#on a scale of one to hitting me for real in real life...

[tritoch]

the other thing I find very funny about trying to write a canon compliant wol is taking all the wolship hints extremely seriously.

I don't really wolship because I'm just fundamentally not that kind of fan. But I know for those who are, the sheer number of romance hints FFXIV throws at you can be overwhelming to parse in a context where you have a preferred/intended wolship, particularly if you're not attracted to the gender the hints are coming from in the first place (a particular tip of the hat to wlw fans navigating the g'raha of it all). I've seen plenty of people write around them or write them out or be like "no aymeric was for real inviting my wol to a nice platonic zero-subtext dinner," and God bless all of you.

But it's really funny to imagine them all as all-too-real but unreciprocated or perhaps unreciprocatable. The sheer scale of it is comedy. Spoilers for all of FFXIV follow.

Oh God, the Lord Speaker wants to have dinner, just the two of us, at his family estate and not a government building. I hope he doesn't bring up his crush on me. Thal's balls he's about to bring it up—oh thank God there's an emergency. Oh no someone got hurt! Oh no it's the teenage girl with a crush on me.

Your life is a cosmic joke. You watch the Sultana get poisoned and all your friends probably die to save your life and it's kind of all your fault in some ways, I mean at the very least you should've spoken up when they gave the teenager a private army, and then the teenage boy speaks up and is like, "hey, I guess we have at least one ally. What about if we go visit that guy who is really obviously down unbelievably bad for you and wants to lick the sweat off of you." and you have to be like, yeah, Alphinaud. Great idea. Let's do it. I'll call him.

(brief interlude: also haurchefant's DEATH hits so good if you don't reciprocate. It's okay. He gets it. You're going through a lot and even if you had time to sort through your feelings maybe you're just not into him. That would be okay! You can love someone, or the idea of someone, without needing it to be romantically reciprocated. That's chivalric, even. Knightly. So he won't ask you to lie to him and say you love him as he lies dying in your arms. He's not so low as all that. But could you smile for him as you used to? That true hero's smile of yours. And you do, and he dies. And you both know he died for a lie, in a way, or a flight of fancy. And he's okay with that. Are you? Should you be? Should he?)

Then you're into Stormblood and it's like wow, okay. That last part was all high fantasy, of course there were loyal knights and elegant princes. But this is war. Imperialism. Grim business, surely there's no way—oh no BOTH handsome young revolutionary leaders seem to have a special interest in you?! And so does the Crown Prince of the Empire? Come on, man. I should get to do the whole horrors of war thing without having to also deal with this. Gaius sucked and it was weird that he let his foster daughter run around being openly obsessed with him but at least he never made it my problem.

You can't even get away from it across dimensions. Shadowbringers is a horror story about going on a teambuilding camping trip with your work colleagues for some reason except they all suddenly got really hot and they keep touching you affectionately on the shoulder and being like "I care for you and your happiness. Truly." And also you're being stalked for the whole camping trip by two old men who are obsessed with you. The false climax of the story is that the one old man tries to betray you and give a dramatic monologue about how he loves you but the two of you are doomed by the narrative and then the other old man shoots him in the back like "no actually its MY turn to betray them and give a dramatic monologue about how our love is doomed by the narrative." Then the real climax is old man #1 backstabbing old man #2 in the middle of said monologue before old man #2 dies and gives ANOTHER wistful monologue about his doomed love. Then for the patches they're like okay so we have this even CRAZIER old man who's gonna strike when you're weak and give a dramatic monolo—

and that's without even getting into the literal soulmate ghost only you can see

my warrior of light never felt more betrayed than in that scene where Y'shtola is like "haha Alisaie and G'raha have crushes on the warrior of light." Like I thought we were COOL, Y'shtola! I work here! This situation is already in such a delicate balance! Right when I got here I met Alisaie's "friend from work" who was like oh haha so YOU'RE the one she can't stop talking about and we never followed up on that because the woman died horrifically like five minutes later right in front of us! Then when Vauthry got away and we had to do all that shit with the dwarves, G'raha kept pausing every ten minutes to be like oooooh I'm so old I'm gonna die soon...at least I got to spend some time with some people who are really important to me...in fact here's what I'd tell the person who's most important to me...actually u know them really well haha. And I just had to sit there and be like wow, dude, crazy.

even in the face of apocalypse you still gotta go back in time like 12,000 years and there's somewhere there who makes you sit and listen to his story which is that the purpose of his whole godlike immortal life was to be in a throuple with you and old man #2 from the camping trip. and you just gotta sit there the whole time knowing you/your past life is the one who broke up the throuple over politics. He's like come help me harangue the old man into streaking in public, he'll do it if you ask.

then you meet and fight and kill God and you gotta turn to the team and be like hey sorry guys can you give me a sec. I'm gonna call God by her real name because we met one time for like four days and after that the promise of meeting me again was one of the things that sustained her through her millennia of suffering. Not like that but like. Idk. Just gimme a sec!

It's a relief when you finally get to Lahabrea and he's like actually I still don't fuck with your vibe. Like thank GOD.

And my WoL is very obviously dad-shaped so Dawntrail had a very specific energy for me but I understand that for plenty of people your deepening rapport with Wuk Lamat had a romantic subtext (same for Koana depending on how you read a few of his lines). And personally I think it's the height of comedy to be like, noooo, babe, your highness, I know you and your brother the king are in love with me and want me to stick around and support you emotionally through this governmental transition haha. But it's just...the cursed wineglass, babe. I GOTTA go figure out what's up with this cursed wineglass.

It's a running gag in some of the more optional content that people are like "you have an unreasonable number of hobbies and side gigs" to the WoL from time to time. But if every time you tried picking up a new hobby some new elf started baring their soul to you, you too would be like Hey Jessie (or sometimes Krile or Tataru), my good friend who is one of the only people in my life who knows what professional ethics and work-life boundaries are, any chance you need muscle on a gig on the other side of the world? Ideally with only Cid and his ex so all libidinal energy in the room is directed towards machinery or someone who isn't me?

ironically one of the only places you get a break from psychosexual obsession is the nier content

[moscatosin]

🖤 taste tests - mattheo x reader x theodore🖤 bored reader. oral (m! rec), public spaces, have a sprite. mdni, (2.3k).

“You two are both absolutely, fucking deranged.”

Coming from anyone else, the comment would have stung a little, like a quick witted insult with clearly no through process put into it, but slipping off the tongue of one Theodore Nott; the words were delivered as a fucking compliment – one wrapped, mind you, tastefully within the perfection of his somewhat rare, yet rather amusing comedic flare.

Your knees – they ached. God, did they fucking hurt at this point, all bruised and battered and bloodied on an almost artistic scale from the rough stone floors you’d been kneeling on for now what felt like forever, but let’s be real – the uncomfortable feeling and pain you were going through was a rather small price to pay for a sliver of illicit thrill.

There were three months left until graduation. 3. That equated out to roughly 60 days of classes and exams, or better still – eighty four days trapped within the castle walls of Hogwarts until your undeniable freedom from the education system you’d been held hostage within. Not that you weren’t grateful for what you’d learned; no, this wasn’t the case – you’d had the absolute time of your life, but it was time to move on. Time for bigger and better things than what Hogwarts could simply offer.

Until then though, you needed something to keep yourself relatively sane amidst the chaos of final exams, petty courtyard drama and dormmates you’d be oh so happy to never see again. The ache for something different, something unique and something that you could make undeniably yours is what brought you to this point: hair slicked back into a high ponytail and on your knees between the dimly lit rows of shelves at the back of the library, participating in something that over time you’d affectionately dubbed as ‘The Taste Test’. A story, rumour, myth that had rather quickly lingered throughout the school.

The concept? Simple enough. Sometime between mid February and the end of June, you’d made it a mission to give head to every sixth and seventh year boy in campus and rank them – both solo and by house from one through forty six based on the categories of taste, texture and overall satisfaction. Easy enough right? Ha! Wrong. Not when Slytherin of all houses was fucking involved, and not when you’d left them, intentionally until last. Let’s just go out on a limb by saying that their reputation for intensity that had been rumoured around the castle and whispered in riddles by portraits as you strolled by wasn’t just ‘talk’, and that you, over the last few evenings; had found that out firsthand.

Feeling fingers deeply knot into the length of your ponytail before being wrapped rightly around a palm, you managed to barely stifle an innocent little giggle at Theo’s comment, only for it to near immediately morph into a dangerous yet delicious choke as the tip of Mattheo’s cock roughly hit the back of your throat, causing you to splutter and gag. With eyes delicately watering, you glanced up at him from waist height with a feigned expression of both innocence and vulnerability you knew he’d see right through but threw out there anyway.

“Oh c’mon Princess, don’t give me that sweet little doe-eyed look”, Mattheo barely managed to drawl out as a sick little smirk threatened to tug at the corner of his lips, “You’re the one who wanted to try every guy and well.. low and be-fucking-hold, you’ve saved the best two for last.”

A quick slap at your cheek which caused the skin to bloom an immediate shade of pretty scarlet red, Mattheo’s eyebrows cocked up, his bottom lip brought almost seductively up to be caught between his teeth as he continued to thrust into your mouth setting a relentless pace that you hadn’t yet experienced from any of the other subjects involved in your little project.

Gagging, a hollow whimper escaped your lips that burned the edges of your tongue as it rolled out; your hands braced hard up against his thighs, half hoping Mattheo would slow down, mind already wondering how much you’d have to swallow and if skipping dinner tonight was fucking worth the empty stomach. Every other boy you’d been with prior had been in private – their dorm, a vacant broom cupboard, empty classroom, blah blah but this; oh this just had to be different. Nearby, Theo lounged comfortable, sprawled out on a chair he’d dragged over from a study area, watching on with an amused grin as he flicked through the pages of your little leather bound notebook and tried to decipher everything you’d recorded.

“Little miss researcher has got this all figured out Mattheo – point system and fucking everything”, Theo snorted, twirling his wand casually between his fingers, “Taste, texture, satisfaction – Merlin, it’s almost like a bloody Michelin guide.”

You managed to pull back just enough to catch your breath – just enough that you could talk and narrowed your eyes near menacingly. “It’s called having a scientific approach, Nott. Something I’m sure you wouldn’t understand.”

Mattheo chuckled along; his hand tightening back into your hair to guide you back to where you should have been focused; tip of his cock parting your lips a little easier than you’d have liked to admit. “Scientific huh? Less focus on Theo, more focus on the task at hand yeah?”

Rolling your eyes back heavily, you complied, focusing on the task at hand – just as Mattheo wanted. The library for the most half was silent, save for the faint rustle of pages from a forgotten book a student desperately flickered through last moment in an attempt to find something smart to quote into an assignment, and well, the occasional muffled sound from your efforts that you’d prefer to keep that way. A library – of course it had to be in the fucking library.

The Slytherin boys had been the final hurdle in this little experiment, and fuck – they hadn’t disappointed. Each brought something rather… different. Draco, a rather attractive arrogance. Blaise, a smooth confidence. Goyle ugh… breathmints; thank christ. Enzo, the intimacy of platting your hair as you went down on him. Theo, lounging around like a bored king was next; and you already knew from the dead eyed look he always wore and shot you that he probably couldn’t have cared less.. but Mattheo; fuck, the way his hips snapped up against your cheeks, it was a damn performance.

The rules overall, were simple. No bias. No favouritism. You’d worked your way through all students or well.. subjects – systematically. The Gryffindors – earnest, yet predictable. The Ravenclaws – surprisingly experimental. The Hufflepuffs – sweethearts, but rather lacking edge and now… these fucking serpents.

Feeling Mattheo’s pace slow, his grip in your hair began to loosen as he let out a low growl, pulsing and spilling into your mouth without much warning. There was a shift in his stance; weight switching from left leg to right as the telltale sign that Mattheo was close. Pulling back slightly, you teased your tongue flat against his shaft to draw the feeling out. No need to rush a finale. Swallowing each spurt, tears that had formed in the corners of your eyes running rogue down your face mixed in with mascara which ever so gently dyed lines into your cheeks. “Who’d have thought that mouth you run in classes would be fucking good at this?”

Chuckling, you skimmed your thumb across your lips to clean up and snatched your notebook out of Theodore’s hands to scribble down the score you felt Mattheo earned. Tilting your head, you hummed softly pretending to consider as if you hadn’t just been thinking about these scores for the last nine minutes.

“Taste – a solid eight. You eat way too many chocolate frogs – I can almost taste them. Texture – seven and a half. Standard. Nothing special. A little gritty. Satisfaction...” You paused, smirking; knowing that this would either make or break his confidence into tiny, pathetic little shreds. “Let’s go with nine. Always room for improvement, Riddle.”

Almost barking out a laugh; Theodore shook his head and bit his tongue between his teeth, buying himself some time to think of an appropriate reply before interjecting what had just been revealed.

“Brutal M. However, that would make it my turn now hey? Let’s see if I can’t top Riddle’s nine.” “Yeah – good luck asshole. She’s a fucking harsh critic.” Mattheo managed out, shooting Theo a glare as he stepped back to adjust his trousers before taking a seat on the edge of a nearby desk.

Sliding off the chair he’d been so comfortable in, Theodore sauntered over with that lazy, arrogant confidence that just made him oh so infuriatingly charming. Crouching down for a moment, his fingertips – soft and gently pushed up beneath your chin so that your eyes could meet his – the exchange of gazes glinting with undeniable mischief.

“A harsh critic? Nah, this little dollface is just discerning. Aren’t you love? Ready to meet your champion?”

Snorting in response, you tucked some loose hair which had fallen in front of your face from how rough Mattheo had been behind your ear and smiled. “Awfully cocky Nott for someone who hasn’t even stepped up to the challenge yet. You ready?”

“Oh, I am more than ready”, he confirmed; getting up, back straightening and feet widening with perfectly polished shoes as Theodore undid his belt with a theatrical flourish and guided you to tug his zipper down with your teeth, complimenting you with the whispered phrase of good girl that made not only your mind fault for a second but your inner thighs begin to burn.

The next few minutes on your knees were an absolute fucking blur; a battle ground of Theodore’s teasing commentary as his cock ran tender between your swollen lips and your own determination in trying ever so hard to stay focused. He was different – different from Mattheo, different from the other boys. Less intense, far less worried; much, much more playful, guiding you with soft murmurs breathed in both an eclectic fusion of Italian and English as well as, the occasional cheeky remark, reminding you to keep your eyes focused on him.

Unlike others; Theodore gave you fair warning – something only the Hufflepuffs funnily enough had done; prior to sinking his fingers into your hair and holding you close as he could before spurting warm and salty into your mouth. By the time he was finished with you, your knees were screaming; ready to call it a night. Thighs still irritatingly warm though. Damn – perhaps you should have convinced them this little project was a fuck study rather than a suck study. Leaning back, you swallowed hard; catching your breath with further flushed cheeks before you felt around for that notebook of yours and flipped it over to the last page, scribbling down Theodore’s scores before you could forget anything.

“Well?”, he asked, attempting to peer down over your shoulder, “Gonna keep me in suspense or tell me that I’ve bet Riddle?”

“Taste – nine”, you gasped out, licking your lips. “Rather savoury – it was nice.” You tapped the feather of your quill against your chest and continued to scribble. “Texture – seven point five; I’m starting to think this is a standard. Oh and satisfaction; you were the only one polite enough to warn me that you were coming so.. eight. You could have been a little rougher with me. Not bad overall though.”

Clutching at his shirt in mock offense; Theo sighed and furrowed his brows. “Not bad? Girl, I’m wounded – I was aiming for legendary, not the same fucking score as Riddle.”

“Better luck next time Italian Stallion”, Mattheo managed to choke out in between laughs, pushing himself off the edge of the desk he sat at watching rather intrigued.

Closing your notebook and tying the thin straps around it to keep the pages concealed, you reached a hand out, having Theodore help you onto your feet as you swept the material of your skirt down flat against your thighs and smiled; pulling your hair out of it’s updo to casually cascade down over your shoulders.

“That’s it – the taste test is now officially complete”, you chirped, walking out of the library with both boys past some rather curious and bashful looks from studying students.

“So who’s the winner?”, Theodore asked, falling into pace beside you. “Don’t tell me some Gryffindor with a hero complex.”

“Nah, surely it’s a Slytherin”, Mattheo piped up, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you walked out into central hall.

Holding your notebook close up against your chest, you shrugged and twirled some hair around your fingers lazily, “A girls got to have some secrets fellas – I mean c’mon.”

Nudging the shell of your ear with his nose, Mattheo chuckled softly, warm breath creeping down along your jaw that made your inner thighs burn with further more regret. “Pretty please princess – just give us a hint. How about overall? Slytherin took top spot – didn’t we?”

Shrugging again, you wriggled yourself out of his hold and shook your head, taking a few steps ahead before turning around with a spin on your heel to face them.

“Maybe, maybe not.. you’ll both just have to wait until graduation.”

The boys grumbles and groan at your answer, but nonetheless don’t bother pushing it any further. Not yet. Not now. They’ve got heaps of time to gruel information out of you. As you slip through the darkened corridors of the castle back to your dormroom, you can’t help but grin. This whole experiment had been a ridiculous, reckless way to pass the time, but hey, it had done its job. You’d survived your final few months of being stuck in the castle with a story that no one would believe, and a notebook full of secrets you’d take with you to your grave…

… or at least the ten year class reunion.

unedited - i'm sorry. short but i hope you enjoy xoxo

[bruhstories]

guilt

summary: you're looking for an end to your misery and guilt, but find healing instead. pairing: dante sparda x succubus!reader | game-oriented warnings: reader has a death wish and suffers from meltdowns, unprotected p in v, fighting sex?? swearing, descriptions of reader's demonic form, afab!reader, fighting for dominance, slightly sub!reader, some aftercare w/c: 5.1k

a/n: aight, here it is! i hope y'all don't mind a bit of build up lol

You were created with one purpose to fulfil — weaken humanity.

And you did. For centuries, you crept into the dreams of soldiers, doctors, priests, kings, disturbing their peace with your beauty, syphoning their life force with your body. You ruined marriages, impaired armies, even, all in the name of the King of the Underworld. But not without guilt.

See, when Mundus selected you for his demonic crusade, he overlooked one particular flaw that you managed to hide quite well — compassion. Not that you were the first demon to give a shit about humans, but you were one of the few who experienced shame so strong that you considered death to be a form of penance.

Only, death wouldn't have brought humanity any benefit. So, you ran away, slipped through a gate between the worlds and hid away for decades, until you were sure no demon was looking for you anymore. Inspired by Sparda's selflessness, you picked up odd jobs, helping the humans you once actively tried to destroy. You were a village teacher who disappeared, a military nurse who died on the battlefield, a firefighter who burned, a police officer who got shot — even if a body was never found — all while battling your own demons.

When you were born, you were born with a weakness, an insatiable, aching hunger for sex, an urge you needed to suppress and control. And it consumed you, like lava flowing through your veins that burned holes through your skin. Some days were easier. Others weren't, because when it rained, it poured, and you locked yourself inside of your bathroom, submerged in ice cold water just to stop the impulses from taking over. Your body, your real, demonic body, decorated with blood red scales, and a serpentine tail to match, with horns and slitted pupils, were harder to control when the urges hit, and you felt bad lying to your boss when you called in sick.

