#others have different love language but they try

[prlssprfctn]

Jason's love language is actions. Both grand and the smallest ones. He is the type of person who remembers the tiniest details about people he loves. He is subtle about it, in a way others sometimes fail to notice it.

He opens curtains when Dick enters the room because Dick can't functionate without sunlight, but he shuts him once Dick leaves, and Bruce settles down near because the old man's vision is too used to dark rooms and the natural light hurts his eyes.

Near the evening, he puts the jar of cookies from the top shelf in the kitchen on the counter because he knows that Damian sneaks one or two for himself before going to sleep. He always returns it back once Damian is in his bedroom, so Alfred wouldn't spend energy on reorganising the order of things back.

When Tim leans under the table to pick up something he dropped while they are sitting in the cafe, Jason's hand always hovers atop of his head, because Tim keeps hitting his head against the table most of the time. He puts a hand on the sharp corners of tables, too, just in case if Tim zones out staring at his phone. It happened far too many times.

Dick loves to concentrate on some repetitive motion, when he is nervous, but he is also aware that it looks obnoxious and people often get irritated at that; he also doesn't want to show that he is nervous around others. Jason keeps drumming his fingers if Dick is nervous. And if his breath calms down as he stares at his little brother's fingers tap some strange pattern, then what?

Bruce is paranoid, hyperattentive to sounds, but also awfully absentminded when he works. He is always aware of someone's presence in the room, but sometimes he dives too deep in case, not noticing people around him, and gets jumpscared for a second. He hates it. Jason is mostly as soundless as ever, but... if he always loudly stomps with his boots on the ground before entering the Batcave, then everyone is sure that he is just having another tantrum.

Does he get frustrated when family even mildly jokes (or actually criticise him, depending on the day) about how mean he is to them, and how little effort he puts in maintaining their relationship? Absolutely. Because half of them are detectives, of course, but when it comes to emotional connections and signs, they are... a little bit inept, to say the least.

(This was cooked yesterday in chat with my pookie, @ahoyimlosingmymind)

[motorsportbarbie13]

Aftermath - Chapter 8

When Lando leaves you heartbroken after you get tired of trying to make something out of nothing for far too long, Max steps in to help you pick up the pieces.

warnings: lando makes an appearance in this one. abusive language used, including sexist name calling. pairing: max verstappen x leclercsister!reader word count: 3.9k words a note: here it is babies!!! the last one in this series. i know it's been different from what i usually write, but this has been so much fun. extra special thank you to @lestapiastrisgirl as usual for beta reading and holding my hand at 2am when i wake up struck by an idea hahaha <3

Aftermath - Chapter 1 Aftermath - Chapter 2 Aftermath - Chapter 3 Aftermath - Chapter 4 Aftermath - Chapter 5 Aftermath - Chapter 6Aftermath - Chapter 7 Master List

madmaxx1 posted

52 likes liked by ferrarisprince16, babyleclercpriv, jadebby, and others madmaxx1 pretty pretty girl ferrarisprince16 hey! so this is insane! >>>artiebartie yeah! stop thirsting over our sister >>>madmaxx1 never babyleclercpriv <3 jadebby god you two are so cute it's gross

missleclerc posted

missleclerc surprise! some new pieces are debuting at @/nessasgallery TONIGHT. I'll be there to discuss this new direction my art is going in along with what (and who) inspired me to try such a drastic new approach to painting. I hope you'll drop by and take a look, it would be lovely to see you! maxverstappen1 does this make me your muse??? >>>charlesleclerc hey! my car is up there right next to you! that means I'm a muse too! >>>missleclerc you two are ridiculous >>>user0298 uhhhhhhhh... user1029 ferrari and red bull without a mclaren in sight. iiiiiiinteresting >>>user1100 i think this is all the breakup confirmation we need user455 oh shes in LOVE LOVE with max >>>user444 oh this is so messy. i love it. give me 12 more seasons right now.

“If we don’t leave in the next ten minutes, we’re going to be late for your own event, pretty girl.” Max tuts at you from the doorway of your bedroom but there’s no bite behind his words. 

You glance up at him from your vanity where you’re sitting doing the last bits of your makeup. He looks heartbreakingly handsome in crisp white button-down underneath a tailored navy blue sport coat and matching slacks. His hair is combed neatly to the side, gelled into submission in a way that makes you want to rake your fingers through it just to muss it up. 

“I’m nearly ready, mister bossy pants.” You shoot back before switching off the light on the vanity and standing up. 

Max rolls his eyes but takes advantage of you walking towards him, smile on your face, and blatantly ogles you. The way the navy blue lacy dress hugs every dip and curve of your frame has Max checking his watch, wondering just how late you two could be without raising suspicion. 

“Don’t get any ideas.” You giggle, wrapping your arms around Max’s waist before pitching up onto your toes to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You were just scolding me that we can’t be late and then you come in here looking at me like that.” 

“It’s not my fault you look like a goddamn masterpiece in that dress.” He murmurs against your neck as he drags hot, open mouthed kisses down towards your collar bone. 

The way Max talks to you now, the reverent way he looks at you like you’re a piece of art in the most normal of situations, the way he always has to be touching you even with just the tips of his fingers, it’s everything you’ve ever craved from a relationship and everything you thought you didn’t deserve. 

Two weeks have passed since that night in your studio and while Max had to be gone for half of it for a race, one that you had solidly refused to attend until the dust between you and Lando settles a little more, it’s almost as if you two have been together for years now. The way you’ve slotted yourself into his life and Max into yours is so settling, so calming that you’ve caught yourself waiting for the other shoe to drop. You’ve caught yourself waiting for him to behave like Lando, to push you away or do something that proves that Lando was right all along. 

Max knows you’ve been waiting for it so he’s made an extra effort to prove to you that it’s never going to happen. He knows you’re still healing, still recovering from what the British driver did to you so he hasn’t pushed. He hasn’t pushed to label whatever it is you two are to each other. It doesn’t matter to either of you because if you’re both in Monaco, you’re together. Max comes down to your apartment to watch while you cook dinner or you go up to his to cuddle on the couch and spend the night. It’s been a blissfully quiet time but you can both feel that private time coming to an end. 

The comments on your post from earlier had been mostly positive but it was pretty apparent fans had put two and two together. People knew you and Max were…something. They had figured out that a breakup had taken place even if nothing had officially been announced. You knew that once you arrived to the gallery tonight, hand in hand with Max, that was all it was going to take to confirm to the public that you and Lando were over and you had moved on. 

The thought of what Lando might do after he sees the coverage of tonight, and you know there will be coverage, has anxiety sitting heavy on your shoulders. Max clocks it instantly, shaking his head. He reads you so easily now, he always has but since that night in your studio, he’s been even more in tune with you and your moods. 

“Don’t go there. It’s going to be fine. Everyone who loves you, who matters, is going to be there and we won’t let anything or anyone ruin tonight, okay?” 

You nod, attempting to tamp down the anxiety that blooms hotly in your chest. You hated how much control Lando still had over you sometimes but you were getting better, bit by bit. “Thank you.” You whisper, nuzzling into the crook of Max’s neck while inhaling the scent of his cologne. 

“I have something for you.” Max murmurs into your hair in an obvious attempt to distract you. 

You pull back, eyes sparkling up at him. “You do?” 

Distraction successful. 

Max reaches into the back pocket of his slacks and pulls out a rectangular velvet box. You blink up at him in confusion. “Max…” 

“It’s just something small to show you how proud I am of you, how wildly in love I am with you.” He says, the words skittering up your spine before settling deep in the pit of your stomach. You’ve never been loved in the way Max loves you and it’s always seemingly knocking you off your center. “Go on, open it.” He whispers, watching as you turn the velvet box over in your hands. 

The hinges on the box whisper open and you’re momentarily speechless when you see what is nestled in the black satin. A diamond tennis necklace winks up at you with dozens of brilliant cut diamonds set in what looks to be platinum, stealing the very breath from your lungs. The stone that sits nestled in the center though is what renders you completely speechless. A large emerald cut brilliant blue sapphire stone sits in the middle of the necklace, the color a perfect match to the navy blue of Max’s Formula 1 car. 

“Max.” You whisper, unable to find any other words beyond his name. 

“Do you like it?” He asks, eyes searching yours earnestly, looking for approval in your face. 

“It’s…” The words to describe the beauty of the piece sitting heavy in your hands escapes you. Your breath hitches in the back of your throat, a small, involuntary gasp escaping your lips. The diamonds, so bright they seem to shimmer with the captured light, blur and swim together as tears prick at your eyes. “Max,” You manage again, your voice thick with emotion that you struggle to get a handle on. “It’s breathtaking.” 

He reaches for the necklace, his fingers brushing against yours, sending a surge of pleasure down your spine. His touch, simple as it is, is familiar but charged with a new intensity. He lifts the delicate chain, the cool metal a stark contrast against the warmth of his skin, and fastens it around your neck after you spin for him while lifting your hair out of the way. The weight of the piece settles against your skin, a physical reminder of his affection, his love for you. Love. The word echoes int he quiet space of your mind, a sound so heavy but exhilarating that it has fresh tears threatening to spill over. 

“Turn around.” He murmurs, voice husky. Max takes a step back, eyes raking over you, a slow appreciative burn in their blue depths. 

You obey, your movements a little stiff and unsure. As you turn, the sapphire catches the light, flashing a vibrant, rich blue against the pale glow of your skin. You spot your reflection in the mirror across the room just as you turn back to face Max and your breath catches again. The necklace transforms your outfit into something extraordinary. It’s not just beautiful, it’s…meaningful. It’s a symbol of his belief in you, his pride in being with you, his acceptance of you, flaws and all.

 It’s a promise, whispered against your skin. 

“It’s too much.” You whisper, the words barely audible. The sheer extravagance of the gift, the depth of the emotion behind it, is almost too overwhelming. 

Max steps closer, his hands slipping around your waist as he pulls you against his body. “It’s not too much.” He says, his voice gentle but firm. “You deserve the world, everything beautiful and bright and good. And this?” He gestures to the necklace clasped around your neck, the sapphire resting in the hollow of your throat, “This is just a small token of my love.” 

“Thank you.” You whisper, the words wholly inadequate and insufficient to describe the way your stomach is swirling with emotion but it’s all you can manage in the face of such overwhelming emotion. You reach up, your fingers tracing the cool surface of the center stone. It feels like a piece of him, a tangible representation of the connection you both share. And in that moment, surrounded by the quiet him of unspoken emotion, you know that whatever happens tonight, whatever Lando might do to ruin the night or in the future, you’re not alone. You have Max. And that, you realize, is more precious than any piece of jewelry that Max could ever give you. 

f1.gossip.news posted

f1.gossip.news in a move that shocked...absolutely no one, charles leclerc's little sister stepped out hand in hand with new flame max verstappen tonight. while her and lando never officially announced their split, we've all seen the writing on the wall. her insta post announcing her new artwork debuting tonight featuring the red bull driver was all the confirmation we needed that her and the mclaren driver are dunzoooo. what do we think, chat??? user7575 she is GLOWING! good for her. >>>user0209 seriously, i haven't seen her or max look this happy in ages. user3221 i can hear the dishes breaking in lando's apartment from here in london >>>user0202 seriously. imagine losing the championship last year AND THEN YOUR GIRL to max verstappen. WHEEEEW BOY. user1992 this is so messy. i love it.

The light from the gallery spills out onto the sidewalk, casting a golden glow out into the street that guides you and Max towards it’s doors. It doesn’t escape your notice that the last time you walked down this sidewalk at night towards Nessa’s gallery for a show of yours, you were alone and desperately sad. 

Tonight though? Tonight is completely different. Your arm is tucked securely in Max’s elbow as he walks with towards the gallery with you after dropping the car off with the valet. The necklace he’d given you that night sits securely around your throat, an outwardly sign of the budding relationship between you two. As you approach the gallery, you see your brothers waiting for you but this time, all of their significant others are also waiting for you as well. 

Charles is the first one to intercept you, catching you up in a tight hug before whispering how lovely you look tonight in your ear. You’re passed first to Arthur and finally to Lorenzo, who makes a joke about the rock around your neck. Through it all, Max sits back quietly, watching you glow under the attention of your brothers. Jade, Alexandra, and Charlotte all make a fuss over your outfit and paw at the necklace, swooning over how it practically sparkles under the gallery lights. 

When you finally make it into the gallery, there are dozens of people already there. Nessa sees you walk through the door first and pounces on you instantly. 

“My darling!” She coos, wrapping you up in her arms and squeezing you tightly. “You are shimmering with happiness.” She comments, eyes darting to where Max stands behind you, hands tucked neatly into his pockets as he talks with Charles and Arthur. “And I suppose we have that man to thank for that.” 

“Partly.” You agree, but you know it’s more than that. You feel as though you’ve been given a second chance tonight. You were so close to losing everything, to succumbing to everything that Lando had put you through over the last three years that this first night out feels like your first taste of what life should feel like. You knew you had Max to thank for a lot of that, but it also wasn’t lost on you how much you had also fought to be there for yourself. “I’ve done a lot of work on myself the last few months too.” 

Nessa nods, running a protective hand up and down your bare arms. “I know, your art has changed! It feels lighter but also there’s so much more depth to it. I’ve had several inquiries about the one of your man after Brazil.” She says, eyes alright with dollar signs. 

“Unfortunately, that one is already sold.” Max cuts in, slipping his arm around your waist before handing you a glass of red wine. 

You startle, not realizing that you had already sold a piece so early on in the night. “It is?” 

Max nods, taking a sip of his drink. “I came in yesterday afternoon while you were taking a nap and bought it.” 

Your head snaps to Nessa, looking for confirmation. “Paid twice my asking price.” She murmurs, smirk playing at her ruby red lips. Traditionally, she never sold a piece before it was debuted but Max had been persuasive and insisted on locking down the piece without you knowing before hand. 

“Max!” You hiss, bumping a shoulder into his. “I would have just given it to you if you’d asked! I was planning on doing that anyway!” 

Max shrugs, small smile on his face. “I wanted to make sure no one beat me to it. And of course I paid for it! Allow my girl to give her work away for free? Just because I’m the muse doesn’t mean I get special treatment.” 

You’re fairly certain you blush deeper a deep red than the scarlet of your brother’s Ferrari at the praise Max heaps on you. Nessa hides a knowing grin behind her own wine glass before excusing herself to go talk to a client that had just walked in. 

Max and you are left alone in the center of the room and for a moment, the silence that settles over you two is a comforting blanket. It’s not hurried or anxious, the energy between you tonight. It’s a calm, steady thrum of energy that passes easily from Max to you without having to do much more than exchange a glance or quick brush of fingertip against bare skin. You watch your family swirl around the room, each gently checking in on you in their own time as they mingle and you feel yourself relax into the vibe of the evening. 

You’re two glasses in and having a hushed conversation with Jade as Max stands beside you, backs to the door, when a sudden tension snaps through the gallery. On the opposite side of the room, the door at the front of the gallery snaps just a touch too loudly, pulling your attention in that direction. 

The figure that stands just inside the gallery sends your stomach dropping through your toes. 

“Shit.” Beside you, Max’s hand finds yours and he instinctively shifts to put himself between the rest of the gallery and yourself. 

You knew this was going to happen. You had felt it in your bones tonight as you had gotten ready. You knew that Lando would never let you have this. Knew deep down that he’d never let you fully get away from him without having the last word. If there was one thing that Lando couldn’t stand, it was being made a fool of. And you knew that showing up here tonight on Max’s arm, wearing Max’s jewels would set him off. 

