but it doesn't mean our only emotion is misery. Plenty of disabled people live meaningful, fulfilling lives. My uncle has commented to me that he'd never guess I'm sick because "those people usually go around with a scowl." My uncle is Vietnam war vet. I'm sure if I knew half of the hell he went through, I would be shocked that he doesn't walk around with a scowl either-- but life goes on.

I'm going to address the controversy of the cure in Act II. Let me make this clear: plenty of disabled people want to be cured, and portraying someone who wants to be cured is not problematic. What is problematic, however, is that this is a very complicated topic and the show presents it in a way that is very simple. I'll use myself as an example: I would cure my EDS in a heartbeat, but neurodivergence, I honestly don't know. I am now at a point where I don't hate myself and actually like the way I am, but there are still days that I wish I was normal. I don't view my neurodivergence as a "gift" or another way of being, it is a disability and my life is harder because of it. And yet, I would be a completely different person without it. And I'm not sure if that's a person who I'd want to be.

We must remember that Nessa has been disabled since birth, this is her normal. And more than that, it's part of who she is. Suddenly being able to walk would be a massive change, and not necessarily a welcome one-- I think she would have the same fears that I have regarding fixing my neurodivergence. I also don't think Nessa is in a significant amount of pain or discomfort. So, ultimately, she is not disabled by her physical condition, she is disabled by the world around her.

This is, is my opinion, the biggest problem with the Wicked Witch of the East scene. Nessa's life is undeniably harder, but the lyrics incorrectly ascribe her suffering to her disability, when her suffering is actually caused by ableism. Also, wheelchairs are tools of accessibility. They are not bad or shameful things.

So yeah. I'm sorry that was long, but I've been seeing a lot of people asking about why it's ableist and there's no way to explain in one or two sentences, because this a complicated topic with complicated feelings. I hope I covered all the bases.

[ame-to-ame]

love being nd and have the tism wolf Inside me be so drastically uncomfortable with uncertainty that i physically cannot think about school and having to deal w the unknown of that whole situation without losing 5lbs in 2 days

[applejarjar]

realizing I missed my window to have a very important and soul bearing conversation with my boss

[quantomeno]

Oh yeah, you're completely right about asking Greg about every little thing. I only offered that as a starting point, partly because sometimes Greg gives his reasoning for why he chooses certain things and that's a little more interesting than his 'decisions' on canon (which are themselves often inconsistent with previous things he or others have said).

Which is why in the end I just said what I personally think is a good idea.

The issue with Bionicle is that there are a lot of things that are quite set in stone, and the fans (and myself too sometimes) have a desire to make sure things are consistent with what we know, to have it all line up nicely. Like, The Knowledge Tower videos about the physics of the MU are fun (and I salute @rahiwatching's dedication to them and look forward to watching them), but again they sort of play into this idea that we can know how the MU works, that there is one correct answers. Even the wording of your first post feels like a search for the true answer (I expect it was more a bunch of rhetorical questions to illustrate all the paths you could take these ideas, and you aren't actually after the 'true' answer).

So yeah, the point I was trying to make in that above paragraph is we really should decide what we like and what we think works. I mean it's been well over ten years since all these stories ended. It's not like our individual headcanons will get disproven by anything new.

But back to Kaitas because that's more fun to talk about. I kind of like the Hau as the default Kaita mask because it is a representation of Mata Nui. And then only its colour and name changes depending on the type of kaita (and the power mix of course). But I do prefer Wairuha with a Miru. I think it looks better. But then that would lead to the question of what would determine the shape if say none of thetoa wore a Miru? OK yeah now I'm doing the rhetorical question thing, it really is just the natural way to say these things.

I mean, I enjoy discussing what ifs and how does it work sort of things, but I don't think we need to all conform to one true canon based on what one guy among a whole team of people said. Particularly for the early years where Greg wasn't even doing a lot of the writing (MNOG, Hapka's stories, etc etc).

The other thing about running to greg about stuff is that when you're a kid playing with Bionicles, you just make stuff up as you please. You stick Matoro, Hahli and Kongu together to make a kaita and name it whatever and it is whatever you say it is. There's no cannon. It doesn't matter. It doesn't ever appear in the story so this has no bearings on anything whatsoever. Canon now that Bionicle has ended should be treated much the same way. Especially because we have so many conflicting accounts of things (talking of Kaitas, they're battle with the manas is a good example of contradictions). Just pick the pieces and stick them together to make something you think looks cool.

I am plagued by thoughts of Toa Kaita and how their names and titles are determined.

Is every single one unique? That leaves the most room for creativity, and means the result of each fusion is dependent on the personalities of the individual Toa components, which seems like the most narratively satisfying option. But also, if every possible Kaita is unique, how do they avoid overlapping domains? Eventually Valour or Wisdom are going to be really fitting for some other combination of three Toa, or they'll just run out of fancy mental concepts to name themselves after.

Alternatively, do the names, or maybe just the titles, of any given Toa Kaita, depend on the elemental combination used to form them? Does every instance of Ta-Toa+Po-Toa+Onu-Toa result in Akamai? Does every instance of Ga-Toa+Ko-Toa+Le-Toa result in a Toa of Wisdom? I went and learned some math specifically to determine that there are 560 different possible 3-element combinations that can be formed from the 16 Toa elements, assuming all three have to be different, because that makes the most sense to me. 546 if Light and Shadow could not coexist within a single Kaita for some reason, and 455 if you don't count Shadow at all. Those are still really big numbers! But it seems a lot more feasible to come up with 500-ish attributes for each combination to represent than for each of the infinite combinations of individuals to result in something completely unique. But then again, it seems awfully limiting to simply assign a default attribute based on elemental alignment without taking into account the personalities of the constituent Toa at all. Would Vakama, Onewa, and Whenua really result in a Valour combination rather than something more tailored to them? Could Tuyet and Nidhiki really be part of a Wisdom combination?

Then perhaps there is a set number of possible Kaita and which of the limited (but likely still beyond extensive) list of possibilities the fusion forms is dependent on the three Toa's personalities? That feels like it's getting dangerously close to personality-based categorization though, and I've seen enough bad YA to know that's never a good idea.

Is any of this important at all? Oh no, not at all, we only ever see two Toa Kaita in the entire story and even they barely matter, this absolutely isn't the sort of thing that needs to be thought about deeply at all. But here I am, distracted by it anyway.

[wizlizbelle3]

My challenge to induce pure consciousness before 2025

Hello everyone,

So I know that in my earlier posts I said that I am not really in favor of challenges but I see a lot of people struggling and overcomplicating the void and I've decided to make a challenge that will get you into the void state in less than 3 days if you really stick to it, and if you don't stick to it consistently, you'll still be able to get into the void before December 25th (which is like 26 days away from now). I edited the title to say new year’s bc people are already losing hope lol

The challenge is to use SATs to enter the void state and I'll explain how. But first, y'all need to understand what the void is exactly.

SO when you have to eat your breakfast, do you google or search youtube videos on how to eat? Or if you want to fall asleep, do you google how to fall asleep? We actually don't know what causes us to fall asleep if you think about it. So when we set the intention, our subconscious follows through because we've always been doing it and no one told us that sleeping is not real. So the void state is just another state of consciousness that doesn't need to be forced and it cannot be forced. You just set the intention. However, people have been programmed to believe that things like the void are too good to be true (SMFH).

SOOOOO here's the challenge:

STEP ONE is to do ANY kind of yoga, workout, or stretch before bed. You can do breathing sitting up or simply a meditation to calm your mind. Make sure to not use electronics before bed for at least an hour.

STEP TWO is to get into a comfortable position. It doesn't matter which position, just one that you know you can stay in for as long as necessary.

STEP THREE is to choose what you want to do in SATs. To induce the void, you choose to induce the void. You can say it to yourself or just relax and know what you want.

STEP FOUR is to begin to relax your body. You can do PMR where you tense then release each part of your body, then do breathing or anything until you have become completely relaxed.

STEP FIVE is to either visualize waking up with your desired face or whatever thing you want to get from the void and telling someone that you induced the void. Anything that indicates that you woke up in the void. OR you use the lullaby method where you pick one affirmation (I am in the void aware or I have induced pure consciousness). OR you can do both.

STEP SIX is to make sure you go to sleep with this affirmation or visualization in your mind. This is probably the most important part and what makes this method successful.

Please go watch "Neville Goddard Ladder lecture" in order to get how this works. BUT IT D O E S. Stop being so needy and do the challenge. It's literally not hard and there's no "failure". It's just a state.

Oh, and I made a playlist that I'll link down below for you to listen to throughout the day. It's not necessary but it helped me be happy and get rid of the "omg nothing wowks fow meeeeeee :(((" mentality. I will also link a good, trustworthy SATs subliminal that i used YEARS ago (like two years) and then didn't use again because I became obsessed with trying new methods.

If you have any questions, you can message me BUT I am enjoying my life rn and chilling so I won't respond immediately. Plus, everything you need to know is already on @b4ddprincess 's page and also my earlier posts address tons of things. Again, stop being needy.

[tastesousweet]

⭒ blurb : podcasting

bf!hamzah x poc!reader

summary: based on this ask!!! little blurb of the times you pop up on the ooc podcast

mickey speaks: this was so funny to write!!! also i need to be hamzah's gf yesterday bitch

─────────── · · ୨୧ · · ───────────

hamzah having you in an episode with mandy and martin

���oh wow this couch gets kinda tight when four people are squeezed on here” hamzah says while adjusting a few pillows

“yeah,” martin starts before addressing the audience, “and, well, you’re probably wondering ‘who the heck is that?!’” he gestures his hand over to you, beside hamzah with your legs folded and knees lying against his thigh

you can’t help but smile as hamzah introduces you, “and, yeah, believe it or not i have a girlfriend.”

“i’m right next to you so i’d hope they believe it” give a soft giggle

“only hamzah would announce he has a girlfriend with ‘believe it or not’” mandy adds and hamzah throws a hand up in the air in defeat

★

martin: “i can’t help but think this feels like in middle school when people were just group dating all the time”

hamzah: “was group dating that common? i don’t remember that”

you: “i remember certain friend groups at my school doing that but i definitely wasn't participating”

mandy: “this isn’t really a group though martin, more like a double date? there’s four of us”

martin: "it's not all about numbers mandy sometimes there's just a vibe"

★

martin: “but you two have been dropping hints about dating for a while now”

you: “yeah, we’ve been doing a little soft launching here and there”

martin: “i like that term a lot actually”

mandy: “i think it’s cute, but i've seen a lot of people online that don't use it properly”

you: "i agreeeee, like you didn't soft launch by posting the back of his head if we already saw the front of it a week ago- we know who he is!!! there is no mystery"

martin: "oh so the appeal is the mystery... almost like scooby doo?"

hamzah, nodding his head: "mhm... exactly"

you: "it's always two dumb bitches telling each other-"

you and hamzah together: "exactlyyyyy"

martin looks over to mandy as the two of you laugh: "oh come on this is their first episode together and look at them mandy! we have to be cuter, come on. lock in."

hamzah: "hey no need to be jealous, my friend."

hamzah pats martins thigh

mandy: "so what was that right there?"

hamzah: "you wouldn't understand..."

martin: "no but seriously mandy you never soft launched me- only hard"

mandy: "there was no need to??? next time i'll do it i guess"

you, laughing: "next time???"

hamzah is sat in thought for an extra second before he replies to martin, making them both laugh

hamzah: “okay martin you said like that term so much? boy, now imma soft launch these nuts in your mouth”

you: "and i know you were thinking on that joke for a minute"

martin, through laughs: “okay, okay, enough”

hamzah, wiping his eyes: “well, now the jig is up. you know it's all aired out and public”

martin: “yeah... a hard launch on the podcast, that’s crazy bro”

you and mandy, mocking: “that’s craaazzyy brooo”

★

hamzah answering your call during a podcast

martin: “hamzah whenever you buy clothes from the store or get it shipped in the mail always wash your clothes!”

hamzah: “i do wash my clothes but if it’s new that doesn’t make any sense”

martin: “so you’re just gonna open it up and put it on?”

hamzah: “yes!”

hamzah’s phone starts ringing

martin: “and wow. now look who’s breaking the phone rule!”

hamzah: “stop shhh. it’s y/n”

he answers, hamzah: “hey what’s up?”

you see the mic in his hand and widen your eyes, you: “oh shit, i’m sorry to interrupt”

hamzah: “it’s okay i have something to ask you now anyway.”

you: "okayy.. do you wanna go first or me?"

hamzah: "you go ahead"

you: "okay quick- is this business casual enough for an event tonight?"

hamzah: "nobody is doing business lookin' that hot, you can't be serious"

you: "kay thanks"

hamzah, jokes: "you are not anyone's office siren, girl"

you: "i'm gonna hang up"

hamzah: "no!!! i need to ask if you wash your clothes after you buy them."

you: "if they smell like stale water and factory chemicals, yes"

hamzah: "martin is educating me on the importance of this unimportant thing right now."

you: "and you should listen to him, stinky"

martin: "thank you!"

hamzah: "oh nahhh, now i'm gonna hang up"

you: "mkayy bye, sorry for interrupting! bye martin!!!"

martin: "byee"

★

you drop something off at the warehouse studio while they’re filming

hamzah: "what was that noise?"

martin: "i don't know..."

hamzah: "it sounds like someone's actually trying to break in, what?"

martin: "were you expecting company?"

hamzah: "no, were you?"

martin: "no...i mean let's ask the audience"

martin turns to the camera, concerned

hamzah: "okay i'm actually about to go check. this is weird."

it cuts to a clip of hamzah sat again and you peeking your head in the frame to wave

hamzah: "nevermind. it was just my sweet girlfriend bringing us lunch, sorry if that scared you guys."

martin: "should we make like a super artifical thumbnail for clickbait? somethin' like; 'someone tried to kidnap us in our studio!'

hamzah: "no"

★

they have a trolling episode where you and mandy both sub in and act as martin and hamzah for an entire episode

mandy: "you know i find it crazy how we manage to talk about nothing for an entire hour"

you: "this is the talent people expect from us bro! and if we ever get too boring we can always discuss the state of sabrina and barry's relationship."

mandy: "true. and don't make fun of me but everytime man-crush monday comes around i'm always picking barry..."

you: "well if i can't make fun of you then i'll just stay quiet for your sake."

taglist -★ (some of u didn't ask to be tagged but have frequently liked my hamzah content lol, just lmk if you'd prefer not to be tagged!!!)