Because of your abstinence, the carnal cravings became frequent, more violent than ever before, and you knew the only way to go back to normal was to give in to them every once in a while, but you couldn't. You couldn't break the humans that took you in when you needed them the most. There were only two options left — to die, or to fuck.

You met with Enzo at the Bull's Eye Bar, hood over your head to hide the horns, gloves to hide the talons. You didn't take your sunglasses off, not wanting to scare the one man that knew the truth about you. He sat down next to you, but you quickly moved away, leaving one barstool between the two of you. The last thing you wanted was to rampage through the bar and kill him.

"I'm not afraid of you, kid. It's just a bad day." He tried to comfort you, but you shook your head.

"I think my time's up, Enzo." Your voice was meek and raspy.

"Don't be dramatic! Buy me a drink and let's talk about it."

You smiled at his optimism (and opportunism), accidentally flashing your fangs, and while you could tell Enzo was taken aback by them, he didn't leave. So, you bought him a drink and talked about it.

"I don't think I can take it anymore. Just being here makes me want to... jump your bones." You cringed at your own words.

"Who would've thought I still got it at my age?"

"It's not funny. You know that would kill you."

"I know." Enzo sighed. "Listen, I know a guy-"

"No. Absolutely not." You shook your head and sat up ready to leave.

"Sit down, girl. I'm not finished." He grabbed the glass full of ice-cold water that you ordered and splashed you with it.

"Why on Earth did you do that?" You froze, shocked by Enzo's behaviour.

"To cool you off. Did it work?"

"I- well- yeah, actually." You felt your body temperature go down.

"Good, now listen."

It was a stupid idea, but it was an idea nonetheless, better than the one you had, anyway. The red neon sign in front of you almost blinded your eyes, particularly the silhouette of the girl, but you walked closer to the building and knocked on the door. When there was no answer, you decided to push open the door, letting yourself in. Your heels clicked on the wooden floor as you wearily approached the front desk, with nothing but a rotary phone and the photo of a beautiful woman on it.

"Hello? Is anyone here?" Your voice echoed in the building, and you didn't dare to stray away from the desk.

"Shop's... closed."

Turning on your heels, you looked to your left to see a man with wet white hair sticking to his cheekbones, wearing nothing but a pair of leather trousers, beads of water dripping down his bare chest. God, he was stunning, and it did little to help your condition.

"I'm sorry, but I really need your help." You could barely breathe. "Enzo sent me."

"Still, shop's closed." He shrugged and walked past you towards the stairs. Underneath the landing was a white fridge, and the man opened it and grabbed himself a beer.

"Please, you're a devil hunter. Dante, right?"

"That I am."

"Good, because I need you to hunt one for me. Please." You begged him again, and after a few sips from his drink and careful consideration, he sat in his chair, feet propped on the antique desk.

"Alright, I'll bite. What am I hunting?"

You sighed, pulling down your hood and removing your sunglasses while your heart beats quickened.

"Me."

He paused drinking, blue eyes staring at you, and even though he was trying to hide it, you could tell he'd never seen the type of demon you were before. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you unbuttoned your trench coat, letting it fall down and pool at your feet, then took off the gloves. With each article of clothing you peeled off, more of your demonic nature was left exposed, but you had enough humanity in you to not strip all of your clothes. You wanted to die with dignity.

"Please be quick." Squeezing your eyes shut, you felt hot tears roll down your cheeks. You didn't want to die, not really, but you would be doing humans a favour if you did.

"Save your tears. Devils don't cry."

Dante was harsh with his words, but he was right — you didn't deserve that, you weren't human. But then, why were you afraid? Why did you feel centuries of guilt haunting you in your last moments? Why could you see the face of every man and woman you tormented in their sleep whenever you closed your eyes? Was that not human enough?

"I'm sorry, I can't help it." You said, eyes still shut and your fingers tugging at the hem of your dress.

"What kind of demon are you?" He asked, and you sighed.

"What difference does it make? You kill all kinds of demons, don't you?"

"Just curious." Dante nonchalantly said.

You opened your eyes, slitted pupils following him through the room. Was he stalling? Was he even the man Enzo recommended? You were hoping for a quick, clean death, not an interrogation.

"I'm the worst kind." You said, praying it would irk him, make Dante want to kill you faster. "The cowardly kind. The kind that shows up in your dreams and torments you, sucks the life out of you for sustenance, that makes men lose their minds. Not blood and gore, but pleasure and pain. And I am begging you to end my life."

"Why?"

"Why does it fucking matter?" Your voice lost its sweetness, now dark and low. "What matters is I hurt people, lots of people." You dropped down on your knees, lifting your dress inch by inch. "And I wanted to be like him, like Sparda, wanted to be good!" Your sharp talons clawed at the skin on your cheeks, leaving burning marks under them. "But I can't fight it anymore, it's eating me alive! Please, Dante, please do something!"

You were hysterical at that point, sobbing, screaming in pain, dripping with sweat. Dante found your eyes — full of both lust and grief — and your body shook spasmodically, like you were possessed by yourself.  Your hips rolled, thighs squeezed together while you tore the collar of your dress, wriggling, writhing in pain. So much pain. That was your penance.

He was genuinely shocked by the conflict within you, the battle you fought for God knows how long, and he could tell you regretted it. In fact, Dante pitied you.

"Kill me, kill me-" You choked on your words, throwing yourself at his feet. "Please, please, please-"

"I'm not gonna kill you." Dante stepped back, then crouched next to you, one hand placed on your shoulder.

You flinched and hissed at the man, his touch sending a wave of heat through your body, but you propped yourself on your elbows and pushed yourself back, as far away from him as possible, crawling into a corner. There was very little sanity left in your brain, and you eyed the door — you had to run again, or else you could have hurt him. Leaping towards the door, you found yourself caught by his arms, and he overpowered you with ease, holding you while you tried to fight him.

"Let me go!" Your fists slammed against his bare chest. "Please, I need to go, need to feed, need to fuck-"

Agony. You were in agony. Dante swept you off your feet, knocking the wind out of you as he threw you on his shoulder to carry you. You tried to put up a fight, tried to wrestle out of his grasp, but he was much, much stronger. Almost like he wasn't human at all. Dante practically dragged you to the bathroom, forcing you into the bathtub, despite your protests. But he was doing you a favour, really.

The cold water snapped you back to reality, even if it was momentary, and your convulsing body relaxed. Your breathing and heart beats slowed down, and you sighed, watching the tub fill with water. Dante opened the window, and the cool late-night breeze tickled your skin.

"How did you know about the temperature?" You whispered, too ashamed to even look at him.

"Hell's cold. Thought you might be homesick." Dante leaned against the edge of the bathtub and you snorted at his remark. "You got a name?"

"Y/N."

"Your real name." He folded his arms across his chest.

"I'm trying to forget it. Trying to die, too, but you're making it harder." You scoffed.

"Oh, yeah, not happening." Dante turned the tap off. "Enzo knows about you." It wasn't a question at all.

"Yeah, he believed I could change. So did I, but I guess I'm a demon through and through. Any reason why you didn't shoot me on the spot?"

"Eeeh." He shrugged. "Guess I saw potential in you. You're pretty weak, though."

"Gee, thanks, Dante." Your finger tapped on the surface of the water, creating small ripples.

"No, that's a good thing. It means I don't need to tie you up while I figure out a solution." He rubbed his chin, and your eyes followed his hand, stopping on his white stubble. Shit, he was a little too handsome for his own good.

"Not to be rude, but are you out of your mind? There is no solution, only death."

"But you don't want to die."

You opened your mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Of course you didn't. But what choice did you have?

"How long until your next... meltdown?"

"I don't know, a week? Two? They're becoming more frequent and less... bearable." You shivered, and Dante stepped away to bring you a towel.

"Anything else I need to know?" He helped you stand up in the tub.

"This is awkward, and contradictory, but feeding helps me regain control."

"Feeding?" He rose a brow.

"You know what I mean."

"I really don't."

"You do, and I don't wanna say it." You snatched the towel from him and dabbed it on your skin.

"The first step is acceptance. Don't be a prude, it doesn't suit you." Dante closed the window while you stepped out of the bathtub, water dripping down the tiled floor.

"What, are you a psychiatrist? Fine, it's sex! I need to have sex!" You said that a bit too loudly. "There, happy?"

"Well, it definitely makes it easier." He closed the gap between the two of you, backing you up into the bathroom corner.

"You're crazy. It'll kill you."

He laughed. Dante full on laughed in your face while you stared at him, dumbfounded.

"Believe me, it'll take more than that to kill me, princess. But, by all means, if you have a better idea, spit it out."

"I can't, I'm not ready." You shook your head.

"Bold of you to say that. You know, considering you're a sex demon and all." Dante's harsh observation stung you, and again, tears fell.

"You're an asshole." You whimpered like a wounded dog. "A first-class asshole. You don't even know how hurtful that was. You don't even know me."

"Am I wrong?"

"Yes! Yes, you are! I have to kill to survive. Do you know how fucked up that is? I can't believe Enzo sent me here. I'm leaving." You pushed him away with all the strength you could muster and opened the bathroom door.

"If you leave, you'll end up hurting someone. Or yourself." Dante said, and you froze.

Maybe he was right, maybe he could help. He did overpower you, and humans couldn't really do that. You spent too much time away from Hell to keep up to date with the news, but you heard rumours of half-demons. Sparda's offsprings in particular.

"Who are you?" You turned to look at him.

"Just someone who's not so different from you. Stay and find out. Or leave, and I'll have to hunt you."

He knew how to bargain.

"Can I at least have some dry clothes?"

His shirt was big on you, swallowing your entire body in it, but it was comfortable, and most importantly, dry. Dante offered you a beer, but you politely declined — alcohol riled you up. He offered you a spare room in his strange shop, and you locked yourself inside of it, refusing to sleep. Your hunger wasn't just physical — it transcended into the realm of dreams, and you didn't want to torment the man who wanted to help you. But he was kind enough not to pressure you into sleeping with him, even if deep down you knew that was the only way to keep you sane.

When you were mentally stable, Dante taught you how to shoot and fight, and when you lost the plot, he forced you into the bathroom, hosing you down with ice cold water. When he left for missions, you begged him to chain you up and lock you in your room, and when he came back, he brought you back to reality. But it was becoming worse than ever. The weeks between your outbursts turned into days, and you were harder to handle each time. Still, Dante didn't even try to convince you to give in. If anything, he admired your stubbornness.

It was late at night when the devil hunter came back from his mission, and the first thing he did was to run upstairs and check on you. Dante turned around on the hallway, stopping when he saw the door to your room wide open and empty. The chains that were supposed to bound you while he was gone were broken, making him think that it wasn't you that somehow escaped, but that someone, or something, broke in. A quick scan around the room and Dante concluded that there was no sign of trespassing — the window of your room was locked from the inside, and so was the front door. Nothing was different, not even the claw marks on the floor.

He frantically checked every room upstairs, calling out your name, asking where you were, but before he went downstairs, Dante stopped at the top of the staircase. He didn't check his bedroom.

His hand hovered over the doorknob and he slowly turned it, quietly pushing it open. Even with the lights off, Dante knew you were there, the outline of your body barely visible in the dim moonlight. He flicked the light switch, and there you were, sprawled on his bed in a torn shirt that left very little to his imagination. But something wasn't right. You weren't tormented by that insatiable hunger, weren't convulsing, you just looked at him through thick lashes with those slitted pupils that he came to both love and hate.

"You're here." Dante tilted his head, one hand close to his gun. Just in case.

"I am." You purred, rolling on your side, your serpentine tail coiling around your ankle.

"Why are you in my room?"

"I was drawn to it. Well, to your scent." You simply shrugged, and he couldn't understand why you were so calm, so docile. Unless...

"Have you fed?" Dante stepped closer, gun now in his hand.

"Mmm, wouldn't you like to know?" You flashed your fangs and fixed him with your eyes, like a viper assessing its prey. "What are you gonna do, shoot me?"

Damn it. You really had to go and fuck everything up. But when he took another step, he could hear, no, feel your heart thumping against your ribcage, too fast for how calm you were trying to appear. Then he saw the beads of sweat on your skin, and the claw marks on your neck, the hair strands clinging to your talons, the wound on your lower lip, and the tears welling up in your eyes. He saw how you hurt yourself for fear of hurting others.

"For a demon, you're a pretty horrible liar." He tossed his gun on the table next to his bed, and you wailed in pain, unable to pretend anymore.

You understood two things in the months you spent with Dante: that he wasn't fully human, and that he wasn't going to give up on you. Yet it didn't make yielding any easier. The last time you fed was at least a century ago. Even if Dante did let you feed off of him, there was no guarantee it would help since, well, he wasn't fully human. But he wasn't going to kill you, and you were running out of self-control.

Fuck.

"Let's get you in the bathtub." Dante's voice was gentler than ever.

"No."

"No? Y/N, I'm not gonna shoot you, that's final."

"I don't... I don't want you to shoot me." You sighed, chewing on your lower lip.

He didn't say anything, and instead waited for you to speak.

"Are you sure it won't kill you?"

"Positive." He nodded.

"Fine. Just know it won't be like with a human."

"What, are you gonna crawl on the ceiling or something?" Dante joked, but the look on your face told him you didn't find it amusing.

"I don't know, I can't remember what it's like."

Oh, you poor thing. He couldn't imagine going through centuries without feeling a touch, a kiss, even a hug. Not that he got laid often — women were drawn to him until he opened his dumb mouth, but it was their loss.

"It's alright, I'll take care of you if you'll let me." Dante promised, and you believed him.

Whether it was your desperation or his confidence, you didn't know, but you truly believed that he could help. You just really hoped he wouldn't fucking die in the process.

"Please." The word was quiet, weak, but full of desire. "I don't know how long until I fully lose it, Dante."

In the blink of an eye, he stood beside the bed, again proving that he wasn't human, and you slowly gained courage. Maybe it would be okay, maybe you would be okay. Your body reacted when you felt his presence, kneeling on the mattress to be at his level. Locking eyes, you swallowed the lump in your throat and placed your hands on his shoulders. He felt like fire under your fingertips, and it made you want to rip open his shirt, which you tried, but Dante wrapped his fingers around your wrists, holding them in place.

"Down, girl."

"I can't, I'm starving."

"I know." He pressed his lips onto your knuckles, so gentle that you thought you might spontaneously combust. "But you need to take it slowly. Don't let it control you."

You nodded, albeit the heat and pain between your legs killing you, and tried to calmly unbutton his shirt when he released your wrists. Your hands trembled, failing miserably with the first button, and while Dante pitied you, he refused to give you a hand. It was tough love, but it was necessary.

"Please, Dante, please help me, please fuck me, pleasepleaseplease-" Your incoherent babbling tempted him, it truly did, but it felt wrong. It felt like he would be taking advantage of your weakness. Men would have walked on corpses to hear a beautiful woman beg like that, and they would have been persuaded in a split second.

But Dante wasn't a normal man. You asked for help, and he would do just that, but not how you wanted. He placed two fingers onto your luscious lips, silencing your devilish tongue, and it worked, because you stopped and stared at him.

"You need to calm down." He said, and you nodded before opening your mouth to suck on his digits. "Not like that." Dante sighed, the leather trousers now very uncomfortable on him.

He didn't tell you to stop, though, because having something to suck on helped you focus on unbuttoning the rest of his shirt. God, you were something else, something equally beautiful and grotesque — a demon with a human heart.

His shirt fell on the floor, and Dante finally pulled his fingers out of your mouth. Your hands rushed to his belt, only for him to swat them away, telling you to relax, to enjoy the moment, but how could you enjoy it when your skin itched with impatience, while he had the patience of a saint?

"I need you, Dante, please. Have I not been good?" The pain in your voice mixed with the sorrowful look in your eyes had him weak, but he remained focused.

"So good." He growled, slowly losing his cool. There was demon blood inside of him, too, after all. "But I need you to stay calm, yeah? Can you do that for me?"

Another reluctant nod, even if you flesh was burning and your heart was racing. Taking a deep breath in, you dragged your sharp claws down Dante's chest, down his abdomen, past his V-line, and only then did he let you unbuckle his belt. You violently pulled it away, tossing it somewhere on the bed, and he grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back and holding it in place.

"I'm gonna kiss you now, and you're going to behave."

"Can't promise that." You scoffed at his demand.

He didn't quip back, but instead pressed his lips onto yours, kissing you with a hunger greater than yours, a kiss so sloppy and wet that you thought it was his first time. It wasn't, he was just that needy, and you kissed him back, looping your arms around his neck, moving closer to him until he almost lost his balance. When he pulled away, you whimpered, pathetically begging him to kiss you again, to touch you, to fuck you, the sound of his zipper shutting you up.

"Fuck this." Dante pushed you onto the mattress so hard you bounced back. "Can't hold back anymore."

The grin on your lips should've been a red flag, but he didn't care anymore. His thick, hard cock sprung out of his boxers and you instinctively spread your legs, only for him to grab your ankles and pull you closer, earning a giggle from you.

The tip of his cock pressed against your entrance, and Dante groaned when he felt how impossibly wet you were. He really wanted to take his time with you, but he was still a man, and you were a succubus. It was never going to be slow and steady. He pushed past your slick, velvety folds, not giving you any time to adjust to his girth because you took him so well.

You arched your back when he bottomed out, power coursing through your veins as you regained life strength, and he was still alive. For now. His first thrusts were brutal, full of lust, rage, love and hatred, and you bucked your hips, brain and body overwhelmed by the sudden strength inside of you.

"Thank you, thank you!" You cried out, latching your arms behind his shoulders. "Fuck, I've never felt so good!" Your sobs echoed in his bedroom, and with the newfound strength, you managed to hook one leg around Dante's thigh, pushing him on his back.

The mattress dipped under his weight, his hands roaming all over your body to rip the already torn dress off of you. You frantically bounced up and down his cock, palms on his chest to support yourself. He let you have your fun, let you ride him as he took in your beauty, but Dante wasn't in the mood to submit. Not after the months of torture you made him go through. With a supernatural force, he sent you flying across the room, and you hissed when your shoulder blades hit the wall that cracked behind you.

Dante leaped towards you, pinning your hands above your head while you wriggled and fought against his restraint. You got a taste of power and needed more, and he was about to give it to you, but not before crushing your lips under his, reminding you that you were not in charge. Yet, you didn't want to take the hint, and instead coiled your tail around his ankle, yanking it until Dante lost balance and let go of your wrists.

What was supposed to help you turned into a battle for dominance, both with Dante and with yourself, because deep down you knew that you should've yielded, but it wasn't in your nature to submit. You slipped away from him, but he was quicker, grabbing your arm and turning you around, his chest pressed against your back. Dante held you despite your protests, before slowly bringing you down to the floor, on your knees.

