#post got derailed at the end because i love talking about happy things

[unrealblacklightvirus]

alex pronoun/gender time (spoilers for prototype 1 & 2)

okay i just want to preface this with. i am not super familiar with lgbtq+ terminology or labels so i apologize in advance if i say something weird or wrong (please correct me if i do! i am.. like an old man but i am willing to learn) but i do wave the trans flag myself :) also note that this my personal headcanon for alex, you are entitled to your own interpretations about alex !! (and i like seeing the differences between them)

alex is torn between his viral nature vs. the man he was. for almost all of his life he had nothing to go off of except his name and the memories of alex others would tell him, like dana or karen parker and so hes lost. lost and trying to find something to ground him, especially when the hivemind is pulling him in all these directions and the people hes consumed fill his mind with memories that arent his .

he wants to hold onto something that he knows is true to alex mercer, he wants to stay as close to the original mercer as he can (barring his douchebag personality) because that is what people percieve as "human"; a pretty bad example of a human, but a human nonetheless. hence, keeping the he/him pronouns because it makes him feel like he is just like them (them being society. he wants to fit in LOL)

he rejects the it/its pronouns (i think it/its pronouns are dope as hell but for my alex it doesnt really fit the characterization i gave him), mainly because its what blackwatch calls him to take away his humanity and treat him more as a weapon more than a person . he hates being called "it", it can really piss him off (and he rarely gets pissed off) .he wants to be more like what society thinks of as a "person's" pronouns?

of course, he is a shapeshifter who can flawlessly mimic other humans who, surprise! use other pronouns than he and him. so when he's in a disguise, he takes on the pronouns of whoever he is at that moment (she/her, they/them, ze/zir, it/its, all the others) without a single shit given. hes just as comfortable with those pronouns as he is with his, when hes shapeshifted.

its when blackwatch knows its alex and still use it/its that ticks him off, although there are some exceptions (like being undercover with someone, being a friend and .not blackwatch, etc). now that i think of it, alex, even when disguised, is still okay with he/him as long as its not in front of blackwatch or people who dont know hes a shapeshifting viral monster who is normally a man but sometimes everything else.

as for actual gender.... hes... i dont know how to describe it. both cis and agender? does that make sense? i headcanon him to be cis, like a cis male (and i think doc mercer too? but i dont really think about him that much) but also being a literal viron that has no gender because it is a virus. which have no gender. and he is no gender and all the genders inside because of the people hes consumed but he is a male??? this is confusing. hes confusing. hes confused. we are both confused.

he knows hes not human and therefore doesnt have to abide with human binaries, but he takes comfort in being a man - a human. in P2, the reason for him becoming Evil is because he manages to go on a international vacation to the places on earth where somehow, only the worst of humanity lives? and he never sees a glimpse of goodness and selflessness and love and joy ever during that whole period? and decides that everyone is just as bad as the worst of the worst and that only the strong (and apparently not evil? even though his actions are literally. Evil??????) shall survive?

what the FUCK, writers.

so i said FUCK YOU and gave this man a unquenchable thirst for life and hope and kindness and curiosity and learning. he will find humanity. he will see the bad but also the good and he will find that humans are not perfect but they are also humans who learn and create and grow and make mistakes! that the world is this grey, not so black and white, that he can make a difference not by some fucked up viral eugenics but by . being good and being helpful and being kind and loving and friendly and a ridiculous viral puppy dog cat thing that makes people laugh and smile.

. i like happy endings. sue me.

[stellayuta]

Love on The Grid - Formula 1 AU! Yuta Okkotsu - Pt 5 (FINALE)

Your likes, comments and reblogs really encourage me to write more! So do interact with this post and let me know your thoughts 💙

PART 1 ||| PART 2 ||| PART 3 ||| PART 4 ||| PART 5

synopsis: One-night stands were nothing but a necessary painkiller for your inability to cross paths with true love. Your most recent find at a Vegas Club was no different. He was boring, obedient, SLOW! You leave him high and hanging hoping you'd never see him again until you find yourself gawking at a supersized billboard of him on a Vegas highway with the title 'LEGEND RETURNS TO VEGAS'.

content: 18+ only. Formula one driver! Yuta x f! reader, all sorts of sexy stuff (fingering, oral, orgasm denial), swearing, angsty elements, cheating and discussion of mental health <3 WARNING! Always use protection!

word count: 10k

a/n: part 5 and the final part! For the purpose of this story, Last race of the season takes place in Japan, not Abu Dhabi.

"Y/N..." A voice tries to break your rigid concentration. "Listen, Y/N..."

"What!" you snap finally, turning to face your anxious coworker. You look away from your monitor to find one of the timid interns holding her laptop shakily, mortified at your outburst. You clear your throat and quickly readjust your computer glasses.

"I'm sorry about that, I was just going through some of the client meeting notes." You clarify, pointing at your screen. "What's wrong?"

"No, I just wanted to make sure the tickets were booked right. I've never traveled out of the county. And this is such a big deal as an intern, I-I want to make sure I do everything right!" she blurts out, making you give her a small, nostalgic smile. You remember when you were an intern - tiny, timid, clueless. When you moved out of your small town, you left behind all the things that restricted or haunted you. Now your new job is flashier than ever, in the heart of a metropolitan city, buzzing with people and possibilities and with a promotion on the horizon. It had been a year, and you don't even remember Megumi's face anymore. You had no hard feelings and not even a single second of your time left to give to him anymore.

It was hard at first of course, but encouragement and support from your friends and a lot of self-work soon helped you find balance and self-satisfaction in life. You were at your healthiest at this point. Away from turmoil and away from self-doubt.

"Y/N, did you listen?" the intern looked at you nervously, derailing your train of thought yet again.

"Come again, sorry."

"The other Manager has recommended your name to accompany me at the Tech Summit, with two other interns. He said you'll be able to manage us properly. They've already booked your tickets."

You almost choke on the coffee you're sipping.

"What? Who the hell gave them-" you begin to roar but then looking at the poor girl cower in fear, you sit back down.

"No, no. I'm not mad at you."

You were mad because this was the weekend of the last race. The decider match.

Of course, it had been a year, you had metamorphosized, moved on. But you never forgot the race that got you on the edge of your seat back in Vegas. And neither did you forget the man who drove you crazy with lust. Not even for a single day. His business card was still hidden underneath your phone cover, creaseless. You had never dared to look at his number.

Now, you cheered him on as a fan. Following his races, rooting for him. Every now and then, your heart would ache - but you were happy for him. The only connection you had with him was through your device screen.

After a disappointing end to his last season, you had a lot of guilt. He clearly looked a bit weary, insomnia ridden for sure. Not willing to talk during interviews, keeping a low profile. He had gathered a lot of negative press because of this, people on social media sending him death threats, cyber bullying him, picking apart anything he said or did. It broke you to see him that way and there were many times you wanted to reach out - comfort him. But you knew it wasn't right.

You weren't ready then and he definitely didn't need a reminder that you happened to him. And now, it's too late for any of that.

Yuta maintained his aggressive, dominant racing style that he cultivated over the last year compared to the calm, calculative run he had during the years prior. It was a shock to the grid, but newer fans were very fond of the new beast that the track had birthed. He spoke less, remained polite and stayed out of trouble - focusing everything on winning races.

Fan interaction was the least of his concerns right now because Geto's team, Red Bull - had come up with massive and effective updates making the fight for the title a challenging yet thrilling one. They wanted to continue their laurels from last year and secure Geto his second win. They were closely tailed by Gojo and Geto's teammate, Mahito.

Geto and Yuta were currently tied in the standings. The final match was to take place on Sunday. The decider. Yuta and Geto's home race. And you would now miss it because that stupid manager can't be bothered to move his ass.

"I have plans. I can't make it." you flatly tell the intern who merely frowns. She was probably prepared to get a rejection from me because she is ready with her rebuttal. "The manager said you had committed a few weekends this summer. He just picked this one based on that."

"I'll talk to him." you reply, shaking your head and pinching your throbbing temple. With great responsibilities, come great migraines.

"Where is the summit anyway?" you ask, already typing out a message for her manager.

"Oh, It's in Japan. I'm quite excited, it's a beautiful country."

Japan?

You backspace the entire message.

"Never mind, I'm coming." You leave your laptop open as the split window flashes with a formula one ad - "Decider Race in Suzuka, Japan. Join the Fun, December this Year!"

"Let me meet up with your supervisors and talk more."

*****

The immigration at Japan's Nagoya International Airport, with three kids tailing you, hiding behind you like puppies is a bit of hassle with the language barrier and everything, but you persist regardless.

It's rather comfortably cool but not bitingly cold, even for December, owing to Suzuka's more southern location - compared to Tokyo. There is no sign of snowfall as you witnessed from the airplane while it descended. It would be good conditions for the race - a bit dry perhaps. And of course, the summit, the main attraction!

The interns, though a bit overwhelmed by the new environment, are starting to show signs of excitement as well. Their initial shyness is giving way to curiosity, their eyes wide with wonder at the sights and sounds of the bustling airport. You smile, knowing that this experience will be a memorable adventure for them too.

You are finally able to catch a shuttle to the hotel you're staying at - a five star one (courtesy of your company) and are finally able to relax, staring out the foggy window at the organized and clean Japanese streets, and the people, dressed in plain, formal clothes walking to work perhaps. You almost get lost in the mundanity of it all until the interns alert you that the hotel is here.

You all get down with all your luggage and gawk at the premier hotel building with its cream granite exterior, European design and tall pillars. It looked a bit out of place in the minimalistic spread of Suzuka. There is already a line at the receptionist's desk when you near it, making you sigh.

"Ah foo-" you turn to face your interns. "Can one of you hold the place while I sit somewhere?" The interns hesitantly, but definitively shake their head to say No. Kids, they grow up fast.

You stand in line for what feels like an hour but is only a few minutes until you hear an entourage approach you with their shiny, expensive luggage and matching clothes.

"We have VIP access, let us cut." one of them, a suited and no-nonsense woman tells you. You raise a brow at her, staring at her chapping red lips and burgundy jacket.

"Like hell. Cut after us, we're going first." You tell them flatly.

"Listen, we don't have time for this so please just comply..." the woman tries to negotiate but you don't want to budge.

"I don't have time either." you raise your hand.

"Let me handle this..." A man steps in front of the woman, towering over both of you. He is completely covered head to toe in a red beanie, red track suit and dark glasses with a black face-mask. Before he can say anything though, he simply looks at you and your interns.

"Y/N?" He removes his glasses to show a pair of cerulean eyes that you immediately match with a snowy head and a flashy personality in your brain.

"No way..." you clasp at your mouth. "Gojo Satoru?" you exclaim, confusing the parade of staff, probably Ferrari staff behind him.

"Next!" the receptionist bellows before you two can talk further and you make haste, finishing up the formalities, grabbing the keycard and returning to talk to Gojo, followed by your heard of puppies who look at Gojo skeptically. Of course they would, if a flashy, red man showed up.

"I'm- Where the hell have you been? You just disappeared!" He says and you open your mouth to defend yourself but he clearly has more to say.

"Yuta was distraught! What the hell happened between the two of you anyway! He won't talk to Geto, well they are kind of on weird terms now anyway. But he won't even talk to me!"

Hearing Yuta's name makes you immediately divert your eyes.

"H-How has he been?" you ask, softly.

"Well he was in a mood last season. We were all afraid he'd run us over with his Merc." Gojo admits, recalling some eerie memory of Yuta. "Well, specifically he was angry. But wouldn't talk about it. He got reprimanded by the management of course and started to focus his anger on the races instead." He tells you.

"I mean, he was always a beast on the track, a once in a generation talent. But now, he's simply incomparable. The only races he lost out on this season were ones where he pushed the car so hard, the engine or the mechanism went off."

Internally, you are happy that Yuta seems to be doing well. But somewhere, you feel a pang of discomfort. This isn't the Yuta you know. Or any of his peers know.

"Give me your number by the way..." Gojo asks, excitedly, removing his phone, also bright red. Human Ferrari he is, for sure.

"What for?"

"To leak on the internet..."

"Gojo..."

"What to hang out of course. And I have something to send to you." He says, forcing you to divulge your number which you do, with a grimace. What could go wrong anyway.

"Oh, and I don't know if you're still on talking terms with Yuta but, he's on floor 5 of this hotel, meet him if you want-" Gojo tells you and your heart skips a beat. You sneak a glance at your keycard and feel your throat go dry. You are on floor 5 as well. Before you can say anything else though, the Ferraris are on their way.

"Make sure you are free tomorrow! It's race day!" He says, without turning as their entourage enters the glass elevators.

"How do you know him, Y/N, he was quite hot..." One of the interns tugs at your elbow.

"Was he a former sweetheart?" The other intern grins at you.

"Hell no!" you snap. "That's a professional formula one racer. Watch ESPN a bit more, kids." you say, pulling them along with you to floor 5. You hope and pray with all your might that you don't run into Yuta at any point. Only when you send them off to their suites and enter your own, you finally take a huge breath of relief.

You thought you were over Yuta as well. That you could look at him and interact with him as fan. Maybe that was the case, given you'd never see run into him again. You cover your reddening face with your hands as you slump down to the ground and go into memory mode. It all comes back to you all of a sudden. His height, his dark hair, his large, innocent eyes, his firm, toned body and careful hands. His calming voice and his cozy demeanor. The more you think about him, the soggier your panties feel. You cannot afford to get out of this hotel room and run into him. You have no idea what you will do to him if you see him. Plus, what if he has a girlfriend now? Control yourself, Y/N. Show maturity.

You suck in a harsh breath and get off the carpeted floor, instead removing your laptop from your bag and checking emails to distract yourself. An ad keeps popping up in the corner of your screen though - about the Decider Race in Suzuka. And after all your attempts to ignore it, you finally click on it, annoyed.