@sirenedeslily @333michelle @thatmartinkitten @@maybankfr @imsosillygoofylol @certainfestivalnerdshepherd

[yikesmary]

PREGNANCY CRAVINGS — choi seungcheol x reader

summary: where being pregnant comes with its struggles, and one of them just so happens to be the random pregnancy cravings. so, in the middle of the night, you try to sneak out and go to the convenience store nearby and buy something to satisfy your craving. however, your husband wakes up and insists to accompany you—even if he’s barely awake.

notes: the convenience store i've pictured in mind are like the ones i've seen in korea. but i don't really address where this occurs in, so use your imagination!

disclaimer: i'm not pregnant or have been pregnant so everything i write about pregnancy is most likely not true and therefore shouldn't be taken as fact (unless it's true, but make sure it's validated by an actual medical professional).

join my taglist!

“Oh, Cheol, you absolute asshole,”

You tried using all your strength to push your husband’s sleeping figure away from you, the heat coming from his body was too much for you. Trying to move him away was an obstacle, especially because he was working out more as of lately.

But finally, you had managed to cause enough noise in trying to move him that Seungcheol finally moved himself, scooting more onto his side.

You looked down at your pregnant belly and told your unborn child, “All that effort I put into moving him, and all he has to do is move himself?”

Huffing, you stood up and went to your closet, looking for an appropriate shirt to change into in order to go to the convenience store. In hindsight, you could probably have used your phone to order something, but the problem was you didn’t know what you were craving.

You knew that the baby was craving something, but didn’t know what. So, you decided that you were going to walk to the store and let the baby decide while walking through the aisles.

You rummaged through your clothes before going through Seungcheol’s side of the closet. As the pregnancy goes on, you’ve found yourself wearing more of Seungcheol’s clothes since they seemed to fit you better and were comfier than the maternity clothes that you never wore.

"What are you doing?"

You turned around in surprise to see Seungcheol standing, looking quite comfy in his pajama pants and a random old shirt. Being the one for dramatics (which you probably got from your husband), you put your hand on top of where your heart was. "You scared me! I think I almost gave birth then," you said.

He rolled his eyes and then rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "What are you doing?" He repeated.

"Oh, I was gonna go to the convenience store. The baby wants to eat something," you told him.

"Can't the baby wait for the morning?"

"The baby wants to eat, now."

"Then why don't you order something?"

"The baby doesn't know what to eat," you sheepishly said.

He looked at you for a moment, before reaching behind you to grab a hoodie. "Fine, let's go," he said, turning to leave yours and his' bedroom.

"I'm fine on my own," you insisted.

"You're pregnant and it's two in the morning. I'm coming with you," Seungcheol said, before yawning.

"Cheol, you're barely awake enough to be coming with me. You need your sleep," you gently said, but he was stubborn.

"I'm suddenly hungry too, so I'll just come with you to buy some food," he said.

Once you and Seungcheol entered the convenience store, you were greeted by the quietness of the place and the single employee that was stood behind the cash register.

You looked around the aisles while your husband followed not too far away from you. "Choose what you want, I'll be paying," he instructed and you didn't bother to argue, considering he always insisted on paying.

Wandering around, you grabbed your favorite snacks, a couple ramen cups, and a few of Seungcheol's favorite foods. Realizing that you should've gotten a basket, you looked at Seungcheol, who seemed to be amused with your current predicament of full hands.

"Don't laugh, it's not funny!" you whined, but he only seemed to amuse further with your comment.

Wordlessly, he left the aisle to grab a basket. When he returned with the basket, you dumped everything in it, and he carried it while you walked around the aisles one last time.

After making sure you didn't want anything else, Seungcheol went to the register, with you waddling behind him.

"Was it worth it to ruin our sleeping schedules for this?" Seungcheol teased, and you nodded with a mouthful of ramen noodles.

He shook his head but opened his mouth and you put a chopstick with ramen noodles on it in his mouth. "Not bad," he said and you beamed at his compliment.

"Is the baby satisfied with the food?"

"Yep, and the baby is finally tired enough to sleep," you said.

Waddling to your bedroom, with Seungcheol not too far from you, you settled into your bed, and closed your eyes.

"Sweetie?"

"Yes, Cheol?"

"I can't sleep now,"

[yourmidnightlover]

the story

pairing: mob!bucky barnes x reader

w/c: 3.5k+

summary: the weeks following bucky ordering that steve be your bodyguard, followed by an insightful night at a gala with your beloved husband.

warnings: mention of the incident with john (groping), slight threats of violence, mention of fear, lip on lip action (the upstairs ones), if i've missed anything please let me know!!

a/n: hiii! the third installment of my forever? series! i didn't even intend for this to be more than one part, but you guys have inspired me to write more for it! my writing schedule is a bit off since i recently started a new job, but i'll try to be a bit consistent with it. i hope you guys enjoy this next part, more to come!

part 2 -> control

the first few weeks with steve as a bodyguard wasn’t too bad. he was actually kinda funny in a grandpa kinda way, and he was an amazing listener. you had bounced a few ideas for your book off of him and he seemed to be very intrigued by some of the plot points you had planned. he even promised to be one of the first customers, right behind bucky (which you may have rolled your eyes at), of course, as long as he was promised a signed copy.

but, at the two month mark you began to miss your independence. of course, the chef bucky had hired was amazing and had years of experience in italian cuisine, but sometimes a girl just wanted some greasy smash burger to chow down on. most nights you ate alone with steve until bucky walked through the front door. 

he always seemed beaten down and tired, as though work was more straining than usual. he would shrug his jacket off, place it on the hook by the door, then his shoes on the rack, and walk upstairs to shower before coming downstairs to eat as you and steve were finishing your plates. you tried your best to start conversation, to be the best company you could but eventually the silence always grew awkward and steve would usher you to go upstairs to your room with a pressed smile. 

after two months of not really needing to show you off i any way, there was an important gala for him to attend. of course, that means that you were to be his beloved arm candy for the night. 

“buck sent me the address for a local boutique that he thinks would be right up your alley,” steve read from his phone as you took a stroll in the garden that was full of beautiful colors. “the appointment is at 3:45, so we have plenty of time to get ready and head there too. oh and he says you should get something in that one shade of green… i’m assuming you know what that is?” his brows raise in confusion, as your mirror his in a stunned expression. 

“surprisingly, i do know what he means for once.” about six weeks before the wedding, you had spent an all nighter with him amidst all of the chaotic planning. 

“accent colors are super important! right now, all we have is an off white color, and while it’s a good color, i don’t want my wedding to wash everyone out that much,” you shoved his side as you sprawled your binders out on the coffee table. 

“i say… green,” he says after pondering for a minute. 

“green… like tree green?” you chuckled at the notion. 

“i mean the green that’s light yet earthy, not too dark but not scream-in-your-face bright. it’s beautiful. plus, i think you’d look stunning in it,” he shrugs casually as if he hadn’t described a mundane color in such an alluring way.

“so a sage green?” 

“maybe more on the jade green side,” he tried to hide a smile as his thumb began to mindly trace nonsense on your thigh. 

there was such elegance in the way he described the simple color, as if saying light green wouldn’t have sufficed. clearly, there was a significance to the mundane shade that he felt the need to recommend it. 

but you knew not to ask anything further to pry, doubting his readiness to comply so easily so early in your relationship. while it was during the happiest days of your relationship, you still knew he held you at arms length. 

at the appointment, you had found several dresses in the perfect color, but only one stood out to you after trying them on. steve was also a good guide in ensuring you were choosing the right one, although you’re sure he would just say every dress looked good regardless. 

growing up, you’d read about a love that was so encapsulating that one would rather face death than be without their lover. you’d yearned for that kind of love. the kind of love that was consuming and irreversible. the kind of love where your partner wouldn’t love you in spite of your flaws, but because of them. 

and now you were married to a man who didn’t seem to feel an ounce of that towards you. sure, the months leading up to your wedding made it seem otherwise. it made you hopeful that he could maybe grow to love you, as you could grow to love him. 

because truthfully, it was hard to see many flaws in the man, other than those that were rumored in the tabloids. you’d read or heard of his anger issues and his lack of patience but abundance of irritability. yet all you’d observed is his laughter, his diligence and compassion. 

it was definitely confusing to want to believe these two contradicting tales of composure, but ultimately seeing is believing. you’d decided to believe whatever he showed you, what was right in front of his face rather than believe whatever was whispered in your ear. besides, if something was worth believing it should be said with their full chest rather than in such a low tone. 

-

“almost ready?” bucky’s low voice rang through the door as you were doing finishing touches on your hair, making sure you looked as presentable as possible. 

“i just have to put the dress on, and i’ll be ready to go!” you replied, unzipping the bag that the dress came in, even though you suggested that doing so was overkill.

“let me know if you need any help.” you heard a thud from the other side that suggested that he was leaning against the door, waiting to hear if you did happen to need any assistance. 

you replied in silence, just stepping into the dress and lifting the straps over your shoulders. it was such a beautifully made gown, truly. it hugged you in the most flattering places, accentuating just the right amount without flaunting too much. the material felt like a warm hug from a lifelong friend, you almost never wanted to take it off. 

the only downside was the damn zipper. it was a bit rough to pull over your hips alone, but once you reached your mid back it seemed to reach a snagging stop. you twisted your arms every way possible, trying to avoid the totally cliche scene of calling him in to zip you up. 

alas, the universe had other plans for you. although, how much could you complain when that would mean his rough, yet gentle hands would be against your skin…

“...bucky?” your voice meekly called out, trying to interrupt your own thoughts from spiralling down the path you wanted them to so bad. 

“yea?” his voice piped up, seeming to jump an octave or two in the process. maybe you jst startled him. 

“could you maybe help me zip this thing up?” you became quiet before the twisting of your doorknob broke the silence. “my arms can’t quite contort the way they need to in order to zip this all the way…” you refused to meet his eyes as he trailed inside the room. 

the first sign of his presence was his hands grasping your shoulders, lightly tracing down your arms. then he leaned down to press a kiss to your bare shoulder, more affectionate than he’d been the entire duration of your marriage without it being prompted. 

“you look beautiful,” he pressed another kiss to your other shoulder before letting his hands fall to a respectable place on your waist, stepping back to seemingly find where the zipper got stuck. “but what’s new, right?”

you chuckled at the compliment. 

“what’ve you been doing recently?” you asked meekly. “i haven’t seen you much at all since steve started his new gig as my babysitter.”

he sighed, stopping his antics to clarify what he felt he needed to. “he’s not a babysitter. he’s my best friend, and the only person i trust to look after the woman that i-the woman that i married, okay?” you felt his deep breathing on your neck before he continued, “i don’t know where john is yet. john is notorious for taking whatever he thinks is his and that night he made it very clear what he believed.” he turned you around to face him, the dress’ zipper be damned. “if anything happens to you… just the thought keeps me up at night. i need you to understand,” his voice was desperate, pleading almost. 

you understood what he was saying. at least, you were pretty sure you did. men in positions of power like bucky typically saw the people around them as pawns. part of you thinks that he’s saying all of this as the controlling, possessive boss man bucky. and that’s the large part of you. but the small part of you, the part of you that still believes in that fairytale love you used to read about, believes that maybe he’s saying all of this because he does feel something for you… something real. 

but that part of you is like… 15 percent. maybe 20…

“i understand,” you nodded, meeting his eyes and seeing desperation, fear. seeing fear radiating from a man that projects a version of himself that’s fearless is a scary thing. 

“good,” he nodded, his eye contact faltering to the dress that clung to your body. “you look indescribable, i’m a lucky man to call you mine.” once again, he grasped your shoulders to turn you around.

this time, he promptly found the zipper, his metal hand tracing nonsensical patterns on your shoulder as he zipped the dress with his flesh one. 

“all done,” he pressed a lingering kiss to your right shoulder. “my beautiful bride.” you wanted to believe him. 

“thank you,” you took a deep breath as you turned to face him. “so, tonight… what should i be expecting?” “well, there are a few people i’ll introduce you to, and a few i have to talk to. but i’ll be with you the whole time,” he pressed his hands into his pockets. “i scheduled a car to take us, and we have about 10 minutes before it should get here.”

“so we’ll be playing the roles of loving wife and doting husband?” you nudged his shoulder before you went to grab your shoes. 

“playing? this is all real, sweetheart,” he took the shoes from your hands, promptly dropping to his knees. 