"Relax-"

"Don't wanna relax-" You snarled, convulsing under his arms. "Wanna, oh-"

The words melted in your mouth when he slammed his cock back into you, painstakingly slowly rolling his hips while your eyes filled up with tears of ecstasy. You never submitted, always dominated, but the way Dante pushed your head down and fucked you felt so good that you couldn't help but lift your ass up for him to take you however he pleased.

"See? That's much better, isn't it?" He fucking cooed at you, and you sobbed.

"Yes! Yes, yes, oh, God, yes!" You cried out when the tip of his cock bullied your cervix, stretching your sore cunt out. "More, please! I need more!"

"Greedy girl." Dante's fingers bruised your hips, gripping them so tightly you thought he might rip your flesh off.

The power that seeped into your veins was minuscule compared to the the new sensation that you felt — addiction. You became addicted to him, to his touch and his scent, to his cock, like it healed something within you, like you didn't live to suck the life out of humans anymore, but to be with him and only him.

It seemed as though Dante fucked you eternally, and your once insatiable hunger disappeared with each thrust, replaced by pure bliss. Your arms wobbled under the pressure and pleasure, and you bucked your hips against his, chanting his name like a prayer.

"I'm close! Dante, I'm gonna cum!"

"You poor thing." He whispered with a hint of pity in his voice while brutally slamming into you. "When was the last time you came?"

"Never did, no man could make me cum! No one fucked me like you do!"

And Dante believed you. He believed every single word that came out of your sinful mouth, because you came to him looking to put an end to all the misery you caused through sheer sacrifice. You were desperate, and desperation made you honest.

Like clay in his nimble hands, you let yourself be sculpted and shaped by Dante into something else, something new, something better. Oddly enough, he felt the same, as though all his life he'd been navigating through a long, dark tunnel, and he finally found the light at the end.

You came undone on his cock with only his name spilling from your lips, waves of both pleasure and power coursing through your quivering body. When your arms and knees gave in and you almost hit the floor, Dante caught you, one arm around your waist to bring you closer to him. His hips stuttered while he held you, fucking you until your cunt felt hot and sticky with his cum. Slowly and carefully, Dante pulled out, and without a word, he picked you up, carrying you to the en-suite bathroom while you buried your nose in the crook of his neck.

"How are you feeling?" His voice was gentler than ever before as he placed you in the bathtub.

"Like I can live another century without going batshit crazy." You sighed, catching his wrist in your hands. "Thank you. I know you were probably disgusted by me the whole time. I'll leave as soon as I wash myself."

"Actually," Dante tilted his head, a grin spread across his lips, "I was hoping you'd stay."

He wished he could frame the priceless look on your face, with your dishevelled hair, mouth agape and glossy eyes.

"Why?"

"Think about it." Dante turned the tap on, kneeling by the bathtub. "You said you wanna help humanity, didn't you?" He asked, and you nodded. "Great. Then what better way of helping it than by hunting demons? You can already shoot, I made sure of that, and you can definitely put up a fight. Learned that the hard way."

Your eyes darted to the water flowing from the tap, pondering his suggestion. Could it be? Have you found a purpose for yourself? One that didn't involve faking your death or disappearing from villages? One that allowed you to be yourself, without hiding your true nature? One where you didn't have to be so alone?

"I'd like that."

"Good." Dante's fingers brushed through your hair. "And I'll personally make sure you're not going batshit crazy."

"Gee, I'm beginning to think you actually enjoyed that."

"I reserve the right to neither confirm, nor deny."

[cinnxmxngxrl]

Pleeease can you write something where reader takes care of Alfie's psoriasis?? Like he's trying to act super macho about it, like it doesn't bother him but then gets super soft when she starts treating it 🥺

“Loving you”

Alfie Solomons x Wife!Reader

Alfie’s Masterlist

Summary: Alfie can’t help but let his guard down — and his softer side show — when you tend to the skin condition he usually keeps hidden.

WC: 5.1k

Tags/Warnings: smut, minors DNI, unprotected piv, dirty talk.

The cold air filtered through the open windows of the Solomons’ home. The moonlight painted the room in hues of pale blue, casting long shadows over the heavy wooden furniture and the worn rug underfoot.

Alfie trudged into the sitting room, his broad shoulders seemed to sag slightly, the day’s weight visible in the furrow of his brow. But you noticed something else too, the way his hands flexed at his sides, the subtle shift in his stance. He was uncomfortable, you could see it clear as the day, and you could also see the irritated skin on his neck, raw and red, flaking with scales that trailed down along his flesh.

“Let me guess,” you began, tilting your head to appraise him. “It’s acting up again.”

He stopped short, his face an unreadable mask. “Dunno what you’re on about, woman.” His voice was gruff and dismissive. “I’m bloody fine, ain’t I?”

“Alfred Solomons,” you said, standing to meet him, hands on your hips. “You’ve been scratching yourself like a dog with fleas for days. Let me see.”

“Look,” he began, throwing up his hands defensively, “this ain’t a bloody—what’s the word—interrogation, yeah? Just got home, haven’t I? Thought we’d sit down, have a nice supper, maybe a drop o’ rum after, yeah? Not get a bloody inquisition.”

“Come on, Alfie,” you said gently, breaking the silence. “Sit down.”

He turned to look at you, his brows furrowing. “I told ya, love, it’s nothin’. Just a bit o’ skin, right? Nothin’ to fuss over. I’ve lived with it this long, ain’t I?”

You sighed, folding your arms across your chest. “Yes, you have, and you’ve done a fine job of ignoring it, but it’s bothering you, I can see that. Now, sit down and let me help.”

Alfie’s lips pressed into a firm line, his pride warring with the truth of your words. You’d seen him win fights with men twice his size, talk his way out of impossible situations, but here he was, hesitating like a child caught misbehaving. It was almost endearing if you ignored the fact that he was internally suffering.

Alfie stared at you, his jaw twitching as he weighed his options, he could refuse—he was, after all, Alfie Solomons, a man who answered to no one— but there was only one person who always made Alfie give in, and that was you, his wife. With a grumble under his breath, he lowered himself onto the armchair, sprawling out like a man whose kingdom had just fallen.

“Woman, you’re bloody relentless,” he muttered under his breath, the way he said it lacked any real heat; it was more a gruff acknowledgment of defeat.

“Take off your shirt,” you said softly.

Alfie cocked his head, as a smirk began to slowly form on his lips.

“Right, well, love, if you fancied seein’ me bollock naked, yeah? You could’ve just said so, straight up. Saved us all the fuckin’ theatrics. I’d have you up against that fuckin’ wall by now, makin’ a goddamn mess of things.”

You didn’t even blink, you knew how Alfie’s defense mechanism had always been humor, he’d crack a joke to avoid taking things too seriously. But you knew that behind every laugh, every sarcastic remark, there was a man scared to take a hit to his pride by asking for help. After all, he was forced to carry every burden on his own all his life, that until he met you.

“I’m serious, Alfie.” Voice flat, no smile this time. “Take the shirt off.”

Alfie huffed, his fingers working at the buttons of his shirt with deliberate slowness. “You’d think I was some feeble old man the way you’re carryin’ on,” he grumbled. “I don’t need lookin’ after, love. I’m a bloody force of nature, yeah?”

“Yes, you’re a force of nature,” you agreed with a smile, “but even storms need a bit of care sometimes.”

His shoulders stiffened, but he said nothing, his shirt finally coming off and landing in a crumpled heap beside him. You bit your lip as your eyes roamed over his body, the patches of red, inflamed skin were stark against his otherwise light complexion. Some areas were cracked and dry, while others looked painfully raw.

“Alfie,” you murmured, your voice tinged with concern. “It’s worse than last time.”

“Don’t,” he cut in sharply, his tone rough. “Don’t you bloody start, right? I know what it looks like. Just a bit of dry skin, that’s all.”

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “I’m not starting anything. I just want to help. Dry skin doesn’t look like this.”

He relaxed under your touch, though he still looked straight ahead, his jaw set stubbornly. “Fine, then. Do your worst.”

You knelt in front of him, settling between his legs as he sat back in the worn armchair, the lamplight cast a soft glow over his battered chest, the heat radiating from his skin palpable before you even touched him. He’d ignored it, neglected it for so long that it was the worst you’d ever seen it, and it must be hurting him so much, those angry red patches that bloomed across his torso and shoulders, the edges raw with peeling skin, irritated and roughened by days of stubbornness.

Your fingers moved carefully, barely grazing his side at first, his muscles tensed beneath the contact, a knee-jerk flinch more from instinct than actual pain, as if he was used to bracing for something harsher.

“Not so bad, you said?” you teased, glancing up at him.

He grunted. “I’ve had worse.”

“That why you haven’t even taken your shirt off when we fuck?” you asked, eyes locked on him. “’Cause you didn’t want me to see how bad it got?”

There was a pause, a flicker behind his eyes, something he tried to smother with a scoff. You knew you’d hit a sensitive topic by saying that.

“Well, aren’t you a fuckin’ detective now, eh? Bloody Sherlock Holmes,” he let out a dry, sharp laugh. “Didn’t think you needed to see it. S’not pretty. Nothin’ romantic about it.”

"You shouldn’t feel insecure about it," you said.

"Pfff, insecure? Bollocks, that is," he scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "Men like me—we don't do insecure, right? That's for… for poets and posh lads with too much time on their hands."

But you saw the truth behind his eyes, that split-second crack in the armor, Alfie would never admit to feeling insecure about the way he looked, not even to you, his biggest confidant. And so you decided not to push the subject, you knew better than to fight a war you couldn’t win with words, besides, you had better ways of proving how handsome he was to you, like worshipping him with your mouth, or cunt.

“It must be driving you mad.”

He shrugged, his lips twitching into a semblance of a smirk. “Got more important things to worry about than a bit o’ itching.”

But you weren’t fooled, beneath his bravado, you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitched as though resisting the urge to scratch.

“Stay still,” you instructed, scooping a dollop of ointment onto your fingers.

He flinched as you began to apply the salve, his usual boldness faltering. “Bloody cold, that is,” he muttered.

“It’s supposed to be soothing,” you said, your voice low, patient. You leaned in, working the ointment into his skin with slow, deliberate movements.

His skin was hot to the touch, the irritation beneath your fingertips angry and inflamed. You moved with care, smoothing the salve in small circles, avoiding the worst of the raw spots. Alfie exhaled through his nose, his body twitching beneath your hands before slowly relaxing, like he couldn’t help but lean into your touch once the sting eased, giving way to relief.

“That stuff smells awful,” he said, wrinkling his nose. There it was that stubbornness again, like accepting help, or letting you soothe the ache, meant weakness. You found it amusing, how in so many ways, this big and dangerous man reminded you of a little boy.

“Doesn’t matter how it smells. It’ll help,” you replied, working your way across his chest, thumbs grazing the curve of his collarbones, tracing along the tender edges with a gentleness that made his throat bob in a tight swallow.

“Still feels like I’m being fuckin’ punished,” he muttered, eyes flicking down to where your hands moved over his ribs.

“You’re not,” you murmured, catching his gaze briefly. “You’re being looked after. Big difference.”

For a moment, the room was silent save for the crackling of the fire. Alfie’s eyes were fixed on a point just above your head, his jaw tight as though willing himself not to react. As you spread the ointment slowly over the worst of the irritation, you felt it happen, the first shift in his breathing, from shallow and tense to something deeper. The slow drop of his shoulders, no longer braced against the tenderness. The subtle release of his clenched fists, his fingers unfurling where they’d been pressed into his thighs.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he said quietly, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

“Of course I do,” you replied without hesitation. “You’re my husband.”

He huffed a laugh, the sound tinged with disbelief. “Yeah, well. Don’t reckon you signed up for all this, did you? A husband with bad skin and worse manners.”

“Maybe not,” you admitted, smiling up at him. “But I wouldn’t trade you for anything.”

“You’re good at this,” he mumbled after a moment, his voice softer than usual.

“Good at what?”

“Lookin’ after me. Puttin’ up with me. All of it, really.”

He was so stubborn sometimes, too caught up in his own worries to realize that you didn’t do this out of obligation, you did it because you loved him, because giving him this kind of comfort was something you’d gladly offer every single time he needed it.

You paused, your hands stilling for a moment before you resumed. “It’s not putting up with you, Alfie. It’s loving you.”

He turned his head fully this time, his piercing blue eyes meeting yours. For a moment, the vulnerability in his gaze took your breath away. “You’ve got a heart too big for your own good, woman,” he said quietly.

“And you’ve got a heart you try too hard to hide,” you replied, leaning forward to kiss his temple.

He closed his eyes at the touch, letting out a deep breath. “Don’t tell anyone about this, yeah? Got a reputation to maintain.”

“All your secrets are safe with me,” you promised with a smile.

For the next hour, you worked diligently, your fingers gentle as they massaged the ointment into his skin. Alfie, for his part, remained unusually quiet, his usual stream of sharp wit replaced by a rare, unguarded vulnerability.

When you were finished, you sat back on your heels, surveying your work, the redness had diminished slightly, the skin looking less angry.

“There,” you said, capping the tin. “That should help.”

He looked down at his chest, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he reached out, his large hand cupping your cheek.

“You’re a good woman,” he said gruffly, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Don’t reckon I tell you that enough.”

“You don’t,” you agreed, leaning into his touch.

He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling. “Yeah, well, don’t let it go to your head, eh?”

The tin of ointment clattered softly against the wood floor as Alfie pulled you up into his lap, the gruff tenderness in his hands making your breath hitch. He didn’t bother with words, not at first, he simply held you there, his rough palms trailing up and down your back, grounding you both in a moment of rare softness.

“Come here, pet,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, a low rumble in the space between you.

You settled on top of him, your knees bracketing his thighs. His beard scratched softly against your cheek as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in the faint lavender oil you always dabbed behind your ears before bed.

He buried his head against your chest, breathing deep like he needed to memorize the scent of you to survive. He made a sound low in his throat, something between a sigh and a purr, like a satisfied cat curling up in a patch of sunlight. There were only a handful of moments in his life where Alfie Solomons had let the world slip far enough to be this soft, and all of them had been with you, the only person he trusted enough to see this side of him.

“You smell good,” he said, the words muffled against your skin. Relaxing moments like this always softened the sharp lines of his face, making him look younger, almost boyish. You reached up, brushing your fingers along the edge of his beard, and he sighed, the sound deep and contented.

He shifted beneath you, his hands tightening on your hips as though anchoring himself. “Dunno what I’ve done to deserve you,” he said, the words heavy with sincerity.

“I don’t like when you say that. You’re not bad, Alf” you replied with a small smile. “Under all that grumbling and growling, you’re a good man.”

It was the truth. Yes, maybe he’d done bad things, things he couldn’t forget, things that haunted him every time he looked at his reflection in the mirror. But you saw more, so much more. You saw a man who had raised himself from nothing, who’d survived when the world tried to break him, who’d watched his friends die in trenches and still found the strength to carry on. You saw a man who’d opened his heart to you, who’d bought you your dream house and treated you like a queen in her own palace. Who had only ever been gentle with you, patient, kind, giving, even when he didn’t know how to be those things with himself.

His laugh was soft, almost self-deprecating. “Not sure half the blokes around here would agree with that one, love.”

“Don't care what they think, they're not my husband,” you said simply. “You are.”

That seemed to strike something deep in him. His eyes softened, and his hands moved to cradle your face, his touch reverent. “Yeah,” he murmured, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. “I am, ain’t I?”

Before you could reply, he leaned in, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both gentle and demanding at the same time. He kissed you like a man who knew how fleeting happiness and peace could be, who understood the weight of a moment like this.

The kiss deepened, his hands moving with more urgency now as they traced over your body, making you melt into him, your fingers tangling in his hair, and he groaned low in his throat, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

“Christ, woman,” he muttered against your lips, his voice thick with need. “You make me feel the same way you did all those years ago.”

You laughed softly, a low, sultry sound that seemed to vibrate right through your chest when he leaned to capture his lips into another kiss. It was still slow, languid, the kind of kiss that made time crawl, your tongues sliding together with unhurried precision. His hands kept wandering, greedy and possessive roaming all over your body, gripping the small of your waist to ground you, kneading the soft flesh of your ass, tracing the dip of your spine, splaying wide across your lower back as if trying to brand you to him.

The hard length of him beneath you was impossible to ignore, thick and insistent against the thin barrier of your underwear, and when you shifted again, rolling your hips slowly, deliberately, dragging your cunt over him with maddening friction, he let out a raw, broken sound that made your core clench.

“Gonna ride you,” you murmured, voice thick with hunger. Alfie was a man who thrived on control, sure, but when it came to you, he had no problem handing over the reins now and then. In fact, he loved it. Watching his missus bounce on top of him, taking every bit of pleasure she deserved? That was a big, fat yes for Alfie.

You grinned at his reaction, emboldened by the crack in his usually composed demeanor, the way his eyes had gone half-lidded, pupils blown wide, jaw tight with restraint. You reached between your bodies to undo the fastening of his trousers, unable to wait one second more than necessary.

He chuckled low and hungry. “Yeah? Right, well—fuckin’ hell, woman—’course you wanna ride it.” He spread his hands, leaned back like he was bartering with God. “I’m all yours, ain’t I? Go on then, fuckin’ take what’s yours. Ruin me proper.”

He watched you, eyes locked on your hands, on how they were working his pants open, making his chest rise and fall with deep, shaky breaths. His hands didn’t stay behind, his rough fingers were roaming over your ribs, up your sides, then down again to knead your thighs, your ass, as if he truly didn’t know where to land next.

“You’re too bloody good at this,” he muttered, voice all hoarse and reverent, like he couldn’t quite believe his luck, how he’d landed such a beautiful woman, convinced her to marry him, and now had her on top of him eager to please him.

"It's the experience, been riding you dumb for ten years," you said with a smirk.

"Mhm," he huffed. "And you get better every fuckin' time, pet."

He loved this, especially on those days when he was bone-tired, when his skin was on fire, his back ached, his knees throbbed, his hips screamed, or the days when he had to deal with “fucking cunts,” as he’d put it. Nothing would make him happier than leaning back, letting go, and having a damn good orgasm by doing absolutely nothing, just watching you take control and do all the work for him.

You’d barely gotten his trousers down before his cock sprang free, slapping against his belly, so thick, so heavy, flushed and glistening at the tip like he’d been waiting all fucking day for this moment. The second your fingers wrapped around him, firm and instinctive, he gasped and his hips jerked like he didn’t give a toss about dignity anymore.

“You’re too bloody impatient,” you shot back with a teasing smirk, stroking him slowly, twisting your wrist just enough to make him curse under his breath.

You shifted your weight, lining yourself up, your thighs bracketing his hips as you positioned yourself over him. His hands flew to your hips, holding you steady, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, as the head of his cock brushed against your slick heat. Your breath hitched at the contact, at how easily your soaked folds parted to welcome him, at how swollen and desperate you already were.

“Impatient?” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. “Love, you’ve been teasin’ me for the past ten minutes. If anyone’s impatient, it’s you.”

You rocked your hips just enough to let his head catch at your entrance, not yet taking him, not fully, just dragging your wetness over him, back and forth, until he growled.