You deserved what was coming. 

You try frantically to step around Max, feeling the need to absorb the fire you knew Lando was going to spew everywhere. But Max won’t allow it. Without a single glance in your direction, Max shifts his weight once again and you find yourself even further away from Lando now. Somewhere to your left, you sense Charles and Arthur step in front of you two and you’re certain Lorenzo is around somewhere. 

“Typical LeClerc behavior. Hiding behind others who are more powerful than you in order to save face. Learned from the best, didn’t you baby?” The venom in Lando’s voice sinks it’s claws into your bloodstream, threatening to drag you under. 

Around you, conversations cease instantly, all attention on the scene happening in the corner of the room. 

You weren’t going to let Lando win this though. You were done giving him the power to control you, done dodging the confrontation in an attempt to quietly end things between you. He just wasn’t getting the hint and if he was going to behave like this, then fine. You were fed up. 

Pushing through Max and Charles, you stand in front of your ex-boyfriend, head held high. “Lando, this is neither the time nor the place to do this.” Your voice is deceptively calm, not giving away a bit of the fear that trembles just below the surface. 

Lando sneers, rolling his eyes and then his gaze snags on the necklace at your throat. The navy blue stone catches the light, winking over at him with an antagonizing shimmer. He takes half a step closer and you feel Max shift again, but this time he comes to stand beside you instead of in front of you. 

“Wearing his collar already, huh?” He bites out. A chorus of gasps ripple through the gallery but you just tip your chin up higher, used to his attempts at humiliation. Lando’s gaze shifts to Max beside you and a cruel smile curls at the corner of his mouth. “Tell me, Verstappen. Does she still make that little cooing noise right before she comes? It was always the sweetest little sound, you know the one I’m talking about, right?” 

Humiliation burns through you, hot and bright as Max reaches for your hand, giving it a squeeze. Another ripple of disbelief peppers through the crowd but Max barely blinks. “You know, I’ve never heard her make that particular sound.” He pauses and Lando’s face lights up in a brilliant smile, as if he’s won. “Usually, she’s too busy screaming my name when I make her come though so she’s never been one to make quiet little sounds with me.” 

Silence. 

“I always knew you were a cheating whore.” 

A sickening crack rings out in the otherwise silent room as your brother’s fist connects squarely with Lando’s jaw. 

“Charles!” You gasp, hand flying to your throat as you watch Lando stagger back. 

Charles shakes out his hand, received to be able to move all of his fingers. He can’t imagine that call to Maranello going well if he’d had to phone about a broken hand. 

“Keep my sister’s name out of your filthy fucking mouth, you piece of trash.” Charles spits, voice a mask of sheer deathly calm.

Max steps forward, a silent demand for order radiating from the way he stands. “Enough.” His voice is unwaveringly calm as he watches Lando struggle to his feet, clutching at his left eye where a deep blue bruise is already blooming. “Get the fuck out of here before I call the police. I don’t think Zak would be to happy to hear about tonight’s shenanigans or enjoy having to read the media coverage after his star driver gets arrested for harassment.” Max takes half a step towards Lando and you enjoy the way the Brit scrambles away. “If you so much as sneeze in her direction ever again, I will make it my life’s mission to see your entire life ruined, Norris.” Max is practically nose to nose with Lando now, his glare cutting down your ex-boyfriend so he appears about two inches tall. “Are. We. Clear?” 

****

Later that night, Max startles awake, unsurprised to find himself alone in your bed. He knew you were restless tonight. It had taken him nearly twice as long as it usually did for him to pull your body to release underneath him. And after, when you had tumbled head first into sleep, naked beside him, you weren’t settled like you usually were when you slept beside him. 

So no, he wasn’t surprised to find you gone and the bed long cold beside him. 

Pulling on a pair of boxers, Max wanders into your spare bedroom that’s morphed into somewhat of a second studio space. He finds you exactly where he expects you: facing away from him sitting in front of a half finished canvas. You’re bathed in a brilliant blue moonlight, wearing nothing but his white dress shirt from earlier and his necklace you still haven’t removed. 

“Come back to bed, my love.” He murmurs into the crook of your neck as you drop your head onto his, sinking into the warmth of his embrace. 

A soft sound of agreement hums in the back of your throat as you place the brush on the table beside you. Max is a touch surprised with how pliant you are, instantly following his suggestion without much fight but he also knows today took a lot out of you and the thing you sometimes craved was the ability to shut it all off. 

“I wasn’t getting much work done anyway.” You murmur, standing and leaning into his embrace even more. The room is chilly anyway and you find yourself needing Max’s touch more than anything else in that moment. 

You allow Max to tug you out the door towards your bedroom, knowing that he’s able to read you perfectly. He doesn’t rush you though. He lets you linger for a moment in the doorway, your gaze snagging lightly on the painting behind you. It’s a gorgeous landscape that you’re known for, something you haven’t been able to paint in what feels like a lifetime. The moonlight paints silver streaks across the floor, illuminating the painting that you had spent the last hour just starting at. It’s a peaceful scene, a stark contrast to the turmoil that had filled your day. A small, contented sigh escapes your lips and Max squeezes your hand just enough to pull your attention back to him. 

Once back in the bedroom, the chill of the room sends a shiver down your spine. Max, ever attentive, pulls back the covers, gesturing for you to climb in first. He watches as you curl up on your side, tucking your knees up in towards your chest. The white shirt slips off your body, revealing the delicate curve of your spine. He slides in beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. Max reaches out, his hand finding the curve of your hip and gently pulls you closer until your back is flush against his chest. He wraps an arm around your waist, fingers splaying across your stomach. 

You melt into his touch, the warmth of his body radiating through you. His breath is warm against the back of your neck and the steady rhythm of his heart is a soothing lullaby you’ve come to depend on at night. The events of earlier linger in the back of your mind, but here, in Max’s arms they start to feel a little more distant, muffled almost. He kisses the nape of your neck softly, a quiet reminder of his constant presence in your life now, how he’ll never allow you to be alone of face anything by yourself anymore. 

“Better?” He whispers, voice low and rumbling against your bare skin. 

“Mm-hmm” You hum, snuggling deeper into his embrace. You reach down and take his hand that sits on your belly, intertwining your fingers with his. The simple act of holding his hand grounds you, reminding you that you’re not alone anymore. You turn slightly in his arms, just enough to look up at him. His eyes, even in the dim light of the bedroom, are filled with tenderness and understanding. 

“Thank you.” You whisper, your voice thick with emotion. 

Max smiles, a soft, reassuring smile that makes your heart ache in the best way. “For what, liefje?” His Dutch accent is thick now, as it gets when he’s tired and emotional. 

“For everything.” You say, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “For being here. For understanding. For taking care of me.” 

He pulls you closer, his hold tighenying slightly. “Always.” He murmurs against your lips. “Always and forever, my love.” 

And as you drift off to sleep, wrapped in the warmth of his arms, you know that no matter what happens next, you and Max will face it together. This, right here, in his arms, is your happy ending that you’ve been chasing after your entire life. 

Tag list:

@shelbyteller, @martygraciesversion381, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @lieutenantchaos @willowsnook @linnygirl09 @meglouise00 @mixedstyles @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies @mrosales16 @charlesgirl16 @leclercdream @daemyratwst @dramaticpiratellamas @mochimommy2002 @llando4norris @iamaunknownsecret @maxivstappen @imlonelydontsendhelp @nina-or-anna-or-nora @a1leexxa @littlegrapejuice @sunflowervol18 @freyathehuntress @finn-dot-com @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff @chirasama @lauralarsen @dr3wstarkey @saskiaalonso @rbv3rstappen @ilovechickenwings @guaaafiiburg @mcmuppet @mindless-rock @piastri-fvx @mel164 @schumi-angel @myescapefromthislife @supertrashbread @sunny44 @tinystudentblaze-stuff @sarx164

[the-mountain-flower]

#? this is what i ask myself on a daily basis#when i feel like being talked to like a toddler i ask my parents that#and they always say stuff like this.#YES I KNOW YOU THINK CANNIBALISM IS BAD#BUT WHY DO YOU#WHAT IS THAT FEELING BASED ON#others dont do this?#< prev's tags#I've actually wondered this myself#by my observation#it seems like it has something to do with the idea that when something is consumed it loses its previous identity via digestion#and the general discomfort around the idea of/avoidance towards knowing the animal being eaten#like short-lived animals don't always get the “don't name them don't get attached to them” thing just because they're going to die soon#but farm animals raised for their meat get that because no only are they going to die#but they're going to get killed for the purpose of consumption#and going 'hey that bacon you're eating used to be my beloved pet jeff and he loved playing in the mud and bonking my legs with his nose'#tends to put people off of the idea of eating it#it's the same reason stuff like dog meat is normal to some cultures and such a horrible idea to others bc doggos are our beloved friends#or why cow meat is normalized many places but a horrific affront in others due to cows being sacred#people that culturally have pigs or chickens were beloved pets would probably be horrified at the idea of pig or chicken meat as food#it really depends on the perception of the animal#and humans are Us. the idea of eating other humans is common so off-putting because that was A Person With An Entire Personality And A Life#which tends to be a lot more prevalent in our minds than it is for other animals#plus I think eating human meat that's actually viable to be very edible would require murder so............ yeah

So apparently I still have more to say on the subject so uh...

Trigger warnings for dehumanization, racism, and genocide

As you can probably tell I've thought a bit about human perception of ourselves and other animals and what really makes us different since I don't think sentience/sapience is a mark of species supremacy or whatever. Why murder is Very Bad but killing animals without good reason is Less Bad? Why we hold more love for some species of animals and contempt for others? Why do people find Pinocchio plots so compelling? Why getting hit by a car and surviving means doing our best to save them as mercy for humans, but 'putting them out of their misery' as mercy for animals? Why is senseless violence less bad when it comes to animals and atrocious when it comes to people? Why is killing bad but being omnivorous or carnivorous is morally neutral? Or why being called an 'animal' is supposed to be an insult (because younger me Did Not Understand that because animals aren't bad (and also categorically speaking humans are animals))?

One of those things is why people who try to excuse stuff like racism and genocide with (extremely racist language warning) calling their targets 'animals' or 'not fully human' or just straight-up 'not human' and why it's such a prevalent tool for the oppressor,

Because when you think about it logically it doesn't make sense. Even if they were doing these atrocities to actual non-human animals, that doesn't make it okay or right. Humans wiping out entire types of animals off the face of the Earth is most definitely A Bad Thing, both because of the unnecessary brutality and because it's really bad for ecosystems. So why does dehumanizing propaganda suddenly mean it seems okay to cause mass death and suffering? Why would anyone think either of those things (mass death to people or to animals) are okay?? Why is anyone so desensitized to such unreasonable violence??

And I think it has something to do with how a lot of humans perceive themselves and other humans. Because of the us vs. them mentality that I think is a result of evolutionary need to protect ourselves from the dangerous parts of nature. I think that's the thing that gets weaponized as "humans are superior because they're Us." That's what causes people to care less about other animals than they do other humans, because it's a lot harder to kill a predator in self-defense or to hunt animals for food, if you're grappling with empathy for that creature. I think a balance is necessary, like when a hunter pays respects to the animals they hunt, but that requires thought and consideration for something unlike yourself, and that tends to be a lot harder than just getting yourself to have complete apathy when hunting for self-preservation. And that lends itself to becoming very dangerous when justification for violence changes with what you perceive as necessary, and when your perception of 'us' changes. Because if killing animals is fine because they're not human, then what's to stop you from killing anything you see even if you don't need to just because they're not 'us'? And what's to stop you from seeing other humans as okay to kill because they're not like the conception of 'us' that you've built up in your head?

Justifying atrocities with dehumanization, in my observation at least, seems to be a result of human selfishness taken too far, of dismissing the unity and need for diversity that's absolutely necessary for survival and more, and of constructed apathy.

...Wow I didn't think I had that much to say on the subject but here you go I guess. To be fair, this has genuinely helped me unpack and unlearn a lot of harmful internalized stuff. Of course, I'm open to others' views and constructive criticism.

[deathofacupid]

synopsis: in which what begun as an arranged marriage, blossomed to love. for sukuna, at least. a/n: for my beloved @salsakiyoomi, whom i wrote this for, and who also inspired me. it's, like, 1.7k words, so definitely longer than i'd thought. banner credits to @/aquazero.

"do you think," he begins, his voice a hesitant murmur, so unlike the usual booming pronouncements of a king, that you almost miss it. "do you think it would be fair… to give us a chance?"

you glance up from your book, a collection of ancient poetry, the words blurring as you try to process his question. "sorry?" you ask, genuinely unsure if you’ve heard correctly. the firelight dances in his usually sharp, confident eyes, softening them in a way you’ve never witnessed.

he clicks his tongue, a nervous tic you’ve only ever seen him display in moments of extreme agitation, and shakes his head slightly. a flush creeps up his neck, staining his pale skin a delicate pink. it’s a startling sight on the usually stoic king.

is it embarrassment? fear? the thought is so foreign, so incongruous with the image of sukuna, that you almost dismiss it. almost. yet, as he stands there, fidgeting like a schoolboy caught with his hand in the cookie jar, you can’t fathom any other explanation.

sukuna clears his throat, the sound rough in the sudden quiet of the room. "i think… we could try," he says, the words coming out in a rush. a pause hangs in the air, thick with unspoken possibilities. "us."

you blink, your mind struggling to catch up. "what do you mean? we are married, are we not?" the words feel hollow even as you speak them.

"that’s different," he grumbles, scuffing the toe of his boot against the expensive rug. "that’s… not real."

you close your book, the leather binding snapping shut with a sharp sound. setting it aside, you watch him pace, a restless energy radiating from him. you’ve never seen him this… uneasy. vulnerable. it’s unsettling. "we sleep beside each other. we eat together. we share the same last name. what is not real?"

the answer comes quickly, almost too quickly, as if he’s been rehearsing it in his head. "our love. that’s not real."

you shake your head, a small, involuntary movement. "well, of course. we agreed that—"

"—fuck what we agreed to," he interrupts, the crude language shocking you into silence.

"sukuna," you breathe, your eyes widening.

gathering a sudden burst of courage, he steps closer, taking your hands in his. his touch, usually so demanding, is surprisingly gentle. "petal," he whispers, the nickname he only uses when he thinks no one is listening, "i want more."

"i… i don’t think that’s wise," you stammer, instinctively pulling back. the hopeful light in his eyes dims, and your stomach clenches.

"you don’t love me, sukuna," you continue, your voice trembling slightly. "we wouldn’t work like that. things are… perfect right now. the arrangement we have, we’re at the top. we don’t have to worry about… feelings. we—we don’t have anything getting in the way."

"who’s to say they would get in the way?" he counters, his voice laced with a desperate plea.

"we know they would," you insist, the years of carefully constructed logic solidifying your resolve. "and what makes you believe that—that i feel the same?"

"nothing," he admits, his gaze dropping to the floor. "i don’t know. but if we’re already ‘married,’ would it hurt to…?" he trails off, the question hanging in the air, heavy with unspoken desires.

"besides," you say, grasping at any logical argument, "we’re awful to each other."

"i don’t mean any of it, though," he protests, his voice rising in frustration.