“what are you-”

“i’m putting your shoes on, my love.” you chuckled before he guided your hand to his shoulder. “gonna want to hold on.” he picked up one of your legs by your calf, grabbing the correct shoe before slowly placing your foot inside and doing the same for your other shoe.

meanwhile, you were stuck staring down at him like a lovesick idiot. this behemoth of a man was beneath you treating you like a princess by putting your heels on for you. what the hell kind of alternate universe have you entered and how can you never leave?

“well, aren’t you a romantic?” you cleared your throat as he remained on his knees, a sight you could get used to. 

“don’t let the news spread around town,” he chuckled as he let your remaining foot hit the ground but not without pressing a kiss to your ankle. “i can’t have others knowing how enamored i am by you, can we?” “enamored?” you chuckled out. “what a word,” you shook your head as you helped him to his feet. 

“the perfect word.” he trailed his hand to a loose strand of hair, twirling it around his flesh fingers before he sighed, “the car should be here soon. we should head downstairs for it.”

it was a 45 minute ride there. you sat in a respectable silence, this time it wasn’t as awkward as it has been in the past. upon arrival, the door was swiftly opened for you, bucky getting out first and then offering his hand to help you step out. the first thirty minutes of the gala went very similarly. he would introduce you to a new face or say ‘hello’ to a familiar one, wrap his arm snugly around your waist before pressing a kiss to your cheek and move on to the next person. 

for a bunch of folks in banking and finance, everything seemed very high stakes. there seemed to be walls up all around you, from each man and woman you said a brief hello to or were meeting for the first time. everyone had decided to adorn a mask for the night, or maybe the mask was a semi-permanent fixture. maybe they’d worn the mask for so long they forgot how to function without one. you hoped you wouldn’t face the same fate.

to be doomed to fake face for so long that you no longer remember what was once real. you wanted something real, even if what you and bucky had was technically fake when you were in public. something about what happened behind closed doors when nobody was around gave you the illusion that part of it was real. 

“have i told you how ravishing you look tonight?” bucky held you close as you swayed to the soft melody. his metal hand was clutching your waist, his flesh hand holding your own.

“i think in different words, yes,” you both began to laugh at his flattery. “you don’t have to keep doing that, y’know? the compliments and everything… i think people get the idea that this is real by now.”

“you don’t get it, do you?” he shook his head before he moved his vibranium hand to your chin, nudging it up for you to meet his eyes. 

“get what?”

“buck,” steve’s voice interrupted your dance, but that didn’t stop bucky from pulling you taut to his side.

steve leaned in to whisper in his ear, but you were able to tell by his stone cold expression that whatever message that was being relayed to him wasn’t as delightful as the desserts from tonight. 

“when?” you barely registered bucky’s low voice over the music. 

steve went back to whispering in his ear and it wasn’t until he pulled back that you wanted to speak up, “what’s going on?”

bucky looked down to you, and when you looked into his eyes, what you saw was very similar to your earlier conversation with him. this time, however, there seemed to be anger buried beneath the stoic traces of fear. that’s when it clicked.

“did they find him?” his jaw clenched and unclenched.

“you told her about-”

“i told her what she deserves to know,” bucky interrupted steve’s accusatory tone. “you don’t get to question me or the decisions i make, especially not when those decisions are in regards to my wife.”

you weren’t sure if bucky was defending you or himself with the way he jumped on steve’s gears. 

“okay, got it,” steve rse his hands in defense before he nodded. 

“what steve was telling me was in regards to him, yes,” bucky clarified. “but it’s nothing important for you to need to know. you don’t have to worry about it, my love,” he let his flesh hand play with that same strand of hair as earlier as he looked down at you like his prized possession. 

oh yea, you almost forgot. that’s what you are to him. his trophy wife, as much as you hate that phrase. 

“when can we go home?” a shiver ran down your spine. what would john even do if he did get his hands on you? was he actually as bad as bucky made him seem, or was he worse? you gripped bucky’s arm tighter as thoughts raced through your brain. 

“hey,” he turned to face you again, his eyes no longer reflecting anger or fear but tenderness. “if you want to leave, we’ll leave. steve can get the car,” he turned briefly to steve who nodded before walking off, “we can talk on the way home. i can tell how many questions are running through that pretty head of yours right now. but i can assure you,” he cupped your face in his hands, and the contrast between the cold metal and the warm flesh was oddly grounding, “as long as your with me, or steve for that matter, you won’t have anything to worry about. i would do anything it takes to keep you safe.”

you nodded, pressing your lips together in a fine line, maybe a bit of doubt running in your head at the lengths he would go to in order to protect you. would he really go to the lengths necessary? would his hand be forced to do that? 

“how bad would it be if i admitted that i was scared right now?” you couldn’t meet his eyes as you admitted it. 

“it’s not bad at all. in fact, i understand. i just hope that you know that this is why steve is watching out for you now,” he dropped his hands to your shoulders, down your arms to hold your hands. 

“will you-would you be up for staying with me tonight?” you popped the question, almost scared of his answer. “like… like you did that night? i don’t really want to be alone tonight.”

“you don’t have to explain,” he smiled. “of course i’ll stay with you.”

the ride home was similar to the ride there, but this time with your head rested on his chest, his arms wrapped snugly around you. you’re sure he thought you were asleep when he pressed a kiss to your forehead. it also wasn’t beneath you to say you liked when he did it…

so much so that you apparently did fall sleep. when you woke up, it was wrapped in strong arms. you strained your neck to look at the clock beside your bed, the one that read 2:35 am. turning in bed to look at bucky, you realized you’d never seen him so peaceful. his hair had grown out a bit long, evident by the way it laid across his forehead. 

when you moved the few locks of hair from his forehead, he began to stir awake. 

“shhh,” you hummed softly. “it’s just me. sorry i woke you.”

“don’t be sorry,” his raspy voice was alluring this early in the morning, or was it late? “i don’t think i’ve slept this good since… well, since that night.”

“are you a secret cuddler, mr. barnes?” you smiled as he pulled you in a smidge tighter as he replied. 

“and what if i am?” “there are no complaints coming from me,” he pressed yet another kiss to yourforehead, then your cheek, your other cheek, and then you pulled back to look in his eyes again. 

the only light that was peaking through was from the hallway underneath the door, but that didn’t stop you from being able to see the bright smile decorating his face, a rare sight to see. 

“how bad would it be if i admitted that i really wanted to kiss you right now?” his thumb trailed across your bottom lip, gently pulling it down and watching it bounce back into place.

“it’s not bad at all,” you let your eyes find his lips before looking into his eyes once more. 

he made the first move, taking his flesh hand and cupping your face before he softly met your lips with his. every other kiss you’d had with him had been for show, cameras or people around to witness and aww at the romantic antics of the newlyweds. this one wasn’t for show. this was purely authentic. gentle, soft, delicate. for a man like bucky, you figured he wasn’t like this very often. this was a side of him not many other people got the privilege of witnessing. 

he was precise in his movements, every swipe of his tongue and every placement his hand made was deliberate, yet he was so tender. the soft grasp of your hair, the easy glide of his hand that began to hold your waist. it was all so consuming, in the best way possible. in the way that you wanted to drown in his presence. 

when you sweeped one of your legs over his, now perched on his lap, you felt him smile against your lips. 

“you’re astounding,” he breathed into you. “breathtaking,” he rearranged his hips, accidentally brushing his hardon against your center. “shit.”

“sorry,” you smiled against him as you pulled back, resting your forehead against his. 

“nothin’ to apologize for,” he shook his head with a laugh. “i mean, you are my wife an’ all.”

“i know, but,” taking a deep breath, you tried to figure out how to word what you wanted to say to him. you came up with nothing. “i don’ know. it’s different. we haven’t necessarily been the most affectionate since our wedding.”

“i didn’t think you wanted anything more,” his face shone with disbelief. “i didn’t want you to think you were forced to be ‘affectionate’ with me. you didn’t really want to marry me in the first place. i realize that.”

were you not this puppet in his master show? some play thing for him to own and display whenever he pleased? had every story you’d heard about him been nothing but that… just stories? could this story of you and him have a happy ending?

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[ineffable-romantics]

Some thoughts on why and how I believe Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship would incorporate sex/why I do not read them as wholly asexual:

This is something I've seen the most discourse about in this fandom, and I've had a few thoughts of my own that I really wanted to expand upon in a full meta/character analysis post. I do understand that this can be a contentious topic, so first, let me clarify a few things:

First of all, this is going to be long. Tbh it probably won't be that organized either. I ramble and I'm not very good at editing, so just... you know. Be warned. (*Hi, it's me from 2 days after writing this; I'm really not kidding, it's LONG)

These are all my own thoughts. They might not be hot takes, because recently I've seen more than a few people come to the same conclusions on a lot of these points as I have. But I've also had these notes in my drafts for about a week and a half now, and have been continuously adding to it as things have occurred to me. This post is essentially just somewhere for me to collect the separate but related meta I've been kicking around in my head.

I fully respect anyone who does see and prefer an asexual reading of this relationship. These are my own thoughts and interpretations as someone who is not asexual. I am in the LGBT+ community, so while I do know a few things about the asexuality spectrum, I am by no means an expert.

This is NOT something I expect, need, or even necessarily want the show (or, God forbid, Neil's tumblr ask box) to address. Tonally, it's just not that kind of show. Newt and Anathema's sex scene was very much played for laughs, and it worked for that reason. If the show found a way to address it in a way that was both appropriate for the tone of the show and ultimately satisfying, then great! But there is so much more to this relationship than sex, and I didn't need a kiss to confirm their love, so I certainly don't need a sex scene. As immortal beings (as I assume they'll stay) there is so much of the rest of their lives we'll never get to see. You can headcanon them as asexual and potentially be right. I can headcanon them as not and be equally potentially right. Again, these are just a collection of my own thoughts, because I think the question of sexuality (or lack thereof) is just as interesting a facet of these characters as any other.

Note: Tbh I've been second-guessing this whole post and debated deleting the whole thing several times for being silly or unnecessary, bc I don't want anyone to think that this is the only thing I care about when it comes to this story/characters. But if nothing else, it's inspired me to write in a way that nothing has in a very long time, so I've decided it's worth continuing, if for no other reason than that.

This is going to be a mixed bag of textual reading, subtextual reading, and a full-on reach or two. It's been a while since I've been in an English class, but if my teachers expected me to find a deeper meaning behind blue curtains, you can expect me to read too deeply into the symbolism of a loaded rifle or an ox rib. (This is probably not what my professors had in mind when grading my literary analysis papers but oh well) My point is, if it feels like a reach, I'm as aware of it as you are. I am in no way saying that all (or even any) of my points made were deliberate on the part of Neil or the actors or the writers or the directors. I am no longer the delulu Apple Tree Yard child of my youth, I promise.

If anything said here is in any way offensive or hurtful to anyone in the asexual community, please do not hesitate to message me or comment and let me know exactly what it was. I promise you it is not my intention to do so, and am happy to clarify or outright edit anything that reads that way.

With all that being said, let's talk about why I think Crowley and Aziraphale would absolutely fuck nasty incorporate sex into their relationship.

Note: I am out of practice with essay writing, so I think I'll just go down the bullet points of notes I have been making, and expand on each as best I can

Food

Where better to start than with Aziraphale's introduction to Pleasures Of The Flesh? (Just a heads up, this entire post may feel very Aziraphale-heavy, and with good reason).

This might be the least hot take here. We've all seen the Job minisode. We've all seen That Scene.

Whether this was intentional or not, the symbolism here is off the charts. Eve was tempted by an apple. So why not go a similar route and tempt Aziraphale with another fruit, or cheese, or bread, or literally anything else for his first experience with food? Instead, we go with a huge, glistening slab of fresh meat that he proceeds to absolutely go feral upon, moaning and gasping into his meal while Crowley watches with what definitely doesn't look to be disgust or even satisfaction with a good temptation. There's surprise at the ferocity of Aziraphale's appetite, certainly. But ultimately he looks to be intensely fascinated by it, while the thunder crashes, the music crescendos, and the earth literally shakes around them.

(It's also interesting to note how very little it takes for Crowley to tempt him with the ox rib. One murmured suggestion, a bit of unwavering eye contact, and vavoom Aziraphale immediately meets him in the middle.)

Cut to Aziraphale devouring the rest of the meat with Crowley splayed back on a makeshift bed, drinking wine and continuing to watch him indulge through half-lidded eyes. Outside a thunderstorm rages while they're learning secrets about each other in warm flickering firelight. It's cosy, it's intimate, and if they'd thrown in a bearskin throw blanket, it might as well be a post-coital scene straight out of Game of Thrones.

The next time (chronologically) we see them discuss food is when Aziraphale "tempts" Crowley with oysters in Rome. So Crowley first tempts Aziraphale with meat and then Aziraphale tempts Crowley with what is widely regarded to be an aphrodisiac. Interesting.

And then chronologically after that, the Arrangement begins to form, which has always reeked of a friends with benefits situation. Just to throw that in there.

It's What Humans Do

In the very first episode, we're shown Gabriel's obvious disgust and bewilderment towards Aziraphale eating sushi, calling it "gross matter" and being proud of the fact that he does not sully his body with it. Aziraphale initially tries to defend his own enjoyment in it, before passing it off as something that humans do, as something he simply has to do in order to blend in (which we know very well is not the case).

