#like. him having money is of no use or indication to whether or not they need to be protected by evil monsters.

[mxdotpng]

don't even look at me rn man

[see-arcane]

I am almost fine with people saying he has one brain cell, because I have seen dozens of people make the worse claim that he is "an arrogant, smug, proud of his rationality Victorian who laughs at the locals for their superstitions."

It is such a prevalent assesment that it's now considered a core character trait of his. When today's entry indicates nothing of the sort.

UH OH, YOU’VE ACTIVATED MY TANGENT CARD

(Text Brick Incoming)

Jonathan’s fundamental flaw at this stage does involve looking down on or viewing the locals and their traditions as quaint/idolatrous/ridiculous et al. He uses poor terminology too, owing to the Doylist reason of his author’s knowledge and biases, while the Watsonian reason is easy enough to read as Jonathan 1) Having to rely solely on biased/incomplete knowledge from his homeland’s writings on the place and 2) What I think is him trying to overcompensate as a trained reflex

I’ve always pictured Jonathan and Mina as having not only a lower social and monetary standing, but possibly a hindrance of race. (Case in point, I suspect a certain unique prop Jonathan brandishes later on is something he inherited, not something picked up by happenstance.)

That said—they are poor, they are not the idealized picture of the fair English Citizen…but they are both polite, charming, hardworking, and masters of ~making friends~ as a defense mechanism. And I’d bet money that included relying on what few positive nods their peers allowed.

“You’re so nice! So industrious! Your physiognomy really counters your origins! And you are wise enough to look down on those silly foreigners, aren’t you? Of course you are! You’re one of the good ones.”

Now, regardless of what headcanon is landed on as far as race/ethnicity/other backgrounds go, those last points are key. Because they go towards Being a Good Englishman/woman. Being wiser than to buy into fretting non-English superstitions. Knowing to ogle the people of other lands like curiosities in a zoo. Judging people by their face or the shape of their skull. This is the Norm. This is Good of the Victorian Englishman Abroad.

And we see Jonathan hold to all these stereotypes…to a degree. But we see within these same early entries that his instincts and general good nature chafe against that social training. He’s too much himself to do entirely as a Proper Englishman should.

He went out of his way to study all the limited info he had access to, incomplete or half-informed as it was. He delighted in learning everything he could of the places and people as he traveled, wanting to embrace and be educated on the land. And even when a lifetime of advising against it, of insistence upon derision, tried to take over when the crucifix was offered? He still accepted it. He still wears it even when the old woman departs, whether or not he believes in its importance.

And, vitally, his instincts are very Very awake to the fact that Something is Off. A Proper Englishman (and many an oblivious or stubborn dad in a ghostly horror movie) would shrug this unease off at once. But Jonathan doesn’t. He remains on Dracula’s route only because he has no other choice. All he does is mention quietly that he hopes Mina gets his diary if he happens to die on this journey.

Imagine that. Bracing for and acknowledging the sense that You Might Die on This Little Business Trip and just…having to go along with it. Because what will you tell your boss otherwise? What will you tell your fiancée?

These aren’t the concerns of a well-off stuffy snob of a man. It’s the resignation of someone who understands they live on the lowest rung of the ladder and that they will risk losing what little progress they’ve made if they dare to turn back.

As for sneering at the locals’ superstitions, period, consider: How likely would anyone really be to suddenly believe in monsters after coming out of the background Jonathan has? What could possibly have convinced him of the reality of the situation OTHER THAN SEEING IT IN PERSON? (Note, a key plot point for certain other characters later!)

The point of his being unable to take the supernatural aspect at face value is that, well, Why Would Anyone Immediately Jump to a Supernatural Conclusion in His Place?

What possible context does he have here!? Maybe he should have read Dracula first, ha ha—

Oh wait. He can’t do that. Why?

Because this man has never read Dracula BECAUSE HE IS LIVING AND WRITING THE BOOK DRACULA!!

Anyway.

tl;dr: I am very tired of both the Stuffy Victorian Snobprick and Oblivious Idiotbaby takes on my good friend Jonathan Harker

[daydreaming-nerd]

Young Love and Old Money (Cassian x Female! Reader) Part 8

Young Love and Old Money Masterlist

AN: Hey guys I have a feeling no one really liked part 7 so I cut out a couple scenes for this. This chapter might feel like we’re jumping around a lot but I wanted to get you guys to the good stuff that you want in the next couple parts. I do want to take this time to tell you that things are going to get more angsty before they get more fluffy. At least the next two will have ANGST… but please hang in here with me and let me cook I promise you’ll love it in the end. I hope you all stick around. Sending you all love 🥺🖤

Summary: She was the most beautiful woman in Prythian, sister to the High Lord of Night, and now she is the soon-to-be wife of Eris Vanserra. Despite her many titles and her aura of unattainability, Cassian can't help but fall deeply in love with the princess of the Night Court. But will it be enough to stop her impending wedding to a man who is sure to destroy her from the inside out?

Warnings: Sexism, flashback to under the mountain, ANGST

Word Count: 5,609

The smell of sulfur and sweat filled my senses. During the day it was always burning hot and at night the temperature dropped significantly. The hour that it took for my body to adjust to the change in climate everyday was always grueling. When my brother and I first arrived he was able to keep me hidden, offering me his coat or an arm to slink under,  but the second Amarantha set eyes on him he was ripped away from me. I hadn’t been allowed to speak to him since.  

For the most part I had kept my head down, desperately trying to blend into the crowd of fae. It was  all I could do to survive, yet the whispers still followed me. 

“The Jewel”

“Rhysand’s sister” 

I knew they were all plotting against me, weighing whether or not my brother would have leave to reprimand anyone who dared hurt me. It was only a matter of time until someone decided to test the waters. 

I stood among the crowd of fae looking up at the dias before us. The King Of Hybern had come to see how his little experiment had been going and Amarantha had made a point of making a show out of it. She had the most noble subjects lined up first, Kallias, Helion and myself included among the ranks. The rest fell into place behind us.

I looked up to the dias where the High Queen sat, my brother standing dutifully by her side. To my knowledge he had not yet given in to her wishes, but by the bags under his eyes and the paleness of his skin I wondered how much more of her torture he could take. 

“As you can see my king, they have bent the knee without much fuss,” Amarantha gestured to those of us kneeling before her. The rocks under my knees cutting my skin. “We have all the High Lord’s but one present with us.” 

“Very good,” the king smiled, making his way down the line to survey every High Lord that Amarantha had lured into her domain. 

I kept my head down, staring only at the ground before me. The sound of his heavy boots crunching against the gravel was my only  indication that he was getting closer to where I was kneeling. The toe of his leather boots came into view before me and then stopped. My heart started to race and my palms became clammy behind my back. A cold hand lifted my chin and my eyes were met with a pair of black soulless ones.

“What about this one?” the king asked, never once taking his eyes off me. By the look on his face I could tell that he ate up every ounce of fear I projected, practically thrived off it.

“That is y/n, sister of Rhysand, High Lord of Night.” Amarantha purred, clearly proud of herself for getting me here. 

“I’d like to have her,” he said, pulling me up roughly by my arm. “It’s time I take a wife so that I might have an heir to this mighty kingdom I’ve built.” 

Fear courses through my veins as I feel tears start to prick my eyes. The king spoke so casually, like he was picking out a new tapestry. If I had eaten any food the last two days I would’ve hurled onto the stone floor below me. This would be my fate, and there was no one coming to save me. 

“She is yours then,” Amarantha said, sipping her wine. “She’s of no use to me. Make an example of her for all I care. Some of her companions have been especially restless these past few evenings.” she uttered, referring to how Helion punched a lesser fae for trying to touch me last night. 

“With pleasure,”the king growled, tossing me onto the ground. 

The stone and rock sliced open my palms, the pain quick and biting. I had barely any time to think before I felt the king kneeling behind me, his hands beginning to lift my dress. 

“NO NO NO!” my screams echoed off the walls falling upon deaf ears. 

I tried to crawl away but I was hauled back by a pair of hands, one wrapping around my neck forcing me up. 

“WAIT!” 

My brother's voice boomed through the room, ricocheting off the walls like glorious night earning gasps from the lesser fae behind us. Thankfully the disruption was enough to stop Hybern in his tracks. 

“If you don’t give my sister to him and you promise me her safety I will go to bed with you willingly,” Rhys pleaded and my heart dropped. 

My eyes flitted up to find my brother, the High Lord of the Night Court, and the most honorable man I ever knew, kneeling. His hands grasped one of Amarantha’s as she looked down at him with a light in her eyes. 

‘No, no, no, no’ was all I could think.

“Without any fuss?”she asked him. 

“Yes,” he agreed. 

“Rhys no!” I called but Hybern’s grip on my throat tightened. 

“For as long as I wish?” she clarified. 

“Yes.” 

“Consider it done,” she purred. 

My eyes flew open, my breath racing so fast I couldn’t keep up with it. A sheen of sweat coated my skin and it took me a moment to recognize where I was. 

Home. 

Cassian’s breaths rose and fell behind me, his arms around me an impenetrable wall to anyone who might try to take me from him. But it was all too much, and I needed to feel the fresh air. The fresh air I didn’t get to feel for 50 years. 

So I wiggled out of his grasp with great difficulty and padded down the hallway to the balcony where he and I normally would take off. 

The second the freezing night air hit my bare skin I felt like I could finally breathe again. My  nightgown did nothing to keep me warm but I was more than happy to feel the breeze. I looked down upon the sparking lights of Velaris and took it all in. There was a time I thought I would never see my home again, yet here I was. But at what cost? 

Images of Rhysand’s health deteriorating under the mountain flashed through my mind. What he had done with Amarantha, so completely unspeakable. The only time I ever saw him perk up was when the Cursebreaker showed up. The one who had saved us all, the one I would later find to be my brother’s mate. I had never met the woman, but I longed to thank her for what she did. 

These past few weeks I had been able to escape the nightmares of my time under the mountain. I supposed Cassian chased those monsters away. But as I stood here now I realized that it didn’t matter how far I ran, I could never be free of that stench of sulfur, and I could never outrun my guilt. 

“You’re going to catch a cold,” Cassian murmured from the doorway. I didn’t turn back to meet his stare, unwilling to show him the tears in my eyes. 

“It’s not that bad,” I laugh subtly wiping away a tear.

His arms wrap around me and I can’t help but lean into his warm chest, as his wings cocoon around me to block out the wind. He’s so warm, how is he always so warm? 

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, words rumbling through his chest. 

“I just had a nightmare that’s all,” I sigh, resting my hands to where his arms are clasped over my chest. “I thought that I was done having dreams about what happened under the mountain but I guess not. The things I saw? What Rhys did for me?” I pause, taking a deep breath. “Sometimes I think I’ll never really escape that place.”

Cassian turns me slowly in his arms and though I know he wants me to look at him, I can’t stop myself from wrapping my arms around him and burying my face in his bare chest. He holds me even tighter as his wings wrap around me, keeping in the warmth. 

“Never again y/n,” he coos, running a hand over my hair. “For as long as I live you will never have  to go back there again.”

I can’t help as a tear trickles down my eye at his words. My face burying further into his warm chest, the one place I truly never want to leave. Not when I longed for it for so long. I breathed Cassian in deeply, trying to remind myself I was here, I was home. Rhys was at the townhouse, we were both safe. 

“What can I do? How can I help?” Cassian asked me, pressing a kiss to my forehead. 

“Just hold me,” I say with a shaky breath letting my hands wander up and down the bare skin of his back.

I felt his chest rumble through my cheek as he let out a small laugh, “I remember when I would’ve done anything to hear you say those words.” he says wings coming in tighter around me. 

“You can hold me whenever you want general,” I smile, continuing to rub circles on his lower back.

“Almost whenever I want,” he corrects me quietly.

Reality came back to me in an instant. I knew what he meant. The complexities of marriages, and armies and alliances keeping us from being transparent.

But we would get there soon… Together we would get there.  

The next few days my dream follows me. 

Every night I dream of my brother on his knees before Amarantha, every night I wake in a cold sweat, every night Cassian soothes me until I fall asleep again. 

As I stare at myself in the mirror the bags under my eyes are a reminder that last night the nightmare had found me again. The ladies maids behind me pull my corset tighter, taking away my ability to breathe.

The only saving grace about today is that Eris isn’t here. Apparently he was out on a hunt with his brothers on a hunt and had been gone for three days. I knew it was really a bachelor party, no doubt spent in a seedy brothel, but I didn’t care to correct the autumn court women. How could I when they had the garment so tight I could hardly speak.

Today had been all about fitting me for my wedding dress, one I had yet to see. It was a long process of measuring my arms, legs, and bust. Picking out shades of white that would look best with my  complexion, (the debate between ivory and white lasted an hour and was utterly ridiculous). With Eris gone Cassain had spent the day lounging on a sofa, letting his guard down, that is until the corsets came out.

“Prince Eris says he wants her a size smaller for the wedding, keep pulling!” Ordered the older of the two, her gray hair falling from its updo. Gods they had already taken me in a full size.

My hands braced on either side of the mirror as the women yanked with all their strength one last time. It took everything in me not to scream out in pain once more as the fabric constricted around me again. I swore on my life I heard a rib crack.

“That should do it, measure her,” the older one snapped again. I wasn’t sure who this woman was but I didn’t dare argue with her. 

A tape measure was slipped around my waist for the millionth time as they checked to see if the dress would fit. I watched in the mirror as the young one held up the measurement, my eyes flitting to Cassian’s worried gaze in the back of the room.  

“Perfect, the dress will fit nicely after the alterations on the arms are done,” the older woman reported, putting her tools away. “You are free to go.”

“Can you help me get this off?” I ask trying to reach around trying to find the ribbons but the damned thing is tied so tight I can’t even reach. 

“Absolutely not!” the woman cried like I had asked her to murder her first child. “You will need to leave that on till at least the end of the day to train your waist.” 

I don’t argue, too scared to hear the woman squawk at me again like she just did. Thankfully the younger one, who I assume is her apprentice, helps me put on my old dress. The rusty colored fabric is looser in the middle now but all I can think about is going home. The sooner I’m home the sooner I can take this damned thing off. 

“Ready?” Cassian asks, standing from his spot on the couch. 

“More than you know,” I laugh waddling over to him. 

He leads me out of the palace and neither of us say a word or even dare to brush hands as we walk down the too quiet hallways. Even when this place is empty it feels like it has eyes everywhere. I swear if I looked up right now there would be a dozen people staring down at me. Normally the second that I step outside I feel like I can breathe, but today that’s not the case. I’m thankful that Cassian feels my urgency to get home shooting us both into the sky as soon as possible. 

I knew it was dumb but I never got tired of this part of our day. There was a certain sense of joy in getting to spend these peaceful moments with Cassian. Just him and I, the world soaring by around us with the knowledge that I would be home soon and life could resume as normal. 

The second we touch down on the House of Wind balcony I’m rushing to Cassian’s room, well I supposed it was our room now, considering I hadn’t slept in my own in over a week. I hear Cass close the door behind me as I fumble for the ties on my dress desperately wanting to take a full, deep breath. 

“Here let me help you,”  he pleaded, moving my hands out of his way. 

“Thanks,” I breathed as I felt my dress fall to the ground, the impending freedom starting to make my heart race. Cassian’s hands fumbled with the knot at the base of the corset. 

“They tied it so tight I can’t break the knot apart,” he said, starting to panic a bit as my breathing quickened. 

“Cut it off me Cassian, I can’t breathe,” I rasp trying to pull the top of the corset off my skin a bit to allow my chest to rise and fall normally but it’s useless.  

“Shit baby hold on,” he assures me. I hear him draw a dagger from its sheath on his thigh, carefully dragging the tip down the back. 

With every single snap of the ribbons I feel my lungs expanding again and the second the torturous garment is on the floor I nearly double over, taking my first full breath. 

“Oh my gods,” Cassian curses, his fingertips running down my spine gently, like he might hurt me.

“What? What is it?” I ask looking into the floor length mirror in the corner of the room. In it I can see Cassian looking over my back with furrowed brows. 

“They bruised you,” he said, eyes meeting mine in the mirror.

I turn around so I can see myself in the mirror from afar and sure enough a bruise lines my vertebrae where the corset was. No wonder I felt like I heard bones cracking.

“It’s fine, you’ve experienced worse,” I sigh, picking up a discarded robe on the floor and slipping it over my shoulders. 

“I’d rather fight a battle than wear a corset,” Cassian snickered and honestly I didn’t blame him. 

“At least I’ll never have to wear it again,” I say, tossing the corset aside, taking my anger out on it.

“Does that mean you’ve figured out how you’re gonna handle this?” he asks me tentatively, like he was terrified to either ask or hear my answer.  

I turn to meet his eyes, and for a moment I think about taking the easy way out, telling him something that might give him hope. But we had spent so long lying about our feelings for one another, wasting so much time. I wouldn’t lie about this. 

“I thought I did, but the last two times I brought up calling off the wedding he-”

“If he touches you again I don’t think I-” he trails off, looking to the side as if he’s trying to compose himself. “Last time it felt like my blood was on fire.” 

His admittance nearly brought me to my knees. The anger in his eyes veiled with sadness had me reaching up to cup his face, just needing to feel him. 

“I know Cass and I’m so sorry. I know this is hard for you and gods I’m a fucking monster-” 

“Fuck y/n,” he shakes his head taking my hands in his. “Don’t you dare apologize. You are trying to save your people and help your court. I’m being a selfish prick.” he says, casting his head down in embarrassment.

My blood boils at the thought that he felt selfish in any sort of way. Even more so that I was the reason.

“No, don't say that,” I order him, squeezing his hands to bring his gaze to mine. “You are the most selfless male I’ve ever known. I love you Cass, and I promise I’m going to figure this out. Because I honestly don’t think I can live without you now. You are everything to me, and so much more. I know I can do this,” I assure him, but really I feel like I’m assuring myself more.  

His gaze softens, and a twinge of light flickers in his eyes, one that looks like hope, “I know you can too, My smart, ambitious, caring and beautiful woman,” he praises, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I am beyond honored to call you my princess.” 

“And I’m thankful to call you my general,” I smile, craning my head to read his face. “But mostly I’m just thankful to call you mine.” 

“I’ll be yours until my heart stops beating, and maybe even after that if there’s a place we go when our time in this world is through,” he coos, brushing a hair from my face. 

“Wherever that place is,” I sigh, pressing my head to his chest and pulling him closer to me. “I’ll follow you there too.” 

The days that followed were generally boring. Cassian would fly up to the Illyrian Mountains with Azriel to further prepare the troops for the impending war.  Apparently Windhaven had become the main stronghold for all the camps, and of course having hundreds of Illyrians in the same camp was more than rowdy. Cass and Az were constantly breaking up fights and coming home worse for wear. One night Cassian had come home caked in mud and blood, which he assured me wasn’t his own.