"you did before," you remind him, the memory of his cruel words stinging even now. "and i don’t know if i can be with someone like that."

"people change," he whispers, his eyes searching yours for a flicker of understanding.

for a fleeting moment, you waver. you allow yourself to imagine it: a life with sukuna, not as a political alliance, but as something… more. a warmth spreads through your chest, a dangerous, tempting feeling. but then, the cold reality of your responsibilities crashes down on you. you can’t risk it. you can’t risk the stability you’ve worked so hard to achieve.

what if it all goes wrong? what if you have an irreparable fight? what if he uses his power as king to ban you from the battlefield? you love being out there, fighting alongside your troops, protecting your people. you won't be confined to some gilded cage. you won't be stripped of your purpose.

"no," you whisper, the word a death knell to his hopes. "no."

love was a liability, a weakness to be exploited. and you, you were strong. you had to be.

"petal," sukuna breathes, his voice thick with a desperation that claws at something buried deep within you. he reaches for you again, but you recoil, the chill in the air a stark contrast to the heat that had pulsed between you moments before.

"don't," you say, your voice flat, devoid of the warmth he craves. "don't do this, sukuna."

his eyes, usually blazing with arrogance, now flicker with a vulnerability that makes your chest ache. he looks like a wounded animal, cornered and confused. it almost breaks you. almost.

"is this about the throne?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper. "is that what this is about?"

you clench your fists, digging your nails into your palms. "it's about what's best for the kingdom," you say, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. "it's about… stability. it's about ensuring our people are safe. love is a luxury we can't afford."

he laughs, a harsh, broken sound that echoes through the opulent room. "a luxury? you think this is a life of luxury? living a lie, pretending to be something we're not, for the sake of appearances?"

"it's the life we chose," you reply, your voice unwavering, even as your heart crumbles inside. "it's the life we have to choose. there's no other way."

he stares at you, his gaze searching, probing, as if trying to find a crack in your resolve. but you’re a fortress, built on years of expectations and responsibilities. you won’t yield.

"you're wrong," he says finally, his voice low and dangerous. "there's always another way. you're just too afraid to see it."

he turns and walks away, his shoulders slumped, his steps heavy. he doesn't look back. you watch him go, your breath catching in your throat. a single tear escapes, tracing a lonely path down your cheek.

as the door closes behind him, the silence in the room is deafening. you’re left alone with your carefully constructed world of duty and obligation, a world that suddenly feels cold and empty.

you’ve won. you’ve protected the kingdom. you’ve made the right choice. but as you stand there, the weight of your crown pressing down on your head, you can't shake the feeling that you’ve lost something far more precious than anything you could ever gain.

the victory tastes like ash, and the silence screams with the echo of what could have been, a haunting melody of a love that was never given a chance.

a love that was a liability, a weakness to be exploited. and you, you were strong. you had to be.

"petal," sukuna breathes, his voice thick with a desperation that claws at something buried deep within you. he reaches for you again, but you recoil, the chill in the air a stark contrast to the heat that had pulsed between you moments before.

"don't," you say, your voice flat, devoid of the warmth he craves. "don't do this, sukuna. you're playing a dangerous game, one you're destined to lose."

his eyes, usually blazing with arrogance, now flicker with a vulnerability that makes your chest ache. he looks like a wounded animal, cornered and confused. it almost breaks you. almost.

"is this about the throne?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper. "is that what this is about?"

you clench your fists, digging your nails into your palms. "it's about what's best for the kingdom," you say, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. "it's about… stability. it's about ensuring our people are safe. love is a luxury we can't afford."

he laughs, a harsh, broken sound that echoes through the opulent room. "a luxury? you think this is a life of luxury? living a lie, pretending to be something we're not, for the sake of appearances?"

"it's the life we chose," you reply, your voice unwavering, even as your heart crumbles inside. "it's the life we have to choose. there's no other way."

he stares at you, his gaze searching, probing, as if trying to find a crack in your resolve. but you’re a fortress, built on years of expectations and responsibilities. you won’t yield.

"you're wrong," he says finally, his voice low and dangerous. "there's always another way. you're just too afraid to see it."

he turns and walks away, his shoulders slumped, his steps heavy. he doesn't look back. you watch him go, your breath catching in your throat. a single tear escapes, tracing a lonely path down your cheek.

as the door closes behind him, the silence in the room is deafening. you’re left alone with your carefully constructed world of duty and obligation, a world that suddenly feels cold and empty. you’ve won. you’ve protected the kingdom.

you’ve made the right choice. but as you stand there, the weight of your crown pressing down on your head, you can't shake the feeling that you’ve lost something far more precious than anything you could ever gain. the victory tastes like ash, and the silence screams with the echo of what could have been, a haunting melody of a love that was never given a chance.

and in the quiet solitude of your gilded cage, you realize that the greatest sacrifice you made was not for your kingdom, but for yourself. you sacrificed your own happiness, your own chance at love, and in doing so, you condemned yourself to a lifetime of regret, a slow, agonizing decay of the heart.

the crown is yours, but the cost… the cost is everything.

[revelboo]

Finally managed to catch up with Everything is alright and damn, it sure is one hell of a ride! Poor reader really can't catch a breath Also, as someone who struggle with reading fics bc english isn't my first language and it ask way more focus, I really love your way of writing, makes it way easier to follow! I read a lot of your others texts to and I really love your writing, thank you so much for all of this!

Thank you! I tend to write in a stream of conscious style rather than proper sentence structures- basically I write how my brain thinks. Aside from tense and that physical descriptions and details aren’t really more than broad strokes, this is how I normally write.

Thank y’all for all the Valentine’s Day messages, I got a bit overwhelmed with them 🤣

Everything Is Alright Pt 133

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• You’d fallen asleep tangled in him at some point since he wasn’t willing to release your connection with his spark just yet. The fact that you trust him enough to rest in his arms while you’re so vulnerable aching sweetly in his spark. Monitoring you, sifting through your light and warmth again and again. Hunting. Until he finds what he’s looking for. So much tinier than Starscream’s new spark had been when he’d discovered it, just a pinpoint of light nestled within you. Remembers the frantic way you’d evaded him when he’d tried to fully bond you the first time, not even knowing you were sparked at the time, but still instinctively trying to protect Starscream���s new spark. Crooning shakily, he tucks you more firmly against his frame as he wraps himself more firmly around your light.

• Letting himself back into his habsuite, Megatron scowls. “You know I meant for you to talk it out, not frag in my berth,” he mutters, watching Soundwave shift slightly, tucking you more under him as you make a sleepy sound. That protective gesture making his spark ache as he pointedly doesn’t react and sits on the berth near the two of you. Venting when he realizes you’re sleeping, arms tucked against yourself as Soundwave’s grip tightens. “Did you spark our little mate?” Still feels so strange to call you his. To make that claim on a human. Never would have imagined he’d be in a situation like this. Wants to despise you for what you’d done to him even if it had been an accident, but can’t even manage that. He’d reached out to you, tried to save you.

• Our. Cupping the back of your head when you bury your face against his neck, he has to remind himself that he trusts Megatron. Always has. Had hung all his hopes for a better future on the shoulders of that angry gladiator. Sacrificed so much to follow him. But this is different. Has the overwhelming urge to tuck you inside his cassette compartment and just keep you there. Safe under his protection. “Yes,” he makes himself say. Doesn’t want to share you with Starscream or Megatron, not while you’re sparked with his young.

• “You’re not going to apologize for dragging me into this mess, are you, old friend?” Something about the way Soundwave is holding you is so intimate it makes his spark ache. What would he be like if you were sparked with his young? Would he allow either of the other two anywhere near you? “I’m not going to play carrier for your sparkling, too,” he adds, feeling so tired. And he doesn’t even know if you only passed the spark to him because you were in distress and scared for your sparkling, or if that’s going to happen every time. Has no idea what to expect since you’re organic.

• Rubbing his chin against the top of your head, Soundwave croons to you. Feeling guilty since he’d been pushing you and Megatron together, trying to bind you together for your safety. Still playing the long game, positioning pieces how he wants them. Manipulating. He’s always done what was necessary, but now he’s no longer sure if he’s doing what’s best for the cause, for his people, or just what he wants. A family. A different future. “Angry?” He asks, trying to ignore that faint whisper of unease at being so small. Aware of the warlord watching him, expression calculating before his optics narrow, shaking his head.

Previous

[sassypleia]

Like my Blog, I’m curious by choice. It’s a natural instinct to want to know more. By nature I like to look at the whole puzzle and then do my research before entering my two cents to the conversation. Half theories and droplets of information is fine and dandy…. However it leaves way too much room for interpretation. Now you may say that’s hog wash and that anything we receive is gold.

But again… ever heard of fool’s gold?

“Fool's Gold can be one of three minerals. The most common mineral mistaken for gold is pyrite. Chalcopyrite may also appear gold-like, and weathered mica can mimic gold as well. Compared to actual gold, these minerals will flake, powder, or crumble when poked with a metal point, whereas gold will gouge or indent like soft lead. In addition, actual gold will leave a golden yellow streak when scraped on a piece of unglazed porcelain. Pyrite and chalcopyrite will leave a dark green to black streak and the common micas will leave a white streak (https://www.usgs.gov/faqs/what-fools-gold).

We are given information purely based on what is chosen to be released. The way I interpret an event, statement or picture could be different than how everyone else does. I see a kinship with Nic and Luke while others may not see this. Does not mean that I will go and lecture them on why they are wrong while I am correct. (Also does not stop the TROLLS from stating their own opinions).

What we saw on the WT and with all interviews published, they hold a strong bond and respect for one another. In the past we were spoiled with the WT so we saw them together all the time. Now that we do not see them interacting or together publicly does not mean BTS they are not. They have other projects and Bridgerton (Nic did confirm they popped in and out while filming). I think silence and the fact we don’t see what we had seen before speaks volumes. Especially since the WT was supposed to be PR (“supposed to” being the word to focus on) to get the word out about S3 dropping.

When we see behaviors changing between two people, we stop and think. Or we should, some of us went to the theory that they are beefing (insert eye roll 🙄 ). Because we saw their beautiful performance in S3, we knew that they had great chemistry. Always claimed that they had a great friendship. The interviews these two gave. Ofta. Put ideas in our heads. But realistically, it’s known to happen. Friendship like theirs could grow into love.

“The truth is that if the person you have strong romantic feelings for is already your friend, it’s a good thing! How and why? It’s because a close friendship lays a solid foundation for a romantic relationship!

Think about it: you already know them quite well. You know that they have great qualities (which is possibly why you caught feelings, to begin with), and you know and accept the flaws too. Hopefully, your friend also knows and accepts you as a whole.

So, there won’t be this need to be the best versions of yourselves in that initial phase of infatuation and attraction in the relationship (https://www.marriage.com/advice/love/signs-a-friendship-is-turning-into-love/)!

⬆️ A really good article! See the ⬇️ signs

17 signs that your friendship is blossoming into love:

1. The communication frequency suddenly increases

2. You start experiencing jealousy

3. The body language between you two evolves

4. You’re both single

5. You two start flirting with each other

6. Your friend’s behavior turns hot and cold toward you

7. You start having long conversations with each other

8. When something happens, you need them to know first

9. You both try to find ways to be alone with each other

10. The pet names for each other change

11. You tend to mention your friend very frequently

12. You both feel an air of awkwardness and nervousness

13. Your friend is being more vulnerable than usual around you

14. Your common friends know what’s happening

15. They ask you out

16. There’s more physical touch

17. Prolonged eye contact

Does any of these sound familiar? Don’t make me bring up that bracelet Luke received with the engraving from a “fan” (Sure Jan 😉)

Again, your honor, I rest my case.

Xx 🩵

[shiro-s2e2-erukinzu]

Anime only watchers and people who aren't caught up with the Manga, BEWARE... Cuz I'm about to discuss Spy X Family Mission 112 (Part 1)... You have been warned...! 👌

[SPOILERS AHEAD FROM THIS POINT ON]

THIS CHAPTER WAS BOTH FUN & FUNNY!!! 😆 Plus, IT'S ANOTHER MUTI-PARTER!?!? 😵 (We haven't had a chapter split into multiple parts since Mission 67, back in 2022!! 😌)

That's right folks, we got ourselves another chapter split into parts, and it's a fun one so far!! 😄 Endo has done this three times before this chapter with Missions 58 (2 parts), 62 (3 parts), and 67 (2 parts); so now I wonder how many parts will this chapter have (my guess is that it's gonna be a two parter...! 👌😌) But enough of all that mumbo jumbo that probably only I care about, let's finally talk about the chapter in question, shall we...? 😉

So this chapter begins with Twilight trying to wake up Anya because it's time for her to return to Eden...!! 😲

But... Since Anya is freaking relatable AS HELL, she doesn't want to go and tries to come up with anything to get out of going back to school, even claiming to be sick...!! 👌😌 Loid, of course, doesn't believe her, but since Yor is the best mom ever, she wants to make absolutely sure that Anya isn't actually sick, which leads to this:

This family, I swear... 😌

At school, Anya (who actually thought about this before Twilight woke her up) tries to find out from Damian if his dad can truly read minds by asking "What's your dad like? Is he super scary?", but...:

...It didn't really work, so Anya gave up immediately... 😅 This girl, I swear...!! 😌

Then, two of Anya's classmates come to greet her and Becky, AND NOW THEY FINALLY HAVE NAMES!! 😆

We've seen Connie and Meg pop up in several other chapters before this one, but now they are officially out of the "Characters Who Have Shown Up Multiple Times, But Don't Have A Name" Club...!! 🎊 And I'm especially excited that Connie has a name now because she was featured in one of the early Omakes and even Franky commented on her (as seen in the image below):

Which in turn had made me wonder if Anya and her would eventually become friends at some point...!! 😄 Well, that time might be now because Anya was just reminded that she and everyone else will all be in different classes now (though, Becky specifies that they'll only be in different classes for the subjects that were on the test, so at least they'll still have some classes together...!)

Speaking of which, we see that Anya and Damian have at least have Language Studies together, so that's good...!! 😁 Then, Anya heads to her next class with a bunch of new faces and some that we recognize, including Arnold Crowley and Connie, who got pushed by someone, then Anya read her mind and well...:

...She's actually kinda scary...! 😰

So um, yeah... I'm not 100% sure if her and Anya will be friends quite yet...! 😅 Then, we get introduced to two other kids; some prince from the north named Tertius...:

...And this kid...:

...Who might've just become a favorite of mine...!! 😆 (I think that he's pretty dang funny so far...!! 😂)

Closed Eyes Kid apparently flicked a booger onto that Tertius kid and now he's got to GET RID OF THE EVIDENCE before anyone notices...!! 😎:

So when Closed Eyes Kid tried to get rid of the booger on Tertius' face, Tertius just kept dodging him, and now it seems that these two are gonna fight each other...!! 😵

And that's the end of the chapter!! Anya is sure having an eventful day on first day back at Eden...!! 😌

This chapter was really fun, I loved it!! 😄 I honestly hope that Anya makes some new friends, especially with Closed Eyes Kid (he's my favorite so far 😁), Connie (maybe? 🤷) and possibly Arnold Crowley (he actually seems like a pretty nice kid so far...! 👌😌)

So yeah, I'm excited for the next half of this chapter and pretty sure that it's just gonna be a two parter (though, who knows at this point because I never know what Endo is gonna do...!! 😌) Anyway, until the next Mission; take care, be safe out there and be kind to one another...!! LATER ALLIGATORS!! 👋😁

[mellosdrawings]

hihi! I would like to know how you see/feel about the dynamic of the Tweels and Azul, if you don't mind sharing of course!