He does this again in season 2, passing off Nina and Maggie being in love as "something humans do". But it isn't, is it? Angels are beings of love, and can sense it, and understand very well what it is... up to a point. Even romantic love is obviously within their wheelhouse, given what we now know happened between Gabriel and Beelzebub (we'll come back to them).

What the "humans do" that angels wouldn't understand is messy, physical forms of love.

But here's the thing: Aziraphale and Crowley love doing what the humans do. They love drinking, they (or at least Aziraphale) love eating. They love music. Crowley loves driving and sleeping and watching rom-coms and sitcoms. Aziraphale loves reading and doing magic and earning little licenses and certificates for achievement in his various hobbies. They love to playact at being human so much that they've stopped playacting and started building a genuinely human lifestyle for themselves and with each other.

Once together in an unambiguously romantic sense, why do we think they wouldn't also want to explore one of the most prominent, intimate, powerful human expressions of love and desire with each other?

Angels, Demons, & Asexuality

Here's where I really want to clarify that in no way do I mean that sex is necessary for a healthy, fulfilling, and loving romantic relationship, or that the lack of desire for sex makes you any less human. Asexuality is a sexuality as valid and human as any. What I would say is that it is definitely in the human minority compared to allosexuality.

Angels and demons, on the other hand, are predominately asexual. Sexless/genderless unless Making An Effort. (Which, btw, is a concept introduced as early as the original book; why even bring it up as a possibility? Why not keep angels/demons being sexless/asexual as a hard and fast rule, if not to open up the potential for later use? Chekhov's Effort, if you will. And isn't that something that Aziraphale in particular is shown to do time and time again? He makes an effort in French and driving and magic, doesn't he?)

And this is why I don't believe Aziraphale and Crowley necessarily need to be asexual, narratively. There is already a huge amount of ace rep within the angels and demons (and no, not just the horrible ones. Muriel also doesn't "drink the tea" and has no reason or desire thus far to Make An Effort, and there are certainly other angels and demons who aren't horrible like the archangels seem to be who likely wouldn't Make An Effort either).

The central conflict for Aziraphale and Crowley is that they are on their own side, the ones who went native, the ones who are so different in so many ways from their respective hives. It would make sense for them to also break away from traditional angel/demon asexuality.

I say "traditional angel/demon asexuality", because I would also like to note that I would absolutely not rule out demisexuality for either of them. This post is being written to as a response to people who specifically believe that they (like the rest of the angels/demons seem to be) would be sex-averse in a relationship, and that it wouldn't be a factor in their relationship. I could easily read them as demisexual, but I do think there would be no real way of verifying this, because they've never been able to form as close an emotional relationship with anyone else but each other. Certainly not in heaven, and I can't imagine they would be able to form that kind of attachment with any of the humans, who they love and emulate but ultimately regard as the separate species they are. So yes, they could either be allosexual or demisexual, in my opinion.

Then again, now that I think about it, Making An Effort itself could be a great metaphor for demisexuality, since they would be entirely sexless/asexual until they have enough of an emotional connection with someone to consciously manifest otherwise. Since the other angels and demons don't generally form those types of emotional connections with anyone, there hasn't been a precedent for it.

Except...

Brielzebub

We do have a precedent for it now, don't we? Gabriel and Beelzebub fell in love. They are a direct foil for Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship, speedrunning right through their courtship and finding their happily ever after on the other side of things.

For being such a 1 to 1 comparison, it feels deliberate that they did not kiss. They held hands, they were gooey with each other, but they did not kiss. That feels like such a deliberate thing to omit when you know what's to come at the end of the episode between Crowley and Aziraphale.

And going back to the food = sex metaphor for a moment, let's notice how even as they fell in love over the years, even when pints and crisps were there on the table in front of them, they never felt the desire to reach out for them. They didn't need to. It's a date (love story) even if you aren't eating dinner (sleeping together).

Yes, I know Jim liked hot chocolate. No, I am not counting it because I don't consider Jim and Gabriel to be the same person with the same proclivities, and Jim was highly suggestible at the time anyway.

Gabriel and Brielzebub's big happily ever after moment (as of now) was one between two asexual supernatural beings. They did not need to kiss to drive the point home. They showed what Crowley and Aziraphale could have, if they would only acknowledge it.

Crowley & Aziraphale's Dissatisfaction

But they do have that already, don't they? If you really think about it, what do Gabriel and Beelzebub do with each other that Crowley and Aziraphale don't already? They hold hands, they spend time together, they create little rituals, they give gifts, they're visibly and verbally affectionate with each other, etc. They are more or less already in a romantic asexual marriage relationship with each other, aren't they?

And it doesn't seem to be enough for either of them.

At the beginning of the season, Crowley is immediately shown to be unsatisfied with the way things are. Obviously part of it comes from living in his car, but it seems to be more than that (especially since Aziraphale makes it clear that the bookshop is just as much Crowley's as his, implying that he could have been living there the whole time and is choosing not to, for some reason?). You could argue he's feeling unmoored without Hell telling him what to do, but isn't that what he wanted? Isn't that what he still wants, by the end of the season? All season long, he's never indicated the desire for a new job, or a new project. He stopped the apocalypse because he wanted the freedom to openly spend time with Aziraphale, to spend his time on Earth however he sees fit. Until Gabriel arrives, he has exactly that (minus a flat).

So where does the dissatisfaction come from? And if it represents anything to do with his relationship, what does he want out of it that he isn't getting already?

I think Crowley only really comes to the realisation of what he's missing when Nina names it for him, not only putting them in the category of romantic, but physical (outright asking if they are sleeping together). These two posts [1], [2] go into more detail about what I mean, but I think it really pushes him into acknowledging that their relationship is more human than either of them have stopped to consider, and what that might mean as far as everything a human relationship can entail.

After all, Nina and Maggie only advised that he should talk to Aziraphale, make clear his feelings. The decision to kiss him, to tip them over the edge from nonphysical to physical, that was all him. And no, kissing isn't sex, but I wonder how taboo even that might be in the kind of all-encompassing asexuality most angels seem to identify with. (If they're disgusted by food and drink, I can only imagine what they think of snogging, much less sex.)

Aziraphale doesn't have this moment of someone observing their relationship from the outside. He loves Crowley, and as of 1941 probably even knows he's in love with him in a way that Crowley doesn't understand yet. Which makes sense, since love is technically his job, he'd be more likely to recognise it for what it is.

However, Aziraphale's reference for romance and relationships is Jane Austen. It's chaste. It's dancing and dinner and doing sweet things for each other and roses and candles and handholding. He contextualises his love for Crowley in that soft fantasy sort of way, where it's there, it's obviously there, but it's neat and easy and unspoken. Not to quote Glee in this, the year of our lord 2023, but it's all very "the touch of the fingertips is as sexy as it gets".

Someone should tell that to Aziraphale's face, then.

I'm not going to pretend I know what Michael Sheen's script notes were, but there were definitely some Choices™ made. Because yes, there were plenty of moments in both seasons with Aziraphale looking at Crowley in a sweet, loving, smitten way. And then there were moments that were yearning.

But yearning for what, exactly? All of those sappy Jane Austen tropes already apply to the two of them. So why are there moments where Aziraphale is looking Crowley up and down like the last eclair in the window and licking his lips and visibly exhaling like he's trying to get in control of himself (see: Bastille scene + Crowley telling Muriel to ask him if they have any other questions about love)? Why is Aziraphale not only unconcerned when Crowley shoves him bodily up against a wall in s1, but staring at his lips and a beat too late in noticing Sister Mary's arrival? Why are some of his lines so suggestive? I'm sorry, but the car ride after the church explosion might as well have been the beginning of a Pizza Man porn with a really weird Blitz theme. If even my mother picked up on that vibe, I can't imagine it wasn't intentional on part of both the dialogue and the delivery.

(This section may feel like more of a reach/joke, but I'm really only 20% joking. These are writers and actors who are EXTREMELY good at their jobs; they know what they were doing here.)

More importantly, I don't think Aziraphale is even aware that there is more to what he wants. He lives in the Jane Austen fantasy and it never even occurs to him that he might be interested in anything further. It never even occurs to him that, as an angel, there is anything further to be interested in in the first place. Until Crowley forces it to occur to him. Just like I believe Nina forced Crowley to confront the idea that romantic love is what he's been feeling all along, I believe Crowley forced Aziraphale to confront the idea that physical intimacy is something he's been wanting, without even realising.

Aziraphale's Hedonism

Expanding on Aziraphale for a moment. We talked about his relationship with food, but we all know that Aziraphale is defined by his love of things that Feel Good.

It isn't just that he and Crowley love human things. Aziraphale loves the best of the best, or at least his version of it. He doesn't just love food, he loves going to fancy restaurants. He doesn't just love clothes, he loves soft, cosy, warm, plush clothes, or shiny, flashy, bougie fashion. He loves the warmth of tea and cocoa, loves getting drunk, and sitting in a comfy chair in the sunlight. He doesn't just experience, he indulges.

Given the emphasis put on things that Aziraphale loves just because they Feel Good, it feels narratively strange to assume that he wouldn't enjoy the feeling of being touched, or that he wouldn't be willing to try it, at least once, with someone he cared very deeply for. And just like the ox rib, I think that once he gets the first taste of things, he would absolutely tip over into complete and utter self-indulgence.

Dancing

I also think that dancing could be construed as a huge metaphor here. After all, we're told flat-out that angels don't Dance. Except one.

I would argue that Aziraphale, in fact, Made An Effort to learn how to Dance. He threw himself into the gavotte with delight (at a Victorian gay club; noted) and worked hard to be good at it. He's chomping at the bit to Dance with Crowley, working up the nerve to ask him with undeniably romantic intent and eagerness. So, angels don't Dance... unless they Make An Effort to do so.

We are told that demons, on the other hand, do Dance, but not well. Makes sense, since they're the ones who would want to encourage a deadly sin like lust, but have as little understanding of human love and physical intimacy as the angels. Crowley, however, is shown to be an excellent dancer at the ball, especially in his compatibility with Aziraphale.

(But Aziraphale WandaVisioned the ball so everyone knew how to dance! Yes, he did. However, the rest of the brainwashing doesn't seem to affect Crowley in any way, and they did actually live through the time period where this sort of dancing was a social norm; I'd be surprised if he never needed to learn. After all, the demons can't spell either, and Crowley is at least functionally literate, as far as we know.)

As of today, it's also been confirmed that when Aziraphale asked Crowley to dance, Crowley replied with "you don't dance." Not "WE don't dance". So going along with the metaphor, Crowley is just now discovering that Dancing is something Aziraphale is interested in at all, much less with him, and not denying that he himself is interested in Dancing. In his defense, I believe he was asleep for a few years while Aziraphale was learning the gavotte, so he wasn't exactly aware of Aziraphale's hot girl summer.

Love Languages

I want to expand on that; Crowley and Aziraphale's compatibility. Specifically in regards to their individual love languages.

We all know Crowley's love language is Acts of Service. I don't think there's any debate there. He loves it, Aziraphale loves it, they're both aware of it, we're all aware of it, God and Satan are aware of it, no surprise there.

You may disagree with me, but I believe Aziraphale's love language is Physical Touch, for a number of reasons. One of which being his aforementioned hedonism. Aziraphale likes things that Feel Good, remember? He likes soft clothes, and well-worn books. Neil himself has said that they like holding hands. And any time he is taken by surprise (Brielzebub getting together, the wave of love in Tadfield, etc.) what is the first thing he does? Reaches out for Crowley. He stops him with a hand to the chest in the pub. He leads him by the hand to the dance floor. He guides him by the waist in the graveyard. He reaches out during the entire Brielzebub scene, whether he can reach Crowley or not. Despite his own turmoil, he grasps at Crowley's back during the kiss.

The one time Crowley reaches out for him (not counting the kiss yet; we'll get there), he is aggressively pushed against a wall (by someone he loves and trusts) with a complete and utter lack of concern (and perhaps some interest, depending on how you read it).

And when he isn't reaching out for anyone, or there isn't anyone to reach out to? Well, he's wringing his own hands together, squeezing his own fingers, as if to find that physical comfort in himself.

So. With that theory in mind, we have Aziraphale (Physical Touch) + Crowley (Acts of Service). Throw in 6000+ years of deep love, cherished companionship, and forcibly repressed longing, and there is a very real potential of this combination resulting in fierce sexual compatibility. Where Aziraphale would want to touch and be touched, to indulge in physical pleasure with someone he adores, in the same the way he indulges in every other fine thing in his life. And where Crowley would want to indulge him in return, to give him everything he wants, and to take pleasure in Aziraphale's pleasure, in the same way he enjoys watching him take joy in food everything else.

So Aziraphale is an angel who is insecure about his own less-than-holy desires, who would want to treat Crowley like a luxury to be touched and cherished and adored. And Crowley is a demon who has, over the millennia, been unhappy about how they've been forced to deny even their friendship with each other, who would want Aziraphale to feel comfortable and safe and encouraged to indulge in earthly delights. That sounds like a stunning recipe for sexual compatibility to me.

"You said 'trust me'" / "And you did"

Just like the Job minisode, the Blitz is RIFE with symbolism (intentional or otherwise). This one will be quick, but I did want to touch on it because I thought it was interesting. Maybe I'm reaching at this point, but I'm assuming you read the tin.

First of all, Crowley not wanting to admit to never firing a gun before; comes off as someone who very much does not want to admit to their crush that they're a virgin ("You must have done this lots of times!" / "Umm.... yyyyyeah.")