“Fuckin’ hell, woman,” he snapped, his hips jerking up, desperate for more friction, to be buried inside you. “You tryin’ to kill me? Playin' this bloody games with your poor 'ol husband? My fuckin' heart can't take this teasin', It's delicate, It is.”

“But it's too fun to tease you,” you whispered, lowering yourself an inch more. The stretch made you gasp, thick and delicious as always, and you swore you could feel every ridge and every vein of him.

He was watching your face now, intently, like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever seen, but you could see how hard he was fighting the urge to slam up into you. “Don’t fuckin’ tease,” he growled. “Be a good girl and sit on it proper.”

You obliged, how could you not when he talked like that? You sank down in one slow, torturous motion, your walls clenching around him inch by inch. The sound he made was filthy, a half groan half praise, guttural and deep. His head fell back, teeth gritted, chest rising with labored breaths as you took every last inch of him, seated fully, snug and wet around him.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he rasped. “That’s it. That’s my pet. Perfect fuckin' cunt, still as tight as the day I first filled her up, yeah?"

You moaned, rolling your hips in a slow circle, grinding down with a filthy little twist at the end that made his cock drive right up into that sweet, aching spot inside you. Your breath caught sharp in your throat, eyes going hazy, Alfie groaned low like the wind had been knocked clean out of him, his hands clutched at your hips, guiding you with a kind of reverence, like you were something holy and he was the lucky bastard who got to worship at the altar.

He was trying hard to let you do your thing, let you take your time and move at your own pace, riding him how you wanted, but God, you were squeezing him so tight and dripping all over his cock, that it was almost imppossible to stop himself from thrusting up into you like a beast.

“Look at you,” he whispered, voice frayed and reverent. “Ridin’ me like you were fuckin’ made for it.”

“Maybe I was,” you shot back, voice breathless, your lips brushing his ear as you leaned in.

Alfie met your movements with thrusts of his own, rolling his hips up hard, deep, making you bounce in his lap with every needy grind. His hands gripped your hips, firm but never too harsh, thumbs pressing into your flesh like he needed to memorize every curve, every quake of your body under his. The coarse trail of hair beneath his navel rubbed right up against your clit with every thrust, each drag of his body with that maddening friction made you jolt and shudder.

"Ohh, Alfie... feels so good," you moaned gasping into his mouth, clawing at his shoulders like you couldn’t get close enough. "Please don't stop, don't stop fucking me like that."

“Not stoppin'. Can’t stop when you’re so bloody perfect,” he rasped, his eyes dropping to where your soaked cunt was swallowing him again and again, wet sounds filling the air with each slap of skin against skin. “Perfect cunt. Perfect tits. Perfect wife.”

His head snapped forward so he could bite at your throat, not hard, just enough to make you whimper. His hands slid up your sides, pushing your slip up with urgency, bunching it around your waist until the fabric was out of his way and he could have a better view of everything, from your body glistening with sweat, your thighs shaking, to the way your soaked pussy kept taking his cock like you needed it.

That was the thing with Alfie, he never knew where the fuck to look, it was all too good. Your supple breasts, so soft and perfect, jiggling with every thrust, just begging to be grabbed. Your face, fuck, your face was so hot, those little pouts you made, the way your eyes fluttered shut when he hit a good spot deep inside you. And the way his thick cock slid in your cunt, coming out so wet and slick, your juices coating his navel and trickling down to coat his balls.

“Jesus Christ, love,” he rasped, voice thick. “You’re grippin’ me so tight—fuckin’ hell…”

You leaned forward, your hands braced against his chest, hair falling around your face as you found the perfect rhythm, grinding down in slow, greedy strokes that made both of you moan. His cock filled you perfectly, thick and hot and stretching you with every thrust of his hips.

Alfie’s attention was drifting, his eyes moved from the place where you two were connected, to the soft bounce of your breasts with every motion, your nipples peeking through the thin, rumpled slip. He licked his lips, rough hands sliding up your waist, over your ribs, until they cupped your breasts and gave them a slow squeeze.

“Look at these fuckin’ things,” he muttered. “Drivin’ me mad, the way they bounce when you ride me like that…”

Then he surged forward, mouth latching onto one of your nipples through the damp fabric, the hot drag of his tongue and the sudden suck of his mouth made you cry out, your hips stuttering as the pleasure hit you like a jolt.

“Alfie—” you gasped, hands flying to his shoulders as he pulled the slip down, baring your chest fully. He didn’t hesitate, he wrapped his mouth around your nipple and sucked hard, filthy sounds filling the air as he groaned against your skin. His tongue flicked over the stiff peak, then he moved to the other breast, biting down just enough to make your back arch.

"I'd kill a man for your left tit," he mumbled, voice muffled, barely undertandable with his mouth still sucking around your nipple. "And then I'd kill another for the right one. Fuckin' perfect things."

“Shit—Alfie—Feels... so good… so full.” you moaned, grinding harder now, the added stimulation on your nipples sending you spiraling, and if that wasn’t good enough, you felt your clit catching on his pelvis with every thrust down, making your walls clench even tighter around him.

“Fuckin’ ride it—show me how needy you are. You like me suckin’ on your tits while you fuck yourself on my cock, don’t you?”

You nodded frantically, you were so drunk in the pleasure he was giving you that it was impossible to articulate words, you just let that intense pleasure ripple through you.

“You are mine. Mine, yeah? All fuckin’ mine.”

“Yours,” you choked out, your voice breaking on a moan as he angled his hips just right, hitting that spot inside you so perfectly that your body jolted, eyes fluttering shut, vision blurring with pleasure.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “That’s my good wife. So sweet and tight for me, drippin’ on me lap.”

The praise hit you like a shockwave, heat coiling in your gut, your body was desperately trying to chase your high. Just like as if he’d read your mind, sensing what you needed, his hands gripped your hips with force, lifting you up and slamming you down on his cock over and over again at the same time he thrusted up to meet you with rough, almost desperate violence. You weren't riding him anymore, he was fucking you through it.

“That’s it, love,” he muttered, his voice rough and unraveling. “Take it, my filthy little missus. Show me how good I make you feel. Ride it like you mean it.”

You cried out, the pleasure now becoming unbearable, forcing your body to clench hard around him, making your thighs tremble, the slick sound of your cunt milking him was louder now, filthier, wetter with every thrust. His cock throbbed inside you, thick and hot and perfectly angled to build your orgasm.

“Cum for your husband. Let me know I’m the only bastard who can make you feel like this. Just me. Just your fuckin' man.”

You snapped. Your head fell back, your mouth dropped open in a cry of pure ecstasy as you came hard. Your cunt spasmed around him, soaking him in a rush that made him curse and grip you tighter.

“Fuckin’ hell, that’s it, pet,” he groaned, voice strangled. “Milk it. Milk my cock just like that. Gonna leave that pretty cunt drippin’ my cum for for weeks. Fuckin’ ruined.”

Alfie followed you just a couple of thrusts later, his eyes squeezing shut as his hips jerked up one last time, burying himself as deep as he could go. He came with a low, shuddering groan, his cock pulsing inside you, flooding you with his cum as he clutched you tight, holding you in place like he couldn’t bear the thought of you ever pulling away.

You collapsed onto his chest, both of you panting, bodies slick with sweat and sex, his release leaking out of you slowly as his softening cock stayed inside. His hand stroked lazily up and down your back, while his lips pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Ahhh—fuckin’ hell, yeah—that’s what a man needs, innit?” he groaned, voice thick and slurred like he was drunk on you. “To come home after a long day of dealin’ with cunts and madness, yeah, and have his sweet little wife sittin' pretty on his cock—riding him like it’s her god-given job.”

"Glad to hear I'm good at my job," you teased, voice raspy, still trying to catch your breath.

"Ohhh, you're the fuckin' best, pet. Not one fuckin' soul like you," he muttered, still breathless. "God broke the mould when he made you, thank fuckin' Christ he did."

His heartbeat thudded beneath your ear, slowing little by little as his breathing evened out. For a long moment, there was just the sound of your shared breaths, the creak of the armchair as he adjusted to hold you closer, with his nose buried in your hair.

Then, softly, quieter than you were used to hearing him, he spoke.

“Thanks for takin' care of me,” he said, a little raw. “Proper, like no one ever has. Not just the shaggin’, love, though—don’t get me wrong, yeah, that’s��� exceptional.” He smirked faintly, and you laughed. “But it’s the other things. All the little things you do for me.”

Your throat tightened as he continued, getting to hear this sweet side of him was something you’d never get used to, not because it was rare, he gave it to you more often than he probably even realized, but because it always felt like a little secret, meant only for you.

“I’m not easy, right? I know that. I’m rough and moody and loud as hell. And yet you—you’re always there. Calm. Warm. Always fuckin’ takin’ care of me.” He pressed his forehead to yours. “So I just wanted to say thank you. For stayin’ even after all these years. For seein’ the worst of me and lovin’ me anyway.”

You kissed him then, slow and tender, the kind of kiss that spoke louder than words could ever manage, and when you pulled back, your voice was thick with emotion.

“You’re not the worst, Alf. You never were.”

He huffed a soft laugh, pulling you tighter against him. Looking at you with eyes that said “I love you. I’d be lost without you by my side.” You felt it in your chest, in your bones. He made you feel like the most loved woman in the world.

“Well, I’ll tell you what you are,” he murmured. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

AN: Thank you so much for your request!! You gave me the perfect opportunity to write this cause I’ve actually been thinking for a while about a fic where the reader takes care of Alfie’s sciatica, but I absolutely loved your idea🩷🫶🏻

I hope that you and everyone else enjoyed this. Your support means the world to me!!

One more Alfie fic to go and then I’m officially done with requests heheh😮‍💨

@ficthots

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

[heart2sea]

࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ do you see (him) in the back of your mind? (read on ao3)

word count: 2k

tags: fluff, angst if you squint, mentions of his myth, dragon!sylus mentions

summary: on a particular day, you kept dreaming of him. One of those dreams catches your attention—horns, tails and all, and you decide to tell him.

a/n: some practice sylus writing because he's my second fav 🖤

You kept staring at him unabashedly, entranced.

He found that behavior amusing, finding and matching your gaze with an insufferable amount of mirth in his eyes. A teasing remark, a half grin on his lips—anything to get a blush out of you. That time, however, his words turned to mist on your brain as you took him in. You knew him well; the way his eyes glimmered under the moonlight, how his lips savoured every drop of his drink, as if trying to classify each note of flavor of it, and even the way his hair moved with the cold breeze. Sometimes you’d run a gentle finger, making way through the handsome shape of his nose, only stopping when he’d let out a scoff and grab your wrist, playfully.

“What are you doing, sweetie?” He stared back, a smirk gracing his sharp features.

You blinked, resting your head on your hand. You had agreed to have dinner (breakfast, for him) on his base before heading out for one of your assignments. This particular mission required pulling an all-nighter onto the outskirts of the N109 Zone. You didn’t particularly need to convince him, he just shrugged and nodded as if you’d asked him to go get something for you at the corner store, a small, non-inconvenient errand on his criminal routine. 

So you spent the entire daylight sleeping, trying to catch up on some required rest before going into battle. Sleeping during daytime usually meant naps, which is why you had a hard time staying asleep, waking up between forty minute intervals.

Each time, a stranger dream.

It had started with a regular one, just you and Sylus going auctioning. Then, fleeting dreams that resembled your first meetings, the oppressive force of the gunshot piercing his heart, his rough hand grasping your wrist like his life depended on it, forceful mannerisms that had quite actually scared you away from him, enticing you into running away and never looking back. 

And finally, a dream so foreign and out of place it took you a minute to break the barrier between dreams and reality upon waking up. How imposing, how impossibly handsome; your Sylus, tall and intimidating, sporting two wonderful spires on his head, and a long, thick, slithering barbed tail from his lower back. Scales had adorned his entire body, ebony and rough, and a single ruby emanated glow and warmth from his sternum, at the rhythm of a living heartbeat. His face was covered in blood—not yours, not his—as he stared at the glowing moon in longing and awe.

And still, in this dream, his eyes turned soft at the sight of you.

You gave him a warm smile, now back to reality to the real Sylus in front of you. “I dreamed about you earlier.”

He returned the smile, a glint of something playful and kind in his crimson eyes. “Was it a good dream?”

“Mhm.” You nodded, pondering. “It was quite the sight.”

“Tell me.”

“You’d laugh.”

He shifted on his seat, putting the fork down as he took a breath. Sylus tilted his head, the smile never wiping off his face, the now dying candlelight casting a warm, soft glow around you. “Oh?” 

You immediately shook your head, a slight blush adorning your cheeks, frowning. “Not like that. Ugh.” At least not this time.

The gentle sound of one of his classical vinyls cocooned the warm atmosphere of his dinner table, the melody one you had picked out a few weeks before, shopping with him. It was so effortlessly romantic, soft and tender—truth be told, so many dinners with Sylus were like that, and you started wondering how truly effortless or accidental it all was. It seemed so specifically tailored for you; the music, the special serving of food just for you, the way the moonlight would hit the table just right, the smooth silk tablecloths, the comfy cushions on the seats; it all screamed soft, soft, soft , as if he was self conscious you'd walk away again the moment you cut yourself on his edges. You'd grown to love him, gunshot powder and all, but something laid unspoken between you two. Something both of you should be aware of, but only him seemed to carry the weight of.

It stumped you.

Sylus let out a chuckle. “Well, then. I promise to be as straight faced as possible, kitten.”

“Not very comforting.”

He shrugged. “I'm simply doing my best.”

You inhaled, trying to recall more details about the dream. You grabbed a grape, placing it on your lips, letting it linger there for a moment before slowly biting down on it, staring into space. As you swallowed, you looked up briefly at the ceiling and finally spoke.

“ If you randomly woke up as an animal, real or fantastic—and don't say a crow—what animal do you think it would most likely be?”

One of his eyebrows raised in amusement, his smirk deepening. The candle was holding onto the last thread of light, the amber light surrounding the room slowly giving out. It gave the atmosphere an enigmatic mood, making the situation seem so serious it was silly. “Does that have to do with your dream?"

You rolled your eyes. “Just follow along.”

His gaze never left yours, carefully studying your expectant expression. He took out a casino chip out of his slacks and started playing with it, a fidgeting you immediately recognized as calculating and weighting every option on his mind, you realized he was holding back on answering what was truly on his head. 

You looked around the room, almost awkwardly, as the silence stretched on. “Hello?”

Sylus finally let out a scoff. “I'm more interested in what you thi—”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“What? I'm telling the truth. Besides,” he leaned towards you ever-so-slightly. “I'm curious what brought this on.”

The candlelight went off completely, the only source of light being the moon gently cascading its glow on the room. You went to grab another grape, but stopped halfway through. Despite his aloof and seemingly playful behavior, you couldn't help but feel as if that question had held some unspoken weight on him. 

You laid back completely on the chair, staring out at the moon. “I had a dream you were some kind of creature. Horns, tail, scales—no wings that I remember, though. It was incredibly detailed. You looked like a dragon.” You took a deep breath, and almost whispering, still daydreaming about the mental image, you spoke: “It suit you.”

He didn't reply, not immediately, the chip on his hand ceasing its movements for a moment. A brief hesitation, a glimmer of something in his eyes (melancholy? Nostalgia?) flashed, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by a half smile. He put the chip down and slid it towards you, taking a deep breath, beckoning you to keep going.

“We rested in a cave. Just like now, we were staring at the moon, and your tail—” You giggled fondly. “It was wrapped around me. Not asphyxiating me, mind you, but gently. And warm. It felt so real.”

You paused, and then continued.

“I wonder if that was some sort of…past life, or something.”

The room was completely darkened, and he had moved away from the glow of the moonlight, making it difficult to figure out what he was thinking. As the silence stretched on, you couldn't help but feel self-conscious — you'd half expected him to let out one of his earthy laughs upon hearing it. How cliché, how passè, the classical bedtime story of the beauty and her beast, deeply in love in his lair, a wonderful ever after following trials of blood and fire to be together. You've been watching too many romantic movies lately, sweetie , was the reply you expected him to blurt out, and then you'd pout, and finally go out to your mission and fight wanderers until the sun rose.

But he seemed to savor the recounting of your dream, as if taking apart thread by thread the tapestry of your words. You wondered what expression he had at that moment. Maybe he was coming out with a witty retort, something you've never heard before, or maybe he was annoyed at the prospect of him being a beast in the dream (when he'd been nothing but gentle with you lately), or maybe—

He let out a gentle chuckle, forcing you out of your thoughts. You stared at him, trying to find his eyes, until you met with a slightly glowing crimson gaze in the dark. A sign of danger, a pair of red eyes in the abyss—but they held none of the teeth that would swallow you whole. Instead, it enveloped you in a warmth that reminded you of cozy winter dawns, of summer nights, of a hot cup of tea after a draining day. 

How wonderful.

Sylus shifted on his seat. “Did something else happen in that dream?”

“Such as…?”

“We’ve watched one too many dramatic movies lately. Surely this one dream doesn't end in tragedy, likewise?”

You tutted, blushing, muttering. “Isn't the prospect of us cuddling under the moonlight enough for you?”

“With a monster —”

“A very handsome one.” You interjected. “And he is nothing but gentle with me.”

A pause of silence. Then, after staring deep into your eyes, as if attempting to break open your mind and peer into your jumbled thoughts, he let out a warm, almost elated laugh. 

“You do…have a fascinating way to look at things.” He spoke.

As if wanting to emphasize your earlier point, you stood up from the table and carefully walked towards him, two dinner knives in hand, and positioned yourself behind him. On the other side of the room, a body length mirror stood guard to the dark outlines of your bodies contrasting in the gentle glow of the moon.

The knives reflected the silvery light almost magically as you held them up the sides of his head in a horned fashion, a playful yet tender smile adorning your lips.

“You looked something like this.” You whispered, staring into the mirror. If you squinted hard enough, his silhouette looked very similar to the Sylus that had graced your dreams. “See? It looks good. It does suit you.”

He chuckled, his voice laced with something raw and unspoken. He gently grabbed your wrist, enveloping his calloused fingers around your soft flesh, as if counting every pulse under it. His digits interlaced with yours and he maneuvered you until you were at his side—then, he slid an arm around your waist and pressed you closer to him, his face burying on your sternum, something resembling a purr coming out of his throat. It made you freeze for a single second, the movement and the warmth so eerily similar to the one provided by his tail in your dream you wondered if you'd truly been the only one to dream about it.

“No tail. Is that alright?” He muttered, his voice muffled by your shirt. 

You shrugged. “Warm all the same.”

Something inside him opened at the sound of your words, and he let out a content, satisfied sigh. You could feel him smile against the fabric of your clothes, and under normal circumstances you'd tease him about it. Yet this time, he felt oddly vulnerable—like a cat bunting a beloved; it was not the time. You couldn't rob him of that.

“Let's go.” He broke the moment, pulling away. “It's getting late.”

He stood up, his arm leaving your waist—lingering for a fraction of a second, not truly wanting to pull away—and walked to the doorway with languid steps, taking his coat from the hanger.

“Does that mean I can call you that now?” You asked grabbing a last grape out of the fruitbowl.

“What was that now, kitten?”

“Dragon.” You smiled mischievously. “My dragon.”