Hi o/

Sorry, this one took me a minute, I was trying to figure out the best way to explain my feelings about their relationship but... I realized that while I was unable to give a name to KaliJami but was able to explain the relationship, here I am unable to even explain the Octatrio's relationship.

They're best friends who would do anything for each other without needing any explanation, but they also would sell each other for a corn chip. The Tweels are Azul's first friends and also his most consistent bullies. They keep saying they're not friends but nobody around them believes it.

And, you know, I actually like how their vibe is "as long as we're having fun, we're staying together". Relationships don't have to last forever to be cherished. It's perfectly fine to stop frequenting who was once a dear friend if the relationship ends up not being enjoyable anymore. People change and so do their relationships, and that's a healthy mindset to cling to the fun and not force yourself into something that doesn't fit you anymore (in my opinion, at least.)

Though I have a feeling that, for the Tweels, it might come from a shaky family situation. Like Cater who can't will himself to have friends because he keeps moving, so he can't imagine a long lasting relationship whatsoever, I think the Tweels who might come from a family that has some kind of criminal background might approach their relationships in a "that won't last, but at least we'll have fun while it does". They're kinda the opposite of Cater in that regard. All of them are ready for their relationships to stop at any moment, but Cater has a darker view of it and refuses to open up while the Tweels are more nonchalant and try to get the most out of their relationships. The difference might come from the Tweels having each other anyway while Cater has a strained relationship with even his sisters.

Going on a tangent here: a thing I've come to realize is that Azul shows his love the same way the Tweels do. Lemme explain.

The one person we have seen Azul interested in is Jamil. He's shown it in forever bothering him and inviting him to join him and completely disregarding any complaint or refusal Jamil throws his way.

Feels familiar? That's how Floyd approaches Riddle too. That's also how the Tweels approached Azul at first. We don't have that much backstory but we do have an example of Azul trying to drive them away, and them not listening at all and continuing to come bother him until they have carved a place at his side.

I'm personally of the opinion that Azul learned his love language from the Tweels, because it was the only example of (lasting) friendship that he's ever had.

There's also the whole debt thing to take into account. Azul needs to feel unindebted, he cannot stand owing things to others. That's just how it is. The Tweels though would totally do whatever they need to have whatever they want, no matter the debts. But they do play by Azul's rule. Sometimes they even use it against Azul to gain favors from him. Though most of the time it feels like they're indulging him by asking favors when they just wanted to help him. It's a fine line, a fine balance, just like everything else.

The OctaTrio is just always on the cusp of being perfectly in sync with each other, using each other's strength and weaknesses to the best so they could all get what they want, while also being perfectly terrible to each other, literally just using each other for their own gain. It's a very interesting relationship and maybe one of the most balanced and precise out of every other relationships. They're just... in sync.

And contrary to KaliJami, those three can very well work on their own without needing each other. They constantly do their own things, decide to ditch the others because they have something better to do elsewhere, etc.

All three of them say they are into this relationship purely out of personal gain. And, yeah, I'm sure they're getting a lot out of it and they even get to be selfish while still working well together. Buuuuut...

I mean, come on, the Tweels keep coming to Azul's rescue. They were super worried when the anemones disappeared and discovered Azul overblotted. Boys aren't hiding their feelings as well as they think. And Azul isn't any better.

You know what, I think I finally figured it out. I finally know what to call their relationship, despite my introductory statement.

They're siblings.

Azul has pretty much been adopted by the Tweels. Being selfish morons ready to throw each other under a bus while also going on a rampage as soon as a bully decides to target one of yours is 100% sibling-coded. And I'd know it, I almost got into a fistfight because my lil bro got punched once. And I'm usually ready to punch him myself.

The OctaTrio are siblings who know their relationship might not last forever, but who have nonetheless decided to make the most out of it.

[gothamite-rambler]

Why Poison Ivy likes Dick Grayson out of the other Robins

Robin!Dick (chipper): Hi, Ivy!

Poison Ivy (wary, crossing her arms): Hey, kid. Wow, you really decided that babysitting and being a 'hero' was the best idea.

Ivy shot an annoyed glare at Batman, who remained stoically silent. Robin!Dick gazed at a giant rose flytrap, already inching closer to poke it.

Ivy (warningly): Stand away from the giant rose!

Robin!Dick stepped back, his eyes wide with fascination.

Robin!Dick: Can I—

Batman (pointing firmly to another part of the botanical area): I will take you home.

Robin!Dick pouted, shoulders slumping as he walked away, mumbling.

Ivy (smirking): He’s adorable. If I didn’t hate people, I’d keep him. Okay, let’s start. You want me to stop my mission to protect Mother Earth, and you think that's wrong. Please, continue being wrong.

Ivy gracefully took a seat on her flower chair, crossing her legs with a smug smile.

Batman (sternly): I shouldn’t have to explain how your mission to save the Earth doesn’t benefit people. It’s destructive.

Ivy (raising an eyebrow): Why? Because some people might die? A few dead bodies are worth it to save the planet.

Robin!Dick (mid-stop from touching a different dangerous plant): What?! You’re killing people to do this?

Ivy (matter-of-factly): Yes… A few dead bodies are worth—why does his face look sad?

Robin!Dick (trying not to cry, voice wavering): That’s so mean.

Batman (glaring at Ivy): You’ve upset him. Shame on you.

Ivy (indignant, standing tall): Last I checked, the Earth is dying, and I’m just being honest with the kid! If you actually used critical thinking, you’d realize I’m not destroying the Earth—big corporations are! They’re pumping out microplastics, pouring random crap into lakes—Bliss… JUST BLISS—are destroying the freaking planet! They’re screwing her like she’s a two-dollar hooker! I stopped eating chocolate bars from Bliss's company after the founder said water shouldn’t be given to everybody!

Robin!Dick (astonished, eyes wide): Did he actually say that?

Ivy (explaining passionately): He implied water shouldn’t have free access to the public because Bliss is the biggest proprietor of bottled water. That’s unforgivable! So whatever you’re about to say, Batman, I don’t want to hear it! They’re destroying ecosystems, hunting endangered species, killing crops—

Robin!Dick (interrupting, stepping closer): Hold up, that’s all she’s trying to fix?

Robin!Dick glanced at Batman expectantly, waiting for his response.

Batman (turning to Robin, tone serious): She’s not doing it in a logical way.

Robin!Dick (defiantly): She’s a green woman who can control plants! Does she look like she wants to use our logic? No offense, Ivy.

Ivy (grinning): You’re fine. I love my body.

Robin!Dick (glancing between them, confused): She can talk to plants, too! She must feel pain when they feel pain. Are you just going to ignore that?

Batman (frustrated): I never said I was.

Ivy (smirking): Sure feels like it every time we talk.

Robin!Dick (enthusiastically): Why don’t we help her, Batman? Has she asked for your help?

Batman (sheepish, avoiding eye contact): Um… it’s been brought up in the past.

Robin!Dick (jumping up and down, angry): Then why haven’t you helped her?

Ivy (pleasantly surprised): Yeah, Batman, that’s so mean.

Batman (defending his stance): She's a criminal and will let people die for the cause.

Robin!Dick (shrugging): Well, if it's that Bliss guy, I don’t… I don’t necessarily blame her if he dies.

Ivy (smiling): Huh... thank you.

Robin!Dick (sincere): You’re welcome.

Batman (frustrated): All right, you’re young, so you don’t understand this is a complex situation.

Robin!Dick (bringing up a correct point): Yeah, so is being a vigilante over a cop, but that’s what you do! I’ve seen you beat the ever-loving shit out of a lot of bad guys committing actual crimes.

Batman (scolding): Language.

Robin!Dick: The context needed the word! I love you, Batman, I do, but let’s be real—you steal police information and beat up thugs. You haven’t paid the Commissioner back for the fire hydrant incident. You break a lot of laws! You say you’re doing it to save lives; so is she! Most are plant lives, but I get it. We’d be arrested too, but we’re lucky; she’s not… it’s not right.

Ivy (sincere, smiling warmly): Thanks again, kid.

Robin!Dick (sweetly): You’re welcome again.

Batman (confused at how he's being criticized): What the… what the heck is happening?

Robin!Dick (swaying back and forth): I'm just saying, in any other city, we’d be going to prison. Well, you would be; I’d be tossed into an orphanage, and that… that’s not fun.

Ivy (nodding): A lot of kids in the system have been abused. He’s got a point.

Batman (annoyed): Why are you arguing with me, Robin?

Robin!Dick (leaning in, determined): Because dang it, she might have a point! We can help her to a degree… In fact, isn’t the building we’re in the one being sued for what they did to a lake? All those ducks died.

Ivy (adding): Nothing can grow there for decades.

Robin!Dick: Yeah, the ecosystem is destroyed there.

Ivy (pridefully): That’s why I picked this building to invade first. It’s not being used for anything productive. I’m thinking of making it a plant sanctuary.

Robin!Dick (looking around, nodding enthusiastically): Yeah… yeah… that sounds like a good idea.

Ivy (smirking at Batman): You must’ve gotten this level of kindness and understanding from someone else. I like you. Batman, keep him around; he's adorable and smart.

Robin!Dick (cupping his cheeks, blushing): Aww, thank you.

Batman (raising his voice, annoyed): Stop trying to turn him to the dark side! And why are you ganging up on me?

Robin and Ivy (in unison): Because you know it’s wrong and are being stubborn!

Batman (sighing, rubbing his temples): Okay, she’s not my child, but you are. Don’t yell at me.

Robin!Dick (serious): Hm… okay, I'm sorry, but you told me you became Batman because the system is flawed and sometimes matters need to be taken into your hands? Where the law and our governments can’t fix the issue, it takes a civilian to step in and make things right. How is she different?

Ivy (smirking, folding her arms): Yeah, yeah, how am I different? Is it because I’m green? Racist!

Batman (exasperated): That doesn’t make any sense; you’re white!

Robin!Dick (pointing his index finger for emphasis): She’s green now.

Ivy (leaning forward, playful): Robin, was it? Here, take a rose.

Ivy used her powers to hand the young hero a rose.

Robin (smiling widely and taking the rose): Aww, thank you.

Batman groaned, then picked up Robin like a bag and started walking away. Robin giggled as he was being carried.

Batman (growling): Give me a minute; I have to talk to him in private!

Ivy (calling out, amused): Go easy on him, and let that kid be a free thinker. He's smart; he knows what he’s talking about.

Robin!Dick (waving): Thank you, Ivy.

Ten minutes after the two argued, Batman came to a compromise with his son and Ivy. He understood that Dick would absolutely not mind sabotaging factories or causing a fire with a supervillain to protect the planet. All he needed was a good reason.

Batman (driving them home in the Batmobile, voice calm): Could you not defend the actions of the bad guy in front of me next time?

Robin!Dick (munching on McDonald's fries): Don’t take me to one who has a point, and you can’t be mad at me. I did a good thing.

Batman (with a resigned sigh): I hate that you’re technically right. Give me a fry at least.

Robin!Dick passed his father a French fry while finishing off the ones he already had, an infectious smile plastered across his face.

Inspired by this post

[goldfades]

oh, can you do a jealous booker?

jealous book is a different breed i love it

The event was loud, a blur of flashing lights and flowing champagne, but Devin wasn’t paying attention to any of it.

Not the cameras, not the music, not the endless conversations swirling around him.

His focus was solely on you.

More specifically, on the guy currently talking to you.

Devin wasn’t even sure who he was—some industry guy, someone important judging by the way people kept shaking his hand and laughing a little too hard at whatever he was saying. He was tall, well-dressed, confident in that way that came from knowing he had status, and worst of all?

You were smiling at him.

Not just a polite, thanks for the compliment kind of smile. No, this was your engaged smile, the one where your eyes softened just slightly, your head tilted just enough to show you were actually interested in the conversation.

And Devin hated it.

He wasn’t insecure. He knew where he stood with you. He knew you weren’t the type to entertain just anyone.

But that didn’t mean he liked seeing someone else make you smile like that.

Didn’t mean he liked the way the guy leaned in just a little too much, how his eyes flickered down toward your lips every time you spoke.

Didn’t mean he liked the way you hadn’t noticed Devin watching.

His jaw tightened, fingers flexing slightly as he debated how long he was willing to let this play out. Because right now? He was two seconds away from walking over there, sliding an arm around your waist, and making it very clear whose girl you were.

Devin’s grip on his drink tightened, the cold condensation damp against his fingertips, but he barely noticed. His whole body was taut, a slow burn creeping into his chest as he watched the scene in front of him unfold with agonizing patience.

The guy was still talking—still laughing, still leaning just a little too close, his confidence grating against Devin’s last nerve. It was the way he looked at you, like he thought he had a chance, like he didn’t realize that Devin was standing right there, watching, barely keeping his temper in check.

And you?

You weren’t flirting. He knew that. You were just being you—warm, polite, effortlessly charming. It wasn’t your fault that men mistook your kindness for an invitation.

But that didn’t mean Devin had to like it.

Didn’t mean he had to sit back and watch this guy try his luck like he wasn’t standing ten feet away, like he wouldn’t have zero issue shutting this down.

His jaw ticked. His patience was running thin.

Then it happened.

The guy reached out—just a simple gesture, fingertips grazing the bare skin of your arm as he said something low in your ear, something that made you laugh, made your hand lift to cover your mouth like you were actually entertained.

That was it.

Devin wasn’t even thinking anymore. One second he was standing on the other side of the room, and the next he was right beside you, his presence immediate—a shadow, a heat, a weight that was impossible to ignore.

You barely had time to turn your head before his arm slid around your waist, firm, possessive, his fingers splaying against your hip, pulling you flush against him.

The conversation died instantly.

The guy blinked, clearly caught off guard, his smile faltering for the first time. Devin’s expression didn’t change—didn’t waver, didn’t flinch. He didn’t need to say anything.

His body language spoke loud enough.

“This your man?” the guy asked, his tone forced-light, but Devin caught the slight edge to it, the unspoken challenge underneath.

You hesitated for half a second—just a blink, just enough time for Devin’s grip to tighten.

“Yeah,” you finally said, your voice softer now, aware of the shift in energy. “This is Devin.”

Damn right, I am.

Devin’s eyes didn’t leave the guy’s face, dark and unreadable, daring him to test his patience, to push just a little further.

But the guy wasn’t stupid. He got the message.

His hands lifted in mock surrender, his smirk returning, but it was different now—less sure, less cocky. “Didn’t mean to step on any toes,” he said, voice laced with something close to amusement. “Just having a conversation.”

Devin finally smiled, slow and sharp. “Yeah? Well, conversation’s over.”

The guy chuckled, but it was hollow. “Alright, man.” He gave you one last glance—one that Devin definitely didn’t like—before he stepped away, melting back into the crowd.

And just like that, it was just the two of you.

The tension didn’t leave Devin’s body immediately. His grip on your waist lingered, his thumb pressing into your hip like he needed a second to remind himself that you were his, that there was no real threat, that you weren’t going anywhere.

You turned toward him, tilting your head slightly.

“Jealous?” you teased, your voice light, but he could hear the amusement tucked beneath it.

Devin scoffed, but the way his fingers flexed against you betrayed him. “Nah,” he muttered, leaning in closer, his lips brushing just below your ear. “Just don’t like watching other men act like I don’t exist.”