You go through the seats and the prices. Even the cheapest, general admission ticket you can find sells for a fortune, making you gasp at the numbers. Great. This gives you a solid reason to NOT go. Now you can use it as an excuse to convince your brain that you are not losing out on an opportunity.

You shut the tab and continue looking at your agenda for tomorrow, smiling and humming to yourself in relief. That is until you hear your phone buzz to life, beside your laptop.

You check it to see a few messages from an unknown number.

"Helloooo!!!"

"Gojo here. Satoru Gojo. Handsomest driver on the grid. Ferrari's muse and face."

"You are already 20 seconds late at replying. Be quicker!"

You cringe at the string of messages and send him a thumbs up emoji as a reply, snickering menacingly when he sends another string of complaints. You wonder if Gojo too has a queue of women waiting for him to notice them. In that case, has he been influencing Yuta too?

You shut the thought down immediately. You're a fan. You remind yourself.

"Look what I got for you. Thank me later."

*Attached File*

Did he send you a trojan virus? nope. It's worse.

You open up the PDF file to find a ticket of some sort. Only it's the paddock VIP ticket for the race tomorrow. You'll be in Ferrari's stands.

You type out a long, long, long message. One full of swears and reprimands. But you backspace all of it and instead hit the call button.

"Ah, hi. Did you see-"

"WHAT'S THE MEANING OF THIS GOJO SATORU!" you shriek into the phone receiver earning a yelp from Gojo.

"It's a once in a lifetime opportunity, Y/N. You can't say no."

"But-"

"I've already paid."

"....."

"Oh, come on. Cheer for me. Come. You'll have fun!"

You are too angry to answer, and you simply cut the call. After your five minutes of anger subsides, anxiety takes its place. So, this is it. You get to see Yuta demolish the track live. Maybe this will be the last time ever. Maybe it's a good thing.

You decide to not think too much about it and just sleep on it instead. And sleep comes fairly easy, after your day-long air travel and the nervousness that maybe Yuta is hugging his blankets with his muscular arms, right next door. You picture those arms around your waist for a second and reminisce his deep blue eyes as you fall asleep, a bit bothered and surely wet.

*****

The next morning, you wake up before the sun even has a chance to show its face. You take a cold shower and prepare everything for the day to come. The Tech Summit will be a crucial stage to showcase your company and you, and your interns have to do a good job. As soon as the clock strikes 7, you go knocking on their doors to wake them up by force.

"Rise and shine, children! We've got some serious networking ahead of us!" you announce with infectious enthusiasm. Suddenly, the volume of your voice strikes you, and a wave of panic sweeps over you at the thought of waking Yuta. The mere idea of him hearing your voice and peeking out from one of the doors sends a shiver down your spine. With your heart racing, you quickly inform the interns that you're heading to the reception area. Without missing a beat, you make your escape, your high heels tapping a rhythm masked by the plush carpet that blankets the entire floor, each step a silent testament to your urgency.

The ground floor lobby of the hotel in the morning is a serene yet bustling oasis of activity. Sunlight streams in through the large, floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm, golden glow across the polished marble floors. The air is filled with a subtle blend of fresh coffee and the delicious aroma of breakfast from the lavish dining court, north of the lobby. Plush, modern sofas and armchairs are arranged in cozy clusters, inviting guests to sit and relax.You were too busy with Gojo to notice any of this, last evening. 

As you walk around amongst the many hotel guests who are going about their way, enthralled, you take a seat in one of the sofas. You even see familiar colors, worn by some of the people in groups. You see the full teals of Aston Martin, the pinks of Alpine, the orange of McLaren. Looks like the entire grid is housed in this hotel. You gulp as you try to keep an eye out for any sight of black and subtle teal of Mercedes. 

Instead, you feel a shifting of feet beside you and find a group of dark blue and red clad people looking rather grave and sitting on adjacent sofas, in a close huddle. It doesn’t take too long to recognize long, sleek hair half tied up and half down. His snake-like eyes scan the huddle, as if he’s commanding them. You don’t forget the aura of Geto Suguru. A pale guy, with wild matted and blue hair sits beside him, with a manic expression on his face, like he’s his lap dog. This must be Mahito. They seem to be having some sort of serious conversation with their team. You can’t help but listen in, keeping your eyes on the ground. 

“So what are we going to do about Strategy A?” one of the Red Bull engineers asks Geto, in a low voice, looking around to see if any of the teams are paying attention.

“Act normal, Garner.�� Geto tells him, smiling sweetly but darkly. “Don’t act suspicious and no one will notice.”

“We are to proceed with Strategy B. We don’t attack the rest of the grid today. We will only focus on the Mercedes duo.” Geto states.

“That was the plan all along.” The Red Bull staff interjects. “What are you saying?”

“Well your plan was for me to defend against Okkotsu and Mahito to defend against Merc number 2, Inumaki.” Geto begins as the team leans in closer to pay attention. Mahito seems strangely excited to get a mention from Geto.

“My plan is that we leave Inumaki alone. He’s of no consequence to us. He’ll be too busy defending against the Ferraris.” Geto continues and your brows furrow. What is he on to?

“I am sitting on the pole. And Okkotsu is second. The best way to go about it is to get Mahito to play on the offensive. Okkotsu gets rash and risky when faced with competition or close tailers. It is likely Mahito and Okkotsu will take each other out.”

Your eyes widen as you hear this. 

“And Inumaki has the slower car. Ferrari’s engineers wouldn’t anticipate number 2 and 3 being knocked out. They are more prepared for a podium finish, not the top finish. This will ensure that Red Bull will go home with the Driver’s Championship trophy.” Geto concludes his idea and the Red Bull team immediately begin discussing its feasibility. From the sound of it, most of them seem on board. Mahito seems to be the most excited, willing to give anything for Geto to get his second title.

The absurdity of the ongoing discussion is enough for you to look up and find yourself directly looking into Geto Suguru’s skeptical eyes. Your nostrils flare and a sweat breaks out atop your forehead at the thought of being caught. He narrows his eyes at you but dismisses you as a fan. He doesn’t recognize you. 

Thank GOODNESS.

You smile at him and quickly move away from their group of sofas. As fast as you can. So they are going to use Yuta’s driving style against him today. Which is fine. They are willing to crash into him to take him out as well. This is all a pre-planned, premeditated attempt to injure, or…you gulp… murder.

You lean against one of the reception desks to gather yourself for a minute. The lobby’s morning hustle now feels like a surreal backdrop to the chilling plot you’ve just overheard. The hum of conversations, the clinking of breakfast dishes, and the soft footsteps of guests blend into a muted buzz as your mind races. You need to warn Yuta, but how? 

Your interns show up soon, their bright, eager faces a stark contrast to the dark conversation you just overheard. They’re ready to go for the summit, unaware of the dangerous game being plotted in the corner of the lobby. As they approach, you take a deep breath, plaster on a smile, and try to push the sinister revelations to the back of your mind. You don’t see the Mercedes team anywhere in the lobby anyway, so you take your leave for the moment, feeling a tightness in your chest.

While the task at hand is crucial, you are more than confident that you can handle it flawlessly. The Tech Summit is being held at one of the corporate headquarters in the city area, a sleek skyscraper with reflective glass windows that glisten in the morning sun. As you step into the spacious lobby, you are greeted by an impressive display of innovation: booths showcasing various avenues in computing. Executives in sharp suits mingle with tech enthusiasts, the air buzzing with excitement and possibility.

Once you are in, you send off your beaming and well-prepared interns to talk to some big shots, their enthusiasm palpable as they approach various booths and networking clusters. You retire to a quiet corner, checking your phone and brainstorming for your next move. It's only a few hours until the race in Suzuka, Japan, a pivotal event in the Formula One calendar. The summit’s focus on the intersection of technology and sports is evident, with several companies proudly displaying their investments in Formula One.

Tech giants are pouring millions into F1, not just for branding but for the practical applications of cutting-edge technology in car performance, data analytics, and real-time communication systems. The fusion of high-speed racing and high-tech innovation is a perfect synergy, driving advancements that benefit both the automotive and tech industries.

However, the tension from earlier this morning lingers. Despite the engaging presentations and lively discussions around you, the clandestine conversation you overheard refuses to leave your mind. The race in Suzuka today is more than just a sporting event—it’s a battleground where the stakes are life and death, a thought that chills you as you consider Geto’s ruthless strategy.

You open your phone to find a few messages from Gojo and it makes a bulb go off in your head.

“Come to the hotel lobby at around 4PM. I’ll send someone to pick you up. I’m at the track right now.” He has texted. You read the message and pull out Yuta’s card from your phone cover. You don’t waste time and call him right away. A woman receives your call on the other end.

“Hello! Is Yuta free?” you ask, desperately but you can tell from the woman’s silence that it is not the case.

“He won’t be free until after the race. I’m sorry.”

‘I-it’s fine.” you laugh nervously, keeping the phone.

That idea was a bust.

Before you can think more, you are pulled in by one of your interns to help you out with a heated discussion they are having with a company representative on use cases of Artificial Intelligence. The rest of the morning and afternoon goes this way, with your hands full of discussions and debates with Men in Tech, mistaking you for one of the interns until you sigh and show them your badge of ‘Director of Software Engineering’, before obliterating them during the ‘discussions’ with a curt smile.

You don’t think about the race until after you have exited the premises of the Summit along with your pumped up interns who are waxing lyrical about you. They won’t stop talking even on the cab ride back home.

“That was amazing Y/N. You saved our necks.”

“Just be confident and patient till they give you a moment to strike.” you tell them wearily. 

Probably a strategy Mahito will be using today. 

“Do we go out today for drinks? How about it?” The interns begin discussing among themselves while I tune them out, shaking my leg in agitation.

“Y/N, want to join us?” one of them asks you eagerly and politely reject their invitation.

“I have plans today.”

“What plans?” The male intern asks, curious. The other two also lean in to listen.

“I am going to watch a Formula One Race, it’s in Suzuka.” You tell them and their eyes go all sparkly before they begin smirking at you.

“It’s the hot driver guy isn’t it. He invited you? That’s awesome Y/N! Looks like he’s interested!” This makes you scoff. “He’s just a friend. He’s not the one I have eyes for anyway.”

“Oooo, so there is someone you have eyes for!” they chime together. “Who is it?” 

An image instantly pops into your head. One of him hovering over you as you moaned out his name. You smile to yourself and dismiss the interns’ questions, making all of them pout.

As you enter the hotel lobby, a stark contrast from its earlier bustling atmosphere greets you. The lively chatter and movement have dissipated, leaving behind an eerie quiet that amplifies the grandeur of the space. The reception area, usually a hub of activity, is now manned by a solitary staff member who nods politely as you pass.

Heading towards the elevator, a wave of unease washes over you, chilling your hands. Should you attempt to find Yuta by knocking on every door on the fifth floor? No, that would likely result in being ejected from the hotel.

Entering your room with a frustrated grunt, you slam the door shut behind you. Another cold shower helps clear your mind, though your appetite remains nonexistent. Stomach growling, you mechanically brush your teeth and change out of your morning pant suit into a comfortable ensemble: a red sweater, blue jeans, and sneakers. The choice of red is a nod to Ferrari, aligning with your plans for the day.

Feeling more at ease in casual attire, you pause to gather your thoughts. It’s 3:45 PM. You should head out now. You grab your phone, keys and wallets and walk out of the suite, impatiently trotting towards the elevator. You turn the corner just in time to see it close. Maybe you are hallucinating but you barely spot a glint of black and teal behind the doors as they swiftly close.

You stop dead in your tracks for merely a moment before you sprint towards the elevator. But that one is gone now. You press the down button for the second one and tap your foot on the ground, waiting for it to arrive desperately. 

When it takes you down to the ground floor, you come out, wildly looking around to see the familiar colors again. When you finally see them, your words all drown in your feelings as you see the black and teal clad man get into the back of a car, giving the driver a quick nod and a short smile. 

It was from fairly far away that you saw him, but you were certain. It was Yuta.

You have to hold yourself upright as you nearly begin hyperventilating and the receptionist has to come and check on you.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m fine.” you assure him, as he makes you sit on one of the sofas. You watch intently through the glass windows as Yuta’s car zooms past. That was your chance! If only you had come out two minutes earlier and weren’t drifting away in your fantasies.

You had to focus now. You can’t afford to have your legs turn to jelly or your head spin out of control anymore.

When the person meant to pick you up arrived, donning a red jacket and black pants, you were completely calm and composed — now willing to think clearly about what to do next.

The drive to the Suzuka Circuit is rather short for obvious reasons. The hotel had been picked to be accessible from the circuit. The car your driver has brought along isn’t a Ferrari, unfortunately.

Arriving at Suzuka Circuit as the evening settles in, the atmosphere is electric with anticipation. The sprawling complex is illuminated by bright floodlights, casting long shadows across the paddock and grandstands. The air buzzes with the hum of engines from nearby practice sessions and the excited chatter of fans who have gathered from around the world to witness the fight for domination between Red Bull and Mercedes.

The paddock itself is a hive of activity. Teams in their distinctive colors, now suited up in their race-suits, bustle about, mechanics fine-tuning the cars under the watchful eyes of engineers. Media personnel dart between interviews, capturing the pre-race fervor and probing for insights. Paparazzi lurk at every corner, their cameras flashing intermittently as they seek shots of drivers and celebrities who have shown up to support the drivers/take pictures for social media.You stare at the whole spread, starry eyed and very much in awe. It feels surreal as the world around you moves at 2x speed.

The cars themselves are a spectacle to behold. The sleek, aerodynamic designs gleam under the lights, adorned with sponsor logos and intricate details. Each team’s car reflects their engineering prowess and commitment to performance excellence, poised to navigate the demanding twists and turns of Suzuka Circuit. You want to go ahead and take a closer look but the Ferrari guy who is guiding you around stops you from doing so until later.