He turned around, briefly speechless, and for a moment you feared you'd said something wrong—maybe he hated the nickname, or thought it was too silly, or preferred something else. But then his lips curved upwards, his gaze impossibly soft and cozy.

“If it's from you,” he reached for the motorcycle helmet and tossed it at you. “Any time.”

[jellykyunnie]

˗ˏˋ Entry : 060 - Sung Jinwoo x Fem! Reader: Valentines Day ◛⑅·˚ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚ 𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠 ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

╰┈➤ ❝ [ My Reason ] ¡! ❞

Valentines day, the day Jinwoo dreads the most. Not because you're oh-so demanding— It's just a habit he never got to shake off even if you're both dating for years.

Just like your birthdays and anniversaries— He makes a big deal out of it.

This time he opted to make a jar of paper stars as his choice of handmade gifts.

"Pfft... Jinwoo, you're 24, why are you acting like you're still 17?" You laugh as he awkwardly stretches the jar of pastel blue and purple paper stars to you.

"Jagiya, don't make fun of me" He coughs, scratching the back of his neck after you accept the little gift he made solely for you.

"But you're too cute right now to not make fun of!" You grin a boxy smile, melting your boyfriend's heart in an instant that he couldn't stop himself from kissing the tip of your nose.

"Come on, let's go on a date" Jinwoo stretches his hand out to you— An offer you immediately accepted.

꒰ .... ꒱

There's only your footsteps in this empty park you both decided to spend the day. while normally it should be running with people— It seems that no one in particular wanted to spend the day outside. Not that you're both complaining since it's quieter for the both of you as well as no lines on the food trucks.

It's a win-win, right?

The day is only spent walking and chatting— To be exact Jinwoo was just babysitting you since you have an aeful record of getting yourself hurt whenever you're both in the park.

Yeah, you're an idiot.

His lovable idiot atleast.

"Hup!" You jump onto a tree stump and stretch out your hand with a single blue paper star he had made.

"Baby, what are you doing?" He snorts, keeping his hands in his pockets as he watched you prance about like a little child.

"I'm just wondering what a real night sky would look like" You explain, humming softly as you keep staring at the paper blue star with the empty night sky as it's backdrop. "If the lights in korea are all out and the air is clean, how many stars do you think we'll be able to see?"

"...."

Jinwoo then looks to the side for quite a while, "Wan't me to show you then?"

"What? Are you going to turn off all of korea's lights now?"

"I can, but I've got a better idea"

He suddenly joins you in the tree stump, pulling you by your waist close to him as the ground suddenly becomes pitch black with the misty shadows gathering into one. You could only gasp at the sudden visual, grasping onto his coat as the mist lifted you both off.

The gathering darkness formed a dragon, the scales of the creature glimmering in monarch purple as it roared loudly before ascending to the sky.

"S-sung Jinwoo, I said warn me next time! Kyahh!" You scream for dear life, practically sobbing whilst the man himself only laughs at your misery.

He hasn't teased you all day after all, how could a man not indulge in his woman?

"Ah... So cute." — Was the only thing in his head as he orders Kaisel to fly faster just so he can hear more of your panicked voice.

꒰ .... ꒱

The flight took a total of 30 minutes, your vocal chords now nonexistent from the screaming and crying. When you both finally landed, you whip a head towards your lover and began hitting him as a form of a tanthrum.

And how does the mighty Sung Jinwoo, the shadow monarch responds?

He only smiles mischievously as he blocks your attacks lazily with his palm.

Jinwoo lets you complain for a bit before placing a gentle palm on your cheek, whispering; "Look Up."

You didn't want to, what if the bastard is going to use his shadows to jumpscare you like he did whenever he's deathly bored? But after staring into those charming grey eyes ou never grew tired off— You finally look up.

Above your head is the edless night sky painted in several and millions of stars of different colors and shades. Pink, blue, yellow, purple, red— A whole galaxy is actually on the otherwise empty sky you've become used to seeing.

"Has... the sky always been pretty like this?" You ask as you are put in a complete daze while as Jinwoo's orbs only focus on you.

"If... There is less pollution and the lights are all turned off— Maybe you would see some other planets too" Jinwoo said.

"Will Woowoo show me that sky too?"

"You really want me to turn off all the lights in this world?"

"Hahah."

He can. You just have to ask.

But Jinwoo knew you won't so he just lets you indulge the night sky. He remembers it clearly, it was also around this hour where he first confessed to you. Although the sky that time is as empty as it gets— It still feels te same.

His hearts are racing, both his human heart and the heart he inherited from Ashborn as he holds your hand in this peaceful hour.

"I love you"

Jinwoo randomly blurts out, opting you to look at him, But his expression; as loving as it is he looks as of he is harboring some unsaid sorrow and regret.

But even if you asked, Jinwoo would only shake his head.

So intead, you return his affection, "I love you too, woowoo!"

That sweet, sweet, innocent and lovely smile of yours. The smile that is forever embedded into his head whenever he has to go through something alone and something that he is not confident in facing. Just like the rest of you from then; Jinwoo will burn this moment of you tonight in his memories should he need to face anything much bigger than he could ever handle.

Wordlessly, Jinwoo leans down and embraces your soft lips in his. A kiss full of tenderness and longing, a kiss of quiet passion.

꒰ 🪼 A/N: Idc that Valentines is days awayit's either you take it or not hahahahahah. I love this man sm you don't understand skskdflglr, I genuinely love Sung Jinwoo and idc he's not real I'm very happy living rn because of him. So uh... Happy early valentines everyone!!! ꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[onlyangel4]

change of pace. ln4. smau.

wwe interviewer!reader x lando norris

synopsis: you never expected a wwe f1 crossover to change your life, but there you were, trading the ring-side mic for the formula 1 paddock. what started as a one-off commentary swap for charity turned into something much more when you met lando norris. his smile was disarming, his charm effortless, and somehow, between engine roars and media chaos, you two just clicked. one race weekend was all it took to blur the lines between two worlds and make your heart race in an entirely new way.

faceclaim: cathy kelley

skysports

liked by y/ninsta, lando, jensonbutton and 823,338 others

tagged: y/ninsta

skysportsf1: as a charity challenge wwe interviewer y/n y/ln and our very own jenson button will be swapping jobs for one night only with y/n working on the interview team for the austin gp and jenson joining pat mcaffee and michael call for raw the following monday. this is quite the challenge for both parties partaking and both are up to have fun.

view all 11,283 comments

y/ninsta: f1 fans please be nice to me, i have working in hocley, basketball and baseball but never motorsports

jensonbutton: wtf is a suplex

user1: this is so stupid. i love it.

user2: i have no idea who she is but she is gorgeous

user3: this is such a fun idea

user4: as y/n's biggest fan i can't wait

y/ninsta posted a story tagging skysportsf1

written: beginning to regret taking on this challenge, see you tomorrow austin

inthepaddock posted a story

written: wrestling interviewer y/n y/ln has made it to the austin paddock for media day ahead of her swap with jenson button.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

you adjusted the mic in your hand, trying to ignore how out of place you felt surrounded by carbon fiber and pit crews instead of steel chairs and pyrotechnics. the formula 1 paddock was a different kind of chaos, sleek, precise, but no less intense. still, you had a job to do, and you weren’t about to let a different kind of adrenaline throw you off your game.

your producer gave you the nod, and right on cue, lando norris approached with that easy grin you’d seen on a thousand highlight reels. he was dressed in full mclaren gear, hair slightly messy from the helmet, eyes bright and a little curious as he glanced at your wwe-branded mic.

"hi", he said, his voice light, playful. "you’re definitely not from around here."

you laughed, holding out your hand. "guilty. i’m from the other ring, less tires, more steel chairs."

he chuckled, shaking your hand. his grip was warm, confident. "this’ll be interesting."

"it’s a crossover special", you explained, lifting the mic between you two. "i’m here to ask the real hard-hitting questions."

"oh no", he teased, raising his eyebrows. "should i be worried?"

you tilted your head, playing along. "that depends. on a scale of one to ten, how emotionally attached are you to your helmet?"

his laugh was instant, boyish and genuine. "a solid nine. i think i just fell in love with your interview style."

you blinked, caught off guard. he wasn’t flirting was he? but then again, the way his smile lingered and his eyes didn’t quite leave yours, maybe he was.

and just like that, something shifted. the interview went on, full of easy banter and soft laughs, but you both knew it: something had started in those first few minutes. maybe it was just the novelty of two worlds colliding or maybe it was the beginning of something much more thrilling.

the interview wrapped, but neither of you moved right away. your mic was still in your hand, though lowered now, and lando lingered just a little too long for someone with a tight schedule.

"well", you said, smiling, "thank you for humouring the wrestling world today. you survived."

"barely", he said, mock dramatic. "you asked about my helmet and my skincare routine. brutal stuff."

you shrugged playfully. "people want answers."

he tilted his head, giving you a look that felt curious. intentional. "are you staying for the race?"

"i am", you said. "they’ve got me on commentary. something about getting an ‘outsider’s perspective,’ which is probably code for ‘let’s hope she doesn’t say anything that gets us sued."

he laughed again, that same warm, infectious sound. "well, in that case, i'll make sure i win."

you raised an eyebrow. "oh, confident."

"you’ll see", he said, backing away a step. but then he paused. "hey, uh, after the race, if you're still around..."

your heart skipped.

"would you be up for grabbing a coffee or something" he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish in a way that made him even more charming. "unless that's against code or something."

you smiled, trying not to look as giddy as you felt. "i think i can break a few rules."

he grinned, that boyish kind of grin that made the paddock blur for a second.

"good", he said, walking backward, pointing at you. "it’s a date. kind of."

you watched him disappear toward the garage, your mic still in hand, your heart still thudding louder than any engine in the paddock.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

landofan posted a story

written: i don't know who y/n is but i need her interviewing lando every race weekend because look how happy he was

y/ninsta

liked by lando, georgerussell3, rhearipley_wwe and 348,582 others

tagged: skysportsf1

y/ninsta: first ever gp was a success if i do say so myself

view all 11,238 comments

lando: it was great having you in the paddock

y/ninsta: thank you for answering my stupid questions

rhearipley_wwe: never leave me again

y/ninsta: missed you mami

user5: the last slide. im gonna be sick.

user6: i only found out who you are on thursday but now i'm obsessed

user7: petition to get y/n at every gp

user8: obsessed with how you vibe with lando

y/ninsta posted a story

danielricciardo posted a story tagging lando

written: reunited for something very fun.

landonorrisupdates posted a story

written: lando has arrived at madison square garden with daniel ricciardo ahead of monday night raw.

danielricciardo posted a story

written: i just met john cena. wtf.

lando posted a story

written: i feel like a wag

lando

liked by y/ninsta, skysportsf1, oscarpiastri and 928,384 others

tagged: y/ninsta

lando: six months ago we met when you came to my work, thought i'd repay the favour.

view all 29,848 comments

y/ninsta: best surprise ever

lando: loved watching you work

danielricciardo: thanks for letting me third wheel. meeting john cena is bucket list shit.

skysportsf1: changing my job title to matchmaker

user9: omg what a perfect couple

user10: i need new content immediately

user11: those are my parents

[redflagshipwriter]

Chef Beef 2/2

Part 1

Thursday

11:30 AM.

Only a few more days left of this experiment. Jason wasn’t sure if he was dreading the end or looking forward to it. Streaming twice a day was kind of a lot, but it was also invigorating.

Jason heaved a sigh at his screen, mostly joking in his exasperation. His viewers were little shits. “I already pounded it.” He held up the tenderized steak. “I pounded it within an inch of its life– in bed, against the wall, on the floor–” Jason cut himself off from reading the comments incredulously. “In the kitchen!” He scowled at his fans. “I am not pounding meat anywhere but in a clean kitchen.” He shook his head and scoffed. “I will tenderize one more steak, if you really need to see it. Pay enough attention this time to notice the sterile environment.”

Raven sighed deeply. “I will explode the head of the next puerile loser to comment,” she threatened. She snapped her fingers at the viewers, nails setting off sparks and smoke. “Do not make me read those words.”

Jason gave a theatrical shudder.

She squinted at the comment section. “Are you Nightwing?” she asked him wryly. He was probably the only person who could tell that she was laughing her ass off internally. “They can’t think of another reason for us to know each other.”

Jason jumped so hard he nearly hit his finger with the mallet. “No! Christ.” He shook his head. “We look nothing alike.”

The chat exploded with commentary. He ignored it with a laugh and went back to work. Dick must be giggling his ass off.

A few minutes later, he was explaining the miso-yuzu topping for his steak when he noticed a familiar name dropping another sticker. 

Hey, wait. He frowned. “HawaiiHunk2?” He read incredulously. “You the same motherfucker that got blocked yesterday? You are thirsty, buddy.” 

Raven put down her spoon and leaned over to see the screen. “Ew,” she said, screwing her whole face up.

“Miso hungry for you 🥺🥺🥺🥺,” HawaiiHunk2 had said. Definitely the same fucker. 

“I’ve got it.” GOATman typed up rapidly. 

Jason waited a moment for the notification that the guy was blocked to appear. Nothing. But HawaiiHunk2 never sent another message. Huh. Maybe he’d missed it somehow? “Thanks, GOATman,” he said. He stopped stirring his mix and set the bowl aside. “Imma see you again for dinner, right?”

GOATman sent a yes and a flood of emojis.

“Someone has a comparison, look at this.” Raven gave up any pretense of helping and leaned both elbows on his counter. He made an aggrieved noise. “They’ve got screenshots of us standing next to each other and…” she frowned. “Where did you get this image?” she said, sounding dangerous. 

Jason looked over. “...Nerd,” he said. Someone had found a high quality shot of Raven and Nightwing and used her as a scale to do math about how big both men were. “You’re doing math? Embarrassing.”

“This image proves that you are taller than Nightwing,” said Kissy6000, a certified freak. “If her stated height is accurate, you are 5 inches taller than Nightwing, and your thighs are an additional 4 inches in circumference compared to his.”

“And much more swole,” added BicepMan. “Nightwing wishes he was built like that.”

He choked on a laugh, because that was kind of mean to his manager. “Back to twice baked potatoes,” Jason said pointedly. “We are almost done.”

He took the first bite on camera, as he always did. “Yupp,” he pronounced, “this is delicious.” 

“I agree.” Raven licked her spoon. “I will probably never cook again, but I may manifest on your welcome mat and beg.”

“That’s more polite than my brothers,” he told her, and then turned his attention to his viewers. “Tell me if you make it– hell yeah, I will repost your picture,” Jason promised. “Mm, do I– I don’t see any relevance, BicepMan,” Jason scoffed. “Do I like redheads? Off topic. Blocked and deleted,” he joked. Then he held up his hands in a stop gesture. “Not for real, GOATman.”

That was an asinine inquiry. He shook his head with a laugh. 

Obviously he liked redheads. No one could have survived extended contact with Dick’s goddamn menagerie of redheaded hottie hangalongs as a teenager without forming a preference. But it was inoculating. The average redhead on the street could not shake him anymore. He had managed to stay cool under the pressure of extended conversation with redheads hotter than these civilians could have ever dreamed of. Fuck. 

BicepMan sent crying emojis. Jason waved it off with a hand and tried very hard to forget his teenage fixations. “Whatever. You can live, but you now owe me a picture– no, a picture of food. If it looks shit, I am going to make fun of it on my next stream, so you had better put your whole ass into it.” He tried his potatoes. “Mm, very good.” He showed a forkful to the camera. “Cheers. Fuck off now.” He cut the feed and then tore through his meal. 

He had a simple meal for his evening stream. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but this was really growing on him. Maybe Jason was one of the lonely losers who would benefit from eating meals with someone. He considered this as he chatted back and forth with GOATman. “This is nice,” he said out loud. “Maybe I should go eat with my family more.” 

GOATman sent him 100 dollars. 

“Jesus,” Jason said, startled. “I don’t need your money. But thanks. You think it’s a good idea?” He wondered, cutting a slice of his tart. 

“I think your family would love to have you over.”

The sincerity nearly made his skin crawl. Jason fidgeted. “I don’t know, my dad and I have a troubled relationship.” He sighed and put down his fork to rub at his face. “We’re both stubborn.”

“You can resolve it.” 

“You are so positive, GOATman.” Jason huffed a laugh. “Maybe. I’ll see my Dad later, maybe I’ll see if he wants me over.” 

Later that night on patrol, Jason made a point of swinging to the north end of his patrol radius. He tended to overlap with Bruce’s route there.

As expected, bat ears pricked up in the distance. Jason tried not to fidget as he waited. “Red Hood,” Batman said, landing down. “Everything alright?” 

Jason nodded. “It’s good,” he said, feeling very stupid. How was he going to walk the conversation around to maybe coming over for dinner? “I-”

Red Robin cut into the comm line. “Batman, do we have any indication that Luthor is up to something unusual?”

Batman went tense. “Why?”

“A localized EMP went off and ruined Superboy’s phone, laptop, and his family smartfridge today at 12:16 this afternoon,” Red Robin reported, sounding awfully serious for such a stupid topic. Jason stifled a snicker in his glove. “I noticed because he usually sends me thirsty- he sends a lot of reports on his days, normally.” He overcorrected himself, flustered.

Batman hummed. Jason shook his head and got out his grapple, grateful for the exit from this conversation. “Perhaps he was misusing his devices,” Batman said. “The fridge is an unfortunate casualty.”

Jason turned the channel off before he had to hear any more about Superboy’s technological woes.

Friday

“Dear Jason!”

He sat up with a start, not ten minutes after he had gone to bed. Dick was grinning at him like a ghoul, holding out his phone in the darkness of his bedroom. He was still in his Nightwing costume. His gloves were off, so Jason could see that he had a fresh manicure for the first time in a while.

‘I need bug spray or some shit.’

“...Kory,” Jason said groggily. “Good morning.” He laid back down with a groan.

“Good morning!” she chirped. “I am looking forward to our video collaboration today! What should I wear for this occasion?”

Oh, fuck. He stared at his ceiling, struck immobile by horror. He was going to be trapped in his kitchen for more than an hour with one of the most attractive people on earth. Why was this happening to him?

He turned a thoroughly wounded expression on Dick. Dick shrugged. “Wardrobe?” He prompted. 

…He did not want to pick out clothes for Kory. That was… no, that was dangerous territory.

Why was she asking him? Was this a normal thing for a celebrity to care about?

Jason ran a hand through his hair and cursed his life. “I don’t care,” he said. “A ballgown. A swimsuit. Old sweats. You literally always look good.” A bit too much sincerity crept into his voice at the end. 

Dick flinched.

“You as well!” She sang out. “Let us make a bargain! We will wear the shortest of shorts, and shirts that show our arms! The viewers will find it extremely invigorating.” He just knew she was flexing on the other end of the line.

Jason thought over that for a moment. “I don’t think I own Daisy Dukes.”

Dick tossed the phone onto his bed and started shuffling through Jason’s dresser. He retrieved a pair of jeans and then walked off with them into another room. 

It took a moment for the pin to drop. He sat up. “Dick!”

A rip cut through the air as Dick converted his jeans into shorts.