You smiled, slipping your arms around his neck, letting your fingers slide into the soft curls at the nape of his neck. “You know I wasn’t flirting, right?”

“I know.” His voice was low, smooth. “Doesn’t mean I liked it.”

You bit your lip, leaning in just enough so your noses brushed. “Then maybe you should remind me who I belong to.”

Devin’s eyes darkened, his grip tightening.

“Oh, don’t worry, baby,” he murmured, his lips curving into something wicked, something promising. “I will.”

[just-nc-tea]

W O R K I N P R O G R E S S

fics that might be coming soon!! ⤷ MY MASTERLIST ᯓᡣ𐭩 ⤷ GET ADDED TO MY TAGLIST ⁀➴༯

a. angst f. fluff sug. suggestive s. smut h. horror c. crack !! ALL OF THESE ARE CAN BE SUBJECTED TO CHANGE DURING THE ACTUAL WRITING PROGRESS !!

the truth untold pt.2 ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

⭑.ᐟ Fake Dating - Sim Jaeyun Jake’s world takes a nosedive when he gets a wedding invitation from his high school ex—the same ex who cheated on him—with your ex. Desperate to avoid showing up alone Jake ropes you into a fake relationship, just for the evening. Originally.But if you’re going to sell the lie, you have to make it convincing. That means dates, inside jokes, learning the little details about each other that real couples would know.By the time the wedding arrives, neither of you are sure where the act ends and the truth begins. PART 1

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁ 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝑔𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈 ∿ 70% ⤷ estimated release date: Sunday 23rd of February

nine and three quarters ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

⭑.ᐟ Roommate to Lovers - Park Sunghoon As a college freshman with a strict upbringing, you are focused on your studies and career path, determined to avoid distractions –especially love. But living with Sunghoon, a charming, clean-cut ice skater with a love for partying, shakes up your orderly life. As you clash, bond, and slowly grow closer, you find yourself questioning everything you thought you knew about fun, friendship, and falling in love.

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁ 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝑔𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈 ∿ outlining ⤷ estimated release date: March 2025

have you ever tried this one?

⭑.ᐟ Strangers to Lovers - Park Sunghoon You have, in fact, tried this one—thanks for the reminder, Sabrina. Starting college is always nerve-wracking, but starting college at 22 with a three-year-old daughter? That’s a whole different level of terrifying. Between balancing classes, part-time work, and making sure your little girl feels safe and happy, dating isn’t even on your radar. Until Park Sunghoon stumbles into your life. While you keep your distance, your daughter adores him instantly, pulling him into her world with giggles and wide-eyed admiration. No matter how hard you try to ignore it, seeing your daugther this happy with him makes you feel some kind of way. Maybe you could get your own fairytale ending, like the characters in Yunas stories.

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁ 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝑔𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈 ∿ outlining ⤷ estimated release date: ???

Dark fir trees and green meadows in the sunshine ༘⋆

⭑.ᐟ A Heidi AU - Lee Heeseung Some love stories are never meant to be. This is one of them. No matter how hard you and Heeseung would have tried, your worlds, your lives, your languages are so vastly different. Love isn’t always enough when reality stands in the way. He belongs to a world of bright lights and roaring crowds, while yours is quiet, rooted in the mountains.

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁ 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝑔𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈 ∿ collecting my ideas ⤷ estimated release date: ???

the drakness from within

Vampire enhypen. Thats it. I don't know more yet. But vampire and demons. Why isn't there more of that on here. This is probably just going to be a multi chapter fantasy au fully inspired by dark blood and especially fate, lets be real. Idk who is going to be the male lead but probably Jay!

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁ 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝑔𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈 ∿ collecting my ideas ⤷ estimated release date: ???

a series of fortunate events

⭑.ᐟ A Series about idol!Enhypen finding their soulmates

Why is Jay not Jay but Y/N? What do you mean Heeseung is hearing voices? Sunghoon is seeing WHAT in the mirror? Why does Jake have moodswings like a teenager again?

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁ 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝑔𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈 ∿ collecting my ideas ⤷ estimated release date: ???

xoxo, Patty

[bkgexe]

he ain't heavy (he's my—)

caleb (love and deepspace) x reader ✾ 8.3k

info! You and he used to be synonyms. Two words with the same definition. The question you both try and fail to answer: what are you now? ✾ tw! pseudocest. and im sorry. size difference mention multiple times. f!reader, referred to with gendered language ✾ notes! lordddddd they're so weird i need them to be together. this is really sappy and self-indulgent and the smut is like. ???? i don't even know. look mc's got a lot to think abt while getting railed. you can also read on ao3 instead with like proper grammar and stuff lmaooooo

you’ve always been like this with him. a little more childish, a little more petulant. it doesn’t matter that you’re older now, that you consider yourself a decently mature person when it comes to every other situation in your life. 

he hurt you, and you want to hurt him back.

maybe hurt is a small word for what he’s done. you missed him. you mourned him. you went back to the burnt husk of your childhood neighborhood for weeks after the explosion, looking for any trace of him that might’ve gone unnoticed. as if you would be able to discern his remnants because you knew him better than anybody else. like you could pick his ashes from the rest, set them aside and declare them clothing or muscle or tooth. 

the two of you were inseparable when you were younger. even when you got into different hobbies, made friends outside of each other, attended different academies after high school—it was unspoken that your home was with one another. you grew up, but not apart. long periods of time spent away from each other were difficult. you might have doubted that he felt the same if he didn’t constantly tell you how much he missed you, if he hadn’t been the one that called you every day, that asked if you were eating enough, that texted to make sure you were going to bed at a reasonable hour.

the more unfamiliar distance is, the sharper it becomes. you can’t see the blade of it at arm’s length. when caleb died, you became acquainted with distance so quickly that you couldn’t remember what it felt like when the knife wasn’t already between your ribs.

you’re sure he felt that too. your wounds mirror each other’s, as they often do. as they often did. but there’s no comparing temporary and permanent. antonyms. something you and caleb hadn’t been until now. it’s why you want him to hurt. it’s why you want to lash out like you used to when you were a child, mad because he went and played with his friends for too long, frustrated because his fingers would tangle in your hair and pull uncomfortably when he undid your braids. you’re doing that on purpose, you would accuse, and he would laugh and call you a crybaby. 

lashing out requires his presence. this is why you seek him out. even though he still doesn’t tell you everything—can’t, he reminds you whenever it’s brought up—you still visit him whenever he tells you he has time off, allow him into your home when he shows up uninvited. you pretend that you don’t know it’s not a coincidence when you run into him in both skyhaven and linkon, more often than not when you’re hanging out with male friends. you want him to be there because you can’t hurt him if he’s not around. maybe it’s unfair, but you’re allowed to act like this with him—he’s your big brother. was. tenses have been harder since he returned. you had only just gotten used to putting everything in the past. the present is different than it used to be. you’re adjusting at too slow a pace, already tired from the adjusting you had to do after his death.

but there’s something that’s been building between you that’s different. something like heat, something you’re not sure you should feel with a person you once considered as close as family. something you can’t look at closely, its details all primed to change things too dramatically, too quickly.

the point: you’ve known caleb your whole life. (you’ve also known zayne your whole life, an entirely unhelpful voice in your brain provides, and your grandma always joked about the two of you getting married.) that doesn’t matter. it’s inconsequential. he didn’t grow up in the same home as you, like caleb did. he didn’t walk you home from school every day, or help you dry your hair on wash days, or make you late night meals when you had to stay up doing homework.

(zayne also doesn’t give you the kind of look caleb does when you come visit him, like you’re the sun and the center of the universe and the most perfect being to ever exist all at once.)

you like being revered—who doesn’t? but that’s normal, because people often hold their family members in high regard. in the same way you hold caleb. because you’ve looked up to him your whole life, from when he was getting into fights as a kid to protect you from bullies up until now, where—despite the things he’s keeping from you—he’s very obviously taking on more than he can handle. you’ve always admired his selflessness, his willingness to carry burdens. like atlas, a world forever on his back. your entire universe sitting in the divot between his wide shoulders.

caleb made you cry after he went to the daa only once, when you first visited. you were terribly attached to him, devastated by him leaving home. you were an emotionally high-strung wreck and anything even slightly distressing made you well up, made it feel like the world was coming to an end. maybe that’s just being sixteen.

but his roommate had come back to their dorm and asked, “oh, is this your sister?”

caleb had been laughing with you only moments prior. he stayed smiling, but there was something underneath—a seriousness that he reserved for anyone but you. a little cold, ultimately more severe than you ever thought he should have to be. “no,” he said, like the idea itself was ridiculous. “we just grew up together.”

later you asked him about it. people had referred to you as brother and sister plenty when you were little, and even though it wasn’t actually the truth, it wasn’t something you dismissed as easily as caleb had to his roommate. you were tearing up when you asked him about it. the hormones, the devastation, the thought of him wanting to remove himself from your life in some fashion.

“i just—don’t see you that way,” he told you. “it doesn’t mean you’re not special to me. you’re the most special to me.”

you’d accepted it because he called you special and (back then, not so much now) you could always tell when he was lying.

(maybe you’ve never been good at discerning his lies from truth. maybe the two run so concurrently that they rest hand-in-hand, so colored by the other that they don’t have clear start and end points. synonyms, like you and caleb used to be. you worry that you don’t know him the way you thought you did when you were a teenager, when you could call him and accurately predict which ring he’d pick up on.)

you always feel flushed when you think of him like this. heat on your face. because he’s not your brother. or he was, but he isn’t now. or he is still, in some ways, and in some ways he’s not. he’s still the boy that showed you how to catch fireflies and poke holes in the top of mason jars so they could light up the porch during summer nights, and you’re still the girl that reminded him to open up the jars before you both went to bed so that the fireflies would be there to catch another day. but he’s also the man that looks at you with something so terribly heavy in his gaze that you’re scared to put it into words—and you’re also the woman that surrenders into the warmth of his palm when he cups your face, that doesn’t pull away when your mouths are so close that you can feel his breath on your lips.

it's this new heat. new, you tell yourself, even though you know it goes back further.

you touched yourself to the thought of him even before he died. this is something you can’t ever tell anyone—can barely even think about yourself. it was an accident. it didn’t count. you got distracted and thought about his thumb against your tongue and his broad shoulders under your hands and the weight of him between your thighs and you came so hard that it felt like dying, just a little. every time it happened after that, the mantra: it was an accident. it didn’t count. it was an accident.

and you wonder if you could classify the way you punish him as an accident, too. because you want him to hurt. but you also know what he wants most, in some abstract way. it would be clear if you let yourself think about it, but the same haze fixes itself over those thoughts—accident, doesn’t count—so you act half on instinct. a vague comment here, a gaze that lingers too long there. a finger drawn up the back of his uniform’s coat after you fix his collar, ghosting across the long length of his spine. 

a fever pitch. its synonyms: excitement, agitation. two opposites shoved into the same feeling. that’s the only way to describe the way things are around you and caleb now. breaths are counted, often hitched. touches are limited before they get dangerous. caleb has invited you to skyhaven for a long weekend, even with the fever pitch, the heat and the excitement and the agitation. maybe he’s a glutton for punishment. maybe he knows he deserves it. maybe he’ll take you any way he can have you.

“there she is,” he says when you let yourself in, the same way he always does. grinning wide like he can’t stop himself. handsome in a way that makes your stomach twist. your mouth goes a little dry when you see that he’s only half dressed, just in his uniform slacks and socks because he didn’t realize how early you’d be getting to his place. 

the socks are ones he got when he was with you. cheap, girly, cute. pink and green, little frogs dotted all across his large feet. you’d been walking around skyhaven together and it had started raining, and soon enough your shoes and socks were soaked, same as his. he took you to a convenience store and bought temporary replacements, and these were the only socks, for some reason, that were sold in men’s sizes. 

“dressed up for today, huh?” you ask, motioning to the socks. “special occasion? were you the belle of the ball?”

“i got to dance with the prince and everything,” he tells you. comes over to greet you with a hug, and you try to ignore the heat of his skin, his unbuckled belt. he’s so big that the embrace swallows you up, makes you feel like you’re eighteen again and caleb is coming home from the daa to see you. home is the word that sticks in your mind, that refuses to leave. “and, would you believe it, they crowned me homecoming queen.”

“i thought they stopped doing that at royal gatherings,” you say into his chest. “too many queens in one room, you know? a lot of tension.” 

he laughs and holds you for longer than you feel is necessary. you have to shoo him away to get ready and try not to let your eyes wander as he walks to his—your?—bedroom. that matter will have to be settled before you sleep here tonight. you do a decent job at not looking at his wide, muscled back.

you do less of a good job at not looking when all he puts on is one of his old sleeveless shirts and a pair of basketball shorts from the daa. like you’re both back home. like he never left. irresistible isn’t a word that caleb is allowed. not in the context of you. but when he’s like this—when things feel close to before—that word comes closer to applying.

“wanna go to the ice cream place around the corner?” he grins when he asks you this, cocky, because he already knows your answer. “i think they have that weird old man flavor you like. what is it? rum raisin?”

“pecan praline,” you say, but you know he already knew that too. “and shut up, it’s good.”

he takes you to ice cream and pays. gets rocky road for himself. takes licks from your ice cream cone when you let down your defenses and makes you watch the flat of his tongue curl in a way that should be illegal.

well—he doesn’t make you watch. you make yourself watch. you think you would die if you didn’t. you wonder if he notices because he takes more licks than he has any right taking of a flavor he describes as "ancient and gross.”

when you get home—to his home, you clarify in your mind, though he has gone through pains to make it feel like yours as well—the ice cream is all gone. your hands are a little sticky. the cost of something whimsical and fun. he asks if you want to watch a movie before dinner and you say, “i don’t want to watch a movie.”

and everything gets a little quiet.

you hate that there’s something building between you. you hate that you can’t look it in the face and very easily figure out exactly what it is. you hate spending time with him but you don’t think life would be worth living if you never got to spend time with him again.

“what do you wanna do, then?” his voiced is laced with insinuation. you don’t think he meant to sound like this. his eyes dart away from yours for a moment to safer territory before coming back.

you feel like you’re in high school, like you’re visiting a guy friend’s home and he’s doing something that’s going to make you call caleb to come pick you up. except you don’t want to go home and you don’t want to be picked up and caleb is already right here in front of you, where you’ve maybe wanted him always.

“i want—” you start, and you can’t. you can’t look at it.

he steps towards you. he’s big—so much bigger than you remember. wider. he’s put on muscle since he came to skyhaven and part of you wants to know how much. “hmm?”

you want something he can’t give you. you want that something so bad you could unravel into yarn, ball yourself up and roll under a bed somewhere, never to be found. you think that longing and mourning are two different flavors of the same thing.

“cook for me,” you command, because telling him to do something is easier than making yourself do something, and you can have space from him while he’s in the kitchen.

he makes you dinner. your favorite. has the ingredients on hand like always, like when you used to drop in on him at the daa. like he was always prepared for you to be a part of his life, a permanent fixture. you eat together while watching a film that just came out, one you both wanted to see. thought you said you didn’t want to watch a movie, he teases when you put it on, and you ignore him because you’re both well aware that he’s prodding at a wound that’s liable to open.

the idea of space was abandoned the second he sat down—you’re pressed flush against his side, your head resting on his shoulder when you’re not taking bites of his incredible cooking. it’s the way you used to eat together when you were kids. you’re aware of every stretch of bare skin that touches his. he takes up so much space—needs basically half of the couch to accommodate him, leaning back, legs spread wide. he’s your caleb when he’s like this: relaxed, always poised to smile, wearing the same clothes he’s worn since high school.

you stretch your legs out across his lap, curling yourself into him. his arm instinctually reaches across the back of the couch, lets you find purchase against his chest. it’s a familiar spot. distance seems far away, a dulled knife. this is your well-worn home, a niche you carved out with your bare hands over many years.

he clears his throat and his body stiffens. just a little. doesn’t count, your mind provides. a false memory, his thumb against your lips. an accident. “gettin’ comfy?”