That night I demanded that he let me get him cleaned up and after hearing a million phrases along the lines of…

“You’re a princess, you shouldn’t be having to clean me up.” 

And 

“I don’t want to get you dirty.” 

I finally convinced the stubborn general to let me take care of him. I took my time rubbing out the knots in his shoulders, his muscles so hard I could barely feel my hands afterwards. The sounds that fell from his lips were enough motivation to keep going though. He even let me wash his wings, something I knew Illyrians didn’t normally tolerate. 

I remembered a day when I was just 10 years old and Rhys was 12. I had instinctively reached out to touch Rhys’ wing and he just about had my head. After that I was terrified to go anywhere near them. I could tell he felt bad about the encounter. One day when I was crying over something our father had yelled at me about he hugged me, and used his wings to cocoon me in.  It was enough to bring a smile to my face and ever since then it had become a silly thing he had done whenever I was upset. Gods we hadn’t had a moment like that in years.  

Nevertheless, my heart soared when Cassian asked me to wash his wings. I took my time to be extra careful. Grazing over sensitive areas when necessary. But appreciating every breathtaking inch of them.  I didn’t miss the way one of his large wings curled over my frame that night while we lay in bed, almost as if it was its own sentient being thanking me. 

“So last family dinner huh?” Azriel said as Cassian and I walked into the living room of the townhouse. 

The words rolling off the Shadowsinger's tongue was enough to make my stomach hurt again.  Rhysand had asked for us all to come together one last time for dinner as a family before I married Eris and moved to the Autumn Court. 

Cassian hadn’t asked for updates surrounding the nuptials that would be taking place in two days time, which I was thankful for, considering I had none to give. I knew that tonight he would ask for answers, I could tell by the quiet demeanor he had all day. But I would cross that bridge when I came to it. 

“Yeah I guess so,” I replied to Az as the three of us made our way to the long dining room table.

I took my usual place at the end of the table next to Azriel, Cassian sat across from me, Mor next to him and then Amren.  Rhys, who always sat at the head of the table, arrived late adjusting the lapels of his jacket.

“Forgive me for being late,” he apologized, taking his seat. “I was just reading the latest reports and well-” he trailed off, not wanting to bring it up. 

“What is it?” Amren demanded, leaving no room for him to avoid the question. 

“Hybern’s forces are growing and there are rumors that the spring court will stand with him,” Rhys admits and my stomach plummets. 

My eyes lift to Cassian’s and find him already looking at me. Worry passes between us. If the spring court has chosen to side with Hybern then we are truly outnumbered, especially if Tarquin refuses to fight. His foot brushes against mine under the table, the only comfort he’s able to offer me at the moment. 

“Why would Tamlin do that?” I ask, breaking the silence. 

“His father was one of Hybern’s biggest allies in the first war. My guess is that he’s trying to follow in his fathers footsteps,” Rhys turns to me. 

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Mor scoffed, sipping her wine. 

The topic of conversation was dropped and dinner continued as usual. The boys swapped fond memories and fought over who was the true winner of last year's snowball fight. All the while I couldn’t shake what my brother had said, if the rumors are true and Tamlin joins Hybern what does that mean for the rest of us? For Cassian, who would no doubt be on the front lines. 

I lift my eyes to see him and just like always I nearly have my breath taken away. He had one arm thrown over the back of his chair, the other holding a glass of wine while he laughed at something my brother had said. Cassian was so handsome when he was like this, at ease, laughing with his family. I had yet to see him in battle, but I knew that seeing him that way would be just as knee wobbling. If he was gone then what? 

I looked at my family around me, the home my brother had built and fought so hard to protect. The warmth that lived here, it was something that couldn’t be put into words. It could all be gone in seconds, and then everything my brother sacrificed under the mountain? It would’ve been for nothing.

“Well I have to get back and finish some paperwork,” Rhys said, tossing his napkin on the table. 

“I have some mission reports to wrap up,” Azriel said, also throwing in the metaphorical towel.

We all stood, our chairs sliding across the wooden floor with a squeak, my eyes found Cassian and I could sense that he wanted to speak to me. 

“And you dear sister need to get some beauty sleep for the big day,” Rhysand said, placing a kiss to the top of my head. 

I embraced him warmly, taking in every part of him. I knew it wouldn’t be the last time I saw him, or the last time I saw any of them. But with the wedding and war, everything seemed so much more precious now. 

We all moseyed over to the front door where I said goodbye to Mor and Amren, as they wouldn’t be attending the wedding. I gave the townhouse one last look, taking in the warm fae lights, the plush carpets and the love that the place offered. I hoped it would be a bright light for me to remember when I would no longer be able to visit. The door closed and I swear a part of me was locked behind it. 

“I’ll see you two at home,” Azriel said, he didn’t even give us a chance to say goodbye before shooting off into the sky. 

“Walk with me?” I asked Cassian, cocking an eyebrow at him. 

“Look at that you’re taking me for walks now, what a responsible dog owner,” Cassian smirks referring to the dog comment made nearly a month ago. 

“You’re never going to let me live that down are you?” I laugh bumping into his arm as he holds open the front gate for me.

“Never baby, never,” he laughs

 Velrais was beautiful no matter what time of day or what season it was. But summer nights in Velaris had to be my favorite. While growing up I hardly ever got to leave the house, if I did it was when Rhys would sneak me out on night time flights. Often going into the city for sweets or ice cream. 

Tonight was perfect. The temperature was just warm enough to merit the lilac satin I was wearing, while the breeze coming off the Sidra kept us both cool. It seemed that the whole town thought it was a perfect night. Many people opted to take their dinner and drinks on outdoor patios, a small band had brought their instruments out for children and couples to dance to, and there was a general scene of merriment everywhere. This was home. 

  As we got closer to the river and further from the music the breeze picked up and Cassian’s wing shot out to create a shield for me. My mouth was halfway open poised to say something when a small cry came out from behind me. Cassian whipped around to assess the danger even faster than I could, but as we both turned around all we found was a little girl, about 5 years old, running toward me, doll in hand. 

“Princess! Princess!” she squealed in excitement as she came to a halt at my feet, tugging on my dress. 

“Celia!” shouted a woman running towards us. By the matching black hair and blue eyes I could tell it was her mother. “Get back here this instant!”

“Don’t worry she’s alright,” I smiled towards the mother trying to offer her some reassurance. 

The woman quickly halted in her tracks upon seeing my face and bent at the waist, “Your highness please forgive me,” she said quickly. 

“Please, please, no bowing,” I laughed, placing my hand on her shoulder. 

“You’ll have to forgive this one, she’s much faster than me,” the woman laughed nervously. 

I looked down to see the little girl looking up at me with stars in her blue eyes, I bent over to pick her up using all my strength to do so.

 “Sounds like she’s going to be a little warrior then,” I laugh. “You should meet my friend Cassian, he’s the general.” I say to Celia hiking her up on my hip to see Cass. 

He tucked his wings in tight and wiggled his fingers at the little girl, trying to seem less intimidating. She hesitantly waved back unsure of him and then turned her gaze to me. 

“You’re pretty,” she smiled, one of her tiny hands grazing my nose for emphasis.

“Why thank you. I think you’re very pretty as well Celia,” I smile at her cherub cheeks. “Tell me about your dolly,” I say looking at the porcelain doll in her arms.  

“Her name's Poppy, she’s a princess too,” Celia stated proudly holding the doll up so I could see her more clearly. 

“Well it’s lovely to meet you princess Poppy,” I nodded, shaking the doll's dainty hand. 

“Come on Celia it’s time for bed darling,” her mother laughed.

I placed the girl down on the ground and watched her run to grab onto her mothers legs. 

“Thank you princess,” she nodded to me. “General,” she nodded to Cassian. 

“Of course,” I said, waving goodbye.

As I watched the two walk away hand in hand I couldn’t help but notice the warmth there and the love. At that moment I found myself missing my own mother.  I looked out over the river, the calm black water drifting by as the stars sparkled over Ramiel. The distant sounds of children laughing, adults singing, music playing. 

I couldn’t leave this place to chance. This beautiful home that Rhys had built, the shops and restaurants. The people who lived here peacefully and without worry. 

I wouldn’t let people like Celia and her mother suffer from my selfishness. 

I turned to find Cassian already staring at me expectantly, as is if he was on edge waiting for me to say something. There was a wariness to his stare that told me he knew what came next.  

“Cass we need to talk,” I sigh.

I see his metaphorical hackles raise as he speaks, “No y/n, absolutely not. I won’t lose you.” he declared the heat of the argument already rising. 

“There isn’t a way out Cassian. I won’t put my people at risk like that. Think of the little girls like Celia. I can’t just sit by and watch her go to the slaughter because I didn’t want to marry someone.” I argue, gesturing to the city behind him. “And what about you? Huh? You heard what Rhys said. If Tamlin is involved and we still don’t have Tarquin’s support, then where does that leave you? On the frontlines. If something were to happen to you and I had to live with the thought that I could’ve done something to stop it but didn’t, I couldn’t live with myself.”

Cassian’s fists clenched at his sides, “I would rather live with you for however long I have left then be without you y/n.” he pleaded. 

His words hit like a blow as I felt tears pricking my eyes. This was the end. This beautiful, wonderful thing I had found that made me feel so alive, so loved. It was ending, and it was dying like a star. Burning bright and exploding, taking everything in its path. 

“And what about them?” I gestured to the city in the distance as a cheer sounded from one of the taverns. “If I don’t marry Eris that means I’m okay with their blood on my hands Cassian. What does that make me? A monster.” 

His jaw ticked,  “So I’m just supposed to sit here and watch you marry him? Watch him put his hands all over you? Watch you have his fucking children!” he roared, eyes only softening when I flinched away from him. 

“I’m sorry Cass, but I don’t know what to do anymore. All I know is that I want to save my people, and this is the only way I know how. The safest.” I say calmly. 

Cassian steps back and looks over the water, like he can’t even face me and I don’t blame him. He takes a deep breath, seemingly collecting his thoughts and then he speaks for the last time.

“He is going to kill you from the inside out y/n. You’re going to become just like that dog in his kennels,” he grits, unable to meet my gaze. “And I won’t stick around to watch.” 

He walks past me, wings nearly knocking me over. 

“Cassian please,” I cry trying to reach out for him, but he’s airborne and flying gods know where before my fingers can graze his leathers. 

I stand there watching him disappear into the night sky. Once he’s out of sight I swear I hear a roar so loud it rattles Ramiel. I’m left there on the edge of the river with no one but myself to wipe my tears. And I suppose I deserve that, I should’ve never kissed Cassian that night after the ball, should’ve never gone to bed with him. Should’ve never fallen in love with him. 

Turns out it didn’t matter what I did, I was a monster either way. 

And I sat and thought about that for a long time.

Part 9

Taglist: @crystalferret202 , @nickishadow139 ,  @graceshifts , @writeroutoftime , @heyyitsnat21,  @stinkinstuffie , @lilah-asteria , @12358 , @fxckmiup, @daughterofthemoons-stuff, @mybestfriendmademe, @anxious-study, @bxm-1012 , @mal-adaptive-dreams ,  @sh4nn , @talesofadragon , @5onedirection5 

Permanent Taglist: @fides25, @dissociated-always   

[queenofallimagines]

Bruce Wayne x Fem reader

Shuffles in nervously 👉🏿👈🏿 hiii

A/N: listen,,, I’ve been writing fic fie the requests and then I was dragged kicking and screaming into Bruce Wayne’s arms. Nothing I love more than a tired depressed Dilf✨ got a lot more things sitting in the drafts because it’s SO good to do a character study on them and Damian is next I think he should have a cool stepmom. Bruce Wayne I can read your mind🗣️

Cw: ambiguous age but not explicable age gap so imagine what you will, the batfam are WEAK to black women but it’s pretty ambiguous in writing, fellow vigilante reader, Bruce is shit at feelings and can’t communicate, Fem reader, Bruce thinks with his dick before his trauma, his kids are nosey as fuck. oh and like mentions of aphrodisiac chemicals used but only once or twice.

Summary: Bruce could only internally groan at his predicament. He wasn’t to say he’s not sure how he got here but he knows exactly how he ended up here. He’s too grown for a one night stand.

Bruce Wayne:

"—told you they stayed the night!"

Bruce wakes to the muffled voices of giggling adolescents. Terrible timing. Dread settles into his gut as his bleary eyes snap open.

Bruce's biggest mistake was bringing you home. Blaming it on the chemicals he and his fellow vigilante crashed into last night would be convenient. But truthfully, both of you consented before those substances burned through your inhibitions, landing you in his king-sized bed, engaging in activities that his hyper-aware mind keeps replaying. Now is not the time to reminisce, not with the voices of his kids echoing outside. He swallows a groan. You'd think he trained all that boyish cheek right out of them, because that is not how one conducts reconnaissance. He'd do the shameful thing and sneak out, but alas, this grand manor belongs to Bruce.

….Maybe he can politely kick you out without incurring Alfred's wrath and enduring hours of lectures on dignity and respect—two things Bruce has little of at the moment. The scent of coffee and toast wafting in from the doorway indicates that Alfred set up a snack cart outside his door—a subtle reminder to behave. Bruce grimaces. Damned Englishmen and their inane concept of manners. Shifting on the bed, he keeps his eyes fixed on your head and not the bare expanse of your skin that he touched. A lot. He left—his dignity won't allow him to call them 'hickeys' because grown men don't do hickeys—various passion marks on your skin.

This time, Bruce can't quite stifle his groan. He's too old for a one-night stand.

"Christ," he grunts quietly, knowing divine intervention won't be coming.

No one said Bruce Wayne ever had a proper love life. Still, he'd take any endless rant from Gordon about Nightwing's countless motor vehicle violations over his children confronting him. At your groan, Bruce's tense shoulders relax slightly. Part of him expected you to be one of those people who woke up ready to take on the world—another reminder of Bruce's age. When you shift, his muscles tense again. Bruce clears his throat, voice gruff. "Morning," he rumbles, before he's tempted to do something less than honorable. The noise, followed by shifting sheets, pulls attention to you stirring. In the soft light, you look soft and relaxed in his bed, like you belong here.

He knows that's a dangerous thought to entertain.

Bruce says and does nothing as your eyes flutter open, blinking blearily and trying to piece together the circumstances of the previous night. He looks at you for a moment, contemplating whether he can get away with offering you money to keep quiet.

“Mmmmorning..”

That yawning stretch is both distracting and endearing. It's unfair. Bruce watches your movements, taking in every detail from the slight dip of your spine to the flutter of eyelashes. It's a sight he'd become intimately acquainted with.

"Sleep well?"

He asks, already knowing the answer. Even if you slept like a log, your body would be sore from being tangled in him all night.

“Mhm.”

If you weren't so drowsy, you'd notice his jaw clench at the sight of the sheets pooling around your hips, exposing your bare chest. Like most things, it's unfairly alluring to Bruce.

"You've got a choice of coffee or orange juice," he says, nodding at the cart a couple steps from the bed. His voice is still gruff.

“Orange juice please.”

Bruce rises from bed, unashamed at his own nakedness. He crosses to the cart, ignoring the faint twinge in his muscles, and pours you a glass of orange juice. A glance back reveals you sitting up against the pillows, wrapped in his sheets like a makeshift toga. He's never seen a more enticing sight in his life. Bruce ignores the impulse to push you back down and take you again.

"Here."

He returns to the bed and offers you the glass.

“Thanks.”

Bruce watches you drink. Another mistake. He can't help imagining how that mouth felt on other places, wrapped around and- Gods. Not the time. He should've given you a robe or something. Those sheets aren't hiding much and your sitting against the pillows has the fabric slipping lower and lower- He clears his throat, trying to rid his mind of dirty thoughts as he sips his coffee.

"You're welcome," he mutters. There's a satisfied, primal part of his soul that preens knowing that you're still in his bed, his sheets draped over you like a claim.

"Did you...have fun last night?"

He cringes almost immediately afterward. Bruce's pillow talk is abysmal.

“what…?”

The events slowly coming back to you, playing behind your eyelids like a movie. A noise of realization leaves your throat as you nod. Under usual circumstances you’d would be embarrassed beyond belief but after having slept so good and still being tired you can’t really find it to care

“oh yeah. I did. ‘t was ‘fuckin amazing.”

Bruce can't help it when his lips curve in response to your praise. You're still in his bed, still wrapped in his sheets, and now telling him he was amazing in bed—damn his ego for being so smug.

"Mm, I'm glad," he hums, taking another sip of coffee. He sets the cup on the bedside table and leans back against the pillows, eyeing you appreciatively.

"Are you... sore anywhere?"

“Nah, just all over.” Bruce can't help the satisfied smirk that crosses his face at your answer. Knowing he left you in a state of boneless bliss has that primal part of him preening again, like a pleased cat.

"Good," he murmurs, a hint of male pride in his voice as he gazes at you. "It... wasn't too much, was it?" Bruce swallows thickly, the urge to touch you growing. The kids are just outside the door. He shouldn't. He won't.

But maybe he can have just a little taste.

“It was, but in all the ways I like it so you’re good.”

Bruce can't stop the quiet groan that rumbles in his throat at your admission. You look a bit like a fallen angel, all debauched hair and sleepy eyes. The sight is almost too much for his self-control, more than you realized. He shifts subtly, adjusting himself under the sheets.

"I suppose that's a good thing, then."

He keeps his tone even, casual, but his gaze is hot and intense as he drinks you in. Bruce's gaze darkens at your answer. If it weren't for the kids and Alfred, he'd be on you in a heartbeat, pressing you into the bed, and leaving marks all over you that claim you as-- His jaw ticks at the possessive thoughts. No. Not the time. Later.

"Good," he repeats, voice gruff. Still, he makes no move to leave the bed. "You... don’t have anywhere to be?"

Bruce already knows the answer. It's a Saturday, after all.

“Aside from the mission last night my schedule is fully clear to my knowledge.”

Bruce nods in understanding, taking another sip of coffee. The image of your previous mission- that you both stumbled into- flashes in his mind: chemicals, a haze of lust, the taste of you on his lips. He pushes the memories aside as his gaze flicks to your exposed shoulder, then back to your face.

"So you can stay for breakfast," he says, keeping his voice steady even as he desperately fights the urge to pull the sheets off you and devour you. "Alfred is making pancakes."

“Mmm, I haven’t spoken to him in a while it will be nice to see his face again.”

Bruce's smile is a subtle, soft thing as you mention Alfred. The older man has served as a sort of parental figure in Bruce's life. Alfred and Bruce are like family, and hearing you mention his name sparks a warm sense of familiarity.