Jason laid back down mournfully. “I have short shorts,” he reported to Kory. “Okay. Wanna coordinate a color or anything?”

She cheerfully demurred. Jason ended the call and then hauled his sore body out to glare at his shitty older brother. “Don’t you have any pride? You know damn well that putting Kory on my livestream is gonna be really weird.”

Dick shrugged. “This hurts, but my rent is paid up for the rest of the year,” he said philosophically. “I can cry into a pile of paid bills.” He held up a pair of horrifically short cut-off jeans with a self satisfied smirk. “I’m going to get a car. You need to work in a reference to this credit card company by the way, say you use them for shopping for groceries.” He tossed a contract on the bed.

Jason blinked. “…How much money am I making?” He asked, baffled. “I haven’t looked at my accounts.” 

Dick rolled his eyes. “You’re an asshole,” he said fondly, in a truly incredible bit of projection. “Sleep tight!” He slammed the door on his way out. 

Jason laid there for a long and miserable moment, mind ticking unwillingly. He wanted to sleep. He needed to sleep, especially if he was going to deal with how catastrophically hot Kory was. Jason swallowed, hard. He tried not to think about her triceps. In his house. Kory and her hair and her everything, in his home. Holy shit.

He couldn’t sleep. He had to get up and scrub his home from top to bottom. What if Kory pulled the fridge out from the wall and saw the crumbs back there, huh? What if she needed to crawl under his sofa and saw that he had used it to hide an imperfection in the wall molding? 

Once that was done, Jason took his nervous energy to the grocery store and changed his damn mind half a dozen times about what he wanted to make. 

“Don’t be mad,” Dick texted him, an hour before go time.

What did that mean.

Jason called him immediately. Dick rejected the call. He stared at the phone, genuinely fearful. What did that even mean? How could it get worse?

He called again.

Dick’s phone was off.

He dialed up Barbie. “Hey, what is Dick up to?” Jason asked nervously, as soon as the line connected. 

She laughed in his ear and ended the call.

He paced around his kitchen. “That’s cool,” he said. “That’s fine. It probably doesn’t mean anything.” 

He found out what it meant when Kory knocked on his door and breezed in a cloud of perfume to land a kiss on his cheek. “Jason!” She announced, way too loudly. “We are so excited!” Her incredible hair sort of lashed and sparked in the air.

He reeled, a hand to his cheek. “What,” he said, like a dumbass. We? Oh no. It was a plural situation.

Roy Harper came in after her and kicked the door shut, arms… out. And bulging. “Yeah, we brought some stuff,” he said, as if Jason had noticed the goddamn tote bags he was hefting. Jason hadn’t gotten that far.

Jason made a wounded sound. 

‘If Wally West or Barbara Gordon shows up, I’m leaving. This won’t be my apartment anymore. I’m not strong enough for this. Is Dick mad at me?’

“What’s that?” he said weakly, trying to get his hormones under control. Jason held onto the countertop to stay standing. He needed help. He needed one of those LifeAlert devices. Someone should call an ambulance immediately. His heart was going too fast and it hurt.

Roy grinned at him. It was so white and perfect that it hurt his brain a little. He dropped the totes on the counter and then dug out two honeydew melons. “Perfect melons!” he said, holding them up to his chest.

Jason made a sound like a strangled cat.

Kory threw her head back and laughed. “That is too funny, friend Roy,” she said. She floated over and snatched out some grapefruits. “They resemble your large pectorals!”

Roy grinned at her and sort of jiggled the fruit. “Thanks for noticing,” he said, and then he looked back at Jason. “Some of your followers had some rather… scientific curiosity.”

He tried to make a noise. Nothing came out.

“Yes,” Kory said, idly tossing fruit up and down. “You crushed a root vegetable in your hand. It has spurred inquiries such as, “Can a melon be cracked open in the bend of your arm? Will it crack or be crushed, or will it be unaffected?” Her grin turned extremely mischievous. “I thought we should all try it!” She dashed in between the two men and gave a squeeze to each of their arms. “That is why I thought that we should not wear the sleeves today! It will be easier to clean ourselves.”

Dick was a dead man. He could pay his bills in hell.

They started the stream. He introduced his guests. Jason was in such a fugue state that he knew damn well he wouldn’t remember what had happened. He stammered his way through the introduction so severely that Kory patted his back and then cheerfully announced they were going to make fruit juice!

“We will begin with guavas.” Kory pulled them out with a flourish. “Let us crush them with our hands!” She grinned to the camera. 

Jason managed one look at her crushing fruit between her palms and then went back into survival mode. He wanted to lick her hands. He wanted to join a monastery.

“Next, oranges. I wanted to see if we could juice them inside the rind. What do you think?” Roy gave the screen a winsome smile and a piece of fruit a teasing squeeze.

“Oh!” Kory floated upwards in her excitement. “Let us take turns crushing them with our biceps! Everyone, please observe.” 

“This is debatably sanitary,” Roy said, and then effortlessly crushed his orange over the bowl. It flattened and spurted out violently.

Jesus.

Jason watched, transfixed, as juice dripped down his arm. Kory crowed a laugh and then copied him. Jason let himself be bullied into it next. Why not? This might as well be happening to him. 

HawaiiHunk2 returned just long enough to type up an all caps scream. He then disappeared from the list of viewers. 

Relatable. He was right. For once in his miserable and horny little life, HawaiiHunk2 was right. It was better to run away.

“Next!” Kory brandished two melons. The chat exploded into incoherency. “Let us attempt the honeyed melons! Their rind is very thick.”

Jason looked at the orange juice drying on his arm. 

“Looks sticky,” Roy said casually. Too casually. “Need me to clean that up for you?” He stuck his tongue out ever so slightly.

Jason reflexively made the sign of the cross. 

“We also have watermelons!”

“God help me,” Jason begged. He gripped the counter hard.

“I have heard that it is an internet challenge to crush them in one’s muscular thighs! We, too, shall crush watery melons!”

“Yeah, buddy,” Roy said, extremely unhelpful. “Lucky we are all in such short shorts.” He twined around to show the camera his flank, lifting a leg. His thigh muscles flexed.

Jason didn’t really remember the rest of the stream. He didn’t remember ending it. It was sort of a rush of blood and hormones. He just survived the experience, honestly.

When it was all over, Kory and Roy each kissed a cheek and then bustled out with cheerful efficiency. They said something about going to blow up a warlord. Or something. He didn’t really know English anymore.

“Good luck,” Jason said, dazed. He sat down on his floor. His laptop and phone chimed constantly with notifications. Me too, buddy, he thought. 

His window slid open and Dick crawled in like Sadako. “Yooooo,” the world’s worst sibling crooned. He tumbled into the room with a roll and then landed in a crouch. He giggled to himself, the white light from his phone reflecting on his face. “Oh, hey, did you see Tim’s message? Someone set off another EMP at the Kent farm during your livestream.” He snickered. An app made a ping noise, as a transaction registered. Dick threw his head back and cackled. “I have infinite money now! I don’t care about using paid vs unpaid leave anymore. I am going to get a 401k and health insurance! I am never going to die.” He threw himself back into the sofa and kicked his feet in the air.

Jason looked at his phone, seeking something that would numb the pain of his brother’s happiness. 

His back went rigid.

He opened his messages. He scrolled past the 102 unopened messages from Kon, as was his habit. The top one said, “I am free ton….”

That was unimportant. He had unopened messages from both Kory and Roy.

Roy

You looked hot as hell today. 🔥 u free tonight? 👅 🫦 what else them thighs do?  🍈 

Kory

Jason! 💕 You have the cleanest sofa I have ever seen. ✨ Let us spend some time upon it together and cause it to become filthy and possibly broken! 💋 🍑  💪 

He looked at Dick. He looked back at his phone and the R U up style messages from two of Dick’s exes. He looked again at how heinously happy Dick was. 

“Hey, Dick,” Jason said slowly. He felt a terrible smile creeping across his face. 

He had the power to make all of that go away. 

Dick stopped smiling. He went very still, like a meerkat in the grass. “…What up?” 

“C’mere.”

[tmbgareok]

Hi Flans! I’ve been wondering, you’ve got an extremely impressive vocal range, falsetto and all; did this always come somewhat naturally for you, or was there a concerted effort to train your voice to hit all those notes? Especially the higher ones; I’m still new to having a deeper voice, and it’s been disconcerting not being able to sing as high as I used to… Thanks for your time as always!

JF: I... I... I feel a little anxiety about this. First thank you for the compliment. I do appreciate it. For many years I was really frustrated by the shortcomings of my singing voice, and because I wasn't interested in singing with a traditionally "trained" style, it became a big challenge figuring out how to improve. And very very late in my professional life-like 20 years in I started having breakthroughs and found a much more consistent way to perform.

I tried going to a pretty traditional pair of coaches in the mid-90s (they were a couple) but I realize in retrospect they were really only capable of training Broadway people to belt and opera singers to maximize their projection which was an aesthetic I didn't really relate to. They couldn't address my big issues in a head on way (basically singing flat, scooping up to notes in a goofy, amateurish way, difficulty hitting smaller intervals precisely, and, the big one-- losing my voice). Why couldn't they help me? Because they couldn't really give me the tools in an efficient way (recording vocal lessons was a real-time disaster with just fragments of useful stuff to review--After a year I realized I would have had to go to daily lessons to really get anywhere, and I could barely afford it once a week.)

I really started addressing things in a successful way post-2000, going to a coach who gave me some really simple but informed moves in a more natural way, and using YouTube instruction to do warm ups in a systematic way.

This is my take, and I am sure other people might disagree or are just more naturally good at this than me, but I found there was something a little basic about how to improve my voice--dedicating a half hour every day and just putting in the time with YouTube videos. I wish it was more fun! But if you drill basic stuff all the time you'll find some stuff coming together in months, and some bigger stuff coming together in a year or two. But just living in the world of always singing was really my path to basic improvement. It also helped me hold on to my voice, and through weirder conditions. (I actually capture the audio from my favorite clips and have a playlist on my phone so I can practice almost anywhere)

Finding a 15 minute warm up of scales and arpeggios, and then add in videos of intervals small and large (very helpful for flexibility) I bet you will find you sing more consistently in tune and expand your range in an organic way. I even dream of being able to sing riffs/runs but, man, it does not come naturally to me!

One series of warm ups I can easily recommend is Jeff Rolka. He has tons of videos for all different kinds of voices (and as a tenor, dipping in to baritone and alto warm ups is a great way to expand your range without public embarrassment!) And his interval and chromatic videos are super-useful for focusing up on pitchiness.

I have even sent money to him in the past just because I lean on his stuff so much. I even requested a small interval video and he made one! (I should probably PayPal him some more dough--he has a solid library now. Very useful!)

[lukolathoughts]

Miss Nicola - supporting LGBTQI rights

Dearest gentle reader,

I have been itching to write a blog post now for a few weeks, but not really knowing where to begin. There have been frenzied weeks and days of activity, but then silence and the fandom meanders like a lost boat at sea. We are often rudderless without the reassuring presence of our ship captains - Luke and Nicola. This also tends to get the sub fandoms spouting nonsense claiming to have seen Nicola in Birmingham or some ridiculous crap. I didn't want to bother her by asking for a photo! No photo, no proof my friend.

I'll talk about me for a moment. I had a week from hell last week. There was something so upsetting for me to deal with, I couldn't go into work as I was crying that much. Try to explain this to your manager: that nasty comments on YouTube made you late for work. Luckily, she is an understanding person and I have told her about my YT channel. Saying some things out loud to real life people make me sound barking mad. But it is the price you pay for being public on YouTube. It also makes me an easy target. I am used to online trolls and people who hate me for saying that Jake is gay and believing in Lukola, but when the stab in the back comes from a supposed friend, it really is the ten of swords. My phone blew up that much, I opened my eyes that morning genuinely thinking Lukola had launched. My hope turned to ash, when I saw what was really happening. I share this with you all because, I have had to have a reckoning with myself the last week. My online life and my real life are not the same. My real life is way more important and I actually need my job, so messing it up because I've got people I don't really know online saying mean things about me, that are not true, shouldn't matter. But it still hurts. But I also realise, they are trying to stop me sharing and trying to ruin my credibility and reputation in order to send me off into my discord crying never to return again.

Well think again. No one tells a Sagittarius woman what they can and can't do. I am made of stronger stuff. Love will always conquer hate. No one puts Baby in the corner, and I will not stand for it. I have scaled back most of my online life now. It had helped me cope with the last year and losing my friend, but sometimes you have to go back into reality. I'm never leaving the ship though. You'll have to chuck me overboard and I'll still jump back on like Rose from Titanic. "I couldn't go, Jack! You jump, I jump, right?"

Anyway, enough about me. Let's talk about Nic. I love Nicola by the way and nothing I say here is a criticism of her or her choices. I see what you're doing though, miss Nicola. I said in my last blog that the shit would hit the fan when Jake has to start press for his new upcoming BBC3 drama What it feels like for a girl. I will admit I have not read the book. Regardless of who Jake is playing, it is reportedly an all queer cast, a queer director and at least one queer writer that I know of. Why would the director of an all queer cast hire a straight man in a homosexual role? If this show is as big as It's a Sin, that aired on Channel 4 a few years ago, then there will be press and a lot of it. There will be press from queer magazines also. Jake is currently in an awkward position, because some press believe he is in a romantic relationship with Nicola Coughlan, a woman who is also 14 years his senior. So, what will Nicola and Jake do?

Jake is holding onto his cash cow with both hands and Nicola needs Jake to continue to pose as her boyfriend to stop the media digging. But honey, they know. It was clear all the press at the SAG awards knew exactly what was going on and they were not afraid to say it. The 'happy ending' comment levelled at them directly by a reporter, had Nicola stunned and Luke smiling like all his Christmases' had come at once.

Nicola knows what is going on. She knows there is a deadline and she knows if she doesn't extricate herself from the narrative she is dating a gay man, she is screwed basically. What is she doing? She's getting out her, I love gays!! T-shirt, hats, scarfs, sunglasses, whatever. She is doing it. Look at me, I love queers! I love her for this and I already know she is an advocate for LGBTQI rights. She has a ton of gay friends. The fandom knows this of course, but do the general public?

At the Neutrogena event on 27th March 2025, there was a very tall drag queen doing some MCing. We know Nic loves drag queens and has been to many shows, so this is nothing new to us. I'm not being overly cynical that the drag queen might have been there for a reason, right? Neutrogena is a product that is targeted at women mostly for their skin products. What has that got to do with a drag queen? I just found it odd.

Next up we have Nicola's Pink Pony Club Post that she shared to both her Instagram stories and grid last Thursday 10th April. The song by Chappell Roan is synonymous with the gay community and one that Jake danced to at her concert last year in a pink cowboy hat. "You guys, remember when my old flat was a gay hotspot!" Nicola, posts 4 polaroid's of her looking fabulous in pink and lays them on a pink blanket. What made you feel so nostalgic, Nic? Or are you sending a message? Look at me, I have loved my gay besties for donkey's years. Prominent gay friends such as JVN and Jack Rooke commented all in agreement, that indeed, Nic's flat was the place to be. And, no I do not think Nicola is coming out herself as gay. Get real, she is supporting her friends and peers.

Then there was yesterday's selfie of Nicola wearing her black - 'I just wanted to say if you are trans and reading this, I love you and so do all my mates' T-shirt. There a few other details in that post that other bloggers such as @toriaaniin have covered beautifully, so I won't go into it here. My eyes sprung wide when I saw this post. I know she advocates for the charity Notaphase.org and I commend her for doing this, but two queer posts in a few days seems to be a lot for Nic, when lately she hasn't been posting at all.

There is also the male hairdresser Halley Brisker in her Opalex video on her Instagram, They make a big deal of letting us know he flirts with male makeup artists. Nicola is clearly good friends with Halley and it is an endearing watch. But to me this seems like a lot of overkill in the last few days for the general public to look at her Instagram and instantly know, yes Nicola does love the girls, the gays and Luke Newton. (FYI Halley Brisker is married to a woman and has children, but to the general public this conversation is implying Nic is comfortable with these conversations).

This, in my opinion, is setting the stage for the final act. I can see Nicola doing some sort of article or interview where she clears a certain narrative up. If you notice, Douglas has also been quite forceful again in implying certain things about Jake and Jake himself does not stop others from posting suggestive posts and videos of him. Nicola must remove herself from this mess in order to move forward with her own career and life. Hanging onto old connections are no longer serving her personally and professionally. Her engagement on Instagram is down by a lot, so I'm told and she is losing followers. She has done all she can career-wise for Jake now, he has to make his own way.

If this does not happen and we remain in this weird heteronormative bubble, I fear the press for What it feels like for a girl, will be a shit show. The truth will come out eventually and it will drag both Jake and Nicola down with it.

[avsanderoth]

Writing Emotions: Sorrow

Welcome. Below lies truths, though not universal, for the art of woe - its reality, its impact and its depiction. Thank you for reading. 

To grieve at all scales is an utmost inherent aspect of processing the trials thrown at one by life. Whether for your own loss or the loss suffered by another, sorrow can be grounding when treated as it should be, or deluding when not. 

Misery loves company

Ideally, the sadness you express through your characters will draw the reader in, and via their empathy, leave them feeling similarly. Indeed, sorrow has the ability to humanize your characters - it makes them seem vulnerable in ways that allow the reader to understand them better. 

And in turn, it allows you to understand your characters better. Seeing and writing someone at their most vulnerable gives you an insight for their qualities when they don’t have the energy to hide behind a facade, whether consciously or unconsciously. Writing scenes that feature your characters grieving over any sort of loss is a good means of getting to know them. 

So then, how is one to write sorrow?

Your sorrow is your own

No two people grieve the same. When they experience loss, the reality hits them at different times, and haunts them just as sporadically. It is up to you to understand your character, and reason for yourself - how would they react to losing something? For loss is the great source of nearly all sorrow, be it your own loss or another’s for which you grieve. 

In this sense, I can only recommend two broad things. 

First, draw from yourself. The idea of sorrow one knows best is their own, and while you don’t need to directly copy the way you experience sadness and paste it onto your characters, it is a starting point you’re already deeply familiar with, and so you can revise it - adjust timings, physical and verbal reactions, the sheer fact it stems from you will make the process far, far easier. 

Second, allow yourself to be immersed in what your character is going through. This is a tip I give to all writing, but it is especially important when depicting sorrow. The closer you get to your story - the more “real” you allow it to be - the more natural the result becomes. 

I can also list some things that factor into sorrow - things to think about displaying through your story, though I cannot recommend using all of them at once. 

Does your character search for an escape, or a distraction? Do they allow the feelings to stew in their gut, waiting for them to settle or disappear?

Is your character’s reaction to loss inward or outward? Do they keep their grief to themselves, or do they shed tears and lament as the feelings naturally bubble up?

More particularly, how does your character react physically to loss? Does it make them feel weak and reach for support, does it make them feel eternally tense, are they overcome by sudden chills or flushes of heat?

Do they try to compensate for their sorrow via other emotions? Masking their feelings over loss through indiscriminate anger, or false content, or utter indifference?