“mmhmm.” you let him take your empty plate from you to put it on the side table, the muscles of his chest shifting and flexing underneath your cheek. you free up one of your legs and run your instep down his bare shin. go further, loop back so the outside of your foot traces a path up his calf, smooths against dark hair and warm skin.

he stops breathing altogether for a moment. but then he laughs low, like he’s amused, like you can’t hear the hollowness in it. “need me to move? we can’t both fit in this seat.”

sometimes you wish you could fit in his skin. that your bones could lie next to each other’s long before you’re buried together. that you could be synonyms again, that your definitions could match. 

(but you wonder, even if the explosion never happened, if there wouldn’t have eventually been this rift between the two of you. if it was an accident it doesn’t count would’ve been able to hide everything forever, if you could’ve succeeded in living happily like you always had. as family.)

“i’m not comfortable yet,” you grumble, petulant, and you get closer. scoot your body until you’re nearly sitting on his closest thigh. 

his free hand goes to your legs immediately. firm. holding you purposefully, a little more distant from his body than you want. “careful,” he warns very quietly. his voice is cold. that new tone that you’re not as familiar with. that he never used to use with you.

it’s him showing too much. careful of what? you could ask, and he wouldn’t be able to answer you. 

and then, the return of the caleb you know, as if he’d never left. “you wanna sit in my lap?” an innocent question, tinged with boyish charm. if he controls it, he can handle it. his voice is a little hoarse, only around the edges. you pretend not to notice.

you used to sit in his lap and nap against his chest all the time when you were little. there wasn’t this feeling there before. this trepidation. there wasn’t the man who used to be your brother holding you away from the lines that could be crossed because the lines hadn’t been there.

now, when you nod, he situates you easily. part strength, part evol. he places you mid-thigh, moves his legs closer together to give you more of a seat. brings your arms up to wrap around his neck, hands smoothing up your forearms and leaving nothing but heat in their wake. “better?” he asks. 

you want to be closer. your throat burns with something you don’t want to name. he wears the same cologne he started wearing his first year at the daa, the one that you got him for his birthday. light and clean and after a while it became so intrinsic to the thought of him that you bought a second bottle to spray on your pillows when he was away from home. you often thought about burying your nose against his neck just to smell, just to take in as much of him as you could. 

and what’s he going to do to stop you? it seems like you’re both incapable of addressing this terrible thing that sits between you—this half-truth, this accident. you tilt your head up, nose brushing the underside of his jaw. he inhales sharply, begins to turn towards you in askance, but you hold his chin with your thumb. tilt his head so you have better access to his neck.

he lets you, because he always lets you have whatever you want. spoiled. you breathe in deeply and you can smell his pulse, his fear, his sweat. you feel the way he swallows against the skin between your nose and your lips.

this isn’t close enough. you move to straddle him—your legs bracket his, your face buried in the skin of his neck, cheeks burning hot against his skin. you breathe in deep and it’s still not enough. you need him inside you in a way that doesn’t make sense. not sex—something deeper. you want the air in his lungs to be in yours. you want his blood to pump through your body, keep you alive. you want his scent beneath your skin, trapped, only for you. your nails scratch across the hair at the nape of his neck. 

his hands go to your hips like instinct, like magnetism. his touch is the difference between temporary and permanent. or it could be. “wait,” he says, voice a rasp, a scrap of something ruined. “wait.”

“what?” you ask. what you really want to ask is should i not be doing this? you shouldn’t. you shouldn’t and you know this and there are many reasons why. 

your lips drag across his neck when you speak and he groans, a deep noise punched out of him, his fingers digging deeper into your skin. he had to do sensitivity training when he got the metal arm, he told you when you had discovered him doing repairs, when you added another secret he was keeping to the growing pile. another piece of the boy you knew lost to you forever. he had to train himself to hold pieces of fruit without bruising the skin. how easily he could bruise yours. “pip-squeak,” he says, chastising—playing at brother, playing at something he can no longer be. “what are you doing?”

he’s already hard, stiff against your thigh. this is not a position he should be in if he wants to play house with you still, play at family even though he told you all those years ago that he doesn’t see you like that. he knows what you’re doing. you know what you’re doing. you take the lobe of his ear in between your teeth and he pulls you against him like he can't stop himself, hips rolling to find friction, a moan building in his chest. an automatic response, a base need. the feeling of him hard between your legs makes you want to pry your own skin off with need.

“i can’t—” he starts, pushing you away again. scrambling to be a better man. holds you just so, makes sure your bodies aren’t flush. he’s never been able to fully remove you—just keep you at a distance, somewhere he can control your comings and goings. his fingers graze your wrist, then trap it easily. you let it happen because you want to. he pulls your hand from his face, frees himself, forces you to remove yourself from hiding and look at him. you can barely look him in the eye—too afraid of what you see in his gaze. something like desire atop the usual reverence. he brings his captured prize close to his lips, his breath warm against your palm. “i don’t wanna make assumptions.”

laughable. this is past assumptions. but you understand. an accident. it doesn’t count. there are excuses, even now, you could use to get out of this. “if you were going to make one,” you ask, “what would it be?”

he smiles, that terrible little grin that got him into so much trouble as a kid, but it’s a facsimile. a performance. something he’s gotten better at since he died—but you know him too well. he looks at your palm like he wants to lay his face there, nuzzle into your warmth. you want to tame him like a dog. you want to be the only person that knows him for the rest of his life. “it’d be one that’d change things,” he says, a little more serious. not cold. still caring—just a warning. this is a point of no return. this is something I can’t come back from.

“as if things haven’t already changed,” you say, and you sound bitter because you are. because you’re not just talking about him between your legs, beneath you. 

you know him too well. his expression falters. he’s worried that you’re being self-destructive, that you're not doing this because you want to. you can see it on his face—the muted hope turning into concern, the desire banking its flames because there’s another problem to deal with, another emotion he has to fix for you. this is when you failed an exam at the hunter academy and told him you wanted to drop out. this is you catastrophizing, making the worst of a problem because if it already hurts, it might as well hurt more.

before he can put a true end to this, you say, “there was a point where you saw me as your sister.”

he swallows hard. his cock twitches against your thigh but you have to ignore that for your own sanity. “not now.”

you consider your next words very carefully. realize you shouldn't say them. “you’re the only person i ever think about when i touch myself.”

his breath stills. he says your name, quiet, like that’s going to stop you.

you’re punishing him. you’re punishing yourself. if you were a better person, you’d tell him you love him instead of telling him this. “if i’m not thinking about you, i can’t...” the word feels dirty. something you shouldn’t say in front of caleb, even though in your fantasies, he’s the one that makes you cum with his fingers, his tongue, then tells you how much he loves you after. he’s the one that fucks you like it’s the thing he was made to do.

he lets go of your wrist, runs a shaky hand down his face. breathes out through his nose in a way that sounds pained. “why are you doing this?”

“you always told me that i should tell my big brother the truth.” it’s the worst thing you could have said and it shows. he looks so guilty that you almost feel bad for him. but there are other things he should feel more guilty for, arguably worse than this. for you—for his punishment—this can be enough. “did you change your mind?”

he stares at you for a long moment, obviously warring with himself inside his head. the choice: to give in or to push you away. one of those would be the right thing, and one of those is what he wants. are you his sister or not? are you more than that, or less?

that question you can answer. more, always. because it’s the same for you. he’s always been more, the center of your universe. you gladly fell into his orbit long ago, and there’s nothing he could do that would make you want to leave.

his chest rises and falls rapidly beneath his sleeveless shirt. his arms tense as he reaches for you, then stops himself. “it feels like you’re doing this because you hate me.”

so he’s caught on to the fact that this is punishment, partially. “i could never hate you,” you say. “didn’t you tell me that, too?”

“when’d you get so mean, huh?” he asks. “where’s that pretty girl i grew up with?”

you sulk a little. tactical. “do you not think i’m pretty now?”

“‘course i do,” he says, giving in to what he wants, trailing long fingers up the side of your neck, spreading out his hand to hold your jaw. “still the prettiest girl in the world.” he’s looking at your lips, your chin in his hand, his words so quiet it’s almost as if they’re not for you. 

“do you do the same?”

“hmm?” he asks, still distracted by the tips of his fingers and their proximity to your lips. what could be: his thumb on your tongue. an accident. or not, anymore.

“do you think about me when you make yourself cum?”

a deep groan, this time. his hand moving to hold you in place by the back of your neck, his forehead against yours. the way he used to check your temperature when you were sick. he always takes care of you. he squeezes, and you think of the bruised skin of a fruit, you think of just how much pain you’d have to inflict for him to feel it. “if we do this,” he says, “i’m yours for good.”

yours for good. “i thought you already were?”

he looks up at you, laughs breathlessly. shocked, maybe, by your claim. amused by it. but not contesting it. “i really did spoil you too much when you were little, didn’t i?”

he did. you reach between your bodies, tugging at the tag of the necklace you’d gifted him when he graduated high school and regifted him when he came back from the dead. he knows what you want. you’re synonyms again, even if briefly. your desires run parallel.

he kisses you like he’s done it a million times, like it’s familiar. his mouth warm against yours, his body yielding under your touch, and you let out a noise that feels like mourning. there’s something lost in this moment even as there’s something gained. 

he pulls you to him closer, like he’s trying to make up for the loss. his tongue slides across yours, warm and careful despite his harsh grip on you. you part so he can pull at the hem of your shirt, and wordlessly you take it off, request the same of him. 

there’s a period of time he just spends looking at you, gaze hazy, fingers trailing up your sides. it’d feel like scrutiny if you didn’t understand it so well—finally seeing the real thing when you’ve imagined it so many times. it takes a moment for fantasy and reality to click, for you to realize that you’re not dreaming.

“i'm gonna move us, okay?” it’s now that he cracks, that he realizes he doesn’t want to have you on his couch. he’s always been like this—traditional in some ways, odd in others. your first time is going to be in his bed, you think, because that’s where first times are supposed to be. 

and you’re right—he carries you to his bedroom, mechanical arm looped underneath your legs. he has the skin graft on. you hate that there’s a new part of him that’s hidden to you, that you don’t know as well as the rest of him.

when he lays you down on his cool sheets, lays himself between your legs, intent on kissing you again, you stop him. a finger against his lips. he looks down at you, a little frantic. “you wanna stop?” he asks. his tone implies that this would be okay. his body language does not. if you wanted to stop, he’d let you—but he would never let you uncross the line of touching him the way you have. you can hear the fear in his voice. the worry that you’ll ask for things to go back to normal and for the first time in his life, he won’t be able to give you what you want.

you shake your head. relief makes the lines of his body soften, makes him take the hand you still have proffered to him and softly kiss each knuckle one by one. you use his sudden pliability to grab his hand, pull it closer to your face. you inspect the grafted skin closely, pretend it doesn’t make you insane that he can’t feel the touch. it alarms you how faithful it is to the original, even though you’re assuming there wasn’t much of caleb’s arm left to replace after the explosion. he has a scar on his ring finger from knocking a boy’s tooth out after he tried to touch you inappropriately on the playground at school. it’s still there, smooth and pearlescent. you kiss it and wonder if he remembers.

“something's on your mind. you gonna tell me what it is?” he asks. kisses you light and reassuring. confident, like this is something routine from the entire time he’s known you. you wonder if it’s the same for him: you imagine having something so often that when it's finally yours, it’s easy to forget that there was a point where it wasn’t.

“i don’t want you to belong to anyone but me,” you tell him. it’s the tamest of what you could say. you’re worried you’ll scare him with the intensity of your thoughts, with the need you feel for him. 

“thought we covered that,” he says. yours for good. he sports that boyish grin that you could never capture in photos because his whole heart is only in the expression when he’s looking you in the eyes. it makes you feel like an animal in heat and like you’re saying goodbye to a loved one for good. two opposites shoved inside the same feeling, forced to become synonyms.

you make him undress entirely, your breath nearly petering out when you see him fully, his body a trained weapon. he's so hard for you that it looks painful, that he shudders and grabs your wrist when you try to slide your palm against him. "not yet," he tells you, lightly snaps the strap of your bra. when you undress you keep your panties on. you didn’t wear anything special for him—didn’t think being with caleb like this would be in the realm of possibility, even though everything has been leading here for weeks—but he still short-circuits at the sight of you in very regular underwear. stares for too long before pulling at the elastic with his long fingers, eyes fluttering closed, breath coming quick. “god… look at you.” his fingers dip into the waistband, tug a little harder.

“not yet,” you say. copying him, like you used to when you were younger. bat your eyelashes at him when he gives you an exasperated look. he laughs like he’s not at the edge of his patience, laughs like your commands are amusing to him, but silently complies. he slots himself between your legs, ruts against you, kisses you messier and messier. your underwear is ruined by his precum and your arousal, the fabric so slick that it’s almost like you’re feeling him skin-to-skin. almost, but not quite. the noises he makes go from composed to completely unrestrained. you’re making him wait longer than you should, maybe. 

“what if i told you to cum like this?” you ask, legs tightening around him.

he makes a defeated noise, a plea devoid of words. “you have to let me cum inside you.”

“i have to?” you ask, teasing. then, a little pouty: “you’d say no?”

he pulls away from you and groans, and in his eyes are you’re killing me here and i can’t believe we’re doing this and clearer than that i need you, i need you however i can have you. “no,” he says after a moment. “no, i’d do it, but—give me something. let me eat you out, at least. please.”

you relent. maybe you’re too easy to persuade. but you think, in all honesty, that you’re just as bad at saying no to him as he is to you. you pull him back between your legs, drag his hand as if commanding him. you use his fingers to slip your panties to the side. “i just wanted to hear you say you’d do it.”

when he touches you fully for the first time, his skin meeting wet heat, the noise that comes from his chest is indecent, fully broken. “oh… fuck,” he says, and like he can’t stop himself, there’s a long finger inside of you, curling, and then two. he sits back to watch, to see where he disappears inside of you, and you want more than just this.

“caleb,” you say, and he should know what you mean because he always does. the different tones of his name—whether you want him to do something for you, or stop what he’s doing, or do something different entirely—it’s a language. even with this new element to your relationship, the basics haven’t changed.

he knows this. he understands. he smiles, wide and wicked. “what?”

“you know what.”

“yeah, i know what.” his focus is unbroken. he’s always been intense about the things he thinks are important. “i’m gonna make you cum first, and then you can have what you want. sound good?”

you would respond but his thumb finds your clit and he works you like he’s always known what your body wants. maybe he has. maybe it’s automatic, a knowledge deep in his cells from all the time you’ve spent together. 

he looks so smug you could stop everything right now just to wipe that look off his face. you could give him everything he ever wanted just to keep seeing it. there’s a deep thrum within your body that’s just his name over and over again, like he’s the blood pumping through you, like he’s the only thing you need to stay alive. 