"He'll be happy to see you."

Bruce hesitates for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability in his gaze. "Do you... want to get up?" he asks, his meaning clear: ‘or do you want to stay in bed a bit longer?’

“….Not gunna lie I’d rather stay in bed a little longer. It’s so warm and comfortable the thought of getting up and putting on clothes sounds like torture.”

Bruce gives an almost imperceptible sigh of relief as you speak. Part of him expected you to get up the minute he mentioned getting dressed. But you don't. You didn’t. You want to stay in bed, and you have no idea how happy you just made him. With a smirk, Bruce reaches out, sliding his hand under the sheet, and grabs your hip, pulling you closer. He doesn't miss the way the fabric slides farther down your torso, revealing more tantalizing skin.

"You are very articulate in the morning."

“Mmm I’m like barely awake right now honestly. Less of a filter or any sort of shame.”

Bruce smirks at your admittance. You're clearly still half asleep, your guard down, and more unfiltered than he expected.

"You're normally more stoic, less open," he muses, tracing his fingers lightly over your hip. "I like it. It's refreshing."

His eyes take in every inch of skin visible to him, making a mental note of the various passion marks he left behind. It makes him want to see how far down they go.

“I’m more relaxed now. And in a hell of a good mood.”

Bruce chuckles, the sound deep and rich. His hand continues to explore your skin, mapping every curve and contour with gentle, yet possessive touches. His thumb brushes over a mark on your skin, and his gaze darkens a fraction.

"And whose fault is that?" he muses, his voice a low rumble, the sound more intimate without the Batman modulator.

“Yours obviously. Haven’t felt this sore in a while. didn’t know I needed an attitude adjustment that bad.”

Bruce's smirk spreads into a wolfish smile as you mention your soreness. A sense of pride swells in his chest. Knowing he made you feel so good last night that your entire body aches from it makes that possessive part of him purr.

Bruce's touch wanders to your thigh, his hand trailing higher and higher up your skin, his eyes fixed on yours as he speaks:

"I’d be happy to give you another one."

“Yeah? jeez going to tire me out before it’s even noon? Didn’t really expect that from you, B.”

Bruce’s expression is somewhere between a cocky smile and an affectionate smirk. It's almost like he's challenging you. The way you say his nickname in such a low, sultry tone is driving him insane. He continues stroking your skin, his fingers tracing a path up the inside of your thigh.

"If it gets you moaning and crying my name again," he murmurs, his voice dropping in register, "then I think it’s worth it. Besides..."

Bruce's other hand reaches out, his fingers gently grasping your chin as he looks you in the eye.

"You underestimate me.” he rumbles, his hand still stroking your thigh. "I have excellent stamina."

“Ooh wow just like that huh? Ready to go in the morning again? Can’t even enjoy the next morning soreness before you need to start all over again. I won’t be able to walk downstairs to breakfast if you’re that insatiable….Never expected you to be the frisky type. Aside from the sexual tension breaking in the air last night I never got that vibe from you.”

Bruce laughs lowly in response, his hand still tracing over your skin. The sound vibrates through his chest. When your hair falls into your eyes, he gently moves it out of your face. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, his gaze dark and intense. Your words make him smile, and he leans closer, his thumb brushing over your jaw.

"You're a tease," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. "You have no idea how much restraint it's taking me not to flip you over and show you just how frisky I can be..."

“Lord, don’t say that. My insides are getting flashbacks.”

Bruce’s laugh is sultry and almost sinister. Your words only feed his hunger. You’re right in front of him, skin bare and marked by his mouth, and still he can’t touch you the way he wants. The way he craves. He can’t give in. Not now. His lips brush over your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

"Mmm,” he purrs, nipping at your pulse point. "I can still taste you. All over my mouth. It's driving me feral."

“Jesus Christ B. You sure those weird chemicals we got hit with aren’t still in effect?.”

Bruce smirks against your neck, his teeth grazing over your pulse point. His hand continues to stroke your skin, his touch like a caress. His voice is low and rough with desire:

"I can promise you, it's all me."

He nips at your earlobe before pulling back, his gaze roaming over your marked body. He wants to add more. Leaving you marked, bruised, sore…

“With you talking like this, it’s a wonder we made it back here last night.”

Bruce releases a low, dark chuckle at your comment. The memory of last night, of stumbling into the manner, shedding clothes and tearing at each other’s skin, flashes in his mind. He doesn’t reply immediately, instead leaning down to press open-mouthed kisses up your neck. His voice is a warm, gruff whisper against your skin:

"It was a close thing, I won't lie."

“It still feels unreal almost, but you’ve got that same look in your eye you did last night. starving. I didn’t think my teasing would make you snap like that not gunna lie.”

Bruce hums against your skin, his lips trailing over your shoulder. The way you tease him is going to be the death of him. The sounds of your chuckles only add fuel to the fire. He can still feel the ghost of your nails digging into his skin, your moans echoing in his ears. He pulls back, eyes dark and glittering as he speaks.

"It took a lot of control, trust me," he says, his voice a low rumble. "If it were up to me, we never would have left that lab."

“Pfft, if it were up to you we’d never leave this bed.”

Bruce chuckles, his hand continuing to roam over your skin. The thought of spending hours, days, in bed with you is incredibly tempting, but he can't. The kids are right outside, and Alfred is waiting in the kitchen. Besides, he has work to do. He sighs, his thumb tracing a lazy circle on your thigh.

"I'd love to stay here forever," he admits, his voice low and rough, “But I'm afraid there are other responsibilities to attend to."

“There usually is-…. There are children behind that door.”

Bruce hears the hushed giggles and whispers on the other side of the door. He knows exactly what’s going on. He can feel the kids’ heartbeats through the wood, like a bat detecting its prey. They’re excited, curious. And they’ve likely been listening for the past hour despite him doing his best to keep his voice low to mask the conversation. Bruce sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly as he acknowledges the reality.

"Yes," he says, his voice dry. He glances at the door, then back to you. “There are kids behind that door.”

“I guess we have to get up then. Wonder if I can actually find all my clothes…”

Bruce’s lips twitch into a smirk at the thought of your clothes. His eyes trail over your naked form, taking in every tantalizing inch, then glance down to the floor. There is a trail of crumpled clothes leading to the bed. No doubt, you’ll have to walk through the minefield of evidence at some point if you want to get dressed. He sighs, sitting up in bed.

"Considering how fast we undressed, I’d say it’s going to be difficult.” He chuckles.

“Yeah I bet.”

Bruce’s eyes rake over your naked form, unabashedly appreciating the view as the sheets fall away. God, you’re beautiful. He has to force himself to look away before he snaps, ripping the sheets off the bed and pinning you back down. His voice is a gruff rumble as he responds.

"No fair," he mutters, reluctantly sitting up on the edge of the bed, his back to you as he tries to reign in his need to touch you all over again.

Chuckling you glance over your shoulder at him as you pick up your costume and start putting some pieces back on.

“Hey,don’t start pouting now. I agreed to stay for breakfast yeah? Can’t get rid of me that easily Bruce.”

His name rolls off your tongue teasingly. It had definitely been a surprise to find out Batman was Bruce Wayne last night but in the haze of trying to rip each others close off the surprise was lost. Even now looking at him like this you can’t help but see Batman and want to tease him. Saying his name felt forbidden in a way,making you want to say it more.

“Anyway, you should get dressed too.”

Bruce's shoulders tense slightly at the sound of his name falling from your lips. Hearing you say it is an odd juxtaposition. At this moment, sitting on his bed, he is Bruce Wayne, but the mention of his name has hints of Batman, Gotham, the mask. He glances over his shoulder at you as you get dressed. Bruce bristles at your teasing tone, his hands clenching into fists in his lap. The way you say his name in that sultry tone makes him want to throw everything aside and drag you back into that bed. But he doesn’t. He stays sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to you, his eyes fixed on the floor. He takes a deep breath before responding, his voice low and rough.

"Trust me, the last thing I want is to get rid of you.” he mutters, his jaw clenching. “I’m getting dressed.”

Bruce listens to the sound of clothing rustling, his back still to you. Part of him resents the fact that you’re getting dressed, leaving him here alone. He watches as you put on your clothes, covering up the marks he left on your skin. It sends a primal pulse of possessiveness through him. But he resists the urge to reach out and pull you back into his lap, or at the very least, make sure his mark is still clear on your neck. His jaw clenches as he speaks:

"I’m surprised they haven’t tried to barge in yet.”

“Hah! Even in a drug induced haze of lust I still remembered to lock the door. I wasn’t about to take that chance.”

Bruce huffs out a quiet laugh, a small smile on his lips. You’re as smart as you are beautiful. Locking the door was a wise decision. If you hadn’t, the kids would have been listening to a very different conversation for the past hour. He glances over his shoulder at you, taking in your now clothed form. It seems less appealing now that you’ve covered up the results of their night together.

"Impressive," he rumbles. You had the presence of mind to do that? While his brain was full of nothing but the smell and taste of you? He almost finds it adorable that you think you have such self-control. His lips twitch with a smirk, his voice a low rumble:

"You definitely have more control than I do."

“Once you have a situation happen like that once the anxiety never lets you forget. And doing it inconspicuously while not ruining the mood just was dumb luck on my part.”

Bruce snorts, a chuckle escaping his lips. You’re not wrong. One time was enough to learn that lesson. He knows that from experience. He should be grateful that you’re more reasonable than he is. It’s no wonder things with his previous conquests always ended the way they did. There’s a long, heavy silence as Bruce considers his next words. Instead Bruce sighs, standing up from the bed. He stretches his arms over his head, his bare chest on full display for you. He can feel the marks you left on his skin, stinging slightly in the air. He smirks at the memory of your nails raking down his back. He’s going to have a hard time keeping his hands off you in front of the kids, especially now that he’s had a taste of how good you feel. He groans quietly, running a hand through his messy hair.

“What’s up? I can tell you’re thinking thoughts with that look in your eye. Say whatever it is you’re thinking so hard about.”

Bruce notices your stare, the way your eyes drink in every inch of his exposed flesh. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes linger on his body, appreciating the view. His lips twitch into a smirk, a flash of possessiveness coursing through him. But he’s snapped out of his thoughts as you ask your question. He knows exactly what you’re asking. He looks at you, his gaze intense. He’s thinking of all the things he wants to do to you, all the ways he wants to touch you. But instead of saying any of that, he simply responds with a low hum. He should be grateful that you’re more reasonable and straightforward than he is. It’s no wonder things with his previous conquests always ended the way they did. There’s a long, heavy silence as Bruce considers his next words. He finally speaks, his voice a low rumble, his back still to you:

"You… You didn’t expect to see me again after this, did you?”

“Eh? I… don’t know what you mean?? We work together as vigilantes so it would be kinda stupid not to mention difficult to avoid you especially when you could find me anywhere I managed to hide in Gotham. You’re not exactly easy to run from. Even if it was some awkward tension i wouldn’t let that stop me from doing my job. I feel like that’s a dumbass question even for you B.”

Bruce clenches his jaw at your response. He knows you’re right. Working together as vigilantes would make it near impossible to avoid each other, especially in a city like Gotham. And even if you did manage to run, he’d find you. His eyes are narrowed as he looks at you, studying your nonchalant expression. He can’t tell if you’re being oblivious on purpose or if you’re just dense. His eyes searching your face for any hint of… something. What? He doesn’t know. But the way you answer his question with such plain honesty throws him for a loop. Usually, the women he sleeps with would want to forget about him. It was less messy that way. But here you are, talking about the work you do together like a conversation about the weather. Either way, his tone is a little sharper than he intends when he speaks.

“You’re not getting what I’m hinting at.”

“Please elaborate then because I didn’t understand that at all.”

Bruce huffs, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration. You’re being intentionally obtuse. It’s pissing him off, yet he can’t stop the surge of jealousy and possessiveness that he feels towards you. You’re still standing there, looking at him like you don’t understand what he’s saying. Part of him wants to grab you and push you against the wall, to make sure you understand his point clearly. But he doesn’t. You’re forcing him to be direct, to be open and explicit, and he doesn’t like feeling this vulnerable. He turns to face you fully, his arms crossing over his chest. His eyes are intense as he looks at you, his voice a low, tense rumble:

“You didn’t expect to still be speaking to me after tonight, at least not for anything other than work-related business. Right?” He lets out a long sigh, struggling to keep his voice even as he tries to make you understand.

He can just barely make out you tensing up in surprise for a second before shifting your weight to the other foot, expression not giving anything away.

‘You resist the urge to grit your teeth or give away any other actions on how you’re really feeling. It’s silent for a second before you exhaustedly roll your eyes.’

“Do we run into each other at all outside of work? I’m not changing my schedule.”

You’re internally sighing at the back of your mind. You’ve know better than to push against his typical self sabotaging nature. If he was going to push you away. You’d let him until he eventually comes back before the guilt of his actions eat him alive. You have seen him do it enough times to the people around him including the justice league and his kids. Mindful not to start an argument with his kids having their ears pressed up against the door probably trying their best to hear despite you both speaking lowly. You respond back in an equally sharp none keeping an air on nonchalance to mask the hurt.

Bruce clenches his jaw, a mix of frustration and jealousy coursing through him. You’re being infuriatingly stubborn, just like usual. He knows he should back down, let it go. But he can’t. Your words are like a barbed wire around his heart, tightening the more you speak. Your nonchalant attitude is irritating the hell out of him but also causing a wave of desire to shoot through him. How badly he wants to reach out and press you against the wall, to make you understand. But he doesn’t. Is it this annoying for others when he close’s himself off?

“No. You’re right, we don’t-“

“So then that answers your question. Wow you sure do overcomplicate everything.”

Your response only pisses him off more. He wants to grab you and shake you, to make you understand the point he’s trying to make. Yet, a part of him is surprised, impressed, and amused by your stubbornness. It’s just like you to take everything he says literally and not get the hint. His eyes narrow, a hint of annoyance and humor in his tone:

“You’re being deliberately obtuse. Don’t play dumb. It’s not a good look.”

“Boy, If you don’t speak plainly and make your point already.”

Bruce scowls back at you, not backing down from your glare. A part of him wants to back down, to avoid a fight. But the more stubborn part of him, the part that wants you to understand, won’t budge. He lets out an annoyed huff, his voice low and intense:

“I meant that, after tonight, I wouldn’t expect to see you again - on a personal level. As in-” He hesitates, struggling to find the right words. “Not just for ‘work related business.’ ”

“Wait you- Jesus Christ you are needlessly confusing and it’s so aggravating. That wasn’t my intentions at all. Like not even a little bit. At what point did you come to this conclusion in your own brain if I never said anything like that? I know your ass can’t read minds so who gave you this information? Because it’s wrong.”

Bruce scowls, his irritation peaking, his body tensing under your glare. His eyes narrow, the sharp edges of his jaw clenching. He’s annoyed by your stubbornness, by your inability to see what he’s trying to say. Your frustration makes his heart ache and his irritation flare. But your question catches him off guard. He doesn’t think before he speaks.

“No one had to give me that information. It’s just logical. How many of your one night stands do you see again afterwards?”

“Do you think you’re the same as them?? because this is a vastly different situation if you haven’t noticed.”

Bruce’s eyes narrow further at your response, his irritation growing. Part of him knows you’re right, that this situation is different. But his doubts and insecurities are flaring up, causing him to be more defensive and closed off than usual.

“It’s still a one-night stand, isn’t it? They usually end up not talking afterwards for a reason.”

“Bruce. This isn’t a regular one night stand. You’re jumping to hella conclusions, because I’m already thinking of the next time I can wake up in your bed.”

Bruce freezes, his body tensing at your words. He’s caught off guard by your bluntness, but also secretly pleased, excited even. He can feel something stirring in his stomach at the thought of you wanting to be in his bed again. He tries to hide it with a scowl, to keep himself under control. But your statement makes him want to grab you, to feel your body against his again. He doesn’t want you to see how much he’s affected by your words, so he grunts gruffly:

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Aawww, don’t go shutting me out now! We just had a lovely night together followed by a soft morning after. Don’t start getting scared of being vulnerable now. I’ve already seen every inch of you nothing left to hide from me, love.”

Bruce huffs in irritation, his scowl deepening. He knows you’re right - you’ve already seen him in his most vulnerable state. His body, his scars, the pain and pleasure he’s felt in your arms. But he can’t shake off the feeling of vulnerability, of baring his soul to you. It’s not something he does lightly.

“I’m not scared, I’m being practical. It’s not healthy to get emotionally attached.”

“Ugh and here you go with that again. Humans aren’t meant to just go through life alone superhero or otherwise. It’s okay to admit you care about people. And too bad I’ve already gotten attached. After my attitude adjustment I’m going to be in the most pleasant mood for the next 5 business days.”

Bruce glares at you, his irritation growing with your nonchalant attitude. He’s frustrated by your stubbornness, your damnable optimism. He wants to push back, to make you understand the danger of getting attached. But your words cause his heart to skip a beat, his chest tighten with emotion. He clenches his jaw, struggling to keep himself in control.

“This isn’t a joke. Relationships don’t work for me. I can’t afford the risk-“

“Blah blah blah. Yeah, I know and I’m not letting your paranoia self sabotage yet again. Go ‘head and schedule me in for 11:30 on Tuesday by the way. You can’t escape me or my affections, not that I was stingy in giving it to you anyway.”

Bruce lets out a frustrated huff, his scowl deepening at your dismissive wave. How easily you just brush off his concerns, ignore his past experiences. He doesn’t want to admit how much he’s tempted to give in to you. To hold you against him, to taste your skin again, to feel your body writhing under his touch.

“It’s not paranoia, it’s experience. It’s logic, practicality. The city need-.”

“The city needs you to get laid. You think people wouldn’t immediately vouch for Batman to get his dick wet?? Like why jinx it? You and your annoyingly exhausting self sabotage destructive tendencies are truly tiring for everyone around you to constantly be the victim of. And then you feel guilt which makes you repeat the cycle all over again. You deserve to be happy too?? Not sure anyone’s told you that before.”

Bruce’s irritation turns to frustration as you list off his flaws. As if he’s not fully aware of his own issues, as if he doesn’t hate himself for them. As if it’s a choice. He clenches his jaw, his body tensing further as you continue your lecture.

“You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t know I’m the one that causes problems, that hurts people? You think I’m not living with the guilt every goddamn day?”

“Yeah and it’s making you go through this exhausting cycle. Allow me to at the very least snap you out of that for a while. Normalcy would be good for you….Also me and Alfred have been talking about you needing it for ages now-“

Bruce’s irritation immediately turns to surprise and embarrassment as you mention Alfred. Of course Alfred would be behind this. He can’t help but wonder what you’ve been saying to him and what you’ve been scheming. The thought of you two talking about his personal life causes his heart to skip.