Who does your character reach to for help, and why? Maybe they don’t dare reach out to anybody - if so, why not?

Should your character try to articulate their sorrow in words, do they succeed or does their vocabulary fail them? Grief is so inherent, there are times when not the harshest terms can do it justice - what does that inability do to your character, being unable to rationally communicate their feelings?

Feel free to use these when you depict sorrow - they are drawn from my own experience doing so, and work well for me. 

When grief owns you

If not handled, sorrow rots. It grows, though you delude yourself into thinking it’s dissipating. In reality, it merely loses its “shape”, detaches from what caused it in the first place so it may grow with every loss that follows, no matter how minor. The lows of the day grow deeper, the highs flatten out and turn life into a hay field hiding widespread sinkholes. 

Depression is one of many things that can follow a poorly handled loss, when the mind’s ability to produce the chemicals that steer your mood is stressed to a point of effectively shutting down. It’s a state of your grief encapsulating you, a suit of armor to protect you from the possibility that things get even worse. It distances you from reality, makes the embrace and touch of your loved ones feel empty. Your own personal abyss. 

But not all sorrow takes this path. The vengeful channel it, convert every ounce into relentless fury. If they make right of what happened, take revenge on those who caused it, they may be free - their own personal balance will return!

It doesn’t. Revenge is a distraction, and once fulfilled, the mind is left to fend for itself. There, the unresolved loss stands, waiting with open arms. And with nobody to stop it, the mind accepts. 

The hand reached out

Nobody can handle sorrow that deep on their own. They need help, and they need to want it. What is your character’s “safety net”? Do they have one, and if so, do they realize it? Does something keep them from accepting help, whether pride or self-loathing or fear that things will only get worse? Deep sorrow changes your perspective on life - do their days seem bleaker? Does opening their bedroom door feel like a monumental effort, much less making food for themselves or going outside?

Know that handling sorrow is a process that can span a lifetime depending on the event. Do not rush yourself in resolving it in your story, lest the impact is weakened and the end becomes rushed. Even if your story ends with the character still processing their loss, you can make it “good” by surrounding them with people who can help them, or just offering any reason for the reader to feel hope. 

These two concepts - grief and hope - go hand in hand when storytelling. When in tandem, the reader’s mind will fill in what your story is not long enough to contain, give happy endings, though distant, and make a resolution as good as the reader wants it to be. 

The end

Thank you for reading. I appreciate the support for this blog, and goodbye.

[irishmammonagenda]

MC's magic going wrong 😱😰

or right depending on ur outlook on life ig

warnings: swearing, mentions of death (extremely brief and only notioned towards), physical affection

You hadn´t thought much of it at first when you got back to the human realm. Everything went back to normal. Or as normal as it could be.

Your mother and father sobbed when they saw you, stating how they though´t you were lying in a ditch somewhere in the stretching countryside. You´d lied, told them you were away on a residency based apprenticeship, that you were sorry for worrying them. Your siblings showed signs of worry you never thought they were able to feel for you. Thus you were being babied for a month or so.

That´s when it started.

At first, it was more corvids at the bird feeder in your garden than usual. Then it was stray cats. Then inexplicable black and white feathers dusting your clothing and hair.

Your mother smiled picking out the ivory feather from the confines of your unbrushed hair, "Oh! Your guardian angel´s been watching over you!" she says playfully, an old wives´ tale, nothing too serious.

You tense for a moment, before laughing with her. "Well I´ll take it as a good sign." Stupid old wives being the smartest people.

At first it was easy to brush off.

Then your father started getting lucky, he hadn't been one to gamble persay, putting a few coins in on a bet for the horse racing or the football was a regular occurrence, sometimes he won,sometimes he didn't. The difference of a few silvers, a share bag of sweets basically, made no real strain on your belts. But now, he was winning left right and center. Winning amounts that shouldnt be possible based on the amount he input.

Though, after you woke up to cats and corvids staring at you unblinkingly, in your room, with a few flies and insects on the walls, and your bedsheets covered in feathers and scales of all colours and sizes, enough was enough.

You were going to give those nerds a piece of your mind.

After shooing the animals out, (making sure to pet the cats), you picked up a lipstick, and channeled your pact magic before drawing a circle with various symbols on the floor,

You stilled, "Ah, shit. I dunno how to do this, i mean half of those symbols are angry faces and squiggles...." but ever the theatre nerd, you improved.

"I, MC, call upon the power of my pacts with the Avatars of Hell! and, using their power; a portal to the Devildom shall open for me!"

And a portal did open for you. Unfortunately, not to the best place. As you travelled through the time pocket you ended up stumbling once you made it to the other side, the stumble turnt into a tumble turnt into a fall. Unluckily for you, the thing you fell on was toned flesh and chuckling heartily, you were in Diavolo's lap.

"It's great of you to drop by MC!" He says, his massive hands pulling you further into his frame.

You cover your face with your hands, now noticing the various other nobles in the council room who are staring at their Prince, attempting to mask the fact their jaws are going to hit the floor.

Atleast the Brothers weren't there, but Barbatos' half polite smile half smirk and Diavolo whispering various playful musings of, "Did you miss me that much little human, we missed you too.", and "Summoning a portal illegally into the Demon Lord's castle and onto the Demon Princes lap...tututut." almost made the brothers seem like a mercy....

...almost.

You couldn't tell if this was a win or a lose.

[maypiles]

Pick A Pile: What is your justice?⚖️

❗This is a collective reading so take what resonates and leave what does not. Please do not force the reading. Be careful of scammers I'll never reach out to you to ask for money or personal readings❗

Okay, listen up, darlings. After that vision of New York City and Lady Liberty gracing me like the queen I am, I just knew Spirit was screaming at me to dig into this. Justice, karma, the scales tipping—whatever you want to call it—it’s all connected, and I had to know what’s up with my collective. What’s your justice? What’s the tea on your karmic comeback or payback? Because let me tell you, when Lady Liberty herself makes a cameo in my dreams, it’s not just a vibe; it’s a cosmic declaration. Buckle up; the universe is about to spill.

Pile One

Pile one, this is a BIG moment, and I can’t even begin to stress it enough, okay? So first, let’s just dive into what Spirit wants you to know because there’s a whole lot going on, and I feel like the universe is throwing a whole deck of cards down on the table—your table. The message is loud and clear, baby.

First thing I’m hearing—there’s this vibe of someone talking behind your back. Ugh, I hate it. It's like there’s this sneaky energy, maybe some people trying to paint you in a certain light, and I'm hearing ‘final chapter.’ Yeah, you’re at the end of something—something major. You’ve been going through it, whether emotionally, financially, or just in general, and Spirit’s telling me you’re about to face your justice. But here’s the thing, babe—this is karma, okay? Whether it's real debt or energetic debt, whatever happened in the past, the universe is balancing the scales.

I’m seeing cards like the 5 of Pentacles reversed, Page of Pentacles, 4 of Cups, 5 of Swords reversed, and 5 of Cups. Like, I’m getting this feeling that maybe you’ve been struggling, feeling left out in the cold, or just like the universe is not on your side. But here’s the thing: the 5 of Pentacles reversed is showing me that things are changing for you. I’m hearing recovery, and it feels like you’ve been through hell, but baby, the tides are shifting. Spirit is telling me you're in the process of paying for some past mistakes, but there is a lesson here, and it’s going to help you rise.

Then there’s the King of Wands and Hanged Man—and I gotta say, it’s like, there’s this person in your life or this energy where you’ve been putting on this strong, ‘I’m untouchable’ vibe, but deep down you’re realizing something has to change. You’ve been in limbo—stuck in this weird cycle, indecisive, unsure of your next move. You’ve been trying to juggle everything—2 Pentacles—and it’s like, what was once in balance is now all over the place. It’s time for a shift.

Now, the World reversed and the 7 of Cups hit me hard because something is incomplete, and there's confusion surrounding it. It’s like you're getting a new perspective on everything, but there’s still this cloudiness, something hidden, or a situation that hasn’t fully unfolded yet. Don’t worry, you’re seeing it all soon. Trust me, things are coming to light. Spirit is saying, “Hold your ground,” with the 7 of Wands, because there’s a big payoff coming with the Ace of Pentacles and 10 of Pentacles—yes, I said it, big money and stability! You just have to keep pushing through this current energy, even if it feels like a struggle right now.

But let’s talk about that 10 of Swords, Moon reversed, and the 5 of Wands. This is heavy. There is some serious betrayal energy here, something that’s cut you deep, but it's also like, you’re breaking free from whatever chains have held you. The truth is coming out—especially with the Moon reversed. You’ve been through the battle, now it’s about overcoming the chaos and moving forward. The 10 of Cups reversed—yep, love life might be in the pits for some of you right now, and you’re feeling emotionally drained, but there’s healing ahead, okay?

So here’s what Spirit wants you to know, Pile one: You are facing your justice. The scales are balancing, and yes, there’s been some messy, dark energy from the past—but now? You are stepping into your new chapter. You are paying your debts, emotionally or otherwise. But trust me when I say, after the storm comes your victory. You’ve been through the struggle, but now you are about to reap the rewards of that hard work. The universe is testing your resilience, and, baby, you’re gonna come out stronger than ever.

So what is your justice?

Your justice? Oh, it’s sweet, isn’t it? Karmic cleansing, honey. All that betrayal and shady business? Watch it unravel like a cheap sweater. You’re cutting ties, reclaiming your voice, and stepping into your power. They thought they could keep you in the dark, but surprise! You're the High Priestess, babe—illusions shattered, truths exposed. Their little games backfired, and you? You’re thriving. Justice? Served. Cold, delicious, and with a side of don’t mess with me.

Pile Two

All right, okay, my loves Pile 2, let’s get into this, because I am picking up on a lot, and I need you to listen closely. This feels like a moment for you—like the universe is standing right in front of you, waiting for you to make some decisions. And baby, let me tell you, these are big ones. I feel like you’re in a position where you’re about to turn the page—the past is behind you, and you’re stepping into something new. But let me break it down for you.

So first thing I’m feeling, my foot starts itching—I don’t know why that’s happening, but Spirit is giving me the strong vibe that you’re either about to travel or visit someone. More likely, it’s a visit, and I’m getting that this is connected to family or someone who’s just returned from a visit. Whatever it is, it’s coming soon. It could even be a recent visit, like you’re still processing it. There’s something here, and it feels important.

Now let’s talk about what I’m seeing in my mind’s eye. I see a crow—I know it’s a crow, but also it’s black and dark like it has this shadowy presence. It’s standing on the bank of a river or water—maybe even in a park. There’s sunlight, and I’m seeing this bird looking around. Spirit’s telling me that there’s a symbolic energy here—crows are messengers. You’re receiving a message, Pile 2, and this is a time of transition, of choosing your path, like the bird flying away to where it’s meant to be. It feels like a time for you to decide—are you staying where you are, or are you flying away?

And then, I hear the word ‘rosemary’, and it’s so significant right now. It could be something as simple as you needing to protect your energy, cleanse your space, or work with rosemary in some way—whether it’s spiritual or practical. Rosemary is a protector, a cleanser, and it feels like you are being called to do this now. There’s some protection needed here, especially if you’re feeling drained or unsure about things.

But let’s talk about the shift, because there is a huge shift happening. With the 2 of Wands reversed and the Devil, I’m getting that you’re in a place where you’ve been stuck, possibly bound to something toxic—something holding you back. And I feel like you’re at a breaking point. You’ve been grappling with this decision, right? Whether it’s leaving something behind or moving forward, the universe is saying—you are finally choosing your happiness. You’re turning away from the past and stepping into something new. And yes, panic attacks could be a thing here, like anxiety around this change. But trust me, babe, Spirit’s saying, this is your time.

So, when I see the 6 of Pentacles, 7 of Pentacles, and the Page of Swords reversed, I’m getting that you’ve been working hard, trying to balance things out. But right now, there’s something off—you might be feeling drained, like you’re giving too much and not receiving enough. It’s like you’ve been planting seeds, but you’re not seeing the rewards yet. Spirit’s saying, you’re about to see your harvest, but you need to clear the air first.

I’m also seeing the Queen of Pentacles, 4 of Cups, and the Sun, and here’s the thing: you’ve been in this emotional space where maybe you’ve been unfulfilled. Like, you’ve had everything you need, but something’s still missing. You’ve been looking at things and saying, “Is this it?” Spirit is telling me: you are about to get your answer. You’re about to step into the light. The Sun is coming for you—this is happiness, healing, and clarity.

But there’s also the 4 of Swords reversed, Fool reversed, and 7 of Wands reversed, and listen, I feel the resistance. There’s some fear here, some hesitation to take that first step forward. You’ve been in your head, feeling unsure, but let me tell you: it’s time to act. The 7 of Wands reversed is telling me that maybe you’ve been defensive, maybe you’ve been holding back, but it’s time to stop fighting yourself and just go. There’s so much fear around the unknown right now, but you’re being called to release it.

Now, I’m seeing the 3 of Cups, 3 of Swords, and 2 of Cups reversed, and there’s a lot of emotional healing here. I feel like you’ve been hurt in the past, possibly by a relationship or a close friendship, and it’s been hard to let go. Spirit’s saying, you’re healing from that. You’re moving on, even if it feels painful right now. Your heart is healing, babe, and you’re opening yourself up to something new.

And then the King of Pentacles, 3 of Pentacles, and Moon reversed show me that there’s stability coming. You’re about to start building something solid, something real. There’s clarity on the way, and it’s like the Moon reversed is all about revealing hidden truths. Whatever was hidden, whether it was in your relationships, your work, or within yourself, it’s about to come to light.

So, I’m hearing it loud and clear now, Pile two: you are in the middle of a major shift. You’re deciding to turn your back on the past and choose your happiness. There are fears, there’s resistance, and there’s pain—but Spirit is saying, the clarity is coming, the healing is coming, and you are stepping into your power. You’re being guided to protect your energy—use rosemary, cleanse, reset. Trust that the universe has your back, and soon, you’ll be standing on solid ground, feeling like yourself again.

So what is your justice?

Ah, your justice is glow-up revenge. You’re untouchable, darling, and they’re left watching from the sidelines as you rise. Their attempts to block you? Laughable. The wheel is spinning in your favor, and the universe is handing you blessings while their lives turn into a slow-motion disaster. You’re stepping into abundance and alignment, and let’s be honest, it’s about time. They’ll choke on their envy, but don’t worry—you’re too busy being fabulous to care.

Pile Three

All right, my gorgeous Pile 3, let’s get into it. I’m feeling this is a deep reading, like we’re diving into some serious energy here. First off, I’m picking up something huge. You might be connected to the New York dream I channeled in a previous post—whether you’re from New York, visited, or that place has some significance for you. I’m also hearing dreams, and I feel like some of you are having prophetic dreams or visions that are part of your spiritual journey. Spirit is coming through strong right now, so pay attention.

You’re in a phase right now where the Wheel of Fortune is spinning for you. Fate is at play, and I feel like everything that’s been happening is part of a bigger plan—this is your spiritual path, Pile 3. It’s like the universe is pushing you forward, and there’s a reason for every challenge you’re going through. There’s something bigger unfolding here, and your journey is truly aligning with your higher self.

Now, Spirit keeps telling me choices in love, so let’s dive into that for a minute. I don’t know who you’re dealing with right now, but you’ve got choices—multiple options, different energies around you. But let’s get into the cleansing bit. It feels like you’re releasing a lot. There's a need to clear out some heavy stuff that’s been weighing you down, especially emotionally and mentally. I’m talking about the 10 of Wands reversed, where the burdens are finally being lifted, but you’ve been carrying them for a long time. You're letting go of things, people, situations, and ideas that no longer serve your highest good. It’s like Spirit is telling you to finally breathe again. Let the weight off.

But I see Ace of Swords reversed, Knight of Pentacles reversed, Knight of Cups reversed, and Queen of Pentacles challenge, and there’s this sense of miscommunication, lack of clarity, and maybe even feeling stuck in a place where you’ve been waiting for answers that aren’t coming. Like, it feels like you've been trying to move forward, but you're hitting roadblocks, especially in your career, relationships, and your sense of security. It's been difficult, but Spirit is saying—you're breaking free from this soon. It’s part of the cleansing process. The delays are just preparing you for the next chapter.

Then I’m seeing Justice here, and yes, this is it. The justice you’re seeking is coming through, especially with the 7 of Swords and 5 of Wands. If there’s been any deception or betrayal, or if you’ve been involved in conflict—whether with people, or even just within yourself—Spirit is saying you will be vindicated. You will receive what’s yours. The energy is shifting, and the balance is about to be restored. It’s coming through in your choices in love and in life—whatever this injustice was, it’s clearing up now.

The 7 of Pentacles and 3 of Pentacles indicate that you’ve been waiting for rewards, for your effort to pay off, and Spirit is saying that it’s on its way. You've planted the seeds, and now you're just waiting for things to fall into place. You’ve been patient, working on yourself, on your dreams, on your future. It’s all going to pay off. But with the 2 of Wands challenge and the Knight of Wands reversed, Spirit says there's still this hesitation, this fear of moving forward. But you need to let go of the fear. It’s holding you back.

But I see the Chariot reversed and the 10 of Cups challenge, and it’s clear: you’ve been struggling with your direction—like you’re not fully sure where you're headed, and it’s affecting your emotional state. There’s been an emotional imbalance here, and it’s holding up the momentum you need to push forward. You’re questioning if happiness is even possible right now. There’s been sadness, regret (5 of Cups), but Spirit is coming through to tell you don’t stay stuck in the past. Things will change once you step out of this emotional rut.

And I can feel the Moon reversed—this is clarity. There’s stuff that’s been hidden in the dark, and it’s about to come to light. If there’s been confusion, if you’ve felt like you can’t see the truth, that’s changing. Truth is coming through, and it’ll be like a weight lifted off your shoulders.

Now let’s talk about the Devil energy. I feel like you’ve been breaking free from toxic cycles—whether it’s toxic relationships, bad habits, or something that’s just drained your energy. You're cleansing this out. This is part of your transformation, and with the 4 of Swords reversed, Spirit is saying you need to rest but also push through this final phase of your healing. It’s time to let go, to forgive, to release.

With the 6 of Wands, Page of Wands, and 8 of Pentacles, Spirit is showing me that there’s victory coming your way. Success is ahead, and it feels like you’re going to stand tall soon—your efforts will be recognized, especially in your work and personal growth. There’s excitement, enthusiasm, and the energy of new beginnings ahead. You're going to feel like you're winning again. You're moving forward with renewed purpose.

And the Wheel of Fortune? Oh, yes. This is fated. This is your turning point. Things are finally aligning, and the High Priestess challenge is saying that the mysteries you’ve been dealing with will soon be revealed. Secrets will come out, intuition will be clearer, and your path will be illuminated.

The Tower and Fool reversed—yes, I feel this chaos energy. Something might shake up your world soon, but it’s necessary for your growth. It’s going to feel like a sudden change, but trust it. This is the universe breaking down what no longer serves you, so you can step into something better. Don't resist the shift.