“You can see Ferrari’s car later.” he tells you reassuringly but you frown at him.

You spot Mercedes, clad in their silvery-black-teal livery, standing out with their meticulous preparations, but you maintain a straight face. Red Bull, in their vibrant blue and red, exude confidence and determination as you narrow your eyes at them. 

You are finally taken to Ferrari’s section — an attractive mix of red and gold flying in the stands and the air. The fans add to the vibrant tapestry of the evening. Dressed in team colors, they wave flags and banners, eagerly awaiting autographs and selfies with their favorite drivers. The scent of food from vendors mixes with the exhaust fumes, creating a unique blend that signifies race day excitement.

“Oh, look. There’s Mr. Gojo!” your guide cheers excitedly pointing to a separated section where two shiny, red cars sit in all their glory, surrounded by an army of mechanics and staff, also dressed in red. Seated in one of Ferrari's cars, a familiar figure catches your eye. He sits in the cockpit, helmet off, his tousled white hair catching the light as he adjusts his gloves with practiced ease. Spotting you amidst the crowd, Gojo flashes a brilliant smile and waves enthusiastically from the cockpit.

“Excited?” He tries to yell out over the crowd as you near him and his team. You nod and smile at his engineers before cornering him. 

“Did you see Yuta?” you ask Gojo.

“Busy day man. Haven’t really kept an eye out for him. Why won’t you go talk to him? Mercedes is right over there!” He says, pointing a gloved finger at the black and teal team.

“Won’t allow her… strategic secrets can’t be spilled.” Your guide tells you and Gojo, who seems to be unaware.

“Gojo, there’s something I need to tell you…” you begin, your unwavering eyes grabbing Gojo’s full attention as he puts on a serious face.

“What’s wrong?”

“I-It’s about Geto Suguru.”

“Suguru?” Gojo asks, his voice softening by a note. “What’s up with him?”

“Their team. They’re planning a dangerous strategy.” you say, only to get a few stares from the engineering team over at Ferrari. Gojo narrows his eyes at you, the cerulean blue piercing through you.

“And how do you know about this strategy?”

“I overheard. They’re going to make Yuta crash out.”

“Y/N.” Gojo calls out your name, and for the first time in his life, he sounds serious as hell. “Are you accusing Suguru of conspiracy? You know it’s illegal and could cost him his license.”

“But that’s what I heard!” you try to reason but Gojo doesn’t want to hear any of it.

“Suguru has known us since we were young. He would not do such a thing. And I suggest you don’t say this to anyone, not without evidence. Especially to Yuta, he won’t take kindly to it.” Gojo warns you. You hesitate on your spot before your Ferrari guide has to pull you away from the cars.

“Okay, that’s about it.” He says, dragging you away. “We can’t meddle with his concentration right before the race. Talk with him later, Miss Y/N.”

“B-but, I wasn’t done.” you complain, feeling a sting of pain in your elbow where the man grips you. “Hey, let me go!” 

“Listen! I just don’t want you confusing our drivers!” He finally snaps, spitting out at you.

“Their mental state is important! You can’t just say these things to them and bother them right before a crucial race!” he roars as I cringe in the slight flame of fear I feel inside him.

Everyone is way too busy in their chatter and taking photos of cars and drivers to notice what’s happening so you will have to struggle out of this on your own. 

You try to break free from his grip but in vain. 

“Let them get onto the track. I’ll let you go then.” He tells you, calmly.

“Are you holding me hostage right now? I said I understand, let me go!” you yelp, going for another twist of your arm to break free but the man has an iron grip. You begin panicking again now until you see another arm appear from the corner of your eye and hold on to the guide’s arm. 

The arm, covered in silvery black, padded material of a race suit. When you look at his face, your breath nearly stops. He doesn’t make eye contact with you, he barely seems to have noticed you. His penetrating gaze is fixed on your guide and he has him trapped in place.

“What’s the problem here?” He asks, in a rough low voice.

“N-Nothing, I was just escorting her away. Nothing wrong here, Mr. Okkotsu.” the guide stutters away, intimidated by Yuta.

Yuta looks the same, yet noticeably different at the same time. His once doe-like, innocent eyes now are half-lidded and uninterested, hiding secrets and carrying unknown burdens. He barely wants to smile, his lips stuck in a straight, firm line unwilling to curve. His jaw seems a bit more defined now, seemingly as he appears to look slightly manlier, and a lot more unapproachable. He has noticeable purple shadows under his eyes now and an eerily heavy aura.

“Do you not know how to behave with a woman? Leave her at once.” He says, grimly. When the guide finally lets me go and scurries away, Yuta finally looks at me, “Please, take—” but before he can finish his sentences, his lips freeze and his pupils dilate. You yourself let out a small gasp before his name exits your mouth in the sweetest voice possible. “Yuta…”

Yuta stands still for a while, his gaze not moving from you. You see his lips quiver and the muscles in his jaw ripple as he wordlessly takes his leave, moving quickly through the people, running away from you.

Not wanting to let him go to the race like that, you follow him. You follow him into a unisex restroom, closing and locking the door behind you as you find him fidgeting with the tap and the paper towels, unwilling to look at you or the mirror. The dim, dirty lights of the place only highlight his somber features as you frown at him.

You stand next to him until he is forced to acknowledge your presence. 

“H-how have you been, Y/N?” he asks, in a shaky voice.

Good? Better? I haven’t moved on from you? What do you tell him?

The stench and claustrophobia of this restroom doesn’t help the situation at all.

“I’ve been doing better, Yuta. How have you been?” you ask, tenderly. He still won’t look at you.

“I’ve been the same really. Just working hard. Racing. Boring stuff. Haha.” He laughs nervously, licking his lips, keeping his eyes down. 

“Yuta, if you don’t want to see me right now or talk to me. Tell me.” You say, with concern. “I don’t want to spoil your mood before the race.” 

“Not at all. A racer can’t let things like this affect him.” He laughs nervously yet again. “How come you’re here? Gojo invite you or something?”

“He did. That’s besides the point.” You say, getting back to business. “I wanted to meet you to tell you something.”

“Why? Do you want to get laid again? Did Megumi cheat on you again?” He interrupts. “We have all the time after the race, why don’t you excuse me now.” He furrows his brows.

“No, that’s not—”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that.” He confesses. “But, Y/N. I don’t know if I can actually handle seeing your face right now. Because you haunt my waking hours and my nightmares every single day.” He continues.

“I never stopped thinking about how you left me that day. I was begging you to stop. You don’t love me, right? Heck, I haven’t even been able to look at a woman after that. Then let me suffer in peace.” Hearing all of that breaks your heart but you have no right to console him.  

“Is there anything left to say Y/N? Do you want to tell me how much you don’t love me?” he asks bitterly now, finally looking into your eyes. Dark blue, not somber anymore but teary. Vulnerable. Evidently, very much in love with you, after all those months apart.

“Well then, the race is going to start soon, I should —”

Before he can finish though, you grab his suit and pull him down to kiss him. Euphoria spreads through your mind and body, a soothing calm coating your entire being as you feel his lips mingle with yours. He doesn’t resist — he too is a victim of his own yearning. 

The two of you grab a hold of each other's hair and deepen the kiss. You entirely mess up his perfectly combed hair until it falls to the front of his forehead, brushing against yours. The two of you don’t even surface for a breath of air and keep kissing until it’s physically impossible and you have to separate — your face red, and your lips swollen. Both of you panting.

You swipe your thumb on his plump bottom lip, staring at it as you speak to him. 

“Did you get your answer now?”

Yuta seems to be in a daze though, completely bowled over by your bold attempt.

“Listen carefully, Yuta.” you tell him. “The raging maniac I’ve been seeing on the track this past year. That’s not you. You have to play it smart and smooth today, do you understand?”

“Y/N…” he chants, running a hand through your hair and pinching your cheek. “If I don’t drive dominantly, I won’t win.”

“Okkotsu Yuta, if you have ever loved me, promise me you will not drive rashly today.” you tell him clearly, with an air of finality in your voice and he stares at you.

“I’ll do what’s best at that moment, Y/N. Don’t worry about it.”

“No! You have to promise me!” 

“Okay, okay!” he says, giving up, separating from you and opening up the restroom door. “Race starts in a few. I’m going for real now.”

“Please, Yuta. Be careful.” you repeat, tearing up now. “There’s so much I want to say to you later.”

“I’ll see you later with the trophy in hand, that’s a promise.” Yuta states. And for the first time in what seems like an eternity, he brings out the smile he always flashed earlier. Your Yuta’s heart-warming, genuine smile.

The two of you leave the restroom at last and he would not let you go back to the Ferrari zone. Instead, making you sit with his black and silver army of curious Mercedes folk. They all look at you like you’re some kind of shiny toy and it makes you blush and hide behind Yuta.

“Take care of her. Don’t scare her, I will know.” Yuta warns them, taking your hand and leading you to one of the fancy pavilions reserved for staff and their guests. They hand you a pair of headphones and make you sit with some of the women who happen to be the WAGs of the crew and the drivers. You have the pleasure of joining Inumaki’s hot as hell girlfriend who is wearing a silken top and an elegant black skirt along with a heart-winning smile. And there you are with your Ferrari sweater.

[Music recommendation, damn even the color of the audio track goes with the story:]

Yuta runs off quickly after that to hop into his car and have a final conversation with his engineers before he and his teammate Inumaki are called off to join the starting order for the formation lap. From your vantage point, you watch as the sleek, powerful machines take their positions. The sight of Yuta in his Mercedes, with his intense focus and determination, fills you with a mixture of pride and anxiety. 

As the formation lap begins, the cars glide gracefully around the track, their engines producing a symphony of power. The tension builds with every passing moment, the crowd’s anticipation reaching a fever pitch. You grip the edge of your seat, your heart racing in sync with the machines on the track. After a few minutes, the cars begin lining up in order again and the crowd goes silent — with Geto and Yuta making up the front line and an eager Mahito right on Yuta’s tail.

The race is about to begin, and you can only hope that Yuta will deliver on his promise. You press your palms together in anticipation and pray for Yuta to be safe.

They show the faces of all twenty drivers in a promotional video running over on the giant screens. You spot Yuta just as they announce the beginning of the race.

The five red lights come to life one by one with a beep and at the next beat of your heart, they go off, the car engines revving to life and the crowd going ballistic with cheer as Geto crosses Yuta and Yuta rapidly shifts to the side, going tire to tire with Geto’s Red Bull, sliding past him by a minimal margin and taking lead of the race as the fans erupt into cheer. You find yourself standing up and pumping your fists in the air. 

The cars follow the leading duo, creeping along behind them in quick succession.

“That's Good there Yuta. Keep pushing." You here a robotic voice in your ears. Probably Yuta's engineer.

“Copy that." You hear Yuta's voice and blush. Inumaki’s girlfriend eyeing you and grinning.

As the first lap comes to an end and continues into the second lap, there's a buzz of conversation going on in the room. The engineers and staff moving around, barking at each other and some glued to the gigantic screens.

“The car's doing well. Good job guys." Yuta sends out a message.

You overhear two of the engineers discussing among themselves that Yuta was being chattier and nicer than usual today and you smirk internally.

As the second lap progresses through the team witnesses a strange change in positions. Geto slows down ever so slightly to let Mahito’s car pass. There is a bit of commotion going on inside the room, curious discussions about Red Bull’s strategy taking place but you are aware what's going to happen as Mahito's slithering car inches closer to Yuta and activates its DRS.

“No!" You yell out and the entire room turns to look at you.

“Yuta! He needs to get out of the way! He-" 

But before the engineers can register what you're saying or what's happening on the track you see Mahito’s car touch Yuta's from the behind, Yuta intercepting this and narrowly avoiding being tossed in the air. He does get pushed off the track though and into the grass until he gains control and slowly makes his way back onto the track. Now in 7th place.

You are the only one who breathes a sigh of relief because you're the only one who is aware of what went down behind the scenes. There is an uproar in the room now, a lot of them cursing out Mahito and Red Bull to no end. 

One of them finds the time to connect with Yuta on the Radio and ask if he's fine.

“Yeah, I'm alright guys." He reassures everyone. “Pushed far behind though. That seemed pretty deliberate. Put that up for review please." His voice breaks through the radio.

The crowd collectively gasps as they now see Geto swap places with Mahito and regain his position as the leader.

“Yuta. We can salvage this. Stick to the first strategy. Try to be aggressive.” The engineer instructs Yuta.

"Copy, that. At least until I gain P3" Yuta replies, making the engineers exchange  panicked glances.

You see Yuta in action on the big screen and now understand what people have been saying about his feral driving. You witness as he pushes the car to its absolute limit, overtaking two cars — an Aston Martin and Itadori’s Ferrari in one go at one of the fast corners, leaving them startled in his dirty air. He's now racing at P4, after Inumaki lets him pass as per team orders.

“Oh my god, he's up with Gojo now." Inumaki's girlfriend squeaks, holding your hand with an iron grip,making you break out into a sweat two.

Gojo’s Ferrari and Yuta’s Merc go head on, battling each other, getting into each other's way. Gojo is as unpredictable as Yuta is ferocious.

The two of them swap positions a good four times until Yuta is able to zoom past him in a dramatic show, in one of the wider corners, right into the straights.

He's now P3. And the only competition he has in front of him are the red bulls.

“You're in podium position right now. Second place is ensured. Don't do anything stupid." The engineer warns Yuta.

The room doesn't hear back from Yuta for a while until all of you witness his aggressive drive turn to a more smooth one for the first time in over a year.

"Copy that. I've a promise to keep.”