He scowls, his voice frustrated, defensive, and mildly defensive as he crosses his arms over his chest:

“What exactly do you two talk about?”

“You and your shenanigans.”

Bruce lets out a huff, his irritation growing once more. It’s bad enough that you’re pushing his boundaries and questioning his decisions. But the fact you’ve been talking to Alfred about it, that you’re both ganging up on him behind his back, makes him feel outnumbered, vulnerable.

He glares at you, a mix of frustration and vulnerability evident in his voice:

“I do not have ‘shenanigans’.”

“Yes the hell you do. Also do you like dark blue? Or black better?”

Bruce’s scowl deepens at your persistence. He doesn’t like being ganged up on, and now you’re talking about colors? He looks at you, slightly bemused, still frustrated but also curious.

“What does it matter to you what color I prefer? How did that even come up in conversation?”

“Because I’m thinking of what to wear for Tuesday. So what color?”

Bruce’s irritation eases slightly at your question. He’s momentarily thrown off guard by the realization that you’re already planning for the next time you see each other. He looks you up and down, taking in your appearance, his gaze lingering on your curves longer than it should.

“Black.” he grunts out, trying to hide the hint of desire in his voice.

“Got it.”

Bruce swallows, his gaze not leaving your body. He notices the way your curves fit your clothes, the way your muscles move under your skin. He can barely restrain himself from wanting to reach out, pull you close, and feel your body pressed against his again. His voice is low, a hint of desire in it as he speaks:

“Why are you even asking me about colors?”

“Because. I want to wear nice lingerie under my clothes so I figured I’d ask what color before I go choose an outfit myself.”

Bruce’s heart skips a beat, his body tensing at your words. The image of you in black lace under your clothes is almost too much for him to handle. He swallows, trying to keep his composure but almost failing.

He scowls, trying to hold on to his stubborn resistance, his voice gruff and strained:“Why do you care what I think?”

“Huh? Because if I’m going to show up to get fucked stupid I want to at the very least look nice.”

Bruce lets out a huff of frustration, his annoyance returning in full force. He can practically hear the eye roll in your voice. How are you so damn confident and stubborn at the same time? It drives him crazy.

“You always look nice. You don’t need to wear fancy lingerie or anything for me.”

“Yes, but I rarely have a reason to wear them so let me have this and just enjoy it when you see it. And thank you.”

Bruce rolls his eyes, still trying to resist giving in to you. But the image of you in black lace is still stuck in his mind. It’s making it increasingly more difficult to not act on his desire for you.

“Fine. I’ll look forward to it. But don’t get too cocky just because one night together went well.”

“I’m confident the next night will be equally if not more electrifying.”

Bruce lets out a huff, his irritation fading once more. Your confidence and stubbornness are exhausting, but he can’t deny they’re also endearing. He’s starting to question his own resistance to this situation.

“Cocky, aren’t you?” he grumbles softly. His heart is beating too fast for comfort, his thoughts swirling with images of you, bare and writhing under him in lace.

“Absolutely. If you think I can’t feel your eyes burning a hole through clothes from here you’re dead wrong.”

Bruce doesn’t answer immediately. He’s caught, guilty as charged. His gaze has indeed been roaming over your body, taking in every curve, every muscle. He can’t deny he wants you again, badly. Your confidence just makes him want you even more, and it’s driving him crazy. He scowls, pretending to look away as if he wasn’t just mentally stripping you with his eyes.

“Shut up.”

“mhm, let’s go get breakfast. I’m actually hungry now and teasing children will not deter my stomach.”

Bruce grunts, still a little flustered and frustrated with your confidence and stubbornness. But he admits that he’s a little hungry too.

“Fine. We can go to the kitchen. The brats will be there and we’ll have to deal with their stupid comments.”

He stands and starts heading out of his room, with you following behind him.

“And quit calling them children. They’re like 18-26 years olds.”

“And yet they were outside the door giggling and whispering like 7 year olds.”

Yeah, this will be a long morning indeed..

This was the cute version. The other versions is longer and Bruce fucks you like a man possessed😔✊🏿 wasn’t sure if I should post that one or this so here’s a little snippet of that:

“Mkay…. next time leave it in when we go to sleep. Feels ‘snicer that way.”

Jesus Christ-.

Bruce's breath hitches, a low growl slipping past his lips before he can stop it. He forces himself to focus on your sleepy glance, watching you nuzzle into his chest like a content puppy.

He shifts his body, trapping your hips with one muscled thigh, his grip on your hip tightening.

His voice is roughened, filled with desire.

"That an invitation, sweetheart?"

“mhm. You can do it even when I’m asleep I trust you.”

Christ, you're going to be the death of him.

Your sleepy admission to trust him makes his chest ache, a pang of something he refuses to acknowledge hitting him right there. You sound like you mean it, too. Bruce lets a low, strangled moan slip, nuzzling your hair and wrapping his free arm around your middle.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his hand going even lower, possessive and greedy.

"Can I, right now?"

“Yeah.”

God.

He’s going to start calling you a vixen instead of sweetheart, with those bold little words. Every breath of yours against him feels like a flame to the gunpowder that’s his body. He lets out a hoarse sound, part of him still in disbelief that this is happening.

“You drive me insane,” he grumbles, his low voice filled with unbridled desire. But even after everything, even after a night of letting instincts take over, a night of being completely open and vulnerable with someone, Bruce hesitates.

He needs for you to be sure, for you to want this, even if you’re only half awake.

He keeps his hand on your hip, his other hand gently tilting your chin up so he can look at you, his eyes meeting yours.

“Tell me you want this, sweetheart. Tell me you want me.”

“Bruce if you don’t fill me up and stop waking me up from sleeping I’m going to be real irritated.”

His breath hitches. Hard.

Bruce grits his teeth as he growls, feeling the last of his self-control drain away. He can’t hold in his possessive desire anymore, not with you looking up at him, needy for him.

He’s not a good man, he might even be a bad man. But you look at him like he’s your everything, and it drives him over the edge. His grip on your hip tightens, his breath hot against your ear.

“Can’t have you irritated, sweetheart.”

His voice is deep, roughened, the sound of it sending shivers down your spine.

He grabs your leg, slinging it further up against his body. His eyes are dark, nearly feral as he kisses right below your ear, his teeth nipping your skin. His voice is deep, roughened, the sound of it sending shivers down your spine.

“I’m gonna take care of you, sweetheart. Gonna make sure you feel good.”

He tightens his grip on your hip, his other hand tilting your chin up. His lips brush your ear as he growls between ragged breaths,

“Close your eyes, sweetheart. I’ll make you feel good .”

“Bruce’s heart clenches at your sleepy little nod. How did he end up here, this morning, in bed with you, feeling more real than he has in years? He doesn’t know, but he’s not going to question it.

He tightens his grip on your hip, his other hand tilting your chin up. His lips brush your ear as he growls between ragged breaths, “Close your eyes, sweetheart. I’ll make you feel good.”

Your surrender, even in your sleepy state, makes his chest tight. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt this wanted.

He presses his lips against your skin, leaving a trail of kisses across your jaw, your neck, your collarbone.

“Good girl. Stay just like that.”

His hands glide and roam across your body, touching and caressing you, wanting to re-familiarize himself with the curves of every inch of you. He’s possessive, a bit rough, even. He needs to remember every inch. He needs to touch you, to make sure you’re real and not a mere dream that’ll disappear the moment he wakes up. His mouth never strays far from your skin, as if starved for the taste of you. He’s almost feverish in his desire, his hands and mouth working to find every sensitive spot that makes your breath hitch and your body arch. He’s hungry, needy, desperate to keep you in his arms, to make everything else fade away besides the feeling of your skin against his.

Feeling a familiar ache in his core he sucks more bruises into your skin. keeping your leg resting where it is he shudders as he reaches down to press into you. an unholy sound crawls out of his throat as his entire body shudders. it feels like his entire body is engulfed in flames and he doesn’t mind burning up. Biting down on his lip hard as he feels you react in your sleep, he distracts himself with kissing your scalp and holding you close. He can’t comprehend how you’re so cute and So sinful hair a mess on his pillows and you dead asleep.

His teeth leave dark marks on your skin, claiming you as his. His fingers dig into your hip, holding you close, anchoring himself to you as the fire burns hot between his legs. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears, the sound of your name on his lips like a prayer.

“I can’t… I need…” He doesn’t even finish his sentence. He just moans, low and guttural, his breathing ragged and rough. His teeth leave dark marks on your skin, claiming you as his. His fingers dig into your hip, holding you close, anchoring himself to you as the fire burns hot between his legs. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears, the sound of your name on his lips like a prayer.

“You’re so good, sweetheart. So perfect. So goddamn mine, whether you realise it or not.”

He nuzzles your hair, his eyes closed as he relishes the feeling of your warmth against him. He nuzzles your hair, his eyes closed as he relishes the feeling of your warmth against him.

[dropthedemiurge]

Boys Be Brave [EP.5] // Translation notes

I'm back with my - I guess?? - already weekly analysis of something Gaga subs might've missed in this show. Because apparently, the silly show got deeper and I'm staying here until the very end :D

First of all, I was curious and checked whether there is anything about Kiseob's illness, and there is! There are two diagnoses:

상세불명의 심실중격결손 상세불명의 심방중격결손 Unspecified Ventricular Septal Defect, Unspecified Atrial Septal Defect

I am not a doctor definitely, but quick googling told me it's a heart defect (also called as 'a hole in the heart') which can have symptoms of heart malfunctioning. Which would! Explain even more! Why Kiseob has wrist watch that always measures his pulse and why on several occasions he was wondering why his heart was beating so fast next to Jinwoo (well, one for obvious reasons and another one is this).

And it's something you have since birth so he's been dealing with medication his entire life. Which would also explain further - after the scene with his sister - why the urge to be a people pleaser is so serious and so ingrained in him.

Another interesting language detail I noticed in this scene. Kiseob says "That's why I just agree to anything" but it doesn't translate well to english, because the verb 좋아/좋아해 can mean "I like" (eating medicine) and "I like (the idea)/I agree". So first he started lying that yes, he likes taking medicine, and that transferred to him saying that yes, he likes this, he agrees with this (whatever that is, anything he is proposed with)

"I cannot like anyone, right?" "Why not? You're a bastard with a lot of money"

This phrase references all the previous phrases that other people used to describe Kiseob, but Balgeum doesn't sense the real problem of his friend because the phrasing is general, it can also mean 'I have no chance of loving someone', and that's why Balegum thinks it's just Kiseob having low self-esteem or something. And also to him having money = being able to love, letting himself confess and date the one he loves, so of course, that's his answer. Kiseob has a lot of money, why wouldn't he confess to Jinwoo if he likes him?

But Kiseob can't because he doesn't even know his own feelings, and everyone around tells him he doesn't have the ability to love someone.

"Giving me (toilet paper) as if I moved to a new house"

Now, I cannot be the only one thinking years ago why the hell Koreans give each other huge packages of toilet paper when they visit someone xD But this is also a cultural thing!

When your friends move to a new house, you are supposed to come with gifts and usually with very practical ones, like toilet paper (very common gift). Rich friends can give you coffee machines or humidifiers or something like that. In my country, when you visit friends (not moving houses but still), you usually bring some desserts or food to have with tea. So for some countries, toilet paper is a norm :D

Balgeum has been living in his small apartment for a long time but it's the first time Inho visits his house so he's giving it a gesture of respect (but still an awkward one).

[Interrupting my broadcast to scream about cuteness and awkwardness of Balgeum x Inho AAAAAHHHHH Now back to the schedule]

...No, we will definitely focus on scribbling over Jung Kiseob's name for 100th time, absolutely distracted from any historical knowledge going in the background ^^

Oh! By the way! I remember being surprised that, apparently, some people on social media were uncomfortable with Kiseob seemingly 'feminizing' himself to be likeable by Jinwoo. Let me tell you that no, Kiseob doesn't do that at all!

There is nothing truly that indicated that he wants to be a ideal girl for Jinwoo (who has non-gendered perfect type list as I mentioned in my previous translation notes post!). He doesn't even use typical school-girl aegyo on Jinwoo (aka acting cute), maybe a tiny bit but it's not typical and it's not usually in his language at all. He talks gently and softly a lot! But he doesn't add typical cuteness in the way he talks (like there's no pouting, mumbling words and ending sentences with -ung).

I talked about dress = one-piece = jumper suit being the same in Korean but Kiseob literally only follows what Jinwoo wrote about a person he likes (not girl). As I described it, "he's using loopholes in Jinwoo's specific list in a true himbo way" :D He doesn't really do anything girly and doesn't pretend to be a girl as I can sense.

And I don't think I need to clarify another time, but falling in love during first snow/first sight is one of Jinwoo's list. Which Kiseob already fulfilled but he doesn't know that, and he just saw Jinwoo being with Hyejin witnessing first snow, which was the last straw for him to admit his failure and give up pursuing Jinwoo.

By the way, Koreans really think the first snowfall is a romantic event, like there are saying you'll fall in love with/be happy dating with someone you'll be with during first snow^^ It comes up in many Kdramas.

[jesncin]

I appreciate most of your takes but don't understand how you look at a character like livewire, a character created in the middle of a 90's feminist movement and come to the conclusion she's supposed to a be a caricature of classical racist conservatism

?? huh is this an elaborate joke I'm missing out on?? Like you're roleplaying as a Shockateer? There's no tone indicators so I'm left to my own perception that you're being serious so I'll have to respond in seriousness. I'm gonna be so embarrassed if this is a joke :(((

So...just because a character is made "in the middle of the 90's" or "feminist movement" doesn't...mean they're a feminist character? Like with that logic, Tana Moon is a feminist icon I guess. Also "caricature of classical racist conservatism"? man, I kinda envy how people think the way I write her is Cartoony Evil Racism and not a toned down depiction of how personalities like Posie Parker, Matt Walsh, and Blaire White talk. I suppose I'm glad you haven't encountered anyone that awful. Good for you! 👍

Livewire meta under the cut fellas

I feel like you don't have a very holistic view of Livewire's character. Because while yes, she has been used for feminist critique in the show and comics, that's not all there is to her character. My take on Livewire is a commentary on how white womanhood intersects with parasocial internet grifts and the larger way identity gets filtered online. It's a take influenced by how she literally started out as a controversial provocative shock jock in STAS.

There's so much potential to re-imagine her hatred of Superman as a commentary on how white women feel justified in harassing marginalized men because it looks like a punch-up to misogyny. The way she uses the accident Superman caused as a way to white-woman-victimize herself and prime her audience to hate him more. You can take the spinoff comic where she only lets women speak on the air as her presenting a black and white, non-intersectional view of social progress. Kind of like how TERFs keep fantasizing about a world without men as a utopia? In CW Supergirl, Livewire plays into internalized misogyny and homophobia to jab at Supergirl. Not showing up for her fellow women if you ask me.

Because while yes, Leslie has been shown to be a character who had to deal with sexism, she's also a really compelling narrative for an imperfect victim. Just because a character deals with sexist hardship, doesn't mean it makes her a feminist ideal y'know? Leslie lashes out and weaponizes her victimhood, she uses her audience to bully others.

I think one of the flaws to the longevity of her character as a villain is because her narrow hatred of Supes makes her themes short lived. So I really want to expand it through Satoshi Kon-style deconstruction of how people juggle having multiple identities in the modern era. In the (bleh) Batgirl Burnside comic Livewire shows up in, she returns as a being of energy who doesn't remember who she was before. In STAS, it's left ambiguous whether she actually believes what she says about Superman or if it's all part of an act that "pays the bills!".

Imagine the opportunity to make it so she pieced together a sense of self from the fractured way her audience viewed her! What a great way to talk about how parasocial relationships make us think we know a person from the bombastic way they present themselves (Casually Comics thought of this brilliant take). DCSHG has been the most competent reimagining of Livewire. A perfect update of her shock jock origins into the internet era that revitalizes her attention-seeking traits into the clout-chasing grind of social media personality.

All this to say, Livewire's way more that just "sassy woman on the radio fighting against The Man!" I think making her a punk appropriating, rebellious, internet personality who uses her privilege to marginalize others for clout and money is a natural, more political progression of what DCSHG built with her character.

I don't really understand how you can look at a character whose most prominent iterations involve her bullying and targeting people (including other women) and tell me she's "feminist" unless you actually believe in Leslie's version of White Woman Girl Power. Any kind of "feminism" that touts Hating Men as a major point should be something to be critical of.

[soadrias]

Rúben Dias Birth Chart Analysis

🎂 May 14th, 1997 📍 Amadora, Portugal 🕒 Unknown time

Taurus sun Leo moon ☀️♉🌙♌

Combination of fixed earth and fixed fire makes him charismatic, ambitious, down to earth, independent, optimistic, stubborn and quite arrogant/cocky.

He is a hedonist. Taurus is ruled by Venus and Leo is ruled by the sun, he surely loves luxury and living his life to the fullest. Money is very important to him, and he is generous with his loved ones.

He most likely has a sun square moon, which may indicate an inner tension between what he wants and what is good for him. He may have difficulty making a decision.

He secretly craves attention and admiration.

His persona may be different from his inner self. His Taurus sun makes him seem calm, reserved and boring, but with Leo moon, he is definitely fun and a bit dramatic; only family and close friends will get to see this side of his personality.

Gemini Venus ♊

He’s attracted to smart and witty women. Intellectual compatibility is very important to him in a long term relationship. He likes to have endless conversations with his partner, whether deep or small, communication is vital to him.

He'd like to be with someone who is free spirited, funny and who can bring him new experiences but who is grounded and has their life together (earth influence).

He’s a flirt. He knows how to use words to charm and seduce.

He may have trouble knowing what he really wants in love, which can make him a bit flighty.

He may tend to run away from the routine and can get bored quickly if the relationship becomes too predictable.

He tends to rationalise his emotions.

He has Venus opposing Pluto. For him, relationships are an outlet for fun, but his experiences may be disappointing or end badly. He attracts partners that are intense or may be intense himself. This is also an indicator of a fear of emotional intimacy and commitment. This leads him to seek temporary connections.

Leo Moon & Gemini Venus. He likes women who are in the spotlight and have good manners.

Virgo Mars ♍

His Sun trine his Mars. This is the most prominent aspect of his chart. We can see it in his work ethic.

He’s very dedicated to his job and has a winning mentality. However, He can be incredibly hard on himself.

This sun aspecting Mars can make an individual look sexier, which HE IS 🔥

He knows how to control his anger and prefer to use logic to solve problems

He loves to talk but he’s very observant and a good listener. He may tend to overthink things and, at his worst, he can be nitpicky.