“wait,” you say, and at first he doesn’t but when he realizes you’re serious, he stills, concern putting a crease between his brows. but you’re fine with his plan. you just want something. “keep kissing me?”

“needy,” he chides, but his expression softens. less cocky, more reverent. he keeps a slow pace until you need it faster, keeps his fingers pumping inside of you until you tighten around them so much that he can’t move them anymore, until every breath feels like a moan. and the whole time his lips on yours, the kisses much too chaste for what he’s currently doing to you. so careful, so loving. 

when you finish on his fingers he chuckles, presses an open mouth kiss to your neck that has your thighs clenching around his arm with a force that makes you scared you could snap bones. 

“no way in hell were you gonna get me off first,” he says into your neck.

“it wasn’t a competition,” you say.

“it kinda was,” he says. kisses the flutter of your pulse, teeth so close to your skin that it’s all you can think about. he pulls off your final piece of clothing, fingers still wet, tracing your own slick across your skin. “and i won. so i’m gonna help myself to my reward now.”

it makes sense that your first time with him is in missionary because that’s how you’ve always imagined it. you want to see his eyes, his face, the way his jaw clenches when he fills you entirely. the only thing that's different from your fantasies: it’s unspoken the way you both need to be making unbroken eye contact as he slides in. as he stretches you much farther than his fingers did. 

you keen like a dog when he bottoms out, and he looks bereft of belief. laughs, breathy, like this is something easy to brush off, like this isn’t him inside of you for the first time, and then gets very serious, quiets, because there’s no way to minimize this moment. you’re connected in one of the deepest ways you can be. he barely breathes. he doesn’t stop looking you in the eye, a connection so intense that you can almost feel it more than him physically within you. 

he can’t keep it up when he begins to move. he brings you forehead to forehead, one hand holding himself up and the other gripping the head of the bed frame—the mechanical hand, because you hear the groan of twisting metal, and you think of skin bruising, you think of how easily he could kill you. how easily you could kill him. because he’d let you, if you tried. if you really wanted him dead.

“i don’t understand what you do to me,” he pants. you wonder if he misspoke or if he really doesn’t understand what it is you do to him, why he feels the way he does. his thrusts grow increasingly frantic, hips sloppy in their movements. “thought about this—so much," he tells you, and you know he's telling the truth by the way his voice breaks on the words.

the thought of him being with someone other than you crosses your mind and you feel pain so sharp you could die. you dig your teeth into his shoulder because you want to mark him. you want to mark him so deep that it’s retroactive, that anyone that might have seen him like this before you knows that he was always destined to end up yours.

he whines, pitchy, a hand—flesh and blood, the one he can feel you with—pushing your thighs up higher, spreading you out to infinite ends. “that’s good, baby,” he murmurs—about the bite, you think. he tries to pull you closer, as if you could get closer than this. you feel him in your throat, he’s so deep. “love you,” he whispers, quiet like he didn’t mean to say it, but he repeats it again, and again, and again.

and you love him so much. you love him so much you could burst with it. you hate that he left you and you hate that he’s different now and you hate that there are parts of him you don’t know entirely, that you didn’t help create. you cradle his head, let him whisper into your ear, press a kiss to his hairline between shaky breaths. 

“not gonna last,” he bites out, voice tight. “can you... please, one more time for me?”

it’s easy with the pressure that’s building within you. his hand moves between you, messy, thumb pawing at your clit with little to no rhythm. confident but clearly inexperienced. it doesn’t matter—it’s him, caleb, and you’ve wanted him like this for so long that even that small touch is enough to push you over, to have your muscles tensing and collapsing and folding in on themselves. you curl around him like you’re never going to let him go. 

his hips snap to yours once, twice more before he spills inside of you, your name spoken over and over again. a mantra. an accident. it didn’t count.

but this counted. this wasn’t an accident. this was everything you wanted since the first time you saw him as more than a brother, more than the boy you grew up with. his cum inside of you and his spit in your mouth and your name on his lips. his skin wedged underneath your fingernails as you leave whatever marks you can. undeniable proof that you were here, that you were his, that he was yours.

he lies against you—holding himself up, maybe, so he doesn’t crush you with his weight. but you want all of it. you want to feel all of him always. you lay in silence for a minute before either of you have the strength to move. you card your nails through his hair and he hums into your neck, then rolls you, uses his strength instead of his evol to carefully place you at his side. you slide your arm across his perfect chest, curl a thigh and slot your calf between his. now that you’ve been that close, it’s impossible to remove yourself.

loudly, he hums again, satisfied. you'd be annoyed with him if the sound didn't put such warmth in your chest. he plays with the ends of your hair, kisses the top of your head. “so… are you gonna patch up my injuries or do i have to call a medical team?”

you snort, smacking his chest. still flushed, so pretty in the dim light of the bedroom. “i didn’t do anything that bad.”

“i dunno, you bit me pretty hard." he plays at massaging his shoulder, and for a moment you worry. but even if you did hurt him—even if you drew blood—you think he wouldn't mind. "if it scars I’m gonna have to think of something to tell people when they ask me about it.”

“just tell them it was me,” you say. you’re only half joking.

“you wouldn’t believe how I got this,” he says to an imagined crowd. “my girlfriend’s got chompers like you’ve never seen.”

he can’t see your face, but you bite your lip—hide the magnitude of your smile. press your heated face into his chest and enjoy the way his drying sweat feels against your skin. “someone should take her in for scientific study,” you respond. an unspoken answer to his unspoken question. “put her in a museum.”

“nah, you can’t spend all your time being studied. you’ve got more important places to be.”

“my job?” you ask. “protecting linkon?”

“hmm…” he pretends to think about it, rubs his chin against the top of your head. musses up your hair on purpose to make you laugh. like when you were younger and would sleep huddled up next to him after a nightmare, but so much different. “no. here with me.”

you sigh, dramatic, as if that’s not the only place you ever want to be. “guess i’ll have to disappoint the greater scientific community.”

“i’d keep you here with me forever if i could.” his playfulness is suddenly gone. the words are full of longing, the kind that feels sticky, the kind where you know you can never truly have everything you want but you’ll take what you can get.

there are so many things that would make this impossible—not just the impracticality, but the pieces of your lives. the outside forces driving a wedge between the two of you. the secrets, the things that have changed, the things that have stayed too much the same. and yet, if things were simpler, you could want that. just to be his implicitly, and him yours, and nothing else. only existing to each other. synonyms, almost—something closer than that. one word with two slightly different meanings. in minutiae, the same.

there’s no way to truly put this into words for him. “forever could be negotiated,” you say, and hope that some fraction of what you feel is expressed in the words. you want to keep him in a way that’s impossible. you want to hold him in your mouth like a secret, in your body like a breath.

he’s quiet for a while. holding you, feeling your permanence. “you can say you love me back, you know. i won’t even tease you for it.”

and you remember the way he whispered love you, love you, fuck, i’m so in love with you into your ear and feel guilty for not saying it then, for making him wait. but the words are heavy. trapped. it’s difficult to say a secret aloud after you’ve kept it for so much time, despite the fact that it’s already been revealed.

you prop yourself up on an arm, take his face in your hands. he doesn’t look as confident as his words sounded. there’s a hesitance in his gaze, a fear that even now you would reject him. even now you would ask to return to the way things were before, that you would expect him to swallow his feelings—or worse, that you would leave because he couldn’t. 

“i’d live inside you if i could,” you say, because somehow this is easier. and he understands—pulls you towards him for a kiss, like he’s telling you it’s okay, for now this is enough. but it’s easier with your eyes closed, with his hand cradling your face, when you can feel his proximity but you don’t have to look. “i love you.”

he smiles when you kiss him again. grins so wide he can hardly kiss you back. smug, content, entirely too pleased with this situation. it annoys you how much you adore the cocky side of him, the side that can allow itself to be overconfident in retrospect. now that you’ve said the feelings out loud, he can tell you how obvious it’s always been that you’re head over heels for him.

he opens his mouth to say some smart comment and you have to put your finger against his lips to preemptively quiet him. “you said no teasing.”

“i don’t remember that.”

“then you have a terrible memory.”

he kisses your finger, amused at your insistence on quieting him. “you know that’s not true. i’m gonna remember every detail of today. and at our wedding, everyone is gonna hear the story about how you finally told me you love me after years of pining—”

“you’re projecting,” you say, “but i'll let you tell your little story.”

his cheeks are rosy, flushed. maybe because you hit a nerve he left wide open for you, or maybe because you weren’t phased at all by his choice of words—another quiet presumption, another quiet acquiescence. “i’m still waiting for medical attention, in case you forgot.”

“can i kiss it better, or are you actually going to make me go get your first aid kit?”

he pretends to think about it. tries to hide his smile and fails. you love him so wholly that you could die from it. “there’ve been some crazy strides in modern medicine recently,” he tells you, mock-serious. “that first option might just work. i’m putting my life in your hands, doc.”

you kiss the mark you left on him and you think: i’d keep you here forever if i could. one word, the same definition. you’ll run parallel to him until there’s nothing left. 

[rei-ismyname]

Cyclops earns Logan's respect through violence

The X-Men have just tangled with Proteus (and Moira, kinda) for the first time. It didn't go well, with Kurt and Logan feeling it the most after going through the looking glass. Logan is shutting down but Scott has an idea - insulting the fuck out of him. Really going to town emasculating, embarrassing, and provoking him into a fight. Are they lovers? Worse.

Scott knows what buttons to push. Chuck would be proud.

He figures he needs to speak Logan's language - toxic masculinity and ultraviolence. Kurt is like wtf are you doing? so Scott starts on him but it's in service of comparing him to Logan, accusing him of faking trauma.

Cyclops throws a drink in Wolverine's face and basically calls him a bitch, challenging him on their long rivalry. Logan takes the bait and stands up to fight. It's what Scott wanted but now he has to fight an angry and emasculated Wolverine. He keeps pushing him verbally during their fight, with his thought bubbles taking a very different tone. A judo flip and Logan is on his back, but he's up quickly and swinging to kill, bub.

Scott's shit talking intensifies, even as he's thinking about how difficult and dangerous this is. After framing the situation as 'man-to-man roughhousing' (so homoerotic) he moves to draw the other X-Men into the fight. There's a lot of drill sergeant vibes going on here, antagonising the team by giving them something to unite against. Scott flings Logan at Kurt, who is really not loving this at all.

'What's the matter shorty?' hits different

Banshee is wigging out, thinking they're going to kill each other - so he asks Colossus to break it up before someone dies. Jean knows what's going on, however, and tells them to stay out of it. Cyke is running rings around Logan, even reflecting an optic blast off Colossus to hit him from behind.

Woo, violence!

Kurt even speculates that Scott might be possessed, lol, so he tries to teleport in for a strike. Cyke has clearly played Space Invaders though, and he has his number, blasting him out of the sky.

With the others temporarily down, Ororo has finally had enough of this shit and she summons a lightning bolt as a warning. Cyclops plays possum a little then rolls into an optic blast right at her feet.

With three X-Men after him and more likely to join the fray (or just Storm getting serious) Scott quits while he's ahead, calling for peace. Logan especially doesn't think much of that notion until Scott and Jean explain. This was Scott leading and making sure the team was okay, Logan most of all.

Logan even opens up a little, admitting he was spooked. He says the obvious, that he hasn't thought much of Scott but is happy to concede he was wrong. I think Scott appreciates that more than he admits, and this is not the last time he'll have to fight all the X-Men. All that danger room training paid off. I could write a dozen essays on this issue but for now I'll just say it's an important one for the X-Men as a team as well as the Scott/Logan relationship.

I've never been in a paramilitary group, though I have had people try the tough love approach to my trauma. I don't speak to them anymore, because it's a messed up way to act. It's pretty satisfying here, and might even be the right decision. It's hard to argue with the results, but FR the X-Men all need therapy. Logan needs super therapy, or you know, to fight his friends every few months. This ISN'T Logan Behavior, not yet. It's messed up, but he's still a reasonable person at this point trying to be better. Havok and Polaris just watch without comment, which is kinda funny too.

[ciricearts]

Hi again, same anon who sent you the proship statement, just want to add that I really admire you and don't want you to think that I'm trying to belittle you or say how you should think with what I said but it saddens and worries me with how fandoms are becoming very purist and unaccepting of everything bcs this has a such a wide impact on fandom culture and free speech pls research that and be more open-minded. Set boundaries ofc but don't just think that every proship person in the same way bcs everyone is different, also sorry if my English is slightly poor, not my native language. Sending kudos to you, in love with how you draw Jason❤️ he's my fav character.

Don't worry, I'm just not in favor of it and I don't think my point of view will change. I have had quite a few negative experiences with these types of people, and I would not want people who enjoy pairing characters, even fictional ones, on topics that include p3dophilia, inc3st, abus3, or other topics, to interact with me. and I'm sorry, but I think that what you like, even if it is fiction, really shows something about you and your morals, I will never like an incestuous relationship because I find it disgusting even if it is fiction because of how my brain interprets it.

I don't know what experiences you have had, but mine was interacting with people who literally consume P3DOPHILIA, Z00PHILIA, 1NC3ST, S3XUAL AND 3MOTIONAL ABUS3, among other things, it is not a matter for those who are morally superior, but I just want to set my limits, and I insist a lot on it because even so, proship people do not respect my limits, so I have no choice but to speak clearly about it.

I will not risk this type of experience again just to try to understand this type of mentality that I do not agree with.

People who know me know that I am very open-minded on these topics as long as they have to do with consent.

It's not about being mature, it's about setting limits and making my point of view clear from the above.

I am not looking to change your point of view, I simply want to emphasize mine, you are free to stop consuming my content if that is your opinion.

[strawberryblue-blog]

Real love —Pedri Gonzalez.

summary: You and Pedri were best friends in childhood and have some history and you see each other again after a long time.

warning: YES. +18. smut, soft, cute.

words count: +3k.

#SEXYNOTE: I apologize for any mistakes in the story. English is not my first language and i use a translator.

The town square is illuminated with golden lights and garlands hanging from the bare trees as your eyes scan the place. You haven't been back here in seven years, yet every corner feels familiar. The music echoes in the air, people's laughter mingles with the murmurs of the party, and you hold your glass in both hands, trying to conceal the nervousness that invades you.

It shouldn't be a problem, it's just a reunion of old friends back home. You've been telling yourself that over and over again since you accepted the invitation from Luis, that friend who insisted you come. Everyone is here, your childhood friends, schoolmates, people from the neighborhood. All surprised to see you again after almost seven years abroad, greeting you cheerfully while everyone is having fun and wishing each other a good night.

The atmosphere is perfect, just as you remember it. You are a little excited, although you feel that part of you is missing something. Your friends are asking you all sorts of questions, your friends are jokingly trying to flirt with you, acquaintances are asking you how it's going. The music is at its peak and you dance animatedly with your friends like old times. When you get tired, your gaze scans the place, looking for Luis, who disappeared quite a while ago.

But suddenly, you feel a knot in your stomach.

And then you see him.

Pedro Gonzalez has his back turned, talking to someone, but you don't need to see his face to recognize him. His posture, the way he moves his hands while talking... it's him.

You stand still, feeling the accelerated heartbeat in your chest. When did he come back? Why didn't Luis tell you? Or one of your friends? You question yourself as you try to ignore the fact that he's here.

But the urge to approach invades you and you bite your lip nervously. It's really him. You can see him when he turns a little. He's with his brother Fer and his old friends, amused.