The crowd, the crew, the engineers, the photographers, the journalists, the WAGs and you. All of you watch as time stills, Yuta moving like a stream of water, smooth and direct, inching close to Mahito's car. 

They enter the DRS zone and the Mercedes’ flap flips open to let in the air stream. 

Yuta slips to the side staying just a tad bit behind Mahito whose intent now seems to push Yuta off the track for good if he attacks. 

Mahito who was expecting and anticipating Yuta to fault, for him to aggressively move past keeps waiting as they keep driving on the straight with DRS on.

It isn't until Mahito keeps straight, too drowned in his confusion to notice Yuta speed up right as they turned into a corner. 

Without warning, right as the DRS zone ends Yuta hits the throttle and speeds out of Mahito's reach, making the crowd go crazy.

In that moment, everyone on the track and in the stands is rooting for Yuta. They are waiting with bated breathes as the last lap approaches and Yuta's car creeps closer to Geto’s Red Bull.

The engineers have nothing to say now, they too, watch on in awe.

Your hands clasp over your mouth, as you watch without blinking as they enter the last corners.

Call it luck.

Talent and hard work can take you very far. But the harder you work, the better your luck is. And in those final seconds, Yuta happened to have newer, more seasoned tyres compared to Geto's more worn ones owing to an earlier pit stop. Maybe your prayers worked.

And that was it for Red Bull.

Yuta pushes the car and rockets out of the corner, zooming towards the finish line as the checkered flag waves the declaration of victory for him. Leaving the red bull, the ferraris, everyone who ever doubted him in the dust of the track.

He pumps his fists out of the cockpit, screaming profanity into the radio.

“FUCKKK YESSSS!!!!" 

“LET'S GO BABY!!! LET'S FUCKING GOOO AAAAHHHH!!!" 

He pulls his car aside while the others pass and returns to the track to do some celebratory donuts with his car, the steam from his tyres enveloping the car.

It's like a festival in Mercedes' operations room. Everyone is hugging each, patting each others’ back, crying. Inumaki's girlfriend is mumbling to herself, still holding your hand.

And you?

You are in utter shock. Absolutely unable to form sentences.

One of the engineers has to shake you awake.

“Okkotsu has done it! He's done it! Not just that, Inumaki came in third! We've won both titles! Mercedes has done it!" 

"H-huh?” You choke out, tearing up.

"Don't you want to see him? He's coming in right now!” the team exclaims, crowding at the door, aching to get out and meet their winner.

Out in the paddock, the teams have arrived to welcome their hard-fought warriors. The various colors stand together in unison waiting beside the tracks, separated from the drivers by the chain fence.

You see a line of women waiting by, standing out from the teams thanks to their eye-catching, elegant attires. They looked like supermodels — tall, magazine cover beauties. They must be the WAGs. 

You suddenly feel very conscious about your sweater and jeans. Just a year ago, you too had the most exquisite outfit possible, completely ruined by Yuta on his Lambo.

The drivers show up one by one as the paddock welcomes them. There is an impressive cheer for the arrival of Gojo Satoru, P4. He winks at the WAGs as they appear totally distracted from their own racer boyfriends but he doesn't stay for long.

He meets up midway with a dejected looking Geto and takes him away to some place you can't quite see.

Looks like they want to have a talk.

If the cheer for Gojo was something, it's nothing compared to the deafening roar championship winner, Yuta receives as soon as his Mercedes pulls in.

He jumps out of the car, removes his gloves, helmet and fireproof and comes running straight towards your lot, jumping onto them as they screech, hoisting him up in the air and ferally rubbing his hair.

“Well done, boy!" 

“Well done!" They chant.

When they finally let go and you're able to see Yuta. You don't see any sign of the depressed ghost of a man you saw earlier. This was the Yuta you knew and loved. Happy, shining bright, eyes full of life.

He wipes the sweat of his forehead as he approaches you and grabs you by the waist to pick you up and twirl you around.

He presses his sweaty nose to yours, his dark eyes twinkling.

“We did it, baby. I kept my promise." He laughs between words. 

"Now then,” he smiles at me giddily, walking away from the team with me still in his arms.

"What did you want to say to me earlier?”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“Telling you just how much I love you will take more than a few minutes, Yuta." You kiss his nose.

“More than a few hot nights." You kiss his forehead.

“And more than a lifetime." You say, finally leaving a kiss on his lips.

“I love you, Okkotsu Yuta." 

You press your foreheads together, as a quick paparazzo clicks a picture of the two of you.

{{fin.}}

a/n: thank you everyone for reading! I was able to power through the chapters and put everything out quickly. Hope you guys enjoyed the tale of Racer Yuta!

----> BONUS<----

You hold the headboard of your bed for support as you grin down at a very engaged Yuta, lost in your juicy womanhood, holding onto your thighs for dear life as you sit on his face. His enthusiasm as he suckles and bites your sensitive zones drives you crazy and you come all over his face for what seems the tenth time in the past three days. He just refuses to let you go whenever he visits you in your city. You have to nearly always put in an extra sick day to cater to his and your needs. The two of you look out onto a bustling city from your high-rise condo. You wonder how many people know that a world-class, champion racing driver is eating your brains out right above their heads. The thought makes you giggle shamelessly.

"Yuta, stop, already." you urge him, laughing between words, pulling at his hair to get him to stop.

"Nope, I can't." he admits, looking up at you, with lust filled eyes. "I only get so many days with you. Need to make the most of this time."

You roll your eyes at him, getting off of him, making him whine loudly.

"Patience, lover-boy." you tease him, turning around to sit on his abs. His abdominal muscles are so well defined that even merely sitting on them sends chills up your wussy.

"Time to give my mini some love." you say, smiling at the bulge forming in Yuta's sweatpants. You uncover it to see his valiant dick stand tall, after being ignored by both you and Yuta for so long.

"It got prettier from last time." you pout at it, examining it as you stroke it with love. It pulls out the prettiest groans out of Yuta.

"Y/N, you saw it yesterday." he complains. "When you said you wanted to bounce on it."

"Well, Yuta. You can't just eat me out for all of eternity. Your dick has needs." you shut him up and take him in your mouth, savoring its thickness. It's just like the first time you ever took him in your mouth. You run and tongue up and down his length as Yuta grabs a hold of your ass, holding on till he's moaning.

You lick at his slit, playing around with the pre-cum he's leaking. His cock is so violent, it beats around inside of your mouth, and you silence it by pushing it to the back of your throat, where it sits snugly.

Your nose pushes into Yuta's balls as you let your throat do the rest of the work and soon enough, Yuta is coming inside your mouth with a monstrous groan, leaving you with plenty of fluid to play around with.

When you finally pull off, mouth full of cum, you see that there is still some life in his dick. You turn out to face him and now sit on his dick, grinding back and forth till he becomes hard again.

Your cheeks stay swollen with loads of his cum and Yuta stares at your face in disbelief.

"You really my cum don't you?"

and you nod fervently.

"Swallow it."

You shake your head.

"God, Y/N.." he closes his eyes, leaning back and letting you ride him, feeling his dick prod at your insides, its outline clearly showing through your abdomen.

"Ah..." he moans out, finding a rhythm he likes and the two of you roll your hips together. You want to moan out so bad but your cum sits in your mouth, marinating. You want to make a mess out of it on Yuta's abs and lick it all off.

How you've waited so long to do so many things to Yuta.

Only, your moment gets interrupted by a rogue phone call. From your phone.

"Buh, ish ma day ff!" you say, your mouth full and unable to speak coherently.

Yuta picks up the call and sticks it between his shoulder and an ear, while grabbing and controlling your hips with both his hands. His messy black hair falls on his sweaty forehead and his lashes brush his cheeks as he talks to the caller in his fucked out voice.

"Who's this?"

"Y/N, oh, she's busy."

"Are we fucking? Seriously, Satoru? Nunya business!"

Gojo Satoru!? The shock at his question makes you accidentally swallow the cum and you almost cry out.

"Uh-huh. Cool, bye." Yuta says, eyeing your reaction and closing his eyes.

"Oh no, I swallowed it!" you complain to Yuta and he's barely listening, chasing his orgasm. Soon enough, the grip on your waist tightens and he's coming inside of you this time. His neck stretching back and his adam's apple bobbing in his wide throat.

When he finally regains his composure, he looks back at you to reply.

"You swallowed. Finally! Good job!"

"Yuta!" you pout.

"Aw, baby..." Yuta teases you. "There's always room to do more." he sees, pinching your perky nipples.

"Your interns ask about you, Gojo told me. He takes them to races, VIP passes whenever he's free. He's made them into Ferrari fans, alas." Yuta tells you.

"Ahem. They were promoted to full time employees after the feedback from the Summit." you correct him. "Plus, they know I'm fucking you every chance I get. That's what I'm up to." you say, sliding off his dick and falling into his arms, allowing him to continue playing with your tender breasts.

"You're all packed up for this weekend's Monaco Grand Prix, right? We leave in two days." Yuta reminds you, biting your lower lip and bursting into a smile.

"Of course, I'm looking forward to it." you tell him. The two of you stare at each other, drowning in each other's passion until you realize something.

"Oops almost forgot. I love you, Yuta."

Yuta blushes pink when he hears it. "You say that every ten minutes."

"Isn't that what I told you..." you remind him.

"I'm saying it every day." You place a tender kiss on his lips.

"Forever."

[solaarbeeam]

IT AIN'T MY FAULT

streamer! inumaki toge au. fluff and crack, gn! reader

a/n :: mostly to get me back into the swing of things with writing, i HAVE been thinking abt this for a while now tho so i hope you enjoy !! i hope it's not too horrible.

It was one of the few times Toge had let you on stream, mostly because you chose not to get into the public eye when it came to things like that. However, Toge had been nothing but respectful about it, and as such, his fans only caught glimpses of you on Instagram posts or him texting you during streams.

However, this time, you had to break your own rule. Why, you may as yourself? Because Toge has been talking shit and you can't let that slide.

"You know what? fine. If you wanna keep talking all that shit, then let me get on stream and beat you in a game your chat chooses."

Now, Toge is aware that you don't really play games as religiously as he does, and you being on stream physically is something that never happens. You prefer to be out of eye shot, and he can respect that.

But he cannot, in good faith, let you talk shit like that and NOT fry you in a game. As such, he agreed to let you on stream.

Then, the chat went wild.

mc1303xx : WAIT THAT'S HIS PARTNER????

rumiwuimilumi : I CAN TREAT YOU BETTER THAN HIM PLEASEEE

Of course, they got jokingly muted by his twitch mods, in true Inumaki Toge fashion. You simply laughed and sat down on his bed.

"Alright chat, so basically, my partner over here has throwing shade in my face for the entire week, and threatened to beat me in a game of chat's choosing. So, mods will set up the poll, and then we can get started."

"You yap too much. I'm gonna beat your ass."

"Shut the fuck up."

"No, you."

"Talk to the hand."

"You are so fucking sassy."

"You love me."

"I do, but you're a little bitch."

His chat ended up choosing Mario Kart from the choices on the poll. He gets out his Nintendo, passes you the controller, and turns it on. His chat's going wild, probably the most active and loud his chat has been.

"YOU DID NOT JUST THROW A BANANA AT ME-"

"OH YES THE HELL I DID, NOW EAT MY DUST."

Gifts and Subscriptions are through the roof, stress levels are high and Inumaki is about five seconds away from throwing his switch controller out of the window as you hit him with a green shell for the fifth time.

Eventually, he did get past you, which led to demonic screeching on both ends. After all, you did proclaim that you were gonna beat him. Got to back up all of the smack talk, right?

A green shell.

An accidental derailment off the race track.

A banana.

It was a constant back and forth in what felt like one of the longest games Toge has ever played, which says a lot. In the end though, it came down to a well placed green shell that wasn't even aimed at him.

"WAIT WAIT WAIT NO!!"

"YES! SEE I FUCKING TOLD YOU I WOULD WIN!"

Just like that, his chat goes wild the minute you cross the finish-line. Toge gets up, jaws dropped and eyebrows raised in shock. You jump up, and proceed to start talking smack in his face again.

Deep down, he's really glad that you had fun. However, he has a reputation, and if you're going to keep talking smack, he's just going to have to talk smack back.

Regardless, he loves you, and as long as you had fun trashing him in Mario Kart, he's happy as well.

@kissagii

© solaarbeeam 2024

[animeomegas]

Angst HCs with Ghost Anon bc I haven't done one of these in a while.

Thinking about something along the lines of the Civilian Alpha Confession post, where Alpha confesses to Sasuke and he turns them down. Does he love them? Of course he does, but he can't accept their love right now. But since it's Sasuke, the rejection comes across more harshly than he intended it to be, and Alpha shrinks away from him.

They smile faintly and say they understand, but their eyes are sad. And before he can think of what to say to them, they walk away. He wants to go to them, to try and fix his mistake, but he can't in this moment. So he turns and walks away as well.

Time passes, and things aren't the same. It's frustrating to watch Alpha pull away from him, but Sasuke doesn't know what to do. And he feels too proud to ask for help from any of his friends. He wants them so badly, but do they even want him after he turned them down?

Ending can be happy or sad, up to interpretation :)

(Here's the post for anyone who doesn't know what I'm talking about: https://www.tumblr.com/animeomegas/721046584025022464/hi-i-just-noticed-your-request-open-and-i-got-to?source=share)

-Ghost Anon

This is definitely sad, but I also can't help but think about how much of a menace Sasuke would be in this situation.

He would stew on it, blaming himself, and then the alpha, and then everyone else. And he stalks them, and is weird about it. Then, he sees them talking to someone else a little too flirtatiously, and he can't help but storm over and be like 'Mine. Back off.'

The poor alpha, who thinks they got harshly rejected because Sasuke didn't like them, is very confused.