I'm not an expert. This is based on my opinion and observations. Please feel free to give your opinion

[jungkookslipring]

Everybody Hurts

pairings: bff!Beomgyu + bf!Yeonjun x reader

genre: hurt/comfort

tw: mental health struggles, crying

Whoever said everything happens for a reason can kindly fuck off. Cause whether there’s a reason or not everything hurt. No words could comfort you in this time in your life with all that’s going on. The weight of the world, everything that’s happening that’s out of your control, everything you see on social media and TV, trying to ignore it for your own personal health but wanting to acknowledge it so you don’t feel ignorant. Dealing with your mental health but feeling like you can’t because “someone out there had it worse than you” makes you feel even worse. It’s all too much, and the idea of getting out of bed leaves your heart feeling heavy because you have the privilege of not wanting to leave your warm heated bed while other people in the world would give anything to have one. Checking your phone was like a game of chance because while you wanted to be on social media and check in on your friends, the chances of you seeing something heartbreaking on someone’s story were high. Any noise from your phone that indicated a message you ignored, cause you couldn’t bear to look at the screen of your phone anymore. You buried yourself further into your bed, going on day three of not speaking to anyone; your friends, your family, your partner, no one. You loved them, and you were grateful for their love but simply waking up every day was mentally and physically exhausting. You were pulled out of your thoughts when there was a knock on your door. Your pitch-black room was introduced to a sliver of light seeping through as your boyfriend and best friend poke their heads in. 

“Y/N?” A small voice said, breaking the silence. You had no energy to move, not enough to even say hello, cause once you did, it was over. 

“I tried to tell him to give you space but you know how he is,” Yeonjun slightly chuckled as Beomgyu got under the covers with you, hugging your frame tightly. You giggled when you had to blow his long hair out of your face.

“You need to cut your hair homie,” you joke as you finally move a limb to move the hair out of your face and his. 

“Never!” He whispered, knowing if he spoke above a whisper your headache would become more prominent. They’ve been wanting to see you for the past few days but because of their crazy go go go schedule they didn’t have time for phone calls or daily visits. Even when they did want to see you, you didn’t have the energy to interact with anyone, and they understood. Beomgyu, on the other hand, was stubborn and needed to see his bestie right here right now.

“What can we do for you, love?” Yeonjun asked as he went in to kiss you. They knew you were struggling mentally with everything that was going on right now, and they wanted nothing more than to just be there for you,  whether that was getting you groceries or sending you coffee money or having cuddle sessions. You didn’t know, you didn’t know how to ask for help or what they could do to help you. Yeonjun got under the covers and pulled you into his arms with Beomgyu still attached to you. 

“Are you okay, y/n?” Beomgyu asked. That was it. That was your last straw. You shook your head as you buried your face into Yeonjun’s shoulder, one hand gripping his shirt while the other clutched onto Beomgyu’s arm that was wrapped around your waist. Yeonjun kissed your forehead as your tears plopped onto his shirt, your body was shaking and all the pent-up frustrations and sadness were being let out as your boyfriend and best friend held you close. When you were reduced to just sniffles, Yeonjun wiped the tears from your cheek and whispered 

“I know I can’t take away all of your pain, but allow us to carry some of that burden for you. You don’t have to go through any of this alone. Whatever you’re going through, your feelings are valid. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, okay?” 

He read your mind so well it was kind of scary. You nodded as he held you tighter, feeling all the love warm up in your chest as the two reminded you that they were here for you.

taglist: @felixmainacc @felixburneracc @myforevermelody143 @dunno-wut-to-do

[sunderingstars]

☆━━━━━ ���⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ◯ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ ━━━━━━☆

✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ CHOOSE YOUR FIGHTER! ⌝

sampo analysis m.list

— a silly little overview of different "sampos" i find interesting

— not meant to be taken super seriously or canonically, but can tie in to some of the theories i have

— in the true spirit of elation, these aren't hills i'm willing to die on, just ones that are fun to play around with :3

— feel free to use for writing/art inspiration!

— i add to this periodically as new sampos catch my eye!

— word count: 3k (good lord)

— 🎭s indicate aha!sampo

☆━━━━━ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ◯ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ ━━━━━━☆

🎭 sampo "midlife crisis" koski

— at risk of losing his aeon/emanatorhood

— doesn’t find anything funny anymore

— tired of being behind the scenes

— becoming a buzzkill (having “lines” he won’t cross)

— taking drastic measures to improve his quality of life (fucking off to a random ass snow planet to scam people)

note: may lead to a villain arc — sampo "renewed vigor" koski — in which he remembers why he used to love tormenting people, conquers his midlife crisis, and returns to pure elated insanity. this is bad for everyone involved for obvious reasons

🎭 sampo "how're you gonna win if you never take any risks?" koski

— aha took drastic measures to secure their success, either through memory erasure, mortal transformation, giving up power, or all three

— under the radar, civilian aha

— trying to circumvent “destiny” through delusional self-confidence

— enter sampo i mean aha i mean sampo i mean aha i mean s

sampo "ceaseless watcher's special little boy" koski

— not aha but aha definitely likes him

— perhaps an avatar or emanator of some sort

— whether he likes aha or not is up for debate

— can easily turn into sampo "ceaseless watcher get their ass" koski, in which sampo becomes a little too fond of invoking his status as aha's favorite to accomplish his own goals

alternate possibility: he’s aha’s favorite due to his pathetic nature and slutty hip windows, he just doesn’t know it. he thinks his luck is due to his own talent & skill (it is literally outside eldritch forces beyond his control)

sampo "close enough" koski

— not an actual aeon, but rather a vessel for aha’s power or consciousness on varying levels

— perhaps akin to caelus/stelle being a stellaron receptacle

sampo "let's get you back to bed grandpa" koski

— the wear and tear of a long life has taken its toll on him

— despite the infinity of time, he has become out-of-sync with newer masked fools members, who regard him as an “old timer”

— isn’t shown much respect, and is frequently asked why he isn’t as cool as he used to be

— also know as sampo "L + ratio + fell off" koski

— “peaked in high school” energy

— can be either aha, emanator, or similar high status

🎭 sampo "in rehab" koski

— aeonic existence isn’t easy and can, in fact, take a toll on those that ascend from human forms

— he finally decided that maybe he should make a change

— and has thus embarked on a healing journey

— therapeutic exercises include: scamming people, starting pyramid schemes, selling artifacts on the black market, and more!

sampo "ultimate dealmaker" koski

— in a contract or some sort of deal with aha in exchange for power, money, or a combination or the two

— possession? who knows

🎭 sampo "i'm not mad i'm just disappointed" koski

— doesn’t understand why his children have strayed so far

— “where did i go wrong? why do they think this is funny? do they even care about the worm?”

— has the energy of an exasperated parent watching his kids flush car keys down the toilet again

🎭 sampo "horrified creator" koski

— aha & the masks have outgrown their creator (sampo) and have gone off to do their own aeonic thing, leaving him behind

— he thinks it’s all insane, actually, and he’s very disappointed and very tired

— trying to pick up the pieces of whatever mayhem the aha!masks cause

— aha!masks keep him around for fun

— “i should never have laughed at that goddamn baby”

sampo "me and aha kiss on the weekends" koski

— just a silly little guy who has somehow wormed his way into the heart of an eldritch being

— in it for the mind-bending sex

sampo "blasphemy" koski

— technically affiliated with the masked fools but doesn’t subscribe to their beliefs

— thinks aha is a load of horseshit but needs to keep up with what they’re doing to circumvent it

— may have been formerly in a high-ranking position, or just another guy with a mask

— aha probably wronged him or did some fucked up shit in the past and now he has a vendetta

🎭 sampo "stole my fucking thunder" koski

— someone stole aha’s power. that’s it

— sampo is salty

— 10/10 betrayal plot

potential inverse: he’s the one stealing aha’s power

sampo "my boss sucks and i want to quit" koski

— tired, overworked employee of the masked fools

— views aha as a sort of fucked up insane ceo that he wants nothing to do with but is unfortunately contractually obligated to work for

— wants to start a union

🎭 sampo "next in line" koski

— can also branch into sampo "formerly in line" koski or sampo "abdication" koski

— wherein aha’s power or masks are akin to titles or positions that are passed down between different people, somewhat akin to how “crowns” and “kings” work

— in this case, sampo would either be currently in line for this power, formerly in line for this power, or has actually been in power but abdicated or otherwise lost/gave up/moved on from his position

— this could be natural or otherwise

note: this does not have to be solely for aha, this kind of power transfer could work for other high-ranking positions like emanator or organization leader

🎭 sampo "this price was too steep..." koski

— got a bit cocky and wagered his aeonhood

— is now in a Not Great position

sampo "i hate owing people things" koski

— owes aha one

— does not like owing people things

— doing whatever he needs to cancel out the debt

🎭 sampo "i was crazy back then lol" koski

— the universe’s idea of aha writ large is based on an outdated version of their personality

— this always annoys sampo because he has to be constantly reminded of his insane college days before he mellowed out

— the type to reminisce over wine and say “yeah that worm thing was wild. i was crazy back then huh”

🎭 sampo "committed to the bit" koski

— one of my personal favorites

— became mortal as a joke

— ended up liking it a little too much

— doesn’t really want to go back

sampo "worm on a string" koski

— what is a man if not just another omniscient worm destined for tragedy?

— he’s a puppet, basically

— & he just gets wormed around like he’s on a string

— hence the name

— another one of aha’s classic cosmic jokes

🎭 sampo "one of many" koski

— ties into my split consciousness theory

— aha split their personality into multiple people (either as a joke or for a bigger reason) and sampo is one of those pieces

🎭 sampo "yeah i heard aha was super cool and hot and sexy and smart and did i mention sexy" koski

— big fan of the rumor mill

— can’t help but try to win people over to the elation even when he’s supposed to be laying low

— he’s not fooling anyone. just yesterday serval watched him laugh until he cried because a kid dropped their ice cream. he is not slick

🎭 sampo "reverted to babey" koski

— someway, somehow, aha got reverted back to who they were before they ascended to aeonhood

— now sampo is just really fucking confused (and annoyed because mortal life is pretty annoying)

sampo "character creation screen" koski

— aha just had a silly goofy lil day & wanted to create a guy

— so they did

— sampo acts as a kind of controlled character who’s self-aware about his position as a playable character

— or alternatively he was turned loose with no purpose scaramouche-style and is now just fucking around doing whatever

sampo "failed clone" koski

— obligatory clone theory

— aha tried to clone themself. it wasn’t as funny as they wanted

— sampo is the result

— aha realizing sampo was a bit of a buzzkill: “i don’t want to play with you anymore”

🎭 sampo "vicarious existence" koski

— part of the split consciousness theory

— aha sectioned off or created a part of themself that can live in a way they can’t (i.e. have free will beyond the elation)

— similar to the focalors/furina situation in genshin

sampo "trojan horse" koski

— is his own person, under the impression he has free will, but is being used as an unknowing vehicle for eventual Big Aha Moment

🎭 sampo "can't remember shit" koski

— he forgor :((

— used to be aha but doesn’t know that

— most likely erased his own memory in order to accomplish a planned endgame

🎭 sampo "you don't wanna see me when i transform" koski

— dual consciousness theory

— sampo koski as a human is much more rational and reasonable than eldritch-form aha

— sampo likes to stay as sampo as much as possible because he doesn’t like what he becomes when he changes forms

— may lead to a tragic arc where, in order to defend belobog, he reverts to his aeonic form knowing he won’t be able to transform back

sampo "lmao got you" koski

— all signs pointing towards aeon or emanator status are red herrings

— he’s just really good at gaslighting to get what he wants

sampo "whoops i got attached" koski

— fucked off to belobog for whatever reason

— got surprisingly attached

— belobog now has an extremely powerful entity/protector without even knowing it

— “it’s just a weird insane little place. very charming” — sampo, probably

🎭 sampo "elias bouchard" koski

— just a shell for aha, jonah magnus style

— used to be his own person, but got yoinked along the way

🎭 sampo "5d mind chess" koski

— knows exactly what he’s been doing from the beginning

— strategic placement on belobog to meet the trailblazer

— has done a damn good job of coming off as “normal pathetic scammer mcgee” to distract from larger plans

🎭 sampo "just like everyone else" koski

— for whatever reason, aha is insistent that they be treated just like any other member of the masked fools; same rules, same hierarchy, everything

— this results in everyone looking at him weirdly but not saying anything and trying to strike up casual conversation with their literal aeon

sampo "gimme your eldritch money" koski

— the final form of scammers everywhere

— he’s scammed everyone he possibly can, and now there’s only one thing left: to scam an aeon

— chooses aha + the masked fools because there’s a good chance he’ll get stuff just because aha is amused with him

— tries to link aha up with a pyramid scheme

sampo "you should see me in a crown" koski

— either on a delusional self-confident power trip or gunning for aha’s power

— can be aha, emanator, or other high-ranking position, but aha works the best if sampo wants to go all the way up the ladder

— thinks he’s the best ever and can never fail, pairs well with “5d mind chess” sampo like fine wine

— drunk on power/worship

🎭 sampo "wine aunt" koski

— also known as sampo "washed up aeon" koski

— he’s out of the limelight, whether that means he passed on his power, had it taken from him in a free for all, or just wants to retire, and now he’s kicking back with a margarita and enthralling the belobog locals with “hypothetical” scenarios that are actually crazy mind-bending stories from his glory days

— he’s not as great as he used to be, nor does he have the power of a full-fledged aeon anymore, but belobog appreciates him all the same (goes hand in hand with sampo "just like everyone else" koski)

— “geez yeah, ix is so annoying. such a buzzkill, really, that guy even hates knock-knock jokes. i mean, who hates knock-knock jokes? … hypothetically, of course.” — sampo, probably

🎭 sampo "zhongli the funeral consultant" koski

— aha is secretly “dead” but no one knows

— perhaps the masked fools know, but either way sampo has either already faked his death, is currently doing it, or is planning to in the future

— he just wants to retire man, and if that means he has to “fall” then so be it

sampo "just a silly guy" koski

— there is actually nothing special to this man at all

— he’s just a guy. just a silly little guy

— aha is laughing at all of us for even making theories about him

sampo "aha jr." koski

— sampo is a doll created by aha like in the simulated universe occurrence, having the same appearance as aha’s human form and sharing personality & path attributes

— most likely wants to break away from the elation’s influence but doesn’t know how

— views aha as a really fucked up dad

sampo "oh my god i'm in a cult" koski

— raised in the masked fools, didn’t realize how batshit insane they were until a Formative Traumatic Event occurred and he went “oh.. oh no…..”

— estranged from most of the members but still deals with them in the way you do when you hate your family but have to put up with them at holiday dinners

— maybe got to a high position of power before, but left when he realized it wasn’t good for him

sampo "partners in crime" koski

— him & aha are friends, besties even

— knows the risks of working with an aeon but can’t say no when that much money is involved

🎭 sampo "for funsies" koski

— if aha can give the entire universe’s knowledge to a worm for fun, then by god they can give all of their power and aeonhood to a silly little guy randomly for no reason whatsoever (especially if he doesn’t want it)

— constantly fighting against increasingly powerful eldritch control

— “young god”

— canon in my heart

sampo "reality tv" koski

— part of the vicarious emanator theory

— aha gave him all their power and basically watches him like a reality show

— *pokes sampo with a stick* “hey why aren’t you doing anything” — aha, probably

— constant voyeurism

sampo "communism" koski

— part of the dual consciousness and vicarious emanator theories

— one of aha’s emanators that they share their entire path with

— “our” power

— perhaps some sort of memory or consciousness sharing

sampo "horse girl" koski

— “but your dream is to be an emanator”

— “no that’s your dream dad, not mine”

🎭 sampo "aeons anonymous" koski

— aeon in rehabilitation

— wants to start a former aeon support group

🎭 sampo "power receptacle" koski

— in which the masks function as the true “aha” and sampo has given them up or put them away for safekeeping

— “sparkle please please i’m so serious just let me put it back on once. no seriously only once i promise i won’t go insane like last time i’ll be so normal it’ll only be for five minutes please” — sampo, probably

sampo "one-sided hate boner" koski

— man absolutely hates aha (probably for backstory reasons)

— aha doesn’t care at best and at worst thinks it’s really really funny

— “you burned my house to the ground!”

— “🤷”

— “my family is dead!”

— “🤷”

— bonus points if aha makes him an emanator or something

sampo "significant annoyance" koski

— dedicated to being as annoying as possible to aha, whether out of spite, a vendetta, or sheer interest

— aha finds this funny so they let him stick around

— “he graffitied my mask with a bunch of dicks and it took me years to get it off. isn’t he just the greatest little guy?” — aha, probably

sampo "god's silliest soldier" koski

— aha gives their hardest battles to their silliest soldiers

— and that is sampo

sampo "true wild card" koski

— he’s not aha, an emanator, or any higher status

— he is quite literally just That Good as a regular human being

🎭 sampo "cosmic irony" koski

— “man, it sure would suck to be aha the aeon of elation. glad i don’t have to deal with that. i love being mortal”

— “🎭🎉👀”

— “HOW DID YOU GET IN MY HOUSE”

sampo "cult leader" koski

— humility is a facade

— “lines” he won’t cross are a facade

— everything is for the purpose of appearing like the perfect leader (or candidate for leader)

— secretly the most insane out of anyone

sampo "secret agent man" koski

— doing aha’s bidding willingly

— a goon. a henchman even

sampo "tainted love" koski

— aha isn’t the most healthy person to be around, on account of the ten billion cosmic torments jokes they throw around on a daily basis

— guinea pig sampo is TIRED

sampo "sacrificial lamb" koski

— may or may not be aware of his sacrificial status

— created or being manipulated into a position where he becomes collateral for aha doing whatever the fuck they wanna do

sampo "impromptu therapist" koski

— the receiver of many rants and complaints unrelated to him within the masked fools

— becomes the “advice friend” even though this man should never be trusted for reliable advice

— but surprisingly he is the most reliable within the masked fools

sampo "sanest masked fool" koski

— just a long-suffering member of an organization whose followers are some of the most insane people you’ll ever meet

— permanent eye bags for having to put up with them

🎭 sampo "michael distortion" koski

— he was a regular guy once, but ended up absorbing aha’s eldritch power one way or another

— potential assimilation into one form

— aha didn’t expect the joke to joke back

sampo "court jester" koski

— similar to "ceaseless watcher's special little boy"

— the king’s (aha’s) favorite little jester

— and also they make out sometimes

— has a semblance of protection afforded to him by being the favorite (he uses this to his advantage)

— “jester’s privilege”

sampo "try me" koski

— aha is physically keeping tabs on the trailblazer

— sampo is too, but only to swat aha’s hand away like a kid reaching into a cookie jar

— usually a mad dash to see who gets there first

— leads to many situations where they make tense eye contact across the street or smth

— subsists off of pure spite & annoyance

🎭 sampo "favored of humanity" koski

�� aha is one of the aeons closest with humanity, and has such developed a more “mortal” frame of mind over time

— eventually if you spend enough time around mortals you might just turn back into one

🎭 sampo "hedonist" koski

— why is he doing any of this? who knows

— who can possibly understand the machinations of what an aeon finds funny

— eldritch humor beyond our comprehension

🎭 sampo "cosplayer extraordinaire" koski

— “so this is my humansona his name is sampo koski he likes scamming people and has slutty slutty hip windows”

— likes to stay in character as much as possible

— kinda like playing a dnd character 24/7

sampo "long-suffering host" koski

— somewhat dual consciousness theory

— aha is just up there, and sampo has to listen to their annoying ass constantly

— can be a joke, chill possession scenario, or necessity for aha due to external circumstances

— may be a side effect of emanator status, or may just be another Classic Cosmic Joke™

sampo "unwilling hierophant" koski

— informercial: how would YOU like to receive PERSONAL and INCESSANT psychic messages from eldritch forces beyond your comprehension?