Even though he's different, more mature, taller, "better looking", he still looks just like your five year old mind remembered. Your childhood best friend. Your school chum. Your secret crush. Your first kiss, your first time. You had been together your whole life and when you turned 17 you promised to be together forever. Although it seemed that life had other dishes for you and finally, you each went on with your lives.

Your stomach churns when Pedro turns and his eyes meet yours. Did he recognize you or didn't he?

For an instant, everything disappears. The murmur, the music, the chill of the night. There are only his dark eyes staring at you in disbelief. His lips half open, as if he's going to say something, but he doesn't. Neither do you. You both stand still, as if time has stopped, as if the girl you were and the boy he was are there, looking at each other after almost a decade of distance.

You blink and look away. You realize you're squeezing the glass too hard and you loosen your fingers. Pedro makes a slight movement, as if to move closer but at the last moment he stops when his friends speak to him again.

The tension is palpable, though neither of you dares to break it. You want to get closer but you don't know if he feels the same.

Luis, appears patting his back and then sees you a few feet away, going straight for you, as he drags you towards the group of friends.

"Look who's back homeeee" he mutters towards them and they all turn to see you. Pedri's eyes light up and you smile at him.

"Hi guys" you greet cheerfully. They come over to hug and greet you.

"Y/n, we don't recognize you anymore!" says one of them hugging you, the ones like this agree. "You look super beautiful!"

"Thank you, Raul. You look handsome too" you thank him giving him a hug back.

When his moment arrives, his heart is pounding but you just pretend it is.

"Hello Pedro" you greet with nostalgia.

"Hello YN" he says in his sweet voice.

He produces some effects on you, as your skin bristles when you hear your name back in his mouth or his eyes so deep in yours.

Pedri smiles shyly at you as you approach him, your hands wrap around his shoulders and he holds your waist, melding them in a reunion embrace.

"You've grown up" he murmurs amused. "You've even changed your hair color..." he says somewhat surprised and you nod.

You smile at him.

"You too, Pedro" your hand flies to his hair shaking it, like old times. He smiles shyly and denies laughing when you remember the gesture.

"I like it, it suits you" he insists when his eyes meet yours.

You thank him with a smile and are interrupted by your friends, who walk up to you. Your mind lingers on that moment, on your reunion with your childhood best friend. When you used to be inseparable, when you met in room five, you were the two smallest in the school but you were the most terrible. Pedri was the friend who never left you alone and you were the one who helped him with homework, a promise you had made when you were only five years old. A distracted boy and a lonely girl. You always used to walk, play, study together, you even had the same friends. Although you were somewhat in shock to see him again today, no one had told you that he would be coming home too and you had a faint suspicion that maybe that's what you had come here for today.

Memories come back to your mind and you smile nostalgically, your gaze drifts to Pedro and you find him looking at you the same way. Your cheeks flush red as you look deeply at each other, averting your gaze to disguise that you weren't seeing him. Despite your childhood together and your secret relationship in your teens, you now look strangers and you can't blame him, he pursued his life in Barcelona chasing his dream and you went to England to become what you wanted most. Sometimes you kept in touch, for his birthday or yours, you even congratulated him when you became European champions. But you were limited to simple words. You had both grown up, you had changed close circles, you had watched, you had become his people.

You secretly admired him. You had to admit it. You followed every game, hoping to see him again and longing to meet him sometime, but now it was a ball of fear. Would it be like before? Or were you really strangers? You had to admit you wanted to get close to talk to him but you also didn't want to get your hopes up.

The party goes on and you separate from the group of guys, each going his own way but you were still watching each other from a distance. You met Pedri's gaze in yours when you turned to see him, you smiled at each other but didn't get closer.

When the party goes on, you excuse yourself saying you need air, while you try to find Luis, who disappears at some point of the party and you still can't find him. He is supposed to be the one who would take you home, since he was the one who convinced you to come in the first place. You curse silently.

"Looks like you've been left alone" Pedri's voice surprises you. He's behind you but you feel he's come closer than you expected.

You look up and he's smiling but there's some insecurity in his expression.

"I guess so" you mumble putting your phone away. "He promised he'd wait for me" you purse your lips.

"Maybe he didn't leave but he probably won't come quickly" he says amused and you laugh. "I can give you a ride if you want."

The proposal catches you off guard. You hesitate. It's been a long time since you were the inseparable friends you once were. Now you are two strangers with a past in common, you trust him but you don't know if it's the right thing to do. It's late though, and your house is far away and quite close to Pedri's. He probably just wants to be nice and feels commitment because he's the only one here you might know.

"Are you sure?" you ask, though you're not sure what answer you want.

Pedro nods.

Minutes later, you're in your car. At first, the silence feels heavy, awkward. Until he mentions a childhood anecdote, something silly about a Christmas when you tried to steal cookies from your grandmother's house. And, without realizing it, you laugh. The atmosphere becomes cozier even though it is tense, it is obvious that there is something more going on between you.

The words begin to flow naturally. You talk about your lives, about how you studied abroad and he went to Barcelona to work. You discover that, although time has separated you, there is something about his company that still feels familiar. You feel comfortable with him, just as you always did. And you are grateful that his bond is still there, despite the time.

"Remember when we were planning to travel all over the world?" he says momentarily, with a nostalgic smile.

"Yeah" Your laugh is soft but there's something bittersweet about it. "We were sixteen, we weren't serious" you say biting your lip.

When you remembered that, you bite your lip nostalgically.

It was at that same age when you had your first kiss together, you were naughty and curious kids, Fer had had his first girlfriend and you wanted to know what it felt like. A year later, you were still kissing and sneaking around, it was even him who took your virginity. You sighed at the memory, trying to get those thoughts out of your head. It had been in the past, you were young and stupid, now everything had changed.

Because, even though you dreamed it all together, you each ended up going your own way. Maybe you didn't make much effort to continue your relationship, maybe it was you who decided to move away a little, maybe it was fate. You don't know.

But you feel that something in you has changed tonight. And not in the way you want it to.

It's the way he looks at you, the warmth in his voice, the ease with which you can reconnect after so long. Something inside you that you thought was buried is beginning to awaken.

You can't afford this. Pedro will leave, just like last time. You don't want to make the same mistake again from the past when you were that little girl. You can't get attached again to someone who won't stay. And you'll go back to being the lonely little girl you once were.

The car pulls up in front of your house. You remain silent, hesitating whether to say something or not.

Pedro also hesitates. There's something in his gaze, as if he's debating whether to say goodbye or do something else. And then he does.

He leans toward you, slowly, giving you time to walk away if you wish. But you don't. You stand there, feeling your palms sweat and his legs falter as his lips brush yours.

When hia lips touch yours, it's as if those seven years of distance never existed. As if you were again in that summer when everything was simpler, when life had not yet separated you. It is a slow, soft and delicate kiss. Like a first kiss. Like the last time. Although you don't want it to be. Then, as you both gasp for air, you kiss again. This time, harder, more desperate and needy. The tension builds and you let yourselves be carried away by the need to feel.

His hands shoot to your waist and he pulls you closer to him, causing a gasp to escape your lips. Embarrassed, you pull away a little and can't believe what just happened. Your mind explodes, it's a lot to swallow and you try to take in what just happened but you don't have time. His lips take you again, as your stomach roars with nerves. You feel a little shaken by the movements, it's not an appropriate thing to be making out with your ex-best friend in his car outside your house but you do it anyway, with haste and vehemence. As if you've been waiting for this moment for almost a decade and maybe you were.

As you feel your lips go numb, your foreheads pressed together, your breaths hitching in the silence of the night.

Your hands hold your face while yours cling to your muscular necks, your are agitated and anxious but make no move.

"I'm sorry, I had to" he admits in a whisper and you smile shyly.

You don't know what to answer, you're nervous. Too nervous. You never expected that he was the one who kissed you.

"You wanted to?" he asks at your silence.

You nod with your cheeks red with embarrassment. Of course you wanted to, wasn't it clear from your kiss? Or maybe he was being polite. He was so special.

"I saw you tonight after so much, I guess I didn't want to miss my chance" he murmurs and you feel your heart race. You smile a little confused but aware of the way your whole system sped up. How your whole mind clouded over.

And there, with your heart pounding, you decide that maybe you don't have to hide your secret much longer. You bring your mouth to his and kiss him again, if I understand the warmth of his touch is your skin, his wet lips on yours, his hot tongue dancing with yours.

It's been a long time since you've felt this way again, since you two saw each other, it was imminent. You needed each other, missed each other. You pull away from him, open the car door and get out, motioning for him to follow you. Pedri confused, does so, without hesitation. You tiptoe around the front of your house, going to the gate and carefully open it. The night is still dark and you can barely see each other in the darkness, he takes your hand as you enter your backyard and you direct him towards the tree house that is still intact in your yard. The same house in which you only spend hours here, the same house in which you dreamed your future.

A giggle escapes you as you almost trip over your heels on the grass and kick them off, as you begin to giggle like children. You start to climb the ladder, carefully and when you are inside the tree house, you reach for a quilt that was on the ground. Then you sit down on the floor waiting for Pedri, who immediately comes back for you. He crawls towards you and you take his face again to kiss him, this time much safer, more intimate. It is a fleeting kiss but full of love as Pedri crawls up to you, positioning himself between your legs on top of your body. Your fingers play with the strands of his hair, nervous and eager, enjoying his warm lips. His mouth moves to your neck and kisses that weak spot, making you moan, biting your lip to hide the gasps. His hands roam your waist, your belly, your legs.

He begins to undo the zipper of your dress and with some clumsiness, due to the little room and the discomfort of the floor, he manages to take off your dress, leaving you in your underwear. Then your hands find the buttons of his shirt and start to undo them, one by one, while you start kissing wildly again. When you remove his shirt, your hands caress his shoulders and pecs, embracing them with your fingers, touching his hot, strong skin. You had missed him and so much.

He gasps and caresses your bare waist, roaming his hands down your body until he reaches your bra. He pulls away from your mouth and asks your permission with his eyes, which you quickly nod. You want him to touch you, every part of your body, every corner of your mind. You need him. Pedri undoes the bra and pulls the straps down your arms, slowly and lovingly, carefully, under your gaze in his. The atmosphere is sticky, warm and lovely. It's special and you both know it. You make it so. Its special feeling.

Your breasts are exposed to him and even though he already knows every part of your body, he feels you like that first time when you were just teenagers only now you are both grown and changed. You help him take off his pants and he pulls them off a little further away, both of you are left with only one garment and anxiously looking at each other's bodies like the first time. It's so romantic, the way he looks at you, the way he touches you, the way he feels you. Gasping sighs are heard throughout the tree house, disappearing into the darkness of the night outside the walls.

Finally, you are both naked, Pedri on top of you, kissing your neck, his fingers wandering down your chest, all the way to the hollow of your breasts. He asks permission again with his gaze and you don't even have to speak, your erect nipples speak for you. His lips encircle one of your nipples, with his hot tongue he licks them and you squeal with relief. His fingers take the other and his palm encircles your breast, squeezing it as he hears you moan. Your hands wrap around his neck and you caress his soft skin, as he settles between your legs. It is so glorious. The way Pedri makes you feel with a single glance, let alone how he makes you feel with his touches.

Memories of that first time come back to you as he lines up at your entrance, his cock playing with your hot center, moistening with your arousal. You both gasp with pleasure as he opens up inside you, little by little, unhurriedly, with precision. Compared to that time, this time it is safer, Pedri already knows what your body is like and knows his body above all, so you both emerge in an endless desire of pleasure. Your hands don't stop holding his shoulders, your back arches with every movement, it's soft, deep and romantic. You've never felt anything like this before. This is not just sex. It's something deeper that not everyone can reach.

It's love.

"I've missed you, little one" he whispers as their foreheads touch.

Your smile appears on your mouth and you feel your body react to his confession. You've missed him too, more than you think.

"I missed you too, Pedro" your hands hold his shoulders tightly.

You can't keep talking, despite having thousands of things to say, but you are in an ecstasy of pleasure.

His eyes on yours as he penetrates you and you gasp with pleasure, your bodies sweaty and hot, your skins clinging to each other, your hearts beating with desperation. It is just as you remembered it. That night when you were seventeen, inexperienced little boys who were curious and just wanted to become adults. Today, adults remembering the past, living the future.

His strokes are more erratic, more desperate, as you feel the pleasure building in your belly. You want to scream but his lips silence yours as he continues to fuck you lovingly, gently. His body fits perfectly into yours, your hands were born to touch his skin and his lips to kiss yours. It's perfect.

Climax is not long in coming for both of you, gasping with pleasure as he explodes inside you and the whirlwind of pleasure washes over you. Pedri moans loudly as your back arches, colliding with his chest, both of you gasping for air as you continue to be clouded by the wave of pleasure. When you manage to steady yourself, Pedri lies down next to you, his arms wrap around your shoulders and he shrugs you into his chest.

Your hearts beat so hard it sounds like background music, your bodies agitated and sweaty, filled with the ecstasy of love and pleasure. You catch your breath after kissing again, warm and delicate. How you never kissed another person. How he only knows how to kiss you. Your chest aches with feelings, blossoming from the depths of your heart. Feelings that were embodied since that afternoon in the room of five, when you were those children.

Your hands rest on his chest and you lift up a little, placing a last soft kiss on his mouth. Pedri smiles in love as your eyes meet his.

"I don't want to lose you again" his voice is barely a whisper but hear loud and clear his statement.

Full of passion, full of love.

And now you know for sure too, that you don't want to let go either.

[whamgram]

Hi Gram!!! I'm Taki, big fan of yours!!!!! the one who is translating your story into Italian... for now we've reached chapter 16... 👻 some time ago, when I asked you for permission to translate it, I told you that in Italy the Charlastor is not appreciated at all, I see that even there the situation is not very different... I see it from platforms like X or TikTok or Pinterest, where there are chilling comments about our favorite ship... nevertheless our community is small but good... have you ever had to deal with any haters? And how do you deal with it all? Never give up, we love your story... I think it's the best Charlastor of all time... I can't wait to read the next outgoing chapter, Taki

Omgosh, hi Taki! 👋

Charlastor gets such an unwarranted amount of hate. 😓 I think it's a pretty normal ship that hits on a lot of popular romance tropes. And they're two great characters with amazing chemistry in the show! The way some parts of the fandom have labeled Charlastor as this super problematic ship is just so ridiculous. So many of those arguments are really bad takes of the source material or just completely baseless. And it's funny how a lot of the issues that folks bring up about Charlastor are conveniently ignored when it comes to some other ships. 😒 I wish it wasn't such low-hanging fruit for the fandom to target as a "bad" ship. It's okay to hate a ship because you don't like the dynamic or you ship the characters with other characters. What isn't okay is trying to rally an entire fandom into thinking that ship is "bad" and anyone who ships it is a bad person.

I do get the occasional hate comment and just immediately delete them. 😪 These types of people are just looking to get a rise out of you and I feel like the best course of action is to ignore them. I also tend to stick to just the Charlastor communities in online spaces. There are so many great people in our little shipdom. 🥰

And don't worry, my passion for Charlastor and UMS is still going strong, even if the writing process can be a slog sometimes. 😅 Your support and kind words really mean a lot! ❤️ And I know how much effort goes into translating a fic into another language, so thank you for doing that as well!

I hope you enjoyed the latest chapter! 😘