It's not entirely his fault he has no social skills, but Sasuke is such a menace (affectionate). Thanks for the headcanon, Ghost Anon, sorry I derailed the angst with something a bit funnier, but I've had caffeine and I'm in too good a mood XD

[cringefaecompilation]

saw a post about how c2 was full of mn just completely flipping off matt and managing to succeed in undoing every single tragedy that had been set before them and talking about how great it was that they did that and i think that perfectly encapsulates the mindset behind a lot of bh hate.

bc most of them are out here demanding bh be exactly like mn and have all the same amount of campaign derailing and fortune mn had, something that cannot be replicated with this party for obvious reasons. most of it was completely up to either what was in character for the pcs they were currently playing and their dice rolls, things that you could only do if the show was legit scripted.

but people tend to forget that the show wasn't written out in advance after it aired, and so we get really obnoxious c2 fans that say things like "oh mn would have done this instead" or "mn could have succeeded where bh fucked up" or "why aren't they smart/clever/functioning exactly like mn" or my least favorite "bh isn't a REAL found family like mn is!"

which in turn leads c3 fans becoming bitter towards c2 fans for this weird watered down version where it's just a list of fandom-beloved tropes (e.g. found family, enemies to lovers, disaster lesbians, chaos gremlin character, manic pixie girlies helping the repressed mlm couple fall in love) that c3 fans that have been conditioned to hate it insist it is. and they'll say mn were basically handed everything on a platter and never actually faced any challenges or turmoil like bh has had to because they all just got lucky.

and c2 fans that haven't revisited the series outside of fanfic defend it on those tropes even though that's barely what the actual campaign is like. but mn worked for their happy endings too. they didn't just stumble into succeeding and even with all their successes they still missed the giant big red flag that was ludinus da'leth because they'd convinced themselves that trent was the main bad guy.

but both sides are just too caught up in arguing over fandom misinterps. it's a vicious cycle.

[the-s1lly-corner]

How could each Evil Adult do in a dinner date?

dinner date w/ various knd villains

i dont usually take larger group posts buuuuuut i was already planning on writing something like this and this was the kick i needed to get to it LMAOAOAOAO!! happy to see people still requesting knd even if my writing for it has slowed down a bit!

characters: father, knightbrace, cuppa joe, stickybeard, spankulot, toiletnation

notes: reader is gn, established relationship, admin did his best to make everyone unique with their settings- hard given theyre all dinner dates!

cws: none

father

if should come as a surprise to absolutely no one that he would use the fact that he has access to money to spoil you- get ready to be taken to some high end place to eat! if you need an outfit he even offers to buy you something nice

all things considered, he does try to make the night as perfect as possible and hes quick to agitate if something comes up that can derail those plans- example being your typical knd antics or something else entirely

provided nothing happens, the night is... actually pretty nice..

he feels nice being able to spoil you, if he knows you cant afford your half of the bill hes willing to pay it off

wears a bowtie over his shadow suit thing, it.. looks a little funny because it looks like its just been glued on

the type to give flowers before a date to set a tone for the night

knightbrace

obviously hes going to make you brush after you both eat but thats not exactly part of the date, now is it? i mean he can try if he can find a way to make it romantic- side note if you struggle with general self care knightbrace is your man to hype you up

moving on

he does his best not to comment on your food choices- not in a body shaming way of course, hes just extremely uber hyperaware of whats going on with your teeth- hes got a bit of fixation that kind of boarders on obsession but thats another thing for another day

asides from that, hes actually pretty normal! he doesnt do fancy high end restaurant, hes more comfortable in spaces that are more casual...

splits the bill with you- you can have dessert, hes fine with not having any

if theres anything else hes obsessed with that isnt teeth, its time. he always makes sure hes on time to meet with you, likely a trait from his days as a dentist in training- got to be on time for appointments!

spankulot

he offers to let you meet up with him at his home- assuming he has one... i like to think he lives.. somewhere... whether it be a cave somewhere or in some old creepy manor! vampire stuff, you know?

does his best to put everything together so he can impress you

you can see him doing the hand shakey thing if you catch glimpses of him working on things before he sets the table... hes so eager to please you its adorable

fancy, but without the pressure of having to conform to others and their standards- you're in the comfort of a home!

tailors the meal to what you enjoy, he definitely keeps multiple cook books on hand! hes got recipes!

talking a mile a minute about his day as well as how hes happy you were able to make it for your date, and he listens to every word when you speak

very attentive partner who does everything for you, sweet man. blorbo

cuppa joe

you guys dont get to go on dates often due to him being out on his coffee rigs for... long periods of time..

i believe i mentioned in a different post somewhere the he does try to make up for lost time by absolutely spoiling you and smothering you in his love and attention

loaded as well, that coffee money PAYS! he can afford to take you to some fancy schmancy place, but thats not really his style

its a bit predictable, but he takes you to a cafe to get a drink and some treats. its far more casual than father or knightbrace's idea for a date, but you cant deny that the coziness offers you a comfortable atmosphere to catch up

makes sure you get the highest quality coffee, wouldnt be surprised if he was the one supplying the specific cafe you two were sitting in

tells you about all his findings out on the rig and asks you if youve been up to everything, he offers to take you with him the next time he has to go out

stickybeard

i can see him taking you to that candy bar he was at in the black licorice episode! hope youre ready to get some toothaches because there... isnt much options for actual food... actually now that you think about, have you ever seen your boyfriend eat actual food? sure he sometimes goes to the villain bbq, but-

night outs with stickybeard are always full of energy and laugh, he makes sure youre having a good time and hes ready to call it a night if youre getting tired or otherwise ready to put an end to the social event

insists you do most of the talking, he thinks your voice is the sweetest thing ever... pun intended!

does his best to take you out every week or two, definitely takes you out when he successfully carries out an evil plan to rob a child or a candy shop

date nights rarely end with dinner, expect him to have another activity planned afterwards! even if its just sailing around the suburbs in his ship!

toiletnator

he either prepares something at his place or yours- or he takes you out to eat somewhere

who needs to dress up and sit at some posh place when you can just catch a movie and then grab something quick to eat?

sure its not the most.. traditionally romantic... but the simplicity of it feels just as charming as the other characters nights in my opinion!

makes sure youre having fun- he can sometimes get carried away with the things he wants to do that night, but he can pull himself back if he notices you're not having as much fun as he had hoped you would

offers to pay for everything even if he cant afford it- i... doubt he makes a lot of money given that hes not a very successful villain..

[wraithdance]

💕 Positivity prime time! Share five things you love about yourself, four things you're excited about, OR three people you care deeply about and why. Pass this along to someone whose posts make you smile 💕 - @mikichko 💕

Hehehe hi baby! Okay so gonna get a lil gay(er) so under the cut we go! (Did the 3 ppl I care about at the end)

5 things I like about myself

Physically:

1. my beauty marks (I have like 6ish on my face and a big one on my upper lip)

2. my gapped teeth! took me getting braces just for my teeth to shift back a lil to finally think my teeth are unique/special to me lmao (special mention to my ass tho it really does go crazyyyy)

Non physically:

3) my intelligence (interpersonally, emotionally and academically), I think my way of thinking is unique to me and has allowed me to be on incredible platforms and spaces to share my thought processes

4. My creativity!! Who I am and will forever be is an artist. My connection to my life and the world will always start with viewing things as an artist first and foremost! So that gives me a layered view about beauty that I think is unique

5. My capacity to love and hate in equal measures 💀 one thing about it and two things for sure I’m all in when it comes to hating or loving someone or something. It may seem toxic but my word is my bond and my actions are something I never want misconstrued. Also I may not know what it’s like to be ‘in’ love but I can give love like nobodies business lol

3 people I care deeply about:

1. Xavi!!

I’ve already told you and Jess how much I adore you, but I got derailed and never got a chance to cry all over Xavi’s inbox lmao. I appreciate him so much because it’s just been so easy to just talk about shared experiences and get both an honest raw opinion but no judgment. I love cracking jokes and feeding off of each others energies to one up the other on the crazy nasty shit we can say lmfao.

I’ve learned a lot from him in such a short amount of time. Having someone be very vocal about not allowing me to make myself small or even challenging some of the stuff that is still toxic/unwoke from my upbringing has been really impactful for me. I don’t feel like I have to be perfectly together on a pedestal with him and it does still make me wanna balk in terror but I love my lil angel face 😭

2. Wren/Void!!

Not that I don’t appreciate them both and recognize them as separate individuals but they are like the fun part of a Kit Kat when they’re together lmaoo!! Both are so immeasurably cool and I’m fascinated by their brains so much!

Wren is such a sweetheart and the one person I think I would like to hug without absolutely having a touch repulsed avoidant fit about it lmaooo. They are so kind to me and half my jokes are because I’m trying my best to make them laugh so I cackle while typing often. I don’t think we would be allowed in the same room or else we’d for sure start some shit 😭

Void puts my wack ass cool girl attempts to shame. I literally sigh wistfully like damn why can I not shut the fuck up and be half as interesting lmao. Through engaging with them I’ve inadvertently been able to put a name to a lot of things about myself that has haunted me for years. I’m someone who is obsessively logical so even if it doesn’t make my experiences less valid, knowing I’m not making shit up is a relief. Love that I don’t have to perform attachment with them!! It’s just a head nod wassup and go lmfao!

It’s fun kind of being ships passing in the night engaging at random with them and telling jokes. Really is a highlight of my day and is again no pressure so that’s a vibe for me

3. GEMMA!!!

Another person who I admire!! Hope I don’t get punched for saying this but she holds an online older sibling slot to me in my head. I’m very happy to hear her thoughts/beliefs and she’s so sweet and caring it rots my teeth 🥹

I still feel very inadequate when faced with her truly immaculate organizational skills and her writing is so utterly phenomenal. watching her engage and work things out has been so refreshing and I’ve learned a lot! I hope to be as smart as her one day and maybe even a quarter as graceful when I decide to finally act like an adult lmfao. For now I’m content with being her cheerleader so GO GEMMA GOOOOO 📣🥳

I sometimes laugh because I’m like whoa, how have I not irritated her yet with my chaos and constant emotional whiplash lmfao. But nonetheless, I adore Gemma so much she’s one of my lil pockets of sunshine on here even if I don’t say it enough!!

[klysanderelias]

I do agree and I don't really want to derail the point that OP was making but I do feel like sometimes people underplay just how weird the wife thing came across too. and y'know, I don't think it's worse than the transphobia platforming, but it's...

I mean, the core of it to me will always have been the joke about his wife being a bitch, partially because he starts that joke off saying 'i'm going to be (playfully) racist' and then of course in that joke he says basically 'the one thing my wife asked me not to do was call her a bitch' and then he calls her a bitch? And specifically brings up that she's Jewish?

It's the problem of like, it's not good in hindsight, and there's something so irritating to me about the guy who wants so badly to be branded as the Wife Guy and yet feels like a marvel movie the way he keeps winking and nodding to the audience like it's a sin to be sincere.

And part of it's like... when I was younger, I listened to a lot of Christian music (which was generally bad for my health) but one of the artists I really loved was very much the Wife Guy, he wrote a bunch of songs about how much he loved his wife, about how he dropped everything and moved states just to get closer to her before they even started dating, etc etc, and the culmination was an album titled 'I was wrong, I'm sorry, and I love you' that kind of continued the trend. He also wrote a lot of songs about how the church (and believers) are Christ's bride and shit like that, lyrics like "I am a whore I do confess, I'll put you on just like a wedding dress and I'll run down the aisle"

Where it's just... when you find out he was cheating on his wife, especially during writing the album I was wrong I'm sorry and I love you, it's hard not to start making connections, y'know?

And I think we should allow people to be messy and make mistakes etc etc but I really don't like that the guy had a famous joke calling his wife a jewish bitch, and I really don't like it that then him and his wife got a divorce. It makes me start asking questions like 'was this actually a workshopped joke that his wife agreed to?' and 'even if it WAS, did she agree to it because she genuinely thought it was funny and a good joke or because she felt like she had to?'

And I don't like asking those questions because that's a personal and private thing, and I don't like that 'John Mulaney Loves His Wife So Much (And She's A Bitch)' became marketing. It's a problem with stand-up comedians to a certain extent where it's like 'haha funny joak' and then the truth comes out, y'know? Like haha louis ck sure had a bunch of jokes about masturbating in front of people... haha bo burnham sure had a lot of jokes about how he hates the audience and performing...

And again like, is it worse than the transphobia? Absolutely not. Am I avoiding putting all this on OP's post because I don't want them to feel like I'm saying 'but actually I still hate him for getting a divorce'? Absolutely.

Marriages don't always last, and I'm genuinely grateful that both divorce is an option that people are allowed, and one that has become more normalized (and should be even more normalized), but there is a certain point where, when Talking About How Much You Love Your Wife becomes content, when it becomes something you sell, it makes me really uncomfortable. I can't help but draw lines between like, family vloggers who exploit their children for content, or tradwife shit where inherently they have to be happy and perfect wives as part of the Brand.

And y'know, partially I wish we as audiences were less parasocial, that we didn't put people on a pedestal like 'damn I wish I could find a love like that', I think we should stop giving a shit who Taylor Swift is dating (and instead care more about her taking a private jet for every errand), but also we need to stop making this shit Content. People need to stop selling themselves, stop marketing themselves, as 'guy who really loves his wife.'

At the end of the day, I don't hate john mulaney for getting a divorce, or for cheating on his wife or not, I hate that he got paid a lot of money to stand up on stage and say to a huge audience 'aren't I so cool and good for being able to love my bitch jew wife.'

I hate that every time I think about it I think about what it must have felt like to be his wife watching it.