— “geez ew no”

— infomercial: is that a YES?

— “no”

— infomercial: thank you for signing up for our FREE TRIAL service!

— “wait no”

— infomercial: text "NO PLEASE STOP NO" to 69420 to UNSUBSCRIBE from the Laughter’s FREE psychic telepathy service

— “NO PLEASE STOP NO”

— phone: thank you for subscribing to our LIFETIME PLAN of FREE, UNCEASING, TORMENTING visions from AHA THE ELATION. please enjoy your COMPLIMENTARY descent into insanity!

— “god fucking damnit”

sampo "vacant apartment" koski

— possession receptacle that’s no longer in use and is left up to his own devices

sampo "moved to iceland and became a sheep herder" koski

— living off the grid

— only came back because something bad is gonna happen to belobog

— can be aha, emanator, or other high-ranking position

🎭 sampo "undercover boss" koski

— keeping tabs on the masked fools because they’re fanatical

— “what the hell guys this is not what i want” — sampo, probably

— they say or do something and he’s just like “not funny. didn’t laugh”

— y’know when people say “if jesus came down to earth, he’d be disappointed at what people are doing in his name” — yea that’s sampo but like for real

— damage control

☆━━━━━ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ◯ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ ━━━━━━☆

© written by sunderingstars. do not copy, repost, translate, modify, or claim my work as your own.

[chronically-ghosted]

sam and diane, eat your heart out

rating: 18+

pairing: marcus pike x f!reader

word count: 3374

summary: after spending six months with FBI Agent Marcus Pike on a case almost-kissing, almost-flirting - almost - almost - almost - you decide to do something about that Unresolved Sexual Tension.

tags/warnings: thigh riding, marcus being a menace during a makeout session, marcus being a good agent first and an idiot second, i love marcus pike with my whole being (not a warning, just thought you should know), light cursing, reader is a journalist but no y/n or physical descriptions

a/n:  from @trulybetty 's request from my 100 followers celebration: "Going with psychography and this is hard… Let's see, I pick prompt no. 9 and Pedro boy of choice is Marcus Pike as he's one you don't have your master list yet! → “i’m so sick of this ‘will we, won’t we’ shit."I'll leave it to dealers' choice for smut vs. no smut on how it takes you!"

🤍Masterlist

“So, this is it? This proves the buyer knowingly purchased the artifacts illegally from the Belgian government.” 

His mouth twitches. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t know any court of law that wouldn’t uphold this as evidence.” 

“And then used the money to bankroll the opposite party? These tapes, Marcus – I don’t know how you got them, but –,”

“Wouldn’t have gotten them without those bank statements,” he smiles at you, fingers pressing down those specific documents on his desk. “I don’t even wanna know how you got into that personal server, but –,”

“I’ll keep my secrets if you’re going to keep yours.” 

“Fair enough,” he chuckles and the sound sends a cascade of warmth down the back of your neck. You turn your head away to hide your cheeks like some schoolgirl with a crush. Well, about half of that is right. A crush on the FBI agent you’ve been working with on the side to not only bring an end to one man’s hunt for cultural artifacts that do not belong to him – how stupid could you be? This is not the way to getting your first Pulitzer!

Besides, this is only going to end badly – for you. Because whether or not you were convinced that Agent Marcus Pike may in fact be interested in you, depended on the day, the weather, and if you were susceptible to crying and eating chocolate bar by bar. Your combined case against this wanna-be museum pilferer was more airtight than your little book of tells: “Marcus noticed my perfume today”, “Marcus didn’t mention my haircut” , “Marcus complimented my outfit today.” You plucked off hopes and disappointments like petals from the most pathetic daisy and when you found yourself staring at an empty stalk, you were no closer to finding an answer you were happy with. 

Because for every reason, every indication, every hint that no, Marcus annoyingly respected you only for your brains and journalistic integrity . . . he’d look at you like he’s looking at you right now and every semblance of dignity would go flying out the window faster than you can say defenestration. 

Marcus drops your eyes, mouth parted as if surprised by his blatant staring, and he brushes the lynch pin to your case with his fingers.

“This is, um, this is really good work. Your editors are gonna love it.”

You lean your hip against the edge of his desk, crossing your arms, elbowing your way back into his attention. Your thigh teases the space between his. His head down, you watch his tongue wet his bottom lip the longer he stares at your hip. 

“They’d love it more if the agent in charge went on record about the whole thing.” 

Like you burned him, he retreats, stepping back towards the corkboard that’s been hanging in his office for six months. He tugs at his tie and clears his throat.

“Mhmm, yeah, maybe for a follow-up piece.” Swallowing, he pulls at the knot of his tie, and slips it over his head once the hole is big enough, quickly stuffing it in his pocket. He looks at the board like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. 

You can’t stop the irate scoff. The hurt, the embarrassment, it burns you. It’s such a stupid crush and he’s making you look like an idiot for it, desperate for scraps when you deserved a whole fucking meal. Your self-confidence had been hard won, built up under years of duress and shame, and a need for a change in your life. If you aren’t happy with something, fix it, your father used to say. So you did and you weren’t about to let Marcus goddamn Pike make you feel small again.

“You know what, fuck this.” In two strides, you move away from his desk and snatch up your shoulder bag. You know you’re making a scene, your cheeks warm, nose flared, and this isn’t the best way to end the last six months, or even continue a potentially invaluable insider source that could benefit your career for years to come. But you can’t help it. You hate how Marcus makes you feel. “I’m such a fucking idiot for thinking you’d have the balls to reciprocate so, you know what, that one’s on me. Keep the tapes, Marcus, I have copies. I’m going home.”

He frantically sputters out your name as he intercepts you between the door to his office. All the blinds are shut, this case of the highest confidentiality, and at least there’s the small miracle that his coworkers can’t see you act like a jilted fourteen year old. Your hand squeezes the strap around your shoulder when Marcus reaches for you. 

“I’m sorry, but what are you talking about?”  

You grind your teeth together, your heart pounding in your chest. “I’m talking about us, Marcus. This thing between us that’s been going on for months. The thing that you refuse to acknowledge. I’m so sick of this ‘will-they-won’t-they’ shit. I’m a grown woman, Marcus, and if you’re not interested then just come out and say it. Just stop . . . messing with me.”

The hand outstretched to you curls in, fingers, fist, retreating. His mouth twitches again, his eyes fundamentally unreadable. He glances over your shoulder at the board, and then when he looks back, his gaze is . . . different. Like he swapped his usual soft, friendly brown eyes with a pretense that carries a little more heat to it. The spilling of too black powder in a dangerous, unstable place, where careless matches are liable to fly. 

Marcus shifts his weight, crosses his arms with the full strength of his back yanking on his blazer, and bites just below his lip on his left side, somehow making that bowed mouth even more pouty. 

“No, I mean . . . why did you think I’d never act on it?” 

Now it’s your turn to take a small step back, even though the low pitch to his voice is exactly what you’ve been all but begging for. The sound of it twists your insides, tugging arousal low in your belly. You swallow, suddenly blinding padding around for that righteous anger. 

“It’s been six months, Marcus. Three since you almost kissed me during the stakeout. Two since I saw you staring at my bra after the rainstorm. A-and last month . . . last month, when you invited me over for dinner, I thought . . . I-I thought . . .”

You thought dinner was going to end in something sweeter than chocolate pie for dessert, when a woman called him, furious that he hadn’t been answering his calls. Her screaming was audible and the sheer look of panic on his face was enough to confirm every terrible thing you thought you were so terribly correct about. 

“I told you about my ex-wife when we first met. I wasn’t hiding her. You weren’t the other woman.” 

“Yeah, but people usually go their separate ways after a so-called nasty divorce.” 

His eyebrow jumps at the unmasked condescension in your voice. You hold the strap across your chest like a lifeline. 

Marcus’s eyes stray to the corkboard again as he works his jaw, split between being rather irritated and . . . something else. 

That something else slams full force into your chest when he meets your gaze: heartbreak.

“Did you ever consider I tried to stop anything before it started, because I didn't want some asshole defense attorney to have any reason to blow holes in our case?” He shakes his head, this time overwhelming you entirely as he oversteps at least three professional boundaries by herding you back against a filing cabinet with just the sway of his body. The metal clangs as you crash against it, shoulders around your ears. “A reason like if the lead investigator and his CI were fucking?”

The messenger bag around your hips is the only thing keeping him from pressing up on you entirely. You are intimately aware of that when he tilts his head at you, eyes mournful and explorative as they draw a path over your cheeks, your nose, your eyebrows. Down the curve of your jaw and your neck. 

You do the only thing you can think of and laugh at him: “A CI? Please, I think I was a little more integral than that.” 

Marcus hums as he gently brushes the arch of your cheek with the pad of his finger. 

“All the more reason to keep everything squeaky clean.” 

You finally understand why he’s been looking at the board over and over, as if it’s going to suddenly catch flames. You suppose it's only fair that he’s worried – does a blasphemer not worry about his own state of grace on holy ground? 

He’s knee-bucklingly close when you work up enough courage to look him in the eye and say what’s been looping around your mind like an unhitched railway car.

“But you said it yourself, the case is over, right?” There’s a corner of your mind that is keening with embarrassment at how breathless you sound, so you throw a shoe at her and drop your eyes to Marcus’s increasingly close lips. They’re wet when he runs his tongue over them. 

“Yes, I did say that.” Fireworks explode in your brain when he tucks his middle finger under the strap of your messenger bag up by your collarbone, and then proceeds to slide his hand down the strap, knuckles very intentionally rubbing between the valley of your breasts. You wish you had worn a push-up bra or nothing at all. His hand shakes as it stops just above your belly button. 

On a slow inhale, his palm changes directions, turning over to your stomach, heat blooming from where he touches you over your skin, to slide with a solid grip on your hip. A weight. The shifting of the scales. 

“Marcus–,” it sounds like begging and he’s hardly even touched you so you have to follow it up with something. You drop your head back against the metal, trying to even your breathing. “Marcus, w-we got the evidence. The case is closed, we d-don’t work together any more. We - we can–,”

“I want to,” he murmurs and you swear the heat from his breath across your collarbone tightens your nipples in your shirt. “God, I fucking want to. But this case can’t be jeopardized. The bureau has been after this guy for years and if we fuck it up on a technicality –,” 

“We don’t have to tell anyone,” you blurt out. The back of your head pinned to the metal locker behind you, you stare him down from the end of your nose, breathing hard and heavy. You squeeze your eyes shut before opening them to his gun-powder gaze. “We don’t even have to do this more than once, but . . . fuck, I’ve gotta get you out of my system, Marcus. I can’t think straight around you anymore.” 

Making a noise like someone popped him across the chest with their elbow, he shuffles closer, the bag between you digging painfully into your lower stomach. Both hands find their way to your hips. He squeezes you through your jeans, your panties a truly forgone mess at this point. You had men tease you before about how wet you got, like it was something shameful or embarrassing – giving so much of yourself away so quickly – but nearly pinned beneath him, you are quite sure Marcus would never have that inclination. Your own hands have latched onto his shoulders of their own accord. 

“We don’t have to tell,” you hiccup when his thumb barely brushes the bottom of your bra. “I won’t tell, Marcus.” He tilts his head, the rough hairs of his beard brushing against your temple and you shudder, so eager to be touched by him on your skin and not through your clothes. “Please. Please.” 

He groans again, eyes fluttering, head shaking. “Fuck, baby, don’t beg me like that–,”

His body presses you flat against the locker when he eagerly collides his mouth with yours. His broad hands cup your cheeks, holding you exactly where he wants you, your fingers digging around his wrists to confirm to him there’s literally nowhere else you’d rather be. 

Marcus Pike executed everything in his life with dogged determinism. From catching criminals, to shining his shoes, Marcus was meticulous and detail-oriented. It made him a great agent – and one hell of a kisser. 

His tongue rides along the bottom of your lip, then the top, not seeking entrance, but cataloging if the places on your mouth taste differently. He nips your plush lip and finds the sound you make is not exactly how he wants it. So he licks your mouth open, as forcefully as he politely shows a warrant before kicking open a suspect’s door. He finds that you like it when he’s a bit rough with his tongue, biting more at your upper lip to make you keen at that frequency he’s been craving. He does it again and you moan louder, fingers tightening around the curls at the back of his neck. He’s not satisfied with that sound alone, so he pushes even closer to you, seeking your heat with his thigh as if he could feel you pulse for him with just his mouth on you. 

But this goddamn bag –

“Get this–,” he scrambles over your hands as you both incorrectly fight with the strap and the weight of the bag, “what is even in this?”

You chuckle as he manages to yank it over your head without pulling out your hair. “My little pheromones to drive hot FBI agents berserk. Why? Is it working?” 

His moan is set between his teeth, sucking on both his own desperation and frustration at your teasing. Barrier gone, he shoves his knee between your thighs and slides it until it nestles against your crotch. It pushes the seam of your jeans against your clit and you rip your mouth away from his, gasping at the overly hot pleasure that roars up your middle. 

“Fuck, Marcus,” you keen and his mouth splits open, eyelids heavy, as he watches you writhe on this thigh. 

“You’re so warm, but are you wet? I can’t feel you.” His nose and mouth tucking into your neck, his wide palms tug and push your hips in a steady rhythm that has you fisting his jacket. “Couldn’t have worn a skirt?” 

“I didn’-t know – you’d want to – do this,” you breathe through this rapidly swelling pleasure, your clit throbbing. He presses up with his thigh just barely and you moan like a fucking pornstar, his cock rock solid and hot against your hip. 

“Can-can you do this?” He asks breathlessly, his own hips rolling in time with yours. “Can you come just on my thigh?” 

You bite your lip and nod, eyes shut and head back against the metal. “Y-yeah, I think I’m – God, yes, I am – I am so close.” 

“What do you need – to get you there?” He dips his head back to that spot on your neck that made your skin break out in goosebumps and he nips at your pulse point before soothing it with his tongue. You jerk at the sensation, your own pleasure ratcheting up to a soaring new height, the damp stripe of your panties almost soothing to your aching clit. You’re so sticky everywhere. You gasp, your hands curling into his shirt, shoulder digging into his jaw, neck arched to the side, as if your body is concerned how hard this orgasm is going to hit when he sucks a distinctive bruise into the hollow of your throat.

“Oh, God, Marcus –,” 

“Tell me, what do you need?” he slurs in your ear. 

You feel so empty, so wet and hollow, you want him to strip your pants down now and fill you as fast as you can. But you tremble on the razors edge – his cock anywhere near you is going to ruin you for the rest of the night – you just need to break through this one and then you’ll –

“Your fingers, Mar-cus, just put – them –,”

He huffs, grunting as he understands, and one of the steadying hands on your hips lurches to the front of your jeans. His knuckles dig into the skin of your stomach as he flicks open the button of your jeans, a low-heavy-drag whine as he finally feels the heat of your pussy, ready to suck him up inside you. He yanks down the zipper, cups you and that’s almost enough. It’s nearly enough and you gasp, your core fluttering, nails tearing into his shirt. 

“Yeah, you need more?” Marcus hums, his teeth scraping your jaw as he pins you to the wall with his full body weight. “Can’t let anything be easy, can you?”

All sense and shame dragged out of you with every swipe of your clit against his thigh, you shake your head and let out a loud whimper. 

He grunts something low and fast, heated and possessive, his hand shifting, knuckle peeling back your sticky underwear, fingers rubbing up against your puffy lips, and finally –

You toss your head back, a hot freeze locking your body up from your toes to your forehead, when he slides two fingers right up your cunt and curls them forward. A second later, heat crackles from your cunt up to your chest and you inhale, stars in your eyes and toes barely scraping the ground. 

As you sink back down into your own body, your brain plugging back in, you realize he’s whispering to you, muttering, his lips moving fast over your skin as he gently brushes your cheek with his own. 

“So good, baby, everything I thought you were going to be, you let me touch you, you make such pretty sounds, so good,” 

The high continues to drag you back down, down until you’re shaking in his arms, a lethargic weight pulling you into his chest. He cups your head into the curve of his neck, his own heart pounding into the vein of his neck. 

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re messing with me anymore,” you chuckle into his skin and you feel him smile above you. “Okay, a little messing. A messing when asked.” 

“Good. I like messing when asked.” He kisses your cheek, lips lingering as he breathes out his nose. “But, uh, I know you said you weren’t going to tell anyone, but you weren’t exactly quiet about it.” 

You warm again, but this time with a bashful grin. 

“Yeah, sorry. I guess there are advantages to being a workaholic and staying in the office until ten at night.” 

He shakes his head, gently easing his knee from between your legs, careful to hold you until you are steady on your own feet. 

“Don’t need to apologize for that, pretty girl. In fact,” he picks up your infamous shoulder bag and loops it over his neck. The strap catches the fluff of his hair and it stands straight up. You didn’t think you had the energy, but your heart goes wild at the sight. “In fact, when I take you home, I’d like you to be even louder.”

Apparently you had a lot more stamina than you thought because your toes curl and you can practically hear your pussy throb. Your eyes flicker to his crotch.

“You don’t want . . . here?”

He pulls you into his arms, and kisses your forehead. “I do. I want very much. But the first time I’m inside you with anything but my fingers, it’s not going to be in my office. Won’t be able to concentrate.” He takes a look around what had been the epicenter of your investigation for months. “Actually, I might have to repaper the whole thing now.” 

You chuckle, leaning up under his arm where he’s damp and warm. “I think that might tip off someone to our little technicality.” 

He matches your smirk with an eyebrow raise. “Fair. Guess it’ll just have to linger here.”

You kiss his throat as he leads you out of the abandoned building, arm tight around you. Where he does take you home, where he does come inside you with something other than his fingers, and where you scream his name . . . yes, even louder. 