(You could make the argument that Aziraphale having a firearms license and a Derringer in a hollowed-out book is symbolic of him not being a virgin while Crowley is. I disagree, for reasons I'll go into later, but it's a valid reading. However, I see it more like keeping a condom in your wallet; it's there in case you need it, but the opportunity has not yet risen no pun intended.)

More importantly, the theme of this entire minisode is trust. We already know they trust each other with their lives against the rest of Heaven, Hell, and the world. But specifically, this is about the importance of having complete trust in your partner in a charged, physically vulnerable, intimate moment, where the only danger is between the two of you.

Aziraphale needs to believe Crowley would never hurt him if he can help it. Crowley needs to trust Aziraphale's unwavering blind faith in him. Frankly, it all feels very symbolic of two people deeply in love losing their respective virginities with each other.

The trick is a success, and they share an intimate candlelit dinner in which they reaffirm their faith in each other. Aziraphale also begins to voice his agreement with Crowley, that maybe Heaven's rules shouldn't have to be as black and white as they are, and that there are benefits to... blurring the lines, shades of grey, wink wink (at which point even my mom was like, whoa guys, this is a family show).

Btw also: Can we all agree how much it looked like Crowley was getting ready to get a lapdance in that one scene? You know the one.

Also also: "Aim for my mouth"? Come on.

The Birds & The Bees

Now that I think of it, there's also something to be said for the fact that Crowley and Aziraphale are both obviously familiar with where babies come from (how they're made and how they're born) while the other angels aren't.

Something something Aziraphale and Crowley fundamentally understand sex and reproduction in a way the other angels (and probably demons) very much do not, nor have any desire to.

Probably not important. Just thought it was worth mentioning.

The Kiss™ & Religious Trauma

The Kiss. Where to even begin?

This has definitely been the hardest one to start, because there is so much going on here that I definitely won't be able to cover it all, and will certainly miss a few things here and there.

Aziraphale's reaction to the kiss afterwards is the most interesting to me. And I don't mean directly after, I don't mean the "I forgive you" part. I mean the way he touches his lips when Crowley is no longer in the room and he no longer needs to save face, when he is completely alone. Had it been directly after the kiss, it would have been rightfully read as horror, or disgust, a shield to discourage further action.

It's not. It isn't just a touch, it's a press. As desperate and angry and unexpected and imperfect as the kiss had been, Aziraphale is pressing it into himself, recreating the feeling as best he can. Beneath all the poor timing and shock and hurt from their fight and fallout, I think it's fair to say that it was something he enjoyed. Something he doesn't think he should enjoy, something that Feels Good that he only allows himself to indulge in when completely alone.

Remember, Aziraphale's idea of love is Jane Austen and gentleness and courtship and fantasy. If he'd ever even considered kissing an option, it might have been gentle pecks, cheek kisses, forehead kiss, hand kisses. Soft, safe, chaste affection.

Crowley's kiss turns all of that on its head. He introduces physical intimacy in a very real, very messy, very human way that I don't think Aziraphale ever even considered could apply to them. Considering what other angels are like and what they look down on, even Aziraphale's Jane Austen fantasies probably would have been considered taboo.

So for their first kiss to be rough and desperate and passionate in the way it was, of course he was confused and in shock. It was deeply physical, and as overwhelming and awful as it was in the moment, it Felt Good. Enough that he grasped at Crowley and kissed back, if only just for a moment, before stopping himself. Enough that he actively pressed it into his lips afterwards, in private, to remember.

I adore how Neil has decided to evolve these characters past the first book/season. More so in this season, Aziraphale and Crowley have both become such interesting allegories for queer people on either side of the spectrum of toxic religion. Aziraphale in particular obviously, because he is the side that so desperately wants to believe, to make a difference, and to unlearn all of the propaganda he's been fed over such a long time. Just like so much of organised religion, there is so much that he is told, time and time again, that he should not want, that he is silly or stupid or outright wrong for wanting. It reminds me so much of the severe Catholic guilt one might feel for wanting/engaging in sex for the first time, and the stigma of being queer layered on top of that.

What is so critical to Aziraphale's character is that he goes on wanting, and more than that, actively pursues. He was convinced to go up against Heaven and Hell and stop all of Armageddon because he wanted to go on listening to music and eating lunch and reading books and enjoying the simple company of the person he cares most deeply for, even if that person is supposed to be the enemy.

All this to say that if angels are as generally asexual/sex-averse as I believe them to be, narratively speaking, it would make sense for Aziraphale to be singular in that regard as well. Mirroring his first experience with food, it would make sense for Crowley to be the one to first introduce this new messy, physical, human dynamic between them, for Aziraphale to hesitate (obviously we are at the Hesitation phase at the moment), and then (eventually) for him to dive in wholeheartedly, to absolutely glut himself on this new thing that Feels Good. It would make sense for his character development to show him overcoming his metaphorical Catholic guilt and pursuing the sexual intimacy most (if not all) of the other angels would scorn.

(I can't help but remember that plot idea Neil described from the unwritten sequel, with Aziraphale in a hotel room trying to watch a full porno by way of the free 2-minute teaser clips so he wasn't technically sinning by paying for it. I so hope this is used in season 3, because gosh, I wonder why Aziraphale would suddenly be so interested in observing human physical intimacy after 6,000 years. Lonely and doing a little surreptitious research there, angel?)

Crowley, on the other hand, is the queer person who has broken free from his toxic religion. He prides himself on being his own person, on their his own side. He doesn't have the hang-ups Aziraphale does. He doesn't worry that he's going to be judged or cast aside for wanting things he's not supposed to. So it only makes sense for him to be the first one to suggest/initiate physical intimacy. It makes sense for him to be the one who "goes too fast" (another fantastic example of this dynamic beginning as early as s1; what is that conversation in the car meant to represent, if not Aziraphale being overwhelmed by the intensity of their relationship, and his fear of succumbing to it when he believes he shouldn't? It's also interesting that this is the first conversation to take place in Soho, just after watching Aziraphale realise he's caught feelings for a demon, with the red glow of lust serving as the backdrop).

Do I think the kiss in and of itself was sexual? No. I think it was a passionate and devastating last-ditch effort on Crowley's part to convey the way he feels for Aziraphale. Not just that he loves him, but that he loves him in the most human way possible. But I do think that the kiss represents how they can move forward from here, and what they might want to explore with each other once they feel free enough to do so.

In Conclusion

I am sure, deep in my bones (unless we are explicitly told otherwise), that this was both of their first kisses no, I'm not counting the gavotte, and that neither of them have ever thought to do anything else physical with the humans while they have been on Earth. Like I said before, they adore the human race and lifestyle in general, but ultimately view them as a separate species altogether, and they seem mostly happy to keep to themselves and each other, unless otherwise necessary. I just can't see either of them being drawn enough to a human to pursue anything close to sex. If Crowley in particular has had anything to do with sex in the context of temptations, I'm positive he would be inciting lust amongst the humans themselves, not involving himself directly. At least not that directly.

So, like every other human experience they've had on Earth, sex is something new that they could explore together, just the two of them, on their own side. A deeply intimate, tangible declaration of their love and everything they've gone through to earn it. A visceral finger to give both Heaven and Hell. A renewed appreciation for their corporations and for each other's. A enjoyable method for immortal beings to simply pass the time in each other's company. A new and exciting way to Feel Good, and all the variations that come with it.

You might agree with this post, or you might not. Whether this is something that is ever addressed or not, it doesn't matter to me. This is a brilliant love story either way, and I genuinely feel so privileged to witness it.

But I just can't find it in myself to imagine, given everything we know about these two characters, that sex isn't an experience they would both consume with wholehearted enthusiasm, curiosity, and profound, ineffable adoration.

___________________________________

Bonus feature: the very silly notes I made to myself that inspired this post

[olailamajnoon]

Random criminal: so, B-Man.

Batman turns and glares.

Random Criminal: you ever think of us after you go home at night?

Batman: ...

Red Hood and Robin: ...

Random Criminal: you break our legs, sometimes shove a batarang through our soft squishy torsos.

Red Hood: I recommend you stop speaking very fucking quickly.

Batman, approaching, looming over: what is your name.

Random Criminal: Steve, and you know, my mother had plans for me, you know!

Batman, dry: uh huh

Steve: I wore diapers. I had a father. I played with rattles, and I went to school. I graduated third in my entire class!

Batman: and yet here you are, helping Penguin move shipments of heroin.

Steve: I have a very expensive girlfriend. Well, she's not so much my girlfriend as a...sometimes thing. The girlfriend title is aspirational.

Batman: she's taking advantage of you.

Steve: don't you think I know that? But she has these abso-fucking-lutely gorgeous pair of—

Batman covers Robin's ears.

Steve: —eyes.

Batman gruffly: I have places to be, Steve. And—*cocking his head listening to the approaching police sirens*—so do you.

Steve: I joined a rock band, in high school. But the shmucks wouldn't let me play lead guitar.

Red Hood: while your attempts to humanize yourself have been fun, and mildly entertaining, we do have places to be.

Steve, throws himself on the ground, begging: Please. Please, mister Batman, please. I don't wanna go to Blackgate. I'm sorry, I've learned my lesson! I don't—*starts crying with snot*—please don't. Don't do this. I will be a productive member of society, I swear. From now on. You have my fucking word.

Batman, unmoved: I let you go, why shouldn't I let them go? *points at the other trussed up goons*

Steve, considering: Well....

Batman:

Steve: I got nothin'

He's silent.

Batman: *sighs* give me your social security number, your phone number and your home address.

Steve: oh my god. Oh my god yes. Okay yes.

Batman: also I'm putting a tracker on you, Steve. If I ever get so much as a whiff of trouble, I will make you—

Steve: yes yes

Batman: —sheesh kebab.

Steve: oh my god thank you, thank you. *Robin undoes his restraints*

Batman: I'll get you an entry level job with one of my corporate partners. You will be given work suitable to your capacity. Needless to say, you'll need to trim expenses.

Steve: yes, yes, anything yes.

Batman: also...

Steve: ....?

Batman: you will be at the mercy of my children whenever they want to play pranks on each other.

Steve, raising his eyebrows: really? That's all?

Red Hood, singsong: oh you sweet summer child...

Batman: trust me. You'll regret the day you signed up for a life of crime.

Steve, laughing in relief: you know, you're like a good hearted grinch. You're scary on top, but then, burrow inside and you'll find, like, marshmallow

Batman: ...

Steve: I'll shut up now.

Part 2

[harrysfolklore]

when in italy - harry blurb

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

"I swear is this way!" a very drunk Harry said, pointing out to the street in front of him, "I've walked down these streets a shit ton of times, I know how to get back."

"Harry, darling," Alessandro said, standing in front of him, "Let's just admit that we're lost and ask for directions."

"No! I know the way!" he stubbornly protested and headed the way he initially pointed, almost tripping on his own feet due to his drunk state.

Alessandro followed him, he knew how stubborn Harry got whenever he was drunk, and decided to trust him with the task of getting them back to their place in Italy for their holiday.

"Harry, I'm afraid we're walking in circles," Alessandro said once he noticed that they were back in the same place they were a few minutes before and they had been walking for almost 10 minutes now.

"Shit," Harry stopped on his tracks, "I think we're lost."

Alessandro rolled his eyes at his friend, "I'm going to ask for directions."

Harry sat on the sidewalk as he watched his friend walk towards some shops that were still open in the area, giggling to himself over the fact that he got lost in the place he called his second hometown (that, and the fact that he was completely wasted)

"Hey," a soft voice called for him, making him look up, "I'm sorry to bother you but I heard you and your friend are kind of lost, I live around the area and I could give you directions if you need them."

Harry blinked a few times, trying to get a proper look at the person in front of him in his drunken state.

And once he did, oh boy was he mesmerized.

The young woman standing before him had a warm smile, her eyes sparkling under the streetlights. She looked at Harry with a mix of amusement and concern, clearly recognizing him but choosing not to make a big deal out of it.

"Thanks," Harry slurred, trying to get up from the sidewalk and failing spectacularly. He giggled again, this time at his own clumsiness. "I think I need some help."

"Yeah, I think you do," she laughed softly and reached out a hand to help him up, "I'm YN, by the way," she introduced herself as Harry took her hand, his grip unsteady.

"I'm Harry," he replied, still looking at her with a dopey grin. "Alessandro!" Harry yelled out calling for his friend, who was making his way back to them, "I found this pretty girl that says she can walk us back home."

The girl felt her cheeks burn at his words, looking away from him in hopes that her blush would disappear.

"Thank you so much for your help," he said, "I'm Alessandro."

"Nice to meet you, Alessandro," YN said warmly, "So, where are you two trying to go?"

Harry attempted to answer but ended up mumbling incoherently. Alessandro stepped in, giving her the address of their holiday home.

"Oh, that's just a few blocks away," YN said, "I'll walk you there. It's no trouble."

"You're an angel," Harry proclaimed dramatically, leaning on Alessandro for support as they started walking.

"So, YN," Harry said as they walked down the street, "Do you live here, or are you just visiting?"

"I live here," she said, "Moved here a few years ago for work and fell in love with the place. It's a beautiful city."

"It really is," Alessandro agreed, "Thanks again for helping us out, Harry can be a bit stubborn when he's had a few too many."

"I'm not!" Harry protested, "I know this place like the back of my hand, I'm just dizzy right now."