[kyojurismo]

— I’LL SEE YOU AGAIN

# kyojuro rengoku

synopsis : you arrive just in time for a final goodbye.

tags : gn!reader, angst, light canon divergence, kyojuro’s death, shit ton of crying & blood.

a/n : of course i recently rewatched the mugen train arc and i ended up sobbing desperately as always, but i also imagined something like this. that’s why we’re here, basically. my best friend read it & convinced me to post it ngl, i hope you’ll enjoy it… if possible, lol *innocently looks away* (what a cool way to try and get to write, right?)

you were usually sent on missions with kyojuro, and since you two were dating it helped spending more time together. but this time was different.

you were walking side by side with uzui, who was trying to organise a plan to finish the mission quickly, since you both wanted to be home soon and reunite with your lovers. when suddenly, both your crows appeared and interrupted him.

“the flame hashira requires urgent assistance!“

the crows added something else but you stopped hearing after that. you felt a lump forming in your throat and your heart skipped a beat. you had a terrible feeling and without even alerting tengen you started running in the direction where the mugen train had derailed, your crow guiding you.

needless to say, uzui followed you in an instant.

the world stopped completely for you. you couldn’t hear anything, aside from your heart beating faster and faster against your ribs.

please, kyojuro…

─────────────────────

you saw him. you noticed he was still breathing and it was certainly a good sign… right? it had to.

you ran up to him and fell on your knees in front of him, his left eye was completely closed and there was blood on his face. you noticed with terror something stuck into his mid region, it was passing through his stomach.

“i’m so happy to see you,” his voice was lower than usual and it caused the tears in your eyes to start streaming down your face. “d-don’t strain yourself,” you pleaded him, believing that he just needed to stay still until the kakushi got there.

uzui appeared behind you right after checking the young slayers previously sent to support kyojuro on the mission. they were alive and their injuries weren’t too bad.

“i wanna have one last chat with you… it truly is a bless to have you here, you know?” his lips curved in a smile, making your heart clench. you were shaking as tears kept streaming down your cheeks. “you’ll be alright, use your breathing instead of talking, please!” you moved closer but refrained from touching him, too scared of hurting him. “i have something to tell you.”

you shook your head, hiccups causing your body to shake even more. “you can’t die now! you promised to come back, to me and senjuro!” the desperation in your voice showed how shocked and scared you were, it clearly clouded your judgment. “y/n,” uzui put a hand on your shoulder, trying to calm you down. kyojuro glanced at him tiredly, grateful that he was here too. for you.

“meeting you was one of the many blessings in my life. i’m glad i was able to see you smile, share your joy over small things… see the love in your eyes whenever you looked at me,” his voice was gentle, but hearing his words felt like getting stabbed repeatedly in your heart.

“i know you’ll keep blooming and growing, because there’s still more you have to discover about yourself. my only regret is that i won’t be there to hold your hand in the process.”

oh, rengoku…

your vision was completely clouded by tears but you could still see that whatever was stuck in his body was now turning into dust, as the sun was rising high in the sky. blood gushed from the hole in his stomach, his uniform quickly turning red as the blood started to pool around his figure. that was it.

“don’t leave me!” you pleaded as you wrapped your arms around his neck, sobbing in such a violent manner that your whole body ached, you felt like you couldn’t breathe anymore. “i c-can’t– i can’t live with-without you!” as you held him close his blood was quick to stain your uniform, but it didn’t matter.

“please.. kiss me,” he whispered, hearing the urgency in his voice made you pull back slightly. you were quick to cup his cheeks and kiss him gently, your lips trembling against his. you got blood on your hands and chin, and kyojuro felt bad for staining your beautiful skin. your soft and warm skin. as you pulled back, kyojuro smile widened. “i love you.”

you felt your heart cracking completely and you watched the life leaving his body as he closed his eyes and kept smiling contently. kyojuro was gone and the rational side of you knew it, but you weren’t ready to accept it. you hugged his lifeless body tightly and cried against his chest, as you screamed till your throat hurt.

tengen let you hug kyojuro’s body for a couple of minutes before trying to pull you back, knowing that it would just make things more difficult for you.

“let me go! i can’t leave him!” you screamed at him, trying to push him away without letting kyojuro go. tengen grabbed you more firmly and finally pulled you away, lifting you off the ground.

as the kakushi arrived, you started blaming them. you screamed at every single one of them who walked close to kyojuro and at that, tengen had to walk away with you, to let them do their job.

you saw them moving him and you tried to run to him again but uzui gripped your arms and held you in front of him, he made sure to shield you from what was going on behind him as he noticed your status.

“y/n, listen. y/n!” he wrapped his arms around you to stop you from squirming in his grasp and run away. “h-he promised to c-come back!” your face was all wet and hot from the crying, as tengen tried to wipe away your tears. he cupped your face and tried his best to comfort you. “i know… but that’s not gonna happen,” he muttered, seeing your eyes completely empty.

you felt like throwing up as your head started spinning. you were covered in kyojuro’s blood and the stark realisation that kyojuro, the love of your life, just died in front of you started hitting you.

“k-kyo is…” you looked up at tengen, ready to start crying again, before he hugged you and held you close to his body, feeling you heavily shaking in his arms. tengen caressed your back slowly and stared into the distance.

i didn’t told him that i love him too. he didn’t hear it for the last time. i just watched him die in front of my eyes. he didn’t deserve it!

reblogs & comments are super appreciated! thank you for taking your time reading it, i hope you enjoyed it. have a good day / night <3

[drbased]

godddd I want to talk about how the kinksters absolutely use the threat of 'degeneracy' as a sword of damocles against feminists who talk about things like systematised rape but I've written so much recently and sometimes I just can't get my brain to write certain things. like they will accuse us of having secret 'breeding kinks', weaponising the percieved societal degeneracy of having such a fetish. it's clear that for all the posturing about kinks being normal and healthy they absolutely do not care if kinks make you seem 'degenerate' if it derails feminist discussion. their whole deal is 'well I don't care if I'm seen as disgusting, so if you just admit your little ~~obsession~~ with rape is just a kink like mine then you can drop this whole feminist charade and I definitely won't hold it against you :) I promise :)'

I also have a post I've been wanting to write for literally years about the film 'secretary' which I watched and got kinda obsessed with after I stopped engaging with kink - it's posited as a better depiction of bdsm than 50 shades and I was fascinated with how anyone thought the narrative presented in this film is somehow supportive of bdsm. like it's literally just propaganda, and you bought straight into it by viewing it on the most pathetically surface level imaginable. the film tells you it has a happy ending, and you believe it. but this is literally all the stereotypes surrounding why people criticise bdsm:

a self-harming young woman, fresh out of a mental hospital, gets sexually harassed by her new, older male boss in the isolated envrionment of his home. part of this involves him harming her in a way that we're told is somehow different to her harming herself, because in this context she goes to masturbate in the bathroom about it - and he doesn't like her harming herself, which is how we're told he's actually a nice, caring guy. meanwhile this is all juxtaposed against the stereotype of her vanilla boyfriend as dumb and boring in bed (like, the literal propaganda of bdsm as its sold to women is that the dom is classy and well-dressed, that if you submit to him and consent to his sexual abuse of you, only in that context will he make sex erotic and sensual and ritualised and inviting and exciting and non-penis-focussed, and he will only care about your orgasm when he can control when it happens) and eventually the dom is all like boo hoo I don't know why I'm like this I'm so fucked up I'm going to leave you, and the climax of the film involves her sitting in one spot for so long as a tribute to her willing to submit to him. like she willingly pisses herself and everything. her refusal to move gets her on the news and a feminist comes to her and tells her what she's doing is degrading. Like it was at this point I had a realisation that modern 'feminism' is literally just the antithesis of what feminists have said and believed for decades and yet it still wants to claim the name and prestige of 'feminism'. like here's a bdsm film literally saying that feminists don't understand the nuance, the feminist is literally an antagonist, it's literally being an anti-feminist film, yet modern-day pro-bdsm 'feminists' want to somehow say that bdsm is actually real feminism. the word 'feminism' doesn't exist in the ether, y'know - you can just pick a different word if you hate so many of its principles or how it's used; black women already did that with womanism. but no, you gotta have your cake and eat it too, and we never really have to worry about the moral character of the older male boss who sexually harassed his young, vulnerable, self-harming female typist because she put herself through a huge indignity to prove to him that she wants it. the message is that mentally unwell people deserve their fucked up love, too, and that's the heartwarming story of it all, that's the takeaway from it all. I hate this fucking propaganda with a fucking passion.

[neu-apostolisch]

i feel like the conversation gets derailed when people hyperfocus on "but it's an interesting plot!” and bg3 the game, when the point—at least the one that was originally made in the complaints on here—was that it was odd that they agreed that him ending it all in Act 3 was The Right Ending, and the implications that has when you consider how they treat gale versus all the other characters, as well as how they use their treatment of their characters to make comments about those social issues in real life. people weren't upset that they were presented with that rp choice or that such an ending even exists for him; they were upset by the comments of the creators and how they would never say such a thing for gale's mirror, aka a certain vampire. you brought up good arguments to that anon and i don't mean to discount either of your statements i really don't, but people were upset by what the creators specifically said which was yeah in many ways that is the right ending. sorry for continuing to discourse and vent in your inbox lol this isn't directed at you i just liked reading your thoughts so far because you said it better than i could have. i just really don't like how "but it's interesting and not every story has to be happy" and "you're just too attached to gale" get thrown out as rebuttals when that's really neither here nor there and doesn't address the actual issue being raised.

hello! thanks for your thoughts. and yeah, the discourse on this topic has gotten pretty…difficult to engage with, in a sense. that’s what prompted my first post on the topic actually—eagle eyed readers of my posts might find another one where i complained about the discourse only to follow up with a long winded treatise lolol. but i did it because i felt the conversation was lacking a specific viewpoint, so be the change you want to see in the world and all that. i’ve actually really appreciated the responses from everyone on the post/follow up! :)

as a proud galemancer i deeply feel the frustration of all of us. on a personal level, this sucks. i love our wizard boy and he deserves better! the complaints and anger make sense to me. the writers treating him so glibly is rough, but before i talk about it i always try to remind myself of what IS there—which is a really interesting story about a gentleman with some complex flaws, motives, and goals. the writers talking about which ending is “right” cannot take that away, and you should feel comfortable disagreeing with the writers!

to my fellow gale enjoyers and galemancers—i would encourage you to maintain a critical lens but also to continue to enjoy and mine out the richness that is there. sure, that’s a rosy and maybe naive view, but don’t allow the frustration to infect your enjoyment of an amazing character. i am not saying to settle for less, but if you can’t think of gale without despairing at his treatment, you should step away from the conversation for a moment to refresh yourself before you get too stuck in the bog. it’s healthy to remind yourself why you’re here—because you think a wizard is really really cool. he’s got one of the most fulfilling and interesting romances in the game, the unique scenes with him are gorgeous, and he’s an incredible character.

i actually have additional criticisms about how they handled other characters in this game. it’s funny, but a common knee-jerk reaction people have when they read criticism of something is that the critic must not like the writing or the game, so they automatically jump in to argue on that point. on the contrary, a lot of criticism comes from a place of genuine support and appreciation for writing, game design, and narrative structure. but you’ll see a lot of backlash from people misinterpreting that idea or taking criticism personally, so that’s why i’m always careful to state my positives and that i truly love this game. it’s as much a reminder to me as it is a declaration to others. i’m not here because i want to hate on larian. i’m here because i want to chat about stuff to the internet machine and maybe people like you and the other anon(s) will say some interesting stuff back to me.

the right kind of discourse is actually healthy for a fandom because it keeps ideas flowing and circulating, and lets us commiserate together. however, i might just be relaxed because people have been really civil to me so far hahaha.

anyway, thanks again for your ask! hope you have a good one.

[senashenta]

Horror High: Chapter Four

Title: Horror High

Pairing: Destiel

Rating: Explicit (in future chapters)

Warnings: Sex, Violence

Summary: John Winchester plants his eldest son at Caspar High in Jacksonville because weird things have been happening there: people disappearing. People reappearing only dead and drained of all their bodily fluids. Cocoons. It’s up to Dean to figure out what’s stalking Caspar’s halls and deal with it accordingly; but then he meets the New Kid—newer than him, even, the New-New Kid—Castiel Novak, and all his plans get severely derailed. Now Dean has to juggle the supernatural case—a really hungry jorogumo—and also the fact that he’s very quickly falling in love, something that is absolutely forbidden by his dad.

Meanwhile Castiel, shoved into the third new school in a year because his adoptive father—Chuck Shurley’s—job has them moving around a lot, struggles to fit in at Caspar High, not only because he’s the New Kid but because he’s the weird New Kid. Dean seems like a saving grace, a harbor in a storm, someone who doesn’t judge him—that is until Cas finds out about Dean’s night job. Cas’s life just got a whole lot stranger—but that doesn’t stop him from falling for Dean, regardless.

Notes: Just. So much fluff. ALL THE FLUFF. Not that anyone is reading this, but whatever. Can also be read HERE ON AO3. New chapter next Friday! :)

HORROR HIGH TUMBLR MASTER POST HERE.

HORROR HIGH Chapter Four By Senashenta

[Dean’s birthday is soon. I just thought you should know.]

Cas wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the text he received from Sam on Friday night after school. He let it sit for a bit while he tidied his room and pondered it. He knew Dean’s birthday was in January, but he didn’t know what day, and he wasn’t sure why Sam was… telling him this.

He was halfway through actually making his bed (for once) when he made a soft frustrated noise and tossed the blankets down, heading over to pick up his phone again:

[What day?]

But Sam wasn’t going to answer that particular question. When he replied a few minutes later it was with:

[He wouldn’t want me to tell you. He doesn’t like to talk about his birthday. But you of all people should know it’s coming up, right?]

Cas frowned:

[He told me before that it’s this month.]