[polisena-art]

I've always wanted to ask since it's never definite and changes based on adaption, but what's your preference for Panchito's last name? Pistoles? Romero Miguel Francisco Quintero Gonzalez III? No last name at all? Some combination like Pistoles being a stage name? If he lived with José in Rio long enough could he eventually adopt Carioca? It seems to differ for everyone which is one of the cool fandom things

HI! SO- I can safely say I don't consider Panchito's surname to be "Pistoles". To me, that's his stage name and an American stage name at that!! Getting a little meta for a bit here, the name "Pistoles" was chosen for the character simply because it was easier for the American audience to pronounce it with an "e" instead of the original "a" in the spanish word for "pistols". So, going back in universe, imagine that in the 1940s when the Three Caballeros commissioned a small series of posters with the little money they had, they all came with a typo in Panchito's name because of the language barrier/miscommunication with the print shop. But in the end Panchito kinda digged that XDDD "NO, LEAVE IT IN!!! It makes it new and exciting, guys!!!" Paco might say, upbeat and always seeing the bright side of every situation. I like to imagine that his nickname in his hometown and stage name in México was "Panchito Pistolas" and just "Panchito" for family and friends. As for his actual surname I really dig the House of Mouse version, (Panchito Romero Miguel Junípero Francisco Quintero González Tercero) even if it means he would be Francisco twice XD, tbh not the weirdest naming decision to happen in latin america by far...

AS FOR JOSÉ!!! Well, first, I don't think that either one of them would adopt any of each others' surnames (but this is my own bias because I kinda hate the whole changing names for marriage and the burocracy it entails-) Also I'm in the fence whether to consider "Carioca" to be José's real surname or not. This is very much me overanalyzing the character but we are in the "overanalyzing stupid characters website" so whatever- The thing with José is that, here in Brazil, "Zé Carioca" reads simply as a very descriptive nickname meaning "guy from Rio". Reason why I can totally see it being just a nickname that later got turned into a stage name for him. So, it also doesn't make sense to me for Panchito to have it in his name, that Bitch (affectionate) isn't carioca! But anyways, just to clarify, can "Carioca" be a surname? Yes, absolutely!! It is, in fact, a surname that exists in Brazil although it's not a very popular one. But when you consider the character's history and also Zé's cousins (the joke with them being that each has a regional name after "Zé" indicating where they are from), the idea you get is that Carioca is not a family name but a label. The comics have also shown us some of Zé's relatives that could indicate what other alternative surnames he may have but, mind you, none of this means that Zé would have inherited these particular surnames! So we're still in headcanon valley here. First, there are Zé's two grandads: Zé Paiva (or Zeca Paiva) and Josué Carioca. We don't know which one is from mother's side or father's side tho. And later there are more relatives, including two grandmas, one from the Dutch comics, Oma Carioca (aka vovó Carioca), and the other from a recent Culturama release, Isaura Araripe. Once again we don't know which one represents the mother's side and which represents the father's side. In the Culturama special story tho, José's family, including himself, identify as "Araripe" (a real surname but also a play on the word "arara" meaning "macaw" in portuguese).

So, we coooould make Zé Carioca's registry name be any mix of these like "José Araripe Carioca" or "José Paiva Araripe" OR "José Carioca Araripe" OR "José Paiva Carioca" OOOOR if you're a fan of long names "José Carioca Araripe Paiva". The mother's family name comes first in Brazil but since we don't know which one that would be, you can pick and choose to your heart's content. I said all that BUT I'm also a big fan of the "descriptive" nature of "José Carioca" as a name for the character, because it almost grants him a kind of anonimity. There are millions of Zés in Brazil and millions of cariocas (in relation to place of birth) too. Which makes him LITERALLY JUST A GUY!!! Just a little guy commiting scams all around and nobody fucking knows his real name-- A REAL POWER MOVE in my opinion. That said, I would also find it very funny if he had the most WIDELY USED Brazilian surname and ONLY THAT, making him "José Silva" or "José da Silva", so he could maintain that "generic guy" energy in his registry name as well.

[onesidedradiostatic]

Something I noticed while rewatching Hazbin, more specifically episodes 2 and 8, is that Vox seems to mainly refer to Alastor by...well, "Alastor" His actual name. He's only ever referred to Alastor as "the Radio Demon" during his broadcast in Stayed Gone and that was mainly to remind viewers of who this "has-been" was because more people would recognize Alastor by "the Radio Demon" than by his actual name.

All other times when talking about Alastor, he's only ever said "Alastor" I think. Does this add anything? Maybe not something huge, but I feel like it further adds to the history Vox and him have. Like Vox got so used to calling Alastor by his actual name it feels weird for him to refer to Alastor by his title

have decided to compile every instance of a character referring to alastor as "the radio demon" because of this and whether they say it as their first mention of alastor

Charlie: The Radio Demon is at the door! (first mention of alastor)

Vaggie: The Radio Demon. One of the most powerful beings Hell has ever seen? (first mention of alastor)

Vaggie: ...Sinners started calling him "The Radio Demon" (as lazy as that is). 

— Pilot, That's Entertainment

Valentino: Someone who owes us much more than money... the Radio Demon is there. (first mention of alastor)

Vox: So, the Radio Demon is back in town!

Sir Pentious: Yes... uhm... Mr. uhm... Radio Demon sir, please forgive me for attacking you and ruining your very lovely coat... uhm... here.

— Episode 2, Radio Killed the Video Star

Mimzy: That's when Alastor revealed himself as the Radio Demon, and anyone that would mess with him… well, let's just say, his broadcasts never lacked new voices.

Alastor: A reminder to all, not to mess with the Radio Demon!

— Episode 5, Dad Beat Dad

I doooon't think it's necessarily indicative of anything really tbh? I guess charlie, vaggie and val all refer to alastor as the "radio demon" for their first mentions of him in the show, that's 3 major characters you could compare to vox. but at the same time we have characters like sir pentious who first refers to him as alastor too, pentious uses "alastor" at least twice, in the pilot and start of episode 2 before he uses "radio demon". of course this uh doesn't really matter, because regardless, we KNOW they have history and we know vox is abnormal about him. but maybe there is something to be said that all the people who refer to alastor as the radio demon before vox use that before his name?

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Collab with the wonderful and crazy talented @elmonstro . It was so much fun working on this with you!!

Lambert absolutely hated markets. As a general rule they were noisy, crowded and more often than not at least one merchant would try to rip him off once they caught sight of either his medallion or his eyes. Aiden however, had no such hang ups and loved to people watch and talk to various merchants about their wares, the stall owners scents turning to just a general wariness which was easier to ignore as he complimented the quality of their wares or charmingly haggled over price in a way Lambert never could (whether it was due to his schools teachings in getting certain humans to lower their guard or if it was just Aiden, Lambert wasn't quite sure).

He found his gaze wandering as he stood listening to Aiden get into an animated discussion about a spice he'd never even heard of, nevermind tasted. Some of the merchants looked to be packing away for the day, a mother pulled a fussing child away as they made grabby hands at a stall selling various sweet treats and he was pretty sure that young woman just pickpocketed the old man she'd bumped into but Lambert decided he probably deserved it, if the name he called her in response to her apology for running into him was anything to go by.

The telltale flash of sunlight on metal coming from the end of the row caught his attention. They'd done this enough times now for Lambert to know he'd probably be back before Aiden even noticed he'd gone and if he wasn't, the Cat would have no problem finding him again.

The stall had a surprisingly wide array. Lambert spotted wicked looking punch knives with engraved blades alongside the usual vegetable and carving knives. A couple of ornate daggers which were definitely more for decoration than practical use if the fancy handles and sheaths were any indication took pride of place front and centre. No swords but judging from how old and stooped the smith looked, Lambert took an educated guess that the heavier stuff was back in his workshop. Lambert was about to turn around and make his way back to Aiden when he spotted them. Nestled towards the back was a pair of daggers. Small enough to be easily concealed but the blades looking wicked sharp nonetheless. One had a slight curve whilst the other was straight as a rod. The handles had the exact same simple ornamentation - a line of gold filigree winding around and up the steel like a vine whilst the accompanying sheaths were the exact same shade of royal blue. A matched set then.

He was suddenly struck by images of those blades being cradled in dark skinned, long fingered hands. The sheaths complimenting blue armour and green eyes.

"Can I see those?" He asked waiting for the smiths nod of permission before he reached over. The balance was good and there were no visible imperfections.

"My son does all the leatherwork for the sheaths." The smith piped up, a note of pride in his voice, "Treats it right and proper so it won't fade or crack." Lambert nodded as he smiled. They were perfect. At least, they were until he saw the price. There was no way he could justify spending that much, not when they didn't know how far they'd need to make their coin stretch; even with half of their earnings going into a shared purse (which he wasn't going anywhere near. That was for emergencies and besides - it wasn't much of a gift if Aiden ended up putting money towards it too).

Trying not to let his disappointment show too much, he placed the straight blade back on the stall, "How much for just the one?"

Aiden ended up meeting him halfway, smiling when he noted the direction Lambert was coming from, "Why am I not surprised you got drawn in by sharp, pointy things? Get anything?"

Lambert thought about the dagger he'd managed to tuck away into the top of his pack. The smith hadn't seemed too pleased about separating them either, but a sale was a sale. He shook his head, wrapping an arm around Aiden's shoulder, "Just looking. You done?"

Aiden stared at him briefly before nodding. If Lambert's emotions were showing on his face, he was gracious enough not to mention it.

Aiden wrinkled his nose at the slop that was passing for stew in the inn's main room and Lambert found himself sharing the sentiment. It was to be expected really; the room was barely the right side of habitable. They could put up with worn, dirty mattresses and sour ale for a night but they drew the line at meat which smelled like it was about to turn, even under all the spices and gravy the cook had tried to disguise it with.

"Ugh. I'm going to go see if I can catch that vendor we got those pies from earlier before he closes up. I'll be right back." Aiden said, draining the last of his drink and dropping a couple of coins, leaving Lambert at the sticky table before he could reply. Not that he'd been a great conversation partner since they'd left the market.

Neither of them were overly materialistic: both literally and figuratively, they couldn't afford to be and Aiden had always placed more value on the thought behind a gift rather than its worth anyway. Lambert knew logically that Aiden would love the curved blade that was currently burning a hole in his pack as he was both excited and slightly ashamed to hand it over. The incident with the smith incessantly poking at a certain sore spot. They risked their lives day in, day out and for what? The cheapest rooms they could find and having to constantly compromise on little indulgences. He knew there were plenty of others in the same situation and worse but still. It made him question sometimes if the scars and constant vitriol were worth it.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a familiar head peering around the doorway, making a 'follow me' gesture before disappearing back outside. He wordlessly allowed Aiden to lead him to the back of the building where he used an empty barrel as a boost to start scaling the outside wall. Lambert followed easily, the old stone providing plenty of hand and footholds where parts had been worn away or broken off completely over the years.

"Here." Aiden said handing over one of the still warm pies once they were settled on the sloping roof of the Inn, "I grabbed a couple for breakfast too."

They ate in an easy silence, Lambert enjoying the taste of the tender rabbit and vegetables as he people watched. Once he'd finished, he stripped down to his tunic and lay back on the sun warm tiles, watching as the sky gradually turned from various reds and oranges to a deep blue as the sun started to disappear behind the mountains which dominated the horizon on one side of the town.

He turned his head slightly to look at Aiden when he felt eyes on him, the Cat was giving him a fond look which never failed to make Lambert feel like an awkward teen with a crush.

"What?" He huffed, giving a small smile in return.

Aiden shrugged, "You look good like this is all. Relaxed suits you." He shifted his weight slightly and as he tucked a piece of hair behind his ear - something Lambert knew was a nervous habit, "I got something else while I was out. For you."

"Me?" Lambert sat himself up as he watched Aiden start rummaging through his pack before pulling out something wrapped in plain brown cloth.

"I saw it and immediately thought of you and I was going to wait for a better time. But you seemed like you needed cheering up and besides, I don't think you can get any more romantic than a rooftop at sunset."

As if on queue, a musician started playing somewhere, the sound of soft fiddle music drifting over to them through an open window. They locked eyes with each other briefly before bursting into laughter.

"I stand corrected.' Aiden said as his laughter died down, taking the strange tension that had fallen between them with it as he held the small package out to Lambert, "Go on. Open it."

Lambert couldn't place why the weight and shape felt vaguely familiar until he revealed a royal blue sheath. Oh, sweet Melitele this couldn't be happening.

"The guy said that it was part of a set," Aiden started, looking apologetic, "But he'd sold the other one earlier. I-" His expression turned to one of complete bafflement when Lambert started chuckling quietly. Those chuckles quickly morphing into full belly laughs.

"Uh, Lambert?" He asked, trying to tamp down the hurt that was rising up at his gift being laughed at.

"Shit. I'm sorry Aiden. I promise I'm not laughing at you it's just...I got something for you too."

He reached into his own back and held out a package of similar size and shape, wrapped in the same cloth. Aiden took it, eyes widening as he seemed to piece things together, "Is this-"

"Yep."

Aiden's smile rivaled the sun as he admired the blade Lambert had handed over.

"You know." Lambert said as he attached his own to his belt, "I'm pretty sure there's some places where this means we're married now. Or at least betrothed."

"Do you want it to?"

"Huh?"

Aiden looked uncharacteristically shy, not quite making eye contact, "What you just said... about the...do you want it to mean that?"

Lambert's heart started doing somersaults, "That we're married or we're betrothed?"

"Either. Both?"

It felt as if the whole continent was holding its breath waiting for his answer.

"Yes. Both. Yes."

He suddenly found himself with a lapful of Cat who seemed fully intent on kissing him stupid until the need for air became an issue.

"You?" Lambert asked, looking directly into Aiden's eyes from where their foreheads were pressed together.

"What do you think?" Aiden asked with his familiar smirk, raising Lambert's hand to his lips and kissing his knuckles, something that never failed to get Lambert flustered.

"Let me hear you say it?"

Aiden shifted so his mouth was grazing the shell of Lambert's ear, "Yes. To both."

Their mystery musician switched to something more lively, not that the two of them were paying attention. Wrapped up in each other as they watched the last sliver of sun disappear.

[iamnmbr3]

HI, HELLO, I HAVE A QUESTION. I really like your take on Dumbledore's view on Tom Riddle. Leaning on that post you made about him being obsessed with Tom and seeing him as a seductive femme fatale type villain - do you think Tom would've gone for that? Seducing Dumbledore, I mean. And whether or not it would've worked. We already know from the Grindelore relationship that Albus wouldn't have been taken into the "dark side" with love, but I could see him indluging it on a pretense of "I'm trying to keep an eye on him/fix him" tbh. What do you think? Also what do you think of the ship itself? Thank you, I hope you have a great day. ♡

Thank you very much for your kind words. This is an excellent and very interesting question. (For those wondering anon is referencing this post).

Personally I actually think that Tom probably would not go for that except possibly as a very last resort in a situation of great need. Tom appears to be averse to any type of physical touch in the series. As far as I recall, we only see three instances where he makes physical contact with another person - when Dumbledore solicits a handshake from him when they first meet, when Hepzibah Smith pinches his cheek, and when he touches Harry for a moment in the graveyard to show that he can. Of these instances, only one was initiated by him, and that was out of necessity. The other two were tolerated but clearly made him uncomfortable, especially in the second case.

Other than that he doesn't touch anyone. His followers kiss his robe hem, not his hand or foot. He uses magic to hurt them but never touches them. He also was likely never touched much in the orphanage, except possibly as a punishment, so it probably became something he was neither accustomed to or enjoyed. (He does seem to actively enjoy petting and holding Nagini, which is lowkey weirdly adorable.)

In the case of Hepzibah Smith he does bring flowers to keep her happy (possibly at the behest of his superiors) but otherwise does not act flirtatious at all and in fact seems desperately determined to ignore her advances and keep the conversation focused on work. If he wanted to he could've batted his eyelashes at her and flirted back to try to get information or money/gifts out of her but he actively chooses not to despite being quite poor and having much to gain. Incidentally, this is part of why I think coming across the locket was a coincidence and not a plan, since he doesn't seem to be actively trying to learn anything about what objects she has. (As an aside, given the way she feels entitled to touch him without his consent or any indication that he welcomes such behavior, I think his decision to kill her may have been over more than just the locket.)

There's also Bellatrix. She clearly would like to have a romantic relationship with him and marrying her would have materially benefited him. It would have gotten him more acceptance into the Pureblood circles he was moving in and gotten him access to her tremendous personal assets including her vaults. Note that in book 7, he stores the cup in her vault because he probably doesn't have one of his own and is presumably still #broke. However, he goes out of his way not to marry her. Because he doesn't want to. Because he would rather use up-front means to get what he wants - through compulsion or fear or force or loyalty - than by offering himself in that manner. (Given that he was extremely attractive and that he grew up in a vulnerable position in abject poverty he was probably already familiar with this as an option and actively sought to avoid it, which may have played into his avoidance in later life as well.)

So yeah, I personally think he'd avoid trying to seduce someone into something if he could. That said, I think there's probably fodder for an interesting fic if someone tweaked the circumstances or the characters just right.

As to whether it would have worked, maybe? But it probably would've made everything 1000 times worse. I don't think Dumbledore is someone who would become besotted and easy to manipulate as a result. I think if anything it would make him more dangerous. I could definitely see him doing some mental gymnastics to justify to himself why indulging would be actually very noble and selfless and all for the "greater good." But that mental gymnastics would also come with even more justifications for why this proved Tom was inherently evil and the spawn of Satan. So I don't think it would make him likely to look on Tom more favorably.

If anything, it would make him more likely to want to control and degrade and humiliate him even more than we see in canon. It would also probably make him even more fixated (if that's possible lol) on him than we see in canon. I could also see a scenario where Dumbledore potentially did some mental gymnastics to justify why pursuing Tom would be for 'his own good' / 'the greater good of society' etc. So yeah, all this could again be good fic fodder, but I don't think it would end up working out that great for Tom in the majority of circumstances.

Except perhaps in a scenario where Dumbledore ends up putting off certain plans to destroy him so he could play a more prolonged and personal game to destroy him which also would involve some type of romantic/sexual element as well (definitely purely due to necessity of course) and Tom using this to 1) take advantage of the delay and Dumbledore's own belief in his superiority to put plans of his own into motion and 2) create situations where Dumbledore ends up sacrificing his own people to keep said elaborate game going. But again I don't think Tom would prefer to use that approach, especially with someone like Dumbledore given their history. I think he'd much rather just have a clean and fair fight.

As for what I think of the ship, I think there are potentially interesting things you could do with it, but I see it as something that would end up being an extremely dark ship if we go with the canon dynamic and characterizations - more so, I think, than is the general consensus among those who ship it.