"It’s alright, Harry," YN laughed softly at Harry’s protest, finding his drunken stubbornness endearing, "We all have our moments."

As they walked, Harry continued to lean heavily on Alessandro, but his attention was fixed on YN. "So, what do you do here, YN?"

"I’m a photographer," she replied, glancing at Harry with a smile. "I came here for a project and ended up staying. The city has a way of pulling you in."

Harry nodded enthusiastically, almost losing his balance again, making both Alessandro and YN giggle.

 "What kind of photography do you do?" Alessandro chimed in.

"Mostly street photography and portraits," YN explained. "I love capturing candid moments, the beauty in everyday life."

"That’s amazing," Alessandro said genuinely, "You must have some incredible shots."

"I do love my work. It’s always different, always exciting."

"Do you ever take pictures of drunk idiots lost in the streets?" Harry joked making YN throw her head back in laughter.

 "Not yet, but there's a first time for everything," YN chuckled.

"I’d love to see your work sometime," Harry grinned widely at her response.

"Maybe you will," she replied, her tone teasing yet sincere.

As they neared the holiday home, Alessandro let out a sigh of relief. "Here we are," he announced, pointing to the familiar building.

"Thanks a million, YN," Harry said, his words slurring slightly but his gratitude clear. "You're a lifesaver."

"Glad I could help," she said with a warm smile. "Get some rest, Harry."

"I will," Harry said, "We should hang out sometime. Maybe when I'm not so… wobbly. Actually, can I have your number?"

She stood in her place for a moment, completely taken back by the fact that Harry boldly asked for her number.

And when she was about to give it to him, she remembered that he was drunk, and he probably wouldn't remember a single detail about the interaction.

"You should get some rest, Harry," she smiled, "And I need to head back to my house, It's getting late."

"Wait, you're not going to give me your number?" Harry said, a disappointed tone in his voice.

"Not tonight, Harry," she said gently, "But if we run into each other again, I'll consider it."

Harry pouted, about to protest again, but Alessandro gave him a nudge.

"Come on, Harry, let's get you inside. Thank you again, YN."

"You're welcome," she said, waving them off as they entered the building. "Goodnight, Harry. Goodnight, Alessandro."

"Goodnight," Alessandro replied, helping Harry up the stairs to their apartment.

Once inside, Harry flopped onto the couch, still thinking about the lovely girl who helped them get to their house in one piece, completely gobsmacked about how beautiful she was.

 "She was nice, wasn't she?" he mumbled.

"She was," Alessandro agreed, "Now get some sleep, Harry. You need it."

The next morning, Harry woke up with a pounding headache and a hazy memory of the previous night. He groaned as he sat up, trying to piece together the fragments of what had happened.

"Morning, sunshine," Alessandro greeted him, handing over a glass of water and some painkillers.

"Thanks," Harry muttered, taking the pills and the water, "What happened last night? Did we get lost?"

"We did," Alessandro confirmed with a chuckle, "And a lovely girl named YN helped us find our way back."

Harry's eyes widened as the memory came flooding back. The memory of her pretty eyes, nice smile and interesting talk making immediately smile.

"YN... Oh, I asked for her number, didn't I?"

"You did," Alessandro said, "But she didn't give it to you. Said if you ran into each other again, she'd consider it."

Harry sighed, leaning back against the couch, pouting when he realized that he probably wouldn't run into the pretty girl again.

"You'll have time to pout about your little crush later," Alessandro spoke again, "Right now we need to go get some kitchenware, otherwise we won't be able to cook anything."

"Right, we were supposed to do that today," Harry said as he stood up, "Let me grab a quick shower and we can go."

Once he was ready, he and Alessandro headed out to the local shop to get the kitchenware they needed. The store was bustling with people, and Harry found himself scanning the crowd, hoping that he would run into YN again somehow.

He felt like a silly teenager with a brand new crush, but even in his drunken state he could tell that the girl was nice and genuine, and he definitely wanted to get to know her better.

He also thought she was the prettiest girl he had ever seen. 

"Still thinking about her, huh?" Alessandro teased as they walked through the aisles.

"Is it obvious?," Harry admitted, picking up a set of kitchen knives. "Can't help it mate."

They moved through the store, gathering the items they needed. As they approached the checkout counter, Harry's attention was drawn to a girl climbing up a ladder to reach something on the top shelf. The ladder wobbled, and without thinking, Harry rushed over to steady it.

"Careful there," he said, his hands firmly holding the ladder.

"Oh, thank you," the girl said her attention focused on grabbing a small box from the top shelf.

And when she looked down and her eyes met Harry's, he felt his heart jump.

"YN?" Harry said, almost in shock that it was really her.

YN's eyes widened in surprise and then lit up with recognition. "Harry! Hi again," she said, climbing down the ladder carefully.

"What a coincidence," Harry grinned, still holding the ladder to ensure it was steady. "Need any more help with that?"

"No, I think I've got it. Thanks, though," she shook her head, holding the box she had retrieved, "What are you doing here?"

"Just getting some stuff for our holiday home," Harry explained. "And trying not to get lost again."

"Well, it's a good thing you didn't get lost in the store," YN laughed softly, "Thanks for holding the ladder."

"Anytime," Harry said, still grinning. "Are you buying some stuff too?"

"No, this is my friend's shop, I'm just helping out for a bit," she replied, "It's nice to see you again, Harry."

"Nice to see you too," Harry said, his tone sincere, "And I mean it. I was hoping I'd run into you again."

 "Well, here we are," she blushed slightly, looking away for a moment.

"Well, if it isn't our guardian angel," Alessandro walked over, raising an eyebrow at the sight of the girl.

"Just doing my good deed for the day," YN laughed softly, "It's good to see you're both in one piece after last night."

"I was pretty out of it, wasn't I?" Harry said, a hint of embarrassment on his voice.

"A bit, but it was kind of endearing," YN admitted, a twinkle in her eye.

"Well, I'm glad you thought so," he said, "I was worried I made a fool of myself."

"Not at all," YN reassured him, "It was actually quite charming."

Harry smiled, his eyes fixed on the girl. He still didn't understand how it happened, but he was completely smitten over her without even properly meeting her yet.

"We should checkout our stuff and head back," Alessandro said, "It was lovely to see you again, YN."

"It was lovely to see you too," she said, waving them off, "Have a great rest of your day, both of you."

Harry gave her one last smile before following Alessandro to the checkout. As they walked out of the store, Harry couldn't help but feel elated.

"I can't believe I ran into her again," he said, his excitement evident.

"Seems like fate," Alessandro teased, "Did you ask for her number properly now?"

"Shit!" Harry stopped on his tracks, "Shit! I forgot to ask for her number."

"Then what are you doing here, go back in there and ask her."

Harry didn't need his friend to say it twice before he was almost running into the store again, determined to get the girl's number once and for all.

He re entered the store, scanning the aisles looking for the girl, he spotted her at the counter, talking to another customer. He approached them, trying to catch her eye.

"Hey, YN," he said once she was done with the customer, "Last night I asked for your number, and you said that you'll consider giving it to me if we ever ran into each other," a small smile creept into the girl's face at his words, "And well, here we are, right?"

Harry felt like a total schoolboy, his hands almost sweating as he spoke. YN smiled even widely now, tilting her head to the side.

"You remember that, huh?" she asked.

"I could never forget," Harry matched her smile.

"Well, I did promise to consider it," YN said playfully, "And I think I've made my decision."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she replied with a smile, "I'd love to give you my number."

And once again, Harry felt like his heart could combust from happiness and excitement.

YN reached into her pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper. She scribbled something on it and handed it to him.

"There you go," she said, handing the piece of paper to him, "Now, don't lose this one."

"I won't, I promise," Harry said, his tone earnest. "Thank you, YN. I'll text you very soon."

"I'll be waiting," she said, her smile warm.

Harry waved as they left the store, clutching the piece of paper with YN's number in his hand. He couldn't stop smiling, feeling like the luckiest guy in the world.

Once he met Alessandro outside, he looked at him with a teasing smile.

"Looks like you got your wish."

"Yeah," Harry said, looking at the paper again. "And I don't plan on letting this opportunity slip away."

[kbstanny]

Treatment (Zayne/Reader)

✿ Fandom: Love and Deepspace

✿ Pairing: M/F

✿ Tag: NSFW

✿ Mentions: smut, mild injury mentions

✿ Word count: 5,051

✿ Summary: She had no choice but to see Dr. Zayne for treatment after a Wanderer left her injured, but his cure for her anguish wasn't quite what she had in mind.

✿ A/N: Hey! This my first fic on this website, and it's on a game I only started playing a week ago 😭

Because I'm a new player, I don't really know the world or the story very well, so if there are inaccuracies then you know why. However, I've also avoided specific plot details for this very reason.

I hope you enjoy!

Damned Knave.

She tightly gripped the gash on her thigh, limping her way down the dark deserted path. She'd received reports of disturbances down at the old munitions factory and had gone to investigate. Wanderers had been sighted after hours, so she'd gone late into the evening, and solo, as her ever-elusive partner had been unavailable. She'd handled herself fine, but a rather tricky Knave had managed to cut right through the top of her thigh.

Once she eventually hobbled her way to a street lamp, she could investigate her injuries properly. Shakily, she removed her blood-stained hands from the wound, then hummed — It didn't look too severe. The gash was long, but not so deep, stretching from her inner thigh up toward her hip. The blood made things a lot nastier than they needed to be, and the pain was bearable, at least for now. She'd hail a taxi and treat the damage at home, and if it didn't feel much better by morning, she'd consult her physician. But Dr. Zayne was a last resort.

Once morning came, she did not feel better.

The pain woke her up before her alarm did. It stung intensely, and the surrounding skin was hot and numb. Clearly rubbing alcohol, a cocktail of painkillers and gauze wasn't going to cut it. Carefully, she unwrapped the bandage to take a look at her injury — it still didn't seem too bad. Inflamed, a little gnarly, but far from incapacitating. Just painful. But she'd faced foes much fiercer than some stupid Herte Knave, and obtained injuries far more gruesome. For now, she'd suck it up. She had a job to do.

—

"Oh my god!" Tara gasped. "When did that happen?" Her friend asked her, leaning in to the picture on her phone. She'd snapped the pic before getting ready for work this morning, thinking it would be a funny story to tell to Tara at the office. But her friend's reaction was a little more alarmed than she'd anticipated.

"Last night, at the factory. There were some serious beasts down there, but you wanna know caused that? A Knave of all things." She chuckled, shaking her head. Tara didn't look so amused.

"Aren't you hurt? Have you been to the doctor?"

"It's just a scratch, Tara, I'll be fine."

"That is not just a scratch! That needs stitches!—"

"What needs stitches?"

Captain Jenna approached the two, her arms folded tightly across her chest. She had a scrutinising look in her eye, one that said 'Why are you chatting and not working?' It reminded her of her old teachers.

The hunters were silent, looking between each other. She shot Tara a warning look, but Tara ignored it, turning the phone to face Jenna. "This does."

Jenna leaned in, her eyebrows raising, breaking her steely expression. "Why yes, it does... Is this you?" She looked to her, and she sighed softly, a little embarrassed.

"Yes, but I feel fine. I promise. If I didn't, I'd take the day off."

"Have you had it treated?" Jenna cut to the chase.

"...No." She admitted, and Jenna sighed.

"Well go. At once. That could easily get infected." The captain straightened up, her tone commanding. There was no room for negotiation. "Honestly, I thought you'd have more sense than to leave an injury like that unattended." With that, Jenna walked away. She waited until her captain was out of sight before standing and addressing Tara.

"Did you really have to snitch on me?" Though she already knew she would — anything to impress Jenna. Tara gave a sheepish look.

"Well I had to do something! I'm only looking out for you." But she pat Tara's shoulder, shaking her head and smiling.

"I know, I know, you're right... as usual. I really shouldn't ignore it. Thanks Tara." Tara gave a knowing smile.

"I am usually right! Now go and see Zayne. He might be a little scary but he knows what he's doing." They both chuckled at that.

Tara knew what her friend was hesitant to admit: It wasn't that she was ignorant of the risks of open wounds, nor was she a particularly nervous patient. She just didn't want to see Zayne.

Not because the doctor was in any way cruel or unpleasant, he wasn't even scary as such. But the doctor was so cold, and the icy chill of his eyes permeated her core with a mere glance her way. Zayne had been an old forgotten friend, a dear one, but now he was a figurehead for her ailments. All that time they'd spent together as children seemed meaningless now. They couldn't have drifted further apart. Zayne was a bad omen, and a sign her past had been well and truly shattered.

But that was only half of the reason. The other reason, the more embarrassing one, was that she found Zayne stupidly attractive. Not only because he had the face of an angel and a body carved from marble, but for his work ethic, his dedication, his intelligence. And of course, she couldn't help but feel sentimental toward him over the time they'd spent together as kids. She yearned to reconnect with him. He had a potent effect on her. When she was near him, his mere presence was enough to suck the words out of her mouth, to reduce her to a shrinking violet with no resolve. Like a silly teenager with a crush. And that wasn't like her at all. She hated not having control.

She wasn't certain whether the feeling was mutual. There was something about the way that he looked at her, on occasion, that made her heart flare up. Sometimes she thought he had a tenderness to his tone that he just couldn't have used with everyone, but maybe that was wishful thinking? His concern for her health and wellbeing seemed obsessive, too. Never had her previous physicians been so zealous, but Zayne was a renowned surgeon. Perhaps it was just a sign he was good at his job, and nothing more? She didn't know, and she didn't like thinking about it.