Sam seemed surprised by that:

[Really? He never tells anybody. I knew you two are close, but…]

Cas paused, considering, and chewed on his lip as he typed out his reply:

[Sam, do you think I could get him something? A birthday gift?]

There was a long, long pause between that and Sam’s next response:

[I don’t know. He could get mad. But you wouldn’t know unless you try.]

That was… foreboding. Cas didn’t want to do anything to make Dean angry. But he also didn’t want to ignore his boyfriend’s birthday, that seemed like an important thing. He frowned to himself again, fingers tapping at the side of his phone restlessly as he considered his options. Then:

[I think I might give it a shot.]

Sam’s reply was quick this time:

[It’s your funeral.]

Cas hummed over that:

[I’ll chance it. Thanks, Sam.]

Setting his phone on his desk, he dropped down into the chair with a huff. This was… well. Not really a conundrum. Cas knew he wanted to do something for Dean for his birthday, even though the older boy apparently didn’t celebrate it and he didn’t even know what actual day it was.

Not a party, obviously. That would be way too over-the-top, and besides which who would he invite? Maybe just something with the two of them? That might work. They could just spend a day together and he would wish Dean a Happy Birthday at the end of it. Or something else…

Blue eyes skimmed around the room as he thought before landing on Charlie’s business card that was pinned to the bulletin board above his desk and oh. That was an idea. Cas turned in his seat and opened his laptop, quickly pulling up Charlie’s Etsy store and beginning to click through it, browsing idly.

Yeah.

That was definitely an idea.

-- --

“You want to commission something?”

This was Monday, after a weekend of hanging out with the Winchesters, watching movies, doing research, and plotting privately to himself, and Charlie was blinking at him in surprise while Cas just stared back at her and nodded earnestly. “Yes.”

“Well… what do you want to commission?” Charlie asked with a tilt of her head.

“A bracelet. Or, I mean, a leather cuff.” Cas explained, then added in a softer tone, “it’s for Dean’s birthday.”

“Aw. You two are adorable.” Charlie gave him a little smile and propped her elbow on his desk, resting her chin in her hand. She regarded him almost fondly. “You want a cuff, like one of the ones I braid? I don’t really do a lot of leather work. Have you looked at my site?”

Cas nodded again. “Mn, I looked at your site. You make really nice products. And I was looking at the section with the braided leather bracelets and cuffs—you know, the ones for guys—and I just thought…” Trailing off, he glanced down, then back up again before asking, “does it sound like a stupid idea?”

“You’re asking the wrong person, Cas, I’m making money out of the deal.” Charlie pointed out. After that, though, she smiled again and added, “but no, it doesn’t sound like a stupid idea at all.”

“I don’t even really know what I want, I�� can you just use your best judgement and make something? I’ll pay for whatever.”

“Oooh boy, you’re playing with fire, there, Cas.” Jody piped up. “Just giving her free reign like that.”

“Charlie doesn’t have ‘best judgement’.” Garth added with a snicker.

“I do too!” Charlie protested with a pout. She glared at Jody, then at Garth, before returning her attention to Cas. “I can make something nice for him, Cas.” She assured him, “I’ll make a braided leather cuff, just for him. With silver snap fasteners. What color do you think he’d like?”

“Black, I think, if you can.” Cas smiled, expression fond, “or dark brown.”

Charlie reached with her free hand to poke his cheek, the gesture affectionate. “Consider it done!”

-- --

At lunch that day, Cas didn’t say anything about Dean’s birthday or planning a gift for him, he just sat with his boyfriend and enjoyed his company, the same as always, although feeling mildly nervous because of all the plotting. He privately hoped Sam would be wrong about Dean’s reaction to everything.

“So, I was thinking,” He said as he handed Dean his lunch, “if you think Sam will be okay, do you want to come over after school today?”

Dean had started unwrapping his sandwich but paused to give Cas a surprised look. “Like just to hang out, or…?”

Cas had to smile at that, chuckling softly. “Just to hang out.”

“What about your Dad?” Dean wondered aloud. He continued unwrapping his lunch and took a bite, expression curious.

“Father knows you’re my friend, now, and he likes you.” Cas shrugged, working at opening his own sandwich and starting to eat. After a minute and a couple of bites, he swallowed and continued, “he won’t question you coming over to hang out.”

“Are you sure?” Dean hedged, “I mean not that I don’t want to, but…”

But Cas just nodded, continuing to eat. “I’m sure. You’re being paranoid.”

“It comes with the Hunter territory.” Dean replied dryly.

Well… yeah. Okay. Cas supposed that was probably fair. He held out the fruit cup he always brought for Dean to take, and smiled when his boyfriend plucked it from his fingers with a thanks mumbled around a mouthful of sandwich. “I promise it’ll be fine. I just want to spend time with you, that’s all.” Then, after a brief pause, “I always want to spend time with you, you know?”

Dean paused halfway to a bite, hesitated, then admitted softly, “yeah, me too.”

That made Cas smile, just soft and fond, and he glanced at Dean out of the corner of his eye before shifting sideways to lean into the other boy a little. He didn’t say anything more, at least for the moment, just went back to eating, and they existed quietly like that for a while.

It was actually a little bit funny, the way things under the bleachers could be so radically different day by day. Some days, like this one, they just sat together and enjoyed each other’s company. Others they talked and laughed about nothing in particular—or Cas asked endless questions about life on the road, about monsters and Hunting. Still others they made out, deep and warm and wanting.

And Cas couldn’t pick a favorite kind of day. He rather liked them all, personally.

But today was good. Pleasant and warm. Especially when Dean finished off his lunch and then casually tossed an arm around Cas’s shoulders. Cas smiled to himself as he finished his own sandwich.

“Anyway, I can give you a tour of the house, and then we can hang out in my bedroom.” Cas looked up at Dean, still smiling. “It’s a nice house.”

“Is it a nice bedroom?” Dean teased.

“I like it.” Cas replied, rolling his eyes. “I’m sure you will, too.”

“I’m sure I will.” The older teen grinned.

Cas elbowed him lightly. “Terrible.” He accused fondly.

-- --

They met up after school the same as always, exchanging a few little kisses before heading off down the street toward Cas’s house. When they got there, Cas had to unlock the door to let them in, which meant his father was out, but that was fine with him. It gave them more privacy.

Shoes off in the entryway, of course, and a cursory tour of the house, and then they headed up to Cas’s bedroom, Cas leading the way and ushering Dean inside. Then he crossed over to dump his backpack by his desk—and turned to watch Dean inspect the room.

Cas’s bedroom was sparsely decorated, not that that fact was surprising to Dean. There was a wardrobe directly to the left of the door. His desk was on the righthand wall and had his laptop, a couple of notebooks and a mug full of pens and pencils, along with several spools of thread, a package of needles and a couple of patches he obviously hadn’t gotten around to sewing to his backpack yet. The bulletin board above the desk had various notes pinned to it, along with a leaflet with dates and locations for his father’s upcoming seminars. Nothing mind-blowing.

The door beside his desk led to, he was told, a small bathroom, so Cas didn’t have to share with his father, which sounded really nice. (Dean would kill not to have to share a bathroom with his dad and Sam all the time.)

Cas’s bookshelves, on the other side of the desk, were very interesting, containing books about religions from all corners of the world, as well as books about folklore, mythology and an entire section of new age, along with medical and psychological textbooks on various subjects. And then, inexplicably, near the bottom, almost an entire shelf of Neil Gaiman books. Dean snorted. “Why Neil Gaiman?”

Cas shrugged. “I feel like he understands me.”

Dean just looked at him searchingly for a moment before going back to his inspection. Cas had a couple of little trinkets on his shelves as well, religious wards or good luck symbols from varying sources, all of which Dean obviously recognized. One little soapstone carved seal—the animal—which Dean found curious but didn’t ask about in the moment. (Later he found out that Cas had taken an online quiz to find out what his Inuit totem animal would be and had come up with the seal, so had bought the little guy when he’d come across it a while later.)

Along the opposite wall was a stand holding a probably fifty-gallon aquarium full of goldfish in every imaginable color pattern. Beside that was a nondescript dresser with a clearly disused TV on top of it, next to a small terrarium that contained—well. When Dean looked inside, he saw nothing. “Cas?”

“That’s Itsy.”

“Itsy?”

“Tarantula.”

“Cool.” Dean grinned.

The bed—a respectable queen size—was pushed up so that the headboard was right against the large picture window at the end of the room. About ten off-white, opaline stones the size of a golf ball but in gnarled shapes and wrapped in twine were strung up around the window—and a large multicolor dreamcatcher hung dead center in the middle of them.

Dean considered all this for a moment, then just shrugged and flopped onto his back on the (unmade, why was he not surprised?) bed. When Cas wandered over to sit on the edge of the bed beside him, he reached up and grabbed at the other boy, dragging him down too, and they shuffled around until they were both comfortable with Cas tucked into his side and Dean’s arm flung around him, holding him close.

Green eyes stared up at the ceiling, which was absolutely covered in glow-in-the-dark stars, an entire starfield inside one little bedroom. A little smile quirked at Dean’s lips. Then his gaze shifted to the twine-wrapped stones dangling above them.

“So, what’s with the chalcedony?”

Cas hummed, his head on Dean’s shoulder and fingers tracing abstract patterns on his chest. “Trying to keep the nightmares away.”

“I know what it’s for.” Dean clarified. The arm tucked around Cas shifted so he could rub at the back of the younger’s neck; “what kind of nightmares?”

Cas hesitated, his fingers pausing and his hand smoothing over Dean’s chest absently, then blew out a breath and turned his head to bury his face in Dean’s shirt. “It probably sounds stupid, makes no sense. It’s like flashes from another universe, another life,” his voice came out muffled, “but… I’m a soldier, in some never-ending celestial war, just fighting, following orders, for my whole existence. Or… I’m being made to kill the same man, over and over again, and I can’t see his face, but I know I know him, and I know I care about him, and I know I don’t want to kill him, but someone is forcing me anyway, against my will. Or I’m strapped to a chair and being experimented on, there are drills and other tools and my eyes are bleeding… or…” Trailing off, he swallowed slightly and managed; “I’m saying goodbye to the one I love. A final goodbye. I’m going away to somewhere dark and never coming back, and I’m never going to see them again, and I’m telling them how much I love them, maybe for the first time ever, but also for the last time ever, and—”

“Hey, hey…” Shaking his head, Dean tightened his hold on Cas and continued rubbing at his neck and shoulders while he took a few breaths; “Cas I… I am so sorry. That all sounds terrible, I… but they’re just dreams, right?”

Cas scoffed softly and re-adjusted so he was resting against Dean properly again. He was quiet while he collected himself and his hand picked up where it had left off, fingers tracing absently against Dean’s chest. “You don’t believe that. You’re a Hunter. You know better.”

He had a point.

“Anyway,” Cas continued, closing his eyes, “I bought a dreamcatcher, and did some research, and chalcedony is considered by the ancients, the Celts, to foster balance and healing, to protect against bad dreams and encourage positive ones. Or that’s the theory, anyway.”

“It doesn’t work for you?”

“Not really. I still have the nightmares almost every night. Have as long as I can remember.”

“I have nightmares, too.” Dean offered softly, “about Hunts I’ve been on, and monsters I’ve faced. Of Sam or Dad getting hurt. Or of fire. I dream about fire a lot.” He shifted, considering for a moment that it was the first time he’d talked about this sort of thing with anyone, before continuing; “I could never tell Sam or Dad that, they’d think I was weak. But sometimes it all just gets to me, you know?”

“You’re human, Dean, with the things you’ve seen… a few nightmares are to be expected.” Making a quiet noise in his throat, Cas pulled away, pushing up and getting onto his knees, then stretching to pull one of his chalcedony stones down. He held it for Dean to take. “Here. Maybe it’ll work better for you than it does for me.”

Dean just looked at him for a moment, clearly astonished, then took the stone and stuffed it in his pocket before grabbing at Cas and tumbling him back down into the bed. He followed that by rolling over until he was on top of the other boy. When Cas blinked up at him, bewildered, Dean just leaned down to kiss him, enjoying the moment, the emotional closeness, the softness of the covers around them—rather than the shitty motel linens he was used to—and the feel of Cas under him.

“I could get used to this,” he murmured a moment later when they broke apart for air. “I feel… spoiled. Around you, Cas. Happy. Cared for.”

“Because I care for you.” Cas responded logically with a little tilt of his head.

Dean smiled and ducked to kiss him again. “I just keep waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under me, because something this good can’t last forever. Not for me.”

“Mm-mm.” A quiet, disapproving hum and Cas lifted one hand to stroke through Dean’s hair, toying with the soft strands gently. Dean leaned into his touch. “I’m sure there are Hunters who have good lives, too. Haven’t you ever felt cared for before? Your Dad? Sam?”

Green eyes closed over, and Dean slowly lowered himself down to rest half-overtop of Cas, then ducked his head to bury his face in the other boy’s neck, “Dad cares in his own way, but he doesn’t like to show it. And Sam’s just a kid…” He trailed off for a moment then, hesitating before continuing to speak. Cas just kept playing with his hair carefully. “My Mom, when I was really little… I remember love, then, and warmth. She used to always make sure I was in a sweater when it was cold, or a raincoat when it was wet out and she baked the best pie. But she…” Another hesitation and Dean huffed a sigh, turning his head to rest against Cas’s shoulder, eyes opening a little. “She died. A long time ago. So.”

Cas made a soft, almost wounded sound in the back of his throat. “Dean...”

“Hey, it’s okay, don’t worry about it.” Dean pushed himself up to sit, “my life isn’t so shitty, I just—”

But Cas frowned and grabbed a hold of the older boy, dragging him back down and wrapping him up in his arms, determination in his eyes even when Dean uttered a squawked protest. “But you feel cared for now, right?”