[toastofthetrashfire]

Color in DFF: Part 2

Okay so here I have a post where I run down some of the way DFF is using color in the past (at least for ep 5-6). But there's even more to unpack in episodes 1-4. I'll have to return to color when more episodes are out cause I'm sure there'll be more clarity and layers to add. But for now let's jump to the present!

Shout out again to @slayerkitty for brainstorming with me!

In part 1 I came to this conclusion:

There are basically 3 groups of colors.

Blue=the friend group, conformity, those trying to harm or coerce others

Red=Non, poverty, outsiders and those with stigma

Yellow=A third category, not in lock step with the group, outliers

So what about the present?!

There's a lot going on with color:

-It show's the character's flaws and desires

-It signals romantic pairing(s)

-It conveys group dynamics and insider/outsider status

On top of that we have people changing colors and exchanging them

Importantly in the present we start getting more than just the strict primary colors groups. Our group is less in sync and now that they've had time to grow up and be apart there's less conformity and cohesion, more fracture. We could argue that more of their own colors are able to come out rather than be subsumed in just blue (though a few characters definitely stick to blue still).

Let's start at the beginning. For a number of these boys their color represents their worse traits and fatal flaws:

Por is in a pale green. This clearly represents his VERY deep relationship with nature (sorry not sorry). It also can represent rebirth which means he isn't dead yet.

Okay, joking aside, green can can represent greed and jealousy. Certainly things relevant to Por who both has it all and still constantly wants and needs more (especially affection from his father) and is willing to take credit from Non to get it. This greed obviously contributed to the way everything spiraled in the past.

Green can also indicate sickness, nausea, and disgust. Por often expresses disgust towards Non, wiping his hand off after touching him. We even get him and Top reacting with disgust in the opening scenes when Fluke is puking.

On one more note, there are cultures that would group green and blue in as the same color so perhaps we can still see him as not so separate from the group as we might think.

Tee and Top are still in blue. These two are dedicated to hiding the truth and protecting themselves. Blue can also indicate loyalty and trust as well as confidence. Tee clearly has an issue with loyalty in both the past and the present. He's quick to throw his friends under the bus but does so while hiding this to still fit in. In the present he struggles with whether to abandon White or protect him. Top on the other hand is over confident, constantly wanting fame and attention.

Tee in particular is interesting because of his tie die shirts. They always mix blue with another color, just like he mixed blue with red in the past. Now it's a pink. Perhaps this means his money troubles have lessened or that he mentally feels less of an outsider or weirdo than when he added red in the past. Or perhaps it shows his strained loyalty to White, containing a color other than blue but not quite orange.

This is certainly the case in a later episode when he changes his t-shirt to blue and orange. I'll mention this later but White is introduced in orange. So Tee's colors show his dedication to the group, his continued attempts to hide secrets that harm people, and his battle between running or staying to protect White.

While Tee switches to orange and blue, Top switches to yellow and white. He makes the switch before he goes off with Tan and returns to kill Por. The yellow is a stark change. Unlike Tee who retains his blue, Top loses it completely. He's in yellow, marking him as an outlier. Is he possessed? Drugged? In any case he is operating without any affinity to the group at this point.

We don't know much about Tan yet, but he's also in blue. He starts in a blue button up and then switches to darker blue with gray underneath. This is a bit odd since he's the most vocal about pushing the old group to reveal what happened in the past. Yet he isn't wearing orange (Phi and White), red (Non), or yellow (outlier). In fact, unlike our other characters he doesn't mix in other colors or change his color at all. It feels very sterile, as if he is operating under different rules. So either he is just part of the group and likely fodder, working with Phi, or up to his own plan. Regardless I think at this point he is probably hiding his color, or rather the show is hiding his color from us for a later reveal of some kind.

Fluke is in purple. It's a balanced mix of blue and red, marking the way he acts as a bystander. He is in the group but not necessarily at the center of it. It also represents ambition, which Fluke clearly has in spades. So much so that as he tries to protect his ambitions, he makes things so much worse.

Interestingly, when Fluke changes clothes he still chooses purple, but his collar has a stripe of red. This of course is what he wears as he starts to crack, ultimately confronting Tee about what happened to Non. The blood on Fluke's hand adds more red.

Jin is in pink and a dark blue or grey. He later switches to a dark blue shirt. So part of him is still attached to the group (blue) but he also operates in a faded pink. Pink can represent love and compassion. We know that Jin acts as the kind one of the group generally. Interestingly this is quite a faded pink, perhaps representing how Jin, despite being kind (or at least having a kind exterior) is quite jaded. He's lost his rose-tinted glasses and they've become a washed out pink.

He no longer is in yellow. Does this mean at some point he failed to push back on the group in an important way? Why is he still with the group and wearing blue/gray colors? Does the fact he's wearing pink, a faded red mean he's still dedicated to Non?

Clown theory: Non was in pink in the preview for episode 7, so does this mark Jin as a romantic pairing with Phi? Does it mean Non died and possessed Jin's body (🤡)?

Phi and White both have orange to start with. They're odd ones out. Interestingly, Phi also has on a denim shirt, making him outwardly seem to match Tee and Top, but the orange shows his true colors. This is very fitting given we know he's up to something (most likely revenge) and not genuinely trying to be a part of the group.

Orange is also partway between red and yellow. If we go by the past, Phi has had something going on with both Non (red) and Jin (yellow, past). Interestingly in this opening shot Phi's backpack moves from blue (his disguised allegiance to the group) to orange (his outsider status) and red (his allegiance to Non). But he is also next to Jin whose pink could be seen as a version of red.

White has orange but like Phi he has blue as well. Does this mean that White is aligned with Phi or is it just a way to signal that White is also a newbie to the group? If so why is Tan not in orange too? Is White Non's brother?

Both Phi and White remove their orange as things progress. Interestingly they both keep the same touches of blue but change to neutral white/light gray tones. They're blending in now, either by force of the situation or in order to hide their intentions. But compared to Tan, we at least see them operating in other colors first.

One last thing of note here. Phi wraps his outer shirt around Jin to brace his shoulder. This completely removes the blue from Phi and gives it to Jin. Is this a color exchange? But blue isn't Phi's color, so does is this an act of protection or is Phi marking Jin as a target?

And what does it mean that Phi is now purely in white--an absence of color? Or is white his color? If so, then what about White?

We've gone from 3 primary colors in the past to a mix of colors in the present. On top of that we have white too, an interesting contrast? pairing? with the black of the mask costume.

Okay this has been equally as much analysis as questions. I'm excited to revisit this when we have even more episodes and information to see what the patterns are here!

[mythserene]

DRUGS COST MONEY (MARK LEWISOHN, DRUG BUDDY)

I'm late, but I'm here, and this is something I've thought about since I read Tune In the first time.

First of all, Lewisohn's definition and description of what Preludin was is wildly underplayed and misleading, so I have to just get out a few quick Preludin facts. They're helpful.

Lewisohn:

Preludin was an appetite suppressant, an anorectic drug introduced into West German society in 1954, when commercial pressures were making women become more image-conscious. Users maintained an appetite but quickly felt full when eating, and the reduced intake brought about weight loss. Preludin’s primary ingredient, phenmetrazine, was not an amphetamine but an upper, giving the user a euphoric buzz. It was soon sold internationally and used recreationally, and though available in Germany only with a doctor’s prescription...

- “Tune In” - Chapter 19; Piedels on Prellies

(Oh, those women and their obsession with weight.)

I know Lewisohn's not a chemist and I don't expect him to have done extensive study before writing “not an amphetamine but an upper”—which, first of all is just a weird, grade school sounding statement about any stimulant in general that no scientist would ever say or write—but also he makes it sound like it's a fizzy little pill that gives you the sillies.

But definitely not an amphetamine or anything bad like that.

Look, even Wikipedia says right at the top, “[i]ts structure incorporates the backbone of amphetamine,” and although I didn't spend more than a few seconds there, I saw it because it came up first in the search like Wikipedia always does. Just saying it's basically impossible to miss.

And whether he was trying to hide the ball or not, since he wrote so much about them I am going to quickly set the "not amphetamine" record straight before I go on.

“Methamphetamine hydrochloride (Desoxyn) and phenmetrazine hydrochloride (Preludin) are two variants of the amphetamine structure.”

- “Amphetamine Abuse”, Sidney Cohen, MD, JAMA

“The experience in Sweden seems to indicate that phenmetrazine (e.g. Preludin) has the highest potency, and the greatest risk of psycho-toxic, acute and chronic effects (Rylander 1966). Amphetamines and methylphenidate seem to show less dependence-producing and psycho-toxic effects than phenmetrazine.”

- (United Nations Bulletin; Vol XX, No. 2)

Basically, Preludin was synthesized by taking an amphetamine skeleton and boosting tf out of it by adding a very common sort of chemical scaffolding to it called a morpholine ring, allowing them to tweak it by sticking on a nitrogen group. But morpholine rings by themselves also increase potency and usually bioavailability.

So in the narrowest technical sense, Phenmetrazine (Preludin) is classified as a morpholine instead of an amphetamine, but in every way it is an amphetamine on speed. (And every description of it anywhere says so right up front.) It was Amphetamine Plus. The little added synthetic kicker the pharmaceutical company figured out how to attach to the amphetamine made it stronger—gave it the Preludin "kick"—made the high feel better in general (according to all this crap I spent way too much time reading) and also made it way more addictive. It increased dopamine and norepinephrine reuptake, and the compound itself displayed “some entactogen properties more similar to MDMA." It made Preludin far more psychoactive than straight amphetamines. Made smells stronger, sensations more intense, and made you horny and "increased performance." It was taken off the market in 1980 because it was so hyper-addictive and the “psycho-toxicity” was so extreme. People reported doing things they barely remembered, including to a kind of freakish degree, like a lot of users committing crimes for the very first time in their lives. And so the company tried to replace it with a similar drug called Prelu-2, which is apparently still available but also almost never prescribed because even that was excessively addictive compared to non-boosted amphetamines.

And also, it made you feel body odors?

"...perfumes and flowers get a stronger smell, and body odours are felt more strongly than under normal conditions."

- (United Nations Bulletin; Vol XX, No. 2)

What are normal conditions? Maybe my normal conditions are different from everyone else's because I don't normally feel body odors?? But tbh I would literally try this drug just to see if I could.

Okay.

So... John was feeling some serious body odors because my man took a lot of them. Usually with lots of booze.

And apparently they made him more awesome.

George spoke graphically of how they would be “frothing at the mouth … we used to be up there foaming, stomping away.” John, as always, dived straight in, wholeheartedly grabbing another new experience with an open mouth and no thought of tomorrow. The Beatles called them “pep pills”—the commonly used British term of the period—and also “Prellies.”

...Two pills a night were more than enough for most but John frequently took four or five, and in conjunction with hour after hour of booze he became wired, a high-speed gabbling blur of talent, torment and hilarity.

- “Tune In” - Chapter 19; Piedels on Prellies

Yeah, he sounds like a blast. Good thing you got a quote there, my guy. I'm sure the first description that would’ve come to his roommates’ minds would be “hilarity.” Or second, after “hero.” (Sorry, I don't want to be hard on John. I have a lot of bandwidth and patience for drug indulgences, especially in a situation like this, but Lewisohn is unbelievable.)

Ruth Lallemannd, a St. Pauli barmaid who knew the Beatles from 1960, recalls an occasion when “They crushed ten Prellies to powder, put them in a bottle of Cola and shared it between them. They were always wound up.”

Drugs cost money

Amazingly enough though, these prescription-only pills didn't just magically get from people with nice doctors to John’s hands. Someone sold them to someone else and they ended up with “the toilet lady,” Tante Rosa, who sold them.

They looked like little white sweets … but these were no mint drops.

- Chapter 19

So cute!

Preludin small-print advised against its being taken less than six hours before bedtime, in case of sleep disorders.

- Chapter 19

So if Lewisohn is reading the small print of a drug that was discontinued 44 years ago he did not miss the Wikipedia page and must know that “not an amphetamine but an upper” is wildly misleading. Technically true in the chemical classification sense, but not in the medical or pharmacological sense. And true in the same way that “fentanyl isn't morphine” is true.

But that's not my point.

My point is that these “little white sweets” were strong, had wild “psycho-toxic” effects, John took a lot of them, and they weren't free.

Because drugs cost money.

Paul slept fine on just the one pill, John and George didn’t. George would recall “lying in bed, sweating from Preludin, thinking, ‘Why aren’t I sleeping?’ ” John simply took more: “You could work almost endlessly until the pill wore off, then you’d have to have another … You’d have two hours’ sleep and wake up to take a pill and get on stage, and it would go on and on and on. When you didn’t even get a day off you’d begin to go out of your mind with tiredness.”

Or, put another way, John was “a high-speed gabbling blur of talent, torment and hilarity.” And Paul did uncool stuff like sleeping.

Also, what in the...

Tony, George, Paul, John and Pete, along with Rosi and perhaps some stray females, would stagger wearily and noisily up three long flights of wooden stairs...

“Stray females”??? Is he talking about cats? Don't call human beings “strays,” you self-important oddity.

THE GROWNUP

John was never much into paying for stuff. Like rent, for instance. But that's what friends are for.

John was blessed with a particular talent for frittering away his funds (the council grant designed to provide his working materials) and was rarely in a position to pay [rent]. As Rod remembers, “During the week I’d go and have a pint with him and he’d always have money for a beer, but when it came to the day to pay the rent he was always hard up. ‘Could I owe it to you?’ ‘Would you like this jacket?’ One time he paid me with a Mounties-type Canadian jacket he’d probably nicked from someone else.”

- “Tune In” - Chapter 13; “Hi-Yo, Hi-Yo, Silver–Away!”

He paid rent with a jacket? Landlords take those?

I'm not gonna lie, the only real issue I've ever had with Paul—the things I have the most confusion and hesitancy about—are when he seems inexplicably cheap. Like paying the Wings band so little for so long. There's only a few cases that come to mind, but they're my weak point with him.

Still, having done my share of experimenting—as well as dating a guy who became a high-functioning addict before becoming a non-functioning addict before becoming an ex who died of an overdose—I know very well how it feels to see money flow through your hands like water and into someone else's bloodstream. And what happens then is you either both starve or you are the only one eating. In the end, someone has to have money to live, and the more drugs my ex took the more I was forced into being a walking, talking, pissed off safety net.

Stu supposedly got in a fight with Paul because Stu owed Paul money. (Although that doesn't explain attacking Paul out of nowhere on stage half as well as a three-days-awake-Prellie-binge psycho-toxicity does.)

It does, however, mean that at least one guy in the band who was taking Preludin was running out of money between paychecks.

And there's no way that if Stu was running out of funds that John wasn't too. And faster. And according to Lewisohn, George was eating a lot of Preludin, too. Because he was also cool.

That leaves Paul.

John was notoriously bad with money even when he had a lot, and when everyone is living and working together it's almost impossible to be the only guy eating or the only guy smoking. But at the same time if you know you can't do anything to stop your friends from going hard and never thinking at all, it tends to make you more careful. Because you're all you've got and all they've got. You didn't ask for the job, but you drew the short straw. So you hide some cigarettes and share too many, and get increasingly sick of it and resentful, but there's no good answer.

John heaped a ton of spice into the mix by suddenly moving back into Mendips. He’s unlikely to have told Mimi of the Gambier Terrace eviction, but Rod Murray knew little of this hasty departure: John left most of his possessions in the flat and several weeks’ rent unpaid—to the tune of about £15. He just scarpered.

- “Tune In” - Chapter 15; Drive and Bash

“Spice.” Dude really said “spice.” That John, so spicy. And fwiw, that's £300 today.

Maybe John had another jacket to pitch in.

Paul says he's more cautious by nature and I'm sure that's true, but also you know they all relied on him because they knew he wouldn't be as stupid as they were. Who knows what he would've done—whether he would have lived a more libertine life in Hamburg—if he'd felt like that was an option and he didn't have to be the grownup. Who knows what he would have done if anyone else gave a shit whether they ate or smoked.

I'll end by repeating the freakishly weird way Lewisohn told a John psycho-toxicity story that the AKOM ladies pointed out in Ep 8: No Greater Buddy, since it's almost impossible not to talk about John and Prellies without it.

“PAUL AND GEORGE’S HERO-WORSHIP STAYED FULLY INTACT”

George was second only to John in the swallowing of Prellies and knew better than most the sum effect of taking too many for too long, how the combination of pills plus booze plus several sleepless days caused hallucinations and extreme conduct. He’d describe one occasion when he, Paul and Pete were lying in their bunk beds, trying to sleep, only for John to barge into the room in a wild state. “One night John came in and some chick was in bed with Paul and he cut all her clothes up with a pair of scissors, and was stabbing the wardrobe. Everybody was lying in bed thinking, ‘Oh fuck, I hope he doesn’t kill me.’ [He was] a frothing mad person—he knew how to have ‘fun.’ ”

Handling John was something his friends were well used to doing. If he didn’t murder them in their beds there was no greater buddy. They might fear for their lives but they loved him still. No way would they walk out and join another group. John was just John, and Paul and George’s hero-worship stayed fully intact.

- “Tune in” - Chapter 28; You Better Move On

Mark Lewisohn knows nothing about drugs or drug culture. Which is fine. Good. Great, even. But the thing is, it doesn't stop him from knowing everything about it. He has confidently and emphatically stated that John and Yoko weren't doing heroin in the daytime during the Get Back sessions. He even claims that they weren't on heroin during the Two Junkies interview. Even repeating this paraphrase makes me feel ridiculous, but he says that was a hangover from the night before, and that they were too lucid to be high. Which, first of all, is not how heroin fucking works. They were blasted. The aftereffects would be them being antsy and jumpy, not going in extra-slow motion and puking. Blows my mind, the hubris this guy has. To confidently state something he unquestionably pulled out of his ass without even a moment's hesitation. Not only is that not how heroin works, but it is the drug that people wake up to do. Not wake up and do. Wake up to do.

And you can tell from the way he talks about John on Prellies—“a high-speed gabbling blur of talent, torment and hilarity”—that he has never experienced anyone who's been up a few days. And I still have a more daring nature than most of my friends, and am in no way shocked by the drug use. Me and my friends in Houston used to take Fastin and go midnight bowling every Saturday. The memories are good and I regret nothing. But the naive way Lewisohn romanticizes John and low key mocks Paul—as if Lewisohn was the ultimate drug buddy and Paul a total prude—is so weird. It's freakishly, embarrassingly, weird. Like he wants to be the cool guy. Like he thinks he can be the cool guy, and is being the cool guy, but to me it's painfully embarrassing and nothing else makes him look more desperate and delusional.