With a deep breath, she rapped on the door to his office. With any luck, he'd be busy, and she'd be forced to return to HQ and schedule an appointment the long way.

"Come in." He answered — Damn.

She walked inside, standing by the door with her hands behind her back. Zayne was busy typing away at his computer, and he hadn't even spared her a glance. She hadn't realised she'd been quiet until Zayne spoke up again.

"Can I help you?"

She snapped out of her daze. "Yes, if you're not too busy. I injured myself while dealing with a Wanderer. I was hoping you could take a look."

It was upon hearing her voice that Zayne decided his patient was more interesting than his computer, and he turned to face her, scrutinising her slightly crooked form, and the way she carried her weight. He thought for a moment or two.

"Your left thigh." How did he know that? She looked down, but her injury was completely concealed, and no blood had seeped through her clothes.

"Yes, how did you—"

"What happened exactly? Take a seat." She nodded, heading to sit down on the chair opposite the doctor, but he shook his head.

"Not there. On the examination table."

"Right."

As she sat down, Zayne quickly punched one final sentence into the keyboard, before turning to face her, waiting for her answer.

"It happened yesterday. A Wanderer, as I said." She clarified, and Zayne hummed.

"So the Wanderer attacked you directly? You didn't sustain this injury through any other means during the battle?" She shook her head. Zayne made a note of this on his computer.

"And do you have any other injuries?" She told him no again.

"Alright. I need to examine you, if that's okay."

She nodded, looking down to where her legs were outstretched on the table, before coming to an awkward realisation: She was wearing pants. She couldn't just pull her skirt up, she'd have to strip the item off entirely.

"Yes, of course." She began to fiddle with the button to her pants, before Zayne stiffened, taking the curtain that surrounded the table.

"Tell me when you're ready." With that, he shut the curtain around her. She released a sigh of relief, grateful for the privacy, though she felt a little stupid for not closing it herself. She wasn't sure how she'd compose herself having to undress in front of him.

Once her pants were off, she came to a second mortifying realisation: Her underwear. The item was black and lacy, made from sheer mesh, hardly concealing her delicate areas. The type you'd wear for a lover, and not at all the sort of thing you'd wear to work. But she'd washed all of her more practical undies yesterday, and thanks to one pesky Knave, hadn't found the time to dry them before morning. If she'd known she'd be stripping down in Zayne's office for an examination, she would have stopped off at the shops on her way to work to buy something cheap and appropriate. Hell, she probably would have bought boxer shorts.

"Shit." She hissed under her breath.

What would Zayne think of her? Surely he'd think it was deliberate. She'd approached him for treatment, and she just so happened to be wearing semi-transparent lingerie? There was no way he'd find that coincidental. He'd think she was some sort of pervert. Was it too late to get out of here?

"Are you alright? Or are you struggling to get changed?" Zayne asked from the other side of the curtain. Her chest felt tight — how long had she been sat there worrying?

"No, I'm fine. I'm ready now." She panicked, blurting out the words despite herself, cursing internally as Zayne pulled back the curtain. The doctor said nothing as his eyes drank in the sight of her, nor did his expression give anything away — Not that she'd know, she avoided his gaze like the plague, staring intently at the floor. But despite his composure, Zayne certainly noticed her indelicate attire. And despite his healing instincts, and the rather prominent gash on her thigh, her panties were the very first thing that held his attention.

Zayne sat beside the bed, on the side of her injured leg, leaning in close to the cut. He took a long look at it, reticent as ever, before finally meeting her gaze.

"What time did this happen yesterday?"

"In the evening."

"And you didn't think to call me when it did?" Zayne pressed. Her words were trapped in her throat for a moment, before she finally pushed them out.

"Well... no. It was late, and it didn't seem so bad at the time."

"It's never too late to check yourself in to a hospital." Zayne stated the obvious. "Whether I was available or not, you should have had this seen to immediately." His tone was stern, his stare unwavering. She said nothing. "When something like this happens, you need to call me, no matter how late it is. I'm your primary care physician, it's what I'm here for. And if I can't see to you personally, I can find someone who can."

"I understand. I will do, next time."

"You really ought to take your health more seriously. You have a duty, as a hunter, to protect people. Lives depend on you. And you can't protect anybody if you can't take adequate care of yourself. Being anything less than thorough with your wellbeing is selfish, and neglectful of your duties." His words made her brows furrow, a mixture of annoyance and shame, but she still didn't respond.

"Injuries sustained through Wanderer attacks are more susceptible to infections. Some are serious, and fast-acting, as you should well know. I cannot stress enough the importance of getting wounds like these seen to as soon as possible—"

"I know, Doctor." She interrupted, a little snappy. "I told you already. I will next time, and I'm here now, aren't I?" But did she have any right to be annoyed with his tone? Deep down she knew she didn't, that she was only being stubborn, but she couldn't help herself.

"Please don't be so reckless next time." Zayne asked her, his tone softer, his eyes so tender she couldn't stand to look at them anymore. She couldn't take it when he scolded her.

The doctor sighed softly through his nose.

"This will need sutures, but I'll need to clean the wound and check for signs of infection first, which requires a physical examination. Is that alright?" His words nearly made her melt.

"That's fine." She composed herself well enough for an answer.

Zayne brought a gloved hand to her thigh, and although the gesture was purely clinical, she couldn't help the heat that rushed to the spot between her legs. His hands were cool, and his touch gentle, so gentle that if she closed her eyes and pictured a different context, it could've been a loving caress. Zayne pressed his fingers firmly against her thigh.

"Does that hurt?"

"No." She answered honestly. Zayne repeated the motion to the space surrounding her injury, his fingers travelling in a small circle, starting from the bottom of the cut, until they creeped inwards. Zayne gently pulled at her thigh, widening her legs as he continued his examination. She was trying her best not to react.

She cast her gaze downwards, to the fingers between her legs, and her heart dropped. From this angle, under the stark white lights, she was clearly exposed. Nothing was left to the imagination. She was so embarrassed she nearly screamed, looking to Zayne to try and gauge his reaction — but she couldn't. He was too focused on the task at hand.

Her breath became shaky as she observed the way he prodded at her, how his fingers crept ever-closer to her arousal. Just one budge in the opposite direction and those tough, broad hands would be swept over her cunt. Imagining how his fingertips would tickle the mesh of her panties was enough to make her wet.

She heard her name in the recesses of her mind, and then again. Only the second time did she realise it was coming from Zayne's lips.

She snapped back to reality, looking back at him with eyes wider than intended. He stared back at her with a cutting gaze.

"I asked you whether it hurt, where I was touching you." He repeated. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was a few moments before she could cough the words out.

"No— no, sorry. I was a million miles away." She chuckled sheepishly.

Zayne looked back at her, giving nothing away. How exciting, he thought, that he could tell exactly what was going through her mind, yet she didn't have a clue what he was thinking? Zayne was extraordinarily good at hiding his emotions, but his patient? Not so much.

She was embarrassed, that much was clear. Whether the lingerie was a wardrobe malfunction or a bold decision she quickly came to regret, he wasn't sure.

What was also clear was that she liked it — what he declined to express was that he did too.

How could he not? If it were anybody else, he wouldn't give such scandalous attire a second thought. As a doctor, he was indiscriminate; a body was just a body. He'd seen the hidden corners of countless beautiful women and it never swayed his commitment to his work or hindered his professionalism — not once. But she was different. Surely, despite how reserved he was, she could tell that she was different? That this tension between them was all but ordinary?

"I don't believe you have an infection, but I'd like to see you in a week for observation. If anything changes, let me know immediately." He told her, his tone as stoic as ever. Yet his hand lingered at her inner thigh, so close to her cunt she was sure he could feel the heat through his gloves. Eventually, he did move his hand. Despite his feelings, there was a more pressing matter at hand.

Zayne then proceeded with the usual cleaning and dressing procedures, and she suppressed a hiss as he swabbed the wound with antiseptic. During this entire exchange, she'd been uncharacteristically quiet, whereas Zayne was as quiet as usual. The silence was unbearable, she wasn't sure she could ever recall a time where she'd felt so awkward that it hurt. Her body was so tense, and her lust swelled so needily that she couldn't suppress the words that left her mouth next.

"I'm sorry about the underwear." She blurted, her apology cutting through the tension like a hot knife through butter. But it didn't take long for the searing metal to scorch her skin — she regretted the words almost the moment she'd said them.

Zayne paused, placing down the suture needle he was prepping before staring straight back at her. There was a hint of mirth behind his eyes, that came into fruition through a small, teasing smile.

"Don't apologise." His tone was gentle and neutral.

Did he say that so things wouldn't be uncomfortable, or because he liked the look of them?

"I didn't wear these because I knew you'd see them, all my other pairs hadn't dried. And I wasn't even going to see you in the first place, I only did because Jenna told me to!" She couldn't help but explain herself, a grimace on her face, but Zayne remained quiet as he brought the needle to the cut.

The anaesthetic numbed the pain. She felt uncomfortable again, with Zayne's sudden silence. She wondered whether he'd respond at all, whether she'd made things too awkward, but Zayne was simply mulling over the best thing to say.

"You don't usually wear lingerie to work, then?" He enquired, meeting her gaze once he'd pulled the stitch through. She chuckled bashfully, dipping her head.

"No. Never. They've been irritating me all day." Zayne hummed at this, continuing with his sutures. "Why, would you prefer it if I did?"

She wasn't sure where such boldness had come from. Likely it was that her lips below were talking for the ones above, despite how twisted up she felt inside. Yet again, she quickly regretted her pitiful attempt at flirting, until Zayne seemed to bite.

He met her eyes again, his smile wider now. He loved seeing her so playful. "I'm not sure I can come up with an answer that's both professional and true."

Her desire burned at his words, so brightly that she swore she could feel a hole forming in her chest. She clenched, unwittingly, never had she been so eager to feel him. A Cheshire-cat smile stretched across her face, the type of smile that she was sure made her look silly, yet Zayne found it endearing.

She began to laugh, though at first it was deep in the pit of her stomach, and Zayne continued with his work. But she couldn't help her laughter, the swell of emotions overtaking her. Embarrassed, yet immensely satisfied. How unexpected that things were beginning to work out for her?

Zayne finished the sutures, gathering fresh gauze as he began to dress the wound, amused by her reaction. "Do you truly find me that funny?" He asked in a level tone, and her laughter died down so that she could respond.

"Zayne, you are the furthest thing from funny." Though she didn't elaborate, as there was no need. Her belly full of butterflies was clear without words. The doctor hummed and finished dressing the wound.

She watched him as quiet settled over them again, but this time it wasn't an awkward silence. Instead, it was charged with sexual tension. Zayne stopped looking at her thigh in favour of the warmth between her legs. He stared, unabashedly, and the look on his face struck a bolt of fresh arousal through her heart.

He took his gloves off, then slowly, he reached over, tracing his fingertip over the lacy edge of her underwear. "Why do you have underwear like this anyway? Do you have a partner?" He asked her. She thought he sounded almost a little possessive, but it was clear another man in the picture wouldn't stop him anyways. His eyes flitted up to hers.

Her face felt hot at the question. Goosebumps prickled up across her skin in an instant, her cunt twitching from the subtle contact. "No."

"No?" He tested, taking his finger directly over her heat, stroking it up and down over the thin mesh of her panties. He could feel her wetness soaking through, and the way she twitched under his touch. "Then I'm right to assume that these are only for me?" There was a mischievous glint in his eye, one that she mirrored.

"That's right."

Her answer pleased him. She spread her legs a little wider, resisting the urge to moan despite the fact he'd hardly touched her. Zayne slipped his fingers beneath her underwear, finally feeling her properly. The sensation made her gasp.

He merely trailed his touch along the length of her cunt, between her folds, sticky with her slick. He was teasing her, taking his precious time as he lapped up the look on her face.

"You're already so wet."

His voice was collected. He was completely in control, while the woman at the end of his fingers was quickly unravelling by the second. She said nothing, releasing a shaky breath. Zayne stood, sitting opposite her on the table.

He took his fingers from the lips below to the ones above, tracing them gently, before taking hold of her jaw. He pulled her forward, and their lips collided in a greedy kiss. She poured her desire into him, clasping him tightly, pulling him closer, her eyes clenched shut as he expelled the tension from her form.

Yet Zayne, as always, appeared composed. He parried her hungry affections effortlessly, his grip on her jaw becoming firm. Zayne led the charge, as he guided her lips against his, eventually setting their pace. She slowed down to appreciate him, but before long the kiss was broken. Zayne pulled away with a soft smile, his lips a little puffy as he pressed them chastely to her cheek.

He brought his fingers to her lips again. "Suck them for me." His command was gentle without losing its timbre, and she obeyed, sucking on the digits without question, briefly, until he pulled them out of her mouth. Zayne brought his wetted fingers back to her cunt, pulling her underwear to one side and sticking his fingers firmly against her.

She huffed at the sensation. His fingers were still a little cold, warmer now thanks to her mouth. She clenched, feeling empty, needing him inside of her.

Zayne rolled his fingers over her clit, and not too slowly, which took her by surprise. She moaned already, widening her legs for him. He wore a focused expression, lust sparking beneath his pointed gaze.

He sat more comfortably between her legs, taking her thigh, before inserting a finger into her cunt. She whined, though she was wet enough to offer no resistance. He pushed it deep inside of her in one, smooth motion.

She clenched tightly with her core, as if to hold on to him, wanting to keep him inside of her, sighing as he pulled his finger out, only for him to add a second.

This was a tighter fit. She moaned, trying to keep her voice down, angling her hips up to feel him better. Zayne slowly began to pump both his fingers, up deep inside of her then down to the tips. The friction of her walls against him was marvellous.

"You feel wonderful." He told her, his eyes locked on hers, fixed on every micromovement. Everything about her, from the sound of her voice, the small parting in her lips, the sight of her so uninhibited before him — it was poetry in motion. This woman, as capable and stubborn as she was, was helpless at his touch.

I do feel wonderful, she thought, scoffing at Zayne's compliment. She felt blissful, like a ball of a thousand knots had at once been untied, releasing a deep strain she'd been harbouring in her stomach. Ever since she'd reunited with Dr. Zayne, those ties had knotted. Every time she'd seen him, the palpable tension between them had grown and grown. Until now.

Zayne sat up straight, then hoisted her up, taking his fingers out briefly to pull her panties off entirely, carelessly discarding the item on the floor. It was only a momentary distraction — soon Zayne's fingers slipped past her walls yet again, though this time he was positioned beside her, his other arm hooked around her waist, holding her close.

He pumped his fingers faster, his motions mechanical, his rhythm never wavering, and she struggled to contain the sound of her mewls.

"Shh. You need to be quieter." He hushed her, gently. "As much as I love hearing you, the walls here aren't so thick." He managed a chuckle, dipping his head to her neck, pressing a short trail of kisses down its length. This made her shiver

"That's— that's the wrong way to get me to be quiet." She scolded, playfully, matching his smile. Her words were breathy and choppy from her efforts to conceal her pleasure.

"Noted." Zayne turned her head toward his, then caught her lips in another kiss, one more frenzied than the first. Zayne used his lips to muffle the noises coming out of hers, eating every moan and whine she poured into him. He pushed his fingers as deep as they could reach inside of her, stroking her walls with a beckoning motion. Meanwhile, he played with her clit with his thumb, breaking their kiss to observe her reactions.

She looked divine. Her lips were wet and inflamed, dripping with saliva, her hair tousled, her expression languid. And he could see how she tried so hard to keep quiet for him, how her whimpers bubbled in her mouth, how hard she breathed through her nose. She felt she must have looked silly, but Zayne didn't think so at all.

"So you can do what you're told?" He teased, sounding more playful than she'd ever heard him. She huffed at this, far too wound up to retort.

He suddenly began to pump his fingers again, faster than before, which took her time to adjust to. She gasped, but caught most of the sound in her mouth, her eyes fluttering shut.

She could feel her climax swelling. It couldn't be far away. Her body felt tight and hot, her face clenched with the torment of having to keep quiet. She held his hand, leaning into him, her movements becoming fidgety as she tried to channel her stimulation. Again, she clenched at Zayne's fingers, bucking her hips to take more of them. Seeing her so desperate for him was so exciting.

"You're doing so well." He didn't tease her anymore, cooing into her ear. His husky tone was enough to make her moan again, that one slipping right past her defences, ringing loud and clear. Oops.

She bit her lips, flashing Zayne an apologetic look, though he didn't seem to mind, nor did he slow down. Another pang of pleasure rippled through her, and at that she knew it was time.

"Zayne— I'm close—" She just about choked the words out, her hand coming to clamp her mouth shut. Somehow, in the heat of things, she'd forgotten she had that option.

He sped up a final time, his fingers flashing in and out of her with a series of thick squelches. Zayne fingered her like a machine, one clever in its design — to be so quick and accurate without being brutal. She felt her whole body tense, a flush of great heat washing over her, choking out her gasps as she buried her head in Zayne's shoulder. Then, at once, she reached her release.

Her body quickly went lax, the heat and strain fizzing out of her, skin tingling. It took her a few good gasps to regain her composure, eyes slowly opening. When she looked down, the light sheet on the table had been soaked through with her release, her legs glistening with sweat. Slowly, Zayne pulled his fingers out of her, earning a whine from the weary woman. He brought those fingers to his lips, sucking away her juices.

He sent her a smile, pulling her against his chest. "Did you like that?" Surely the answer was obvious, and she sent him a look that spoke a thousand words. His smile deepened. "I'm glad."

"I hope I wasn't too loud..." She mused, looking to Zayne, who leaned in to press a soft kiss to her temple. A delicate gesture that made her heart stir.

"You were. But don't worry about it." She scoffed at that, too tired to do anything but listen to him. Before she could return the favour and get Zayne off, she needed a few minutes to gather herself.

But Zayne didn't seem the least bit concerned about his own satisfaction — seeing her hit ecstasy was all he needed. He rubbed at her inner thigh, the one that wasn't injured, giving her a slightly regretful look.

"I have an appointment in twenty minutes, so unfortunately you're going to have to leave soon." The words weighed heavy on her chest, even though she knew that was stupid, nodding at Zayne with a cheeky smile.

"That's not a problem, I can make it quick." She reached over to the tent in Zayne's crotch, but he took her hand, moving it away.

"I can sort myself out." He assured her. She couldn't help but feel a little rejected. Sensing this, he stroked her cheek.

"You can make it up to me another time." They both smiled at that, staring at each other for what felt like hours.

"I'll never avoid making an appointment again."

They probably would have kept staring if it weren't for the startling knock at the door, and the concerned voice of one of the nurses that followed.

"Doctor Zayne? Is everything alright in there? I heard a lot of noise!"

[fizzie-frog]

You know, the Stolitz scene was a trainwreck as a whole (they usually are), but what honestly got me most was the way Blitz started pleading when he thought his livelihood was going to be taken away.

THIS IS NOT A STOLAS SLANDER POST. I'm coming from a place where I've seen Blitz being mostly, if not entirely blamed for their lack of communication most of the time.

Moving on...

People keep going like "Well if imps are so low in the hierarchy..." - Let's take a break to think. Blitz isn't rich, he's just getting by really. And how is he getting by?

By prostituting himself. To the upper class.

That's what it is, he's a certified whxre. Things may have evolved in the meantime, but that's how it started. Blitz got asked for the deal while being chased by a crazy lady and him, wanting to keep his business and livelihood, said yes, obviously.

Now Stolas was suddenly taking the book back with no apparent explanation (until they got to the crystal), so of course Blitz thought he was doomed. On a side note, why couldn't Stolas say "You won't need the book, I have an alternative" instead of the ominous "I'll need the book back, permanently. I have made up my mind." I would be scared out of my mind.

He teared up immediately and started pleading, you could already see what was going through his head. He won't have the means to support his business anymore, to pay his employees, to afford a home, he'll be homeless and have no means to take care of Loona. Everyone will leave him again and he will starve on the streets all alone.

He'd do anything to be able to live a life a bit better than miserable, of course he would.

And this brings me to Stolas's treatment of Blitz. I see that everything tends to fall on Blitz, and I'm not saying he has no fault (in fact I didn't even like him at the beginning of the series too much), but Stolas treated him like a peasant. Just the episode before Ozzie's he's called him his "impish little plaything" and asked for a reward for the rescue. He put out cigarettes on his horns, he ignored his "stop" most times, he addressed him in this little baby voice with babying diminutives. "Itty bitty" imp.

And I am sure Stolas is socially clueless. He was brought up alone and sheltered, taught to be a prince first and foremost.

Stolas probably saw this as playful banter, as something that is inoffensive, silly. It was only in the Ozzie's episode that he finally saw that actually, his silly play served to make Blitz feel smaller.

And of course in this scenario, Blitz would see this coming out of the nether. He reacted quite badly, but why would this prince be actually in love with him? As he said, he needed to have a minute (or several) to think about everything. They needed to talk this out, and Blitz was about to apologize when Stolas cast him out.

They were both emotionally charged. They fucked up. But I can see Blitz's side. And the power imbalance is so evident, that hierarchy that everyone keeps saying is irrelevant - in a moment's notice, he could have his life swept from underneath him. Just like he thought it happened in that split moment; it worried him so much that he cried and pleaded (and that's not in Blitz's character to do).

And then he was so scared of not being enough too, ugh, his little "I can always do better!". He's so used to everyone just seeing him as a lost cause, better to be discarded. With this amalgamation of things, no wonder he can't believe Stolas would have feelings for him.

So uh, I don't know what the conclusion to this is. Normalize getting imps some actual comfort? So far the only really privileged imp in Helluva Boss is Fizz after getting rid of Mammon. And when I say priviledged, I'm referring to wealth and upper class, not taking into account personal issues such as disability and so forth.

Anyway, this was my two cents on Stolitz. I honestly haven't thought too much on them, I'm riding on the Fizzarolli high. I'm chill over here in my Fizzmodeus bubble, but doesn't mean I have no thoughts on Stolitz.

[covid-safer-hotties]

I want to ask you this in good faith-- at what point do you think we can "stop worrying" about covid? Is there a particular statistical benchmark or qualitative indicator that you believe will show the covid pandemic is over?

I'm curious because you've responded to multiple people pointing out that the death toll & long covid metrics are lower than ever essentially saying that isn't enough to stop caring. So in your view, what is?

The benchmarks professionals have listed throughout the pandemic have yet to be met. If we could hit a single one, that would sure be nice. I'd stop worrying about covid if we could hit about 20,000 infections a week during a seasonal peak with reasonalble vaccine uptake (~70٪ or higher) of a vaccine that provides both mucosal and sterilizing immunity at reasonable levels. We're averaging around 20,000 infections a day in the 3-4 valleys we get a year right now, and that's without widespread wastewater testing from coast to coast and extremely low lab testing, so we know that those cases are an undercount. Not even 18% of Americans got the latest booster this fall, and the current vaccines neither induce mucosal immunity nor provide decent levels of sterilizing immunity (vaccinated people can act as unwitting asymptotic carriers of the virus) and (especially mRNA) vaccine efficacy drops rapidly after an antibody titre peak at around 2 months post vaccination. Current expert estimates for xmas day show us hitting more than 1,000,000 infections a day. A million infections a day would only take the national level into the CDC's new "medium" category. It's higher than both the Alpha and Beta waves. Of they were pandemic, so is this one. To act otherwise is to bury one's head in the sand and go "LA LA LA LA LA LA I CAN'T HEAR YOU" and that is our current public health response. Even if covid's death rate remains ~1%, that's 1% of a minimum ~20,000 a day even when we're not in a peak. One in five of each of those cases will develop lingering viral disease that mirrors HIV in its viral persistence and immune damage. If any of these things I mentioned can be reasonalbly addressed and substantially lessened, and these waves stop happening globally every 2 to 4 months, we'll stop being in a pandemic. If the government stops stifling data collection and acting like public health is a personal choice, I'll relax just a bit, because then I could actually do a risk assessment and trust that my community has mitigations in place like air filtration, masked staff, daily tests for staff, etc.

The death toll isn't the only metric to look at, and those deaths shouldn't be dismissed just because we're no longer stuffing corpses into reefer trailers. Each infection is a threat to someone's life and health in the long term, and we're refusing to look at that reality and adapt. Ignorance and bluster are not a public health response, and y'all should be pissed that's what the government is doing, not going out for mimosas even though "I've had a 'really bad cold for 5 days'."

The effects are cumulative and ever growing. To act like those effects just dissappear or don't matter is eugenics.

[deerspherestudios]

Hiiii, I'm sorry if I'm gonna seem mean but I just need to get this out of my head

Why do you always answer coldly to your fans? Like not coldly but dry..I don't know why but every time you respond your fans it just seem like you're annoyed. Like yes I get it a lot of people answer things you already answered before and it's annoying to say the same things over and over, but at the same time they're your fans, someone who loves what you did and someone who appreciates you and your creations. I'm sorry if I may seem mean but it really makes me sad when I see you responding like "if this wasn't obvious enough" or "stop asking me things I've already responded to". Maybe also I'm just really paranoid but I don't know

Hello! I debated answering this privately but I feel like I should address it publicly in case you're not the only one who feels that way.

I'll keep things short above the cut (I address the whole thing below but beware it's a ramble) but just know I will always appreciate people who enjoy my work and give me support regardless; if that wasn't obvious enough <3 /pos /aff /lh

I'm genuinely sorry if it comes off as cold; I didn't even realize my tone could be interpreted in such a way. If it seemed cold, perhaps it was more of me being direct? (I worry that even now I'm coming off as cold when I'm trying to be direct and straightforward!)

I don't wanna get personal but if for whatever reason it did, I never meant my words to hurt people.

As for the phrase, I don't think I say "if this wasn't obvious" that often, but when I do it's more of a "you got it!!" tone rather than,,, sarcasm? But I understand why it might've been interpreted that way.

As for asking people to stop sending questions I've answered, I've made QnA masterlists for this exact reason. I'd just appreciate it if people go through them! Plus an FAQ is an FAQ for a reason.

Understandably people don't have the time to explore through everything on the masterlists, and just want an answer to a quick question. I can't really help with that! If something's been answered it'll be there, and if it's not, I'll add it in.

That's just how I manage my blog and I respectfully ask people to check the FAQs and such before sending me questions I've already talked about, some of them extensively.

At the end of the day, answering questions take time and energy, as silly as that sounds. It's just a Tumblr blog after all, but at least in my case, it takes a lot out of me. But whichever question I choose to respond to I do my best to give my all, including this one.