“Cas—” Dean huffed but didn’t struggle, instead settling easily and flopping his head down heavily on Cas’s chest. “Yeah, I do. Because of you.”

Cas made a little oof noise but otherwise didn’t complain. He was quiet for a moment before announcing, “so then I just have to stick around.”

“Cas. You don’t get it. After this whole thing at the school, I’m leaving, and I’ll probably never be back!”

“No, I understand that, Dean.” Cas sighed, “but there are such things as cell phones and computers. You just need to get a phone that’s capable of text and a laptop that doesn’t belong to your brother.” It seemed simple enough to him, but Dean and his technophobia were clearly struggling with the concept. Cas loosened his hold on him and brought a hand up to stroke through his hair again, “we can talk, and text, and video chat. And I’m sure you could come back to visit once in a while, when you’re in Florida or close by, or we could meet up somewhere else. My Father probably won’t like me taking off for random weekends, but I’d do it for you anyway. People have made relationships work on less.”

Dean grumbled but leaned into the hand in his hair. “Stop making sense.”

Cas actually grinned at him. “Make me.”

-- --

This wasn’t the first time lunch hour behind the bleachers had turned into a make-out session, but they weren’t usually this… intense. Mostly because they weren’t always the only ones who ate lunch in the gym, and they could both behave reasonably when the situation called for it.

Today had started off with Dean angling for a couple of kisses and the next thing Cas knew their lunches were discarded and he was straddling Dean’s lap, both hands buried in the older boy’s hair and kissing him until he couldn’t breathe, until they were pressed flush together, rutting against each other, and Dean’s hands were under his shirt and Cas was pretty sure he was on the verge of ruining his boxers but he was surprisingly okay with that, actually.

And then Dean stopped. His hands moved down to grab at Cas’s hips, stilling him as well, and he muttered a quiet apology when Cas dropped his forehead down onto Dean’s shoulder and groaned in protest.

“Damn it, Dean…” Cas grumbled under his breath.

“I know, but quiet.” Dean had his eyes closed and when Cas glanced up, he was obviously listening for something. One of his hands moved off Cas’s hip and down to the floor, palm down against the polished wood. “There’s something moving around below us. I can feel it in the floor.” After a long couple of minutes, he opened his eyes again and returned his hand to Cas’s hip. When Cas straightened up with a heaved sigh, his own hands sliding to grab at Dean’s shoulders absently, Dean looked at him and asked, “what’s under the gym?”

Cas’s brows drew together, and he swallowed slightly. “I don’t know. You’ve been here longer than I have. Basement?”

“I—” Dean ran a hand over his face and then carefully maneuvered Cas out of his lap. “I am so sorry, Cas, but I have to go find the door to the basement right now.”

Cas slumped back against the wall and thumped his head back on the brick lightly, just once, but then nodded. “…I understand, Dean.”

“I’ll make it up to you, I swear.” Dean promised, even as he was climbing out from under the bleachers.

Another nod, and a half-smile; “I’m going to hold you to that.” For now, he just watched Dean hurry off—and willed his hard-on to go the hell away before he had to go back to class.

-- --

At the end of the day when Dean emerged from Caspar High into the Jacksonville heat and humidity, he was surprised to find Cas waiting by the steps for him, the same as always. He had honestly figured that leaving the other boy high-and-dry the way he had would put him in the doghouse, but no, Cas perked when he spotted him and gave him a welcoming smile, which Dean gratefully returned.

So, Cas just slung his backpack over his shoulder, and they set out walking to his house, as usual. Dean walked him home, they said their goodbyes on the doorstep, and then he returned to the motel to make sure Sam was alright, even though all he really wanted to do was go inside and up to Cas’s room to cuddle up in bed with him.

The way he felt about Cas… he had never felt that way about anyone before in his young life. He felt lighter, warmer, happier when Cas was around. And it was true, Cas made him feel cared for. The younger boy gave him affection freely and without asking anything in return, something Dean had only ever experienced with his mom when he was a toddler. It was intoxicating.

And he knew what he was feeling, truly, but he couldn’t allow himself to admit it, not even privately, never mind out loud, never mind to Cas.

So, he just continued to bask in Cas’s sunshine while he could, soaking it in, and maybe it was selfish, but he knew his time with Cas was limited. It was all he could do. That, and return the affection as best he could—and he wasn’t very good at that, he thought, but he was trying, and he hoped Cas understood that, somehow.

“Did you find the basement?” Cas asked, interrupting Dean’s rumination.

Dean blinked and glanced sideways at him. “Huh? Oh. I found the door. It’s down at the end of the tech hall. But it’s locked.”

“Can’t you pick a lock?”

Dean scoffed, “of course I can. Just not during school hours when there are a ton of people around. I’m gonna go back tonight.”

Cas’s lips quirked. “Breaking and entering is a crime, you know.”

“Please tell me we’re not about to go over my rap sheet because that could take a while.”

“My boyfriend is a criminal,” Cas sighed. “What will my Father say?”

Dean grinned, “we’re keeping this thing from both our Dads, remember?”

“We are,” Cas agreed. He was quiet for a moment, then, before asking, “how are you going to make it up to me?”

Dean looked at him blankly for a second before his mind supplied him with memories of dry humping behind the bleachers. He swallowed at the thought and resisted the urge to adjust himself. That had been… well. They had never gotten that heavy, before, and Dean was surprised by how hot it had been. He was learning all kinds of things from his first relationship with another boy. First real relationship at all.

“Well,” He began slowly, “maybe we can pick up where we left off tomorrow.”

Cas gave him a little, fondly amused look. “You liked it as much as I did.” He accused.

“Maybe. So what if I did?” Dean sniffed, face flushing red. Then he cleared his throat and muttered, “how could I not? You’re hot, okay? There, I said it.” Cas actually stopped walking at that, and it took a few steps for Dean to realize the other boy wasn’t beside him anymore. When he turned around, Cas was looking at him with a positively bewildered expression on his face. Dean crossed the distance between them and waved a hand in front of his face to catch his attention. “Hey… you okay? I didn’t mean… I mean. I meant it, I just didn’t mean to break your brain with it, so…”

But Cas just frowned slightly and looked at him, clearly confused, “but I’m not… hot. I’m… weird.”

Dean blinked—then gave him a fond look and reached to take hold of Cas’s hand and squeeze gently. “You can be both. And there’s nothing wrong with being weird, Cas.”

Blue eyes closed over as Cas considered that, his hand tightening in Dean’s, and when he opened his eyes once more, he smiled a little, “okay,” and just started walking again, leaving Dean to hurry to keep up. The rest of the walk to Cas’s house was made in companionable silence, a small smile on Cas’s face the entire time.

Admittedly, Dean’s first-and-only boyfriend was a bit of a puzzle at times, but that was part of what made him so appealing. He wasn’t part of the brainwashed masses. He was unique. And if he wanted to call himself “weird” that was fine, Dean could embrace that. What he’d said was true: there was nothing wrong with being weird. He was pretty weird himself, after all, so he couldn’t talk. “Weird” encompassed the life of a Hunter.

When they reached Cas’s house, they climbed the steps to the porch and paused there. Cas smiled at him. “This is me. Thanks for walking me.”

“I wish I could come in.” God did he wish he could go in. “But you know how it is. Gotta check on Sammy. Make sure he hasn’t burned the motel down.”

A small laugh, “tell Sam I said hi.”

Dean smiled and stepped closer, reaching to rest a hand by Cas’s waist and tugging him forward at the same time. “Will do.” He promised, even as he leaned in for a kiss.

Cas hummed a pleased noise against Dean’s lips and kissed back slowly, deeply, then drew Dean into another series of kisses, full of want—but not like the ones in the gym earlier in the day. Warmer and with more longing. Dean’s arms slid around him, and Cas leaned into his chest—

And the front door opened.

Cas and Dean jerked apart, Cas whirling to face the doorway where his father was standing, staring at them flatly, red all the way to his ears and already stammering; “I—uh—Father, this is—that is—we were just—”

“I think it’s pretty obvious what we were just.” Dean muttered under his breath.

“Castiel, go inside.” Chuck told his floundering son firmly, “Dean and I need to have a talk.”

Cas winced a little, but ducked past his father and into the house, casting a worried glance back. Dean waved one hand, just a subtle gesture, and he finally closed the door behind himself, leaving his boyfriend and his father alone outside. He didn’t go far, though, standing just in the entryway, listening for raised voices with a pinched expression on his face, just in case he had to go back outside and intervene.

On the porch, Dean and Chuck faced each other silently for a long moment. Dean had never felt the need to cower in front of anyone before, but the urge the hunch his shoulders and look down at that exact moment was real. He forced himself to stand straight and look Chuck in the eye regardless.

“Dean.” Chuck said finally.

“Chuck.” Dean acknowledged.

“Mr. Shurley.” Chuck corrected, privately not really meaning it. He just needed to be the Protective Father for now. Still, Dean didn’t know that and winced internally. He muttered a quiet, “sorry”, even as Chuck stepped down onto the porch proper and looked him up and down. “You know Castiel is… sensitive. Right?”

Dean nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“He’s never been in a relationship before, to my knowledge.”

“No, sir, I—I’m the first.”

“Right. So.” Chuck lifted a hand and jabbed one finger into Dean’s chest firmly. “Don’t fuck it up, kid.”

“I would never—” Dean hesitated and took a breath before finishing, “I would never intentionally do anything to hurt Cas, sir. I… care about him. A lot.” More than he should. More than was safe. But he didn’t say that out loud. After a moment he added, almost embarrassedly; “and if it makes you feel any better, he’s my first relationship, too.”

That made Chuck blink. “Seriously? You? Jesus, I had you pegged all wrong.”

A little mutter. “I don’t advertise it.”

Chuck regarded him with amusement for a long moment and then reached for the door. “Come inside, Dean. I’m sure Cas is worried sick.”

“I—yeah, but just for a second. I have to get, uh, home. To check on my brother.”

When Chuck opened the door, he basically smacked Cas in the face with it, the boy was standing so close by. Dean winced, then eased past Chuck to check on his boyfriend who, once he saw Dean was alive and well and allowed inside the house, perked up considerably.

Dean just smoothed his fingers over the tiny red spot on Cas’s forehead where the door had bonked into him and gave him a quick kiss. “I can’t stay. Sam, right? But I think your Dad is gonna be okay with us, so you can stop worrying about that.”

Cas blinked at him. “Really?”

Dean smiled. “Yeah. I’m not totally useless with parents, you know.”

“I’m still right here, guys.” Chuck commented as he passed them and headed farther into the house.

Dean laughed and kissed Cas again, in full view of Chuck, just because he could. “I have to go. See you at school tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Cas gave him a genuine, blatantly happy smile, the kind he rarely shared; “see you then.”

-- --

It was nearly eleven o’clock at night when Dean picked the lock to the back doors of Caspar High and slipped inside, a flashlight in one hand, a sawed-off shotgun under his arm, and his buck knife tucked safely in the back of his jeans as usual. Sam had packed extra ammo into his jacket pockets, both buckshot and rock salt (just in case.)

The school employed precisely one nighttime security guard due to vandalism problems in the past, so Dean knew he had to tread carefully on his way through to the tech hall where the door to the basement was located. And Caspar was, indeed, a maze, but Dean had been mapping it in his head since Day One, so he had a pretty good idea of where he was going, even in the dark.

Now, he just closed the door softly behind himself and started down the hallway at a quick but quiet pace.

The back doors lead to a little lobby, which split off two ways: the first was a door that went to the hall the main gym was in, along with the special education classrooms, which then branched off to the geography and art corridors, and the second was a set of stairs climbing up to the math hall on the second floor. The math hall lead to the music hall and the computer sciences hall, but that didn’t matter because he wasn’t going upstairs anyway.

He carefully pushed the door to the main gym hall open and eased through, closing it behind him just as quietly as the first one. He had no idea where the security guard was, so he wasn’t taking any chances. Everything as quickly and silently as possible.

Making his way past the gymnasium made him think fleetingly of Cas, but he quickly reined himself in before he could go too far down that rabbit hole. He was on a mission, he needed to focus.

Past the gym were the hallways that lead to the art and science wings, and Dean not only didn’t get art (most of the time), or take art class, this time he avoided that corridor all together, skirting around the corner to the geography hall instead.

He was halfway down the hall when he heard footsteps coming from ahead of him.

Shit. Dean quickly flicked his flashlight off and backtracked, ducking around the corner into the art hall, pressing close to the wall and waiting, listening.

The footsteps echoed poignantly in the empty building, walking slowly and steadily down the geography wing toward him—and then pausing at the end of the hall. Silence for a long, long few breaths—followed by footsteps again, turning and heading down toward the gym.

Dean eased back around the corner and quickly made his way in the opposite direction, down the geography hall until he could step around the corner at the other end.

This part of the school was a sort of lobby area off the library. If you went right it took you up a short set of stairs and down the hall to the main entrance, main office, teacher’s lounge and guidance councillor’s office. If you went left, you were heading to either the science and math corridor, or the almost comically long tech hall.

It was the tech hall he wanted; the door to the basement was at the end of it, next to the comm tech room, assuming it hadn’t magically moved since he’d located it earlier.

More footsteps, heading his direction. Dean got moving again, turning to the left and hurrying as much as he could while still remaining quiet, flashlight still off, just in case. His quick steps took him around the corner to the tech hall and he paused to listen again—but the footsteps were still coming. He cursed under his breath and took off down the hall, running. He could be surprisingly light on his feet when he wanted to be, and now was a time he wanted to be.

He just had to make it down the stupidly long corridor, pick the lock to the basement door, and get inside before the security guard came around the corner and caught him. He would be expelled for sure if he was found there at midnight carrying a bevy of weapons—probably arrested—and that wouldn’t be good for the Hunt. …not to mention Cas.

Dean hit the basement