Finally, with the 3 of Cups, Queen of Wands, 7 of Cups, and Ace of Pentacles, there’s celebration and new beginnings on the horizon. You're going to be feeling more confident, more sure of yourself, and ready to embrace your future. And yes, there’s a new opportunity waiting for you that’s going to make all of this worth it.

So what is your justice?

Oh, pile 3 my loves, your justice is that they can’t escape their mess. You’re out here cleansing your energy, minding your business, and meanwhile, they’re drowning in their own chaos. It’s giving what goes around comes around, but with a spiritual twist. Their lies? Exposed. Their manipulations? Ineffective. And you? You’re aligning with destiny, walking your path, and attracting love and opportunities that actually deserve you. Justice is fated, baby, and you’re divinely protected.

Pile Four

Hello, Pile 4 my darlings, let's get into it. Spirit is definitely making a strong presence here with some serious energy. First off, there's something about connection—whether it’s a need for deeper connections with others or feeling that you're disconnected from someone or something. This could be with a person, a situation, or even within yourself. Spirit is saying that the connection you’re seeking is right in front of you, but there’s an energy of impatience building. Like, you're waiting for something to align, but it feels like it’s taking forever, and you're growing restless. You're over it—there’s an irritation, a feeling like you're being disturbed from what you really want, whether externally or internally.

I’m hearing external annoyance and disturbance. Spirit is showing me that you’re dealing with distractions or people who are just in your face right now, causing chaos or disruption in your life. It's as if things keep getting in the way of your peace and your flow. There’s a destructive energy around, something or someone that’s throwing you off your path, and it’s draining your energy. You might be feeling tired from dealing with this. There’s a lot of frustration here.

Looking at your cards, 6 of Wands tells me there’s victory here. You’re fighting for something, and despite the disturbances, you're still winning. But the 7 of Cups and 9 of Cups tell me you're confused about your happiness. There are choices, possibilities in front of you, but you’re unsure if you’re going in the right direction. Maybe you’ve been indulging in too many distractions or seeking external validation for your success. Spirit is saying there’s more to it—your happiness isn’t about the external, it’s about what you believe it is. That’s what’s going to bring you true fulfillment.

Now, with the 7 of Wands reversed, you're definitely dealing with a feeling of giving up or surrendering. It’s like you're trying to hold your ground, but the energy is just too much. You're losing your defense, and it's wearing you down. You’re being asked to reevaluate what’s truly worth fighting for because there’s a sense of feeling outnumbered or unable to maintain your position.

The Hanged Man is showing up, and this tells me you’ve reached a place of pause, like you're stuck. You’re at a standstill, and things feel stagnant, but Spirit is showing me this as a necessary delay. It's forcing you to see things from a different perspective. You’ve been resisting this moment of stillness, but it’s actually giving you the clarity you need. The 2 of Wands reversed reinforces this sense of indecision, like you’re not sure where to go next. You’ve been thinking about your future, but there’s a hesitation—like, you don’t have the clarity you need, and it’s causing you to feel disconnected from your own plan.

The Moon here, well, this tells me there’s confusion, uncertainty, and things being hidden from you—whether it’s your own emotions, the truth of a situation, or something that you're just not seeing clearly yet. This is the classic illusion card, and Spirit is saying that things might not be what they seem right now, so don’t jump to conclusions. Things are murky, but the truth will eventually come to light.

Then we have the 6 of Pentacles, and Spirit is showing me balancing—there’s a need for balance in how much you’re giving and receiving. Are you overextending yourself for others? Are you being fairly compensated or recognized? This is a time to equalize what you’re putting out versus what you're getting back. There’s a 5 of Cups reversed here, which shows that you're healing from emotional wounds. You’re moving past regret, past disappointment, and finally starting to release the past. Spirit is showing me that you’re ready to move on—you've been grieving, but it’s time to let it go.

Now, the 9 of Swords reversed shows that the worst of the anxiety and stress is behind you, but you're still holding onto some things. You're overthinking and worrying about things that you can’t control, and it’s preventing you from truly healing and stepping into your empowerment. There's definitely a need to confront these fears and stop letting them dictate your actions.

The 4 of Wands shows me that you’re seeking stability, but there’s a lack of celebration or fulfillment around this area. Maybe you’ve been wanting a certain outcome or a stable situation, but there’s a sense of something falling short here. Spirit is saying that your happiness isn’t defined by what you think it should look like—there's a need to let go of expectations and embrace the flow of your journey.

Looking at the King of Pentacles reversed and 4 of Cups reversed, there's definitely a feeling of instability—whether it's in your finances, security, or sense of self-worth. You're dissatisfied, unfulfilled, and Spirit is pointing out that it’s time to let go of attachments to material things or false security. You need to make room for something more fulfilling, something deeper.

But here’s the good part—the 9 of Pentacles shows you’re independent and capable of standing on your own. Spirit is saying you’re strong and have everything you need within you to overcome this. There’s an energy of self-sufficiency here, and Spirit is reminding you that you have the power to create your own stability.

The 8 of Swords reversed tells me that you're breaking free from mental restrictions. There’s a release from feeling trapped or stuck, and you’re starting to see things for what they truly are. The Page of Swords and Page of Pentacles reversed indicate that you're still learning, still growing, but you're starting to develop a clearer mindset. There’s a need for patience, but Spirit is showing that you’re getting more clarity and awareness.

Then we have the Knight of Pentacles and 9 of Wands. This is your persistence paying off. It’s slow-moving, but you’re finally getting back on track after everything has felt chaotic. You're pushing through, and even though you’ve been battered by the challenges, you’re still standing strong.

But, there’s the King of Wands challenge position, which is interesting. It feels like you're struggling with taking control, with leading your life in the direction you want. There's a lack of confidence in your ability to make the big decisions, and Spirit is telling me that you need to step up and claim your power. You're more than capable, but you’ve got to believe that you are.

The Tower here is a big one—expect sudden change. This is a moment of destruction, but it's necessary. Things will be torn down to rebuild stronger foundations. Trust this process—it’s breaking down the old to make way for the new. You’re shedding layers, and it’s all part of your transformation.

With the King of Cups reversed, you're being reminded to manage your emotions better. Don’t let your emotions control you; take the reins and process what's coming up. There’s emotional instability, but you’re being asked to balance that out. You can’t let your emotions dictate your decisions if you want peace and clarity.

Lastly, the 3 of Cups shows me that there’s a need for community, celebration, and joy. You’re going to find people who are there to support you, but Spirit is saying you need to open up and allow yourself to receive support. The 2 of Pentacles reversed tells me you’re dropping the juggling act, and it’s time to focus on what really matters.

At the bottom of the deck, we have the Chariot, so the message is clear: you're headed in the right direction, but you've got to take control of your path. And with the 3 of Pentacles, you’ll see that collaboration and working with others will help bring you closer to your goals.

So what is your justice?

Your justice is undeniable freedom, my loves. You’re breaking chains, shedding illusions, and stepping into your truth. The disturbances? The annoyances? They’re distractions, and you’re rising above it all. The tower may have fallen, but now you’re rebuilding on a foundation of strength and clarity. And them? They’re stuck in their own games, while you’re winning the war. You’re moving forward, claiming victories, and leaving them in the dust. Justice? Oh, it’s poetic, isn’t it?

All right, mon amours, that’s the tea for today. Justice has been served, karmic debts are being paid, and the scales are tipping exactly where they need to. If you’re in the clear, congratulations—you’re the main character, obviously. And if not? Well... consider this your villain origin story. Either way, the universe is working its magic, so take it, own it, and don’t forget who’s running the show—you. Now, go forth, be fabulous, and remember: karma always collects, but a good outfit and a sharp wit will keep you winning every time. À bientôt!

P.S: credits belong to the original owner of the pictures and dividers.

[timkontheunsure]

Masking and the fake Princy affect

I just like how little Stolas masks in front of Blitz, that the first time he realize that's an option Blitz's horrified. (Prince's should cry. That's an ugly noise).

Think this is why he's so taken in by Stolas' act of being the royal dickhead Prince, with an impish little plaything, in truth seekers.

And I think this one of the reasons this hits so hard for me.

Because Blitz is kinda demanded the social mask.

The one that Stolas puts on as a role, to deal with being around the rest of the Ars Goetia.

For Stolas this is the social script.

(Yer, I'm not unpicking Stolas privage in this one. More just about how the social camouflage he'd developed looks like low grade mimicry of Paimon).

It's one of the things I really love about mastermind; is that Blitz can see through the Princy act now.

And that's makes Stolas able to bring Blitz into his soliloquy, and join it. A little bubble of understanding.

Cus Blitz was falling for the act for a second there. They haven't spoken since the 'break up' after all.

Stolas is playing this exactly how the rest of the Goetias would, if Andy and Stella are any typical behaviour guides. (Which to Stolas they are).

But then even when Stolas going ham, acting the cartoonish (lol) Mastermind behind everything; he stops to do something really familiar.

Stolas just has to check Blitz is ok.

Then has to quickly play it off as something else.

Blitz's little confused wtf expression, as he tries to work out the big tonal shift from what he knows is affectionate. That now seems to be being used to put him and everyone like him down.

Really think this little check in made it easier for Blitz to not just sees behind the mask; but also be on the same emotional page to join in the soliloquy.

🙂 Basically I was happy about how free Stolas normally is with his emotions around Blitz and Via.

He even gets to stim in public, and mostly just gets to be his slightly cunty self. (Yay)

Without having to put on the larger than life act, with added mwahaha™ musical hall villain. Like he does for the Courtroom, or the Dhorks.

Just getting to be himself.

Also Stolas' cadence is most like it was as a kiddo; when he was asking Blitz to stay with him.

Like it's little Stolas is asking asking wee Blitz to stay. Which is really sweet.

But Blitz assumes it's a request to another game together...😢

This why I love their get a little timeless moment of full understanding for once.

Same as with their dance. We even get Stolas fully laughing, without trying to cover his mouth at all. 😃

[Edit note for context: Yer ok, mostly this was prompted by conversations with fellow neurospicy lady I know in real life.

And her having to actively unlearn alot rich person roleplay, she did to survive her upbringing, now she's one of us plebs.

We're from completing the opposite ends of the wealth scales. (I might have had to explain that no-one who had ever had trust fund can be called middle class before😅)...

But yer, she had a very similar upbringing to Stolas, and now is thankful no contact.

Her social masking looks very different from mine.

Mostly she only now pulls it out to tell dickheads violating civil rights to spin on it. But it's scarily 'posh lady telling you how things are going to work' lol.

And well... you can see why I thought of Stolas right?]

[thatswhatsushesaid]

the part of this first face-to-face confrontation between shan gudao, fang duobing, and li lianhua that is hitting me the hardest on my second mlc watchthrough is how, given the camera angle during shan gudao's evil villain monologue, he doesn't even seem like he's looking at li lianhua. and he's standing right across from him.

listen to shan gudao speaking about li lianhua like he isn't even here, standing directly across from him with tears streaming down his face, having to speedrun all the stages of grief for the brutal murder of his understanding of his relationship with his shixiong. like that's what is really at the bleeding heart of this confrontation: they have profoundly different understandings of what is happening here, and only one of them is remotely compatible with reality.

(spoilers, it's not shan gudao.)

screenshots alone don't do cheng yi's microexpression game justice here. he's incredible. give this man all the awards for this role, he deserves them.

contrast shan gudao's abject refusal to look li lianhua in the eye throughout his entire villainous monologue with fang duobing's laser focus on li lianhua--which i think deserves praise and recognition all on its own, quite frankly, because he, too, is going through it! this is his first time speaking with shan gudao since learning that he's his father, rather than his uncle--since he was a disabled child struggling to swing a sword from his wheelchair--and this? this is the reception he gets, from the man who called him trash and abandoned him? but compassion and kindness come as naturally to fang duobing as avarice and resentment do to shan gudao, and so it is no hardship for him to shelve his feelings while li lianhua is clearly just barely holding it together next to him. right now, fang duobing has both the strength to carry them both through this moment, and the willingness to do it. because he loves li lianhua (again, however you choose to interpret that love, be it romantic or platonic--that's what it is), sincerely and artlessly, and he doesn't want to see him in pain.

which is a real bummer for fang duobing because, well:

of course, li lianhua's agony here has nothing to do with being the 'joke' that shan gudao is making him out to be, because li lianhua has never looked at his relationship with his shixiong as a scale in need of balancing, or as their time training together as martial siblings, and then running the sigu sect, as a ledger of wins and losses to be scrutinized and tallied up. (i may come back to this paragraph in the future because there's something specific to unpack here about li lianhua's very particular feelings re: how he failed the sigu sect, and his shixiong, and his shifu and shiniang, and how this failure--to recognize shan gudao's resentment and contempt for what it really was--is just the last nail in the coffin when it comes to his feelings about his life as li xiangyi. but i can't quite get the thoughts to come together. rip.)

now shan gudao is willing to look at li lianhua, and once again i don't think the screenshots do the flicker in shan gudao's expression justice. it's this minute, blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment of surprise and uncertainty, which to me only emphasizes how unnecessary all of shan gudao's machinations prior to the battle at the east sea really were. because over and over and over again, we see him confronted with concrete evidence that his perception of himself, his relationships, and his place in the world is at odds with how things really were, and are. and frequently, reality was not even to his detriment!! or rather, it didn't have to be, but each time he encountered one of these crossroads and diverging paths where an alternate path was available to him, he balked at taking it.

because to actually walk these diverging paths, shan gudao would have to put down the giant chip on his shoulder long enough to recognize that there was someone else walking along the path beside him, willing to help him carry that burden.

[alchemistc]

911 was always in my periphery bc of how popular Buck x Eddie is on Tumblr and Ao3. I didn't really want to watch a cable network procedural drama, especially one that came off as so unserious. I could also see how such invested shipping by a lot of fans who are young and think it’s ok to demand things from the cast and crew would inevitably become a toxic cesspool. I stand by that assessment of the show based on the behavior of the fandom these last months, as well as the overall quality of the writing and how often good story lines just get dropped or undermined.

However, I heard about Buck coming out. Over the summer, I was going through a lot and feeling aimless, so I finally started watching the show. And I liked Buck and Tommy, but what I really loved was the quality of the fan works they inspired. At the end of the day, I never really had real expectations of high quality television from a show like 911; that’s not what it’s for.

Despite this, what really affected me last night—which was also the first episode I bothered watching live ever because of how terrible this last week has been—wasn’t even how badly it was executed or the fact that they broke up. But how unnecessarily and viciously cruel the whole thing felt?

What was the point of showing Tommy as a caring, supportive, present partner in the previous episode if it was going to lead to an unceremonious break up? What was the point of showing his yearning for connection and family only to see him throw it all away? Why have him say such wonderful things about Buck moments before questioning the commitment of their relationship after six months together? What was the point of Buck getting that speech from Josh and bringing up marriage and moving in together and that Tommy had been a transformative relationship when it was going to end with him being dumped? It just felt so horribly cruel to see a character bare his tender heart and see it get stomped on. He looked so sad at the end.

Up till the very end of the episode, I was actually really enjoying it. Their acting was so good from heart eyes to heartbreak, and the show seemed to understand Tommy’s reaction to Buck getting hit on by those women would cause friction. It even made sense to me that Tommy would recoil at the prospect of moving in together because Buck clearly hasn’t come to terms with being queer yet (sir, you haven’t researched the Kinsey scale? You?) And Tommy is also clearly afraid to reach for the connections he wants and the seeming inevitability of his heart being broken and is masking that with nonsense about Buck needing to play the field and the biphobia present wherein. It was such an interesting depth to his character! I thought the break up speech was so well-acted, and I was so ready for the conversation they were going to have that would address it and let them move on together stronger. To see Buck learn from Josh and see the scars Tommy was unintentionally revealing in that moment and address them.

And then the credits started rolling and I felt like I got punched in the gut.

It was definitely the straw that broke the camel’s back for me, with the election and other personal stuff really stressing me out this week. Last night, I felt sick and unable to sleep, and I spent the morning bawling my eyes out. It feels like one of the few things I really looked forward to had been snatched away for the shock factor. I believe the interviews are the definite death knell, but even if you don’t follow the interviews, it was just a cruel way to end the episode. Even if this ends up being a temporary roadblock or they “fix” it, it’ll always leave a bad taste in my mouth.

Anyway, I’m upset that I let a show I always knew wasn’t very good affect me this much, and I regret spending months of my life on it. But the reason I wanted to send this ask was because my real hyperfixation these last few months was never the show itself; it was always the Bucktommy fandom. Reading some of the most beautiful fanfiction, including yours, these deep and intense character studies or au’s or future fics that show more love to these characters than the show does. The stunning art, the lovingly rendered gifs, the startlingly funny and insightful writing. The fandom has been my real love, and I hope that despite this huge blow, people like you will continue being so immensely creative and artistic for this ship.

I’m sorry this has been so long and vent-y, but I wanted to send you this ask because you’re one of my favorite fic authors, and I’ve been following your posts since last night and you’re still responding to anonymous asks. I’ve always been stealth in the fandom to avoid certain parts of it, so didn’t want this on my own blog. If you do publish it, I hope the other authors and artists and creators who have made my life better get to see it too <3 And that they don’t regret the time and passion and love they’ve poured into the last few months. I have appreciated it, if nothing else.

Hi.

First of all, please don't apologize for the length of this.

Everything you pointed out were exactly the reasons people joined this fandom. Everything you listed here is EXACTLY the reason it left such a bad taste in our mouth.

I'm sorry I won't be more eloquent in this post, because this is such a kind and thoughtful and lovely summation of all the things I've been hearing and seeing and feeling.

The point of all that, if we are to believe Lou (which I do, and honestly props to him for being as gracious as he was in those post-mortems: fucking TWO exit interviews for a guest star? wtf abc), WAS to pull the rug out from under the audience. It WAS to end it all on a shocker of heartbreak. They filmed the bulk of Tommy's S8 scenes AFTER the breakup. It is absolutely vicious and cruel and meant to make people talk about it. The engagement they are getting right now is to some extent WHAT THEY WANTED. I went straight to my notes after work and I can't be fucked to check the insta or FB to see if they've posted anything new and/or what the comment count is on the 8x06 posts but THIS IS THE INTENDED RESULT. Broken hearts, upset people, an increasingly toxic fandom crowing.

That's where I'm at. I think that's where a lot of people have landed. And it's so disheartening to see something that really genuinely drew people in because it was handled so gently and kindly at first just be ripped away and the door shut on it.

And honestly if they close the mid season OR open or close 8B on a premise that includes one of them being injured and the other having a Realization™️ I won't trust this team to do it genuinely or truly. Even the breakup would have held so much potential for me, but not like this.

Anyway. I'm sorry you're feeling so disappointed. I am grieving the missed potential of literally every plot they built up this season for every character and if I do watch it won't be live and I will likely have very little trust for it's potential. There has been So Much wasted potential.

And I want to say thank you. Even if you lurked, even if you disengage now, the creators who made those works made them out of love and they wanted to share them and the community around it all has been lovely to see. Thank you.

Some of us will still be hanging around building the world that could have been. I hope, if you feel up to peeking at that sandbox, that you feel welcome to go play in it or even just clap from the sidelines.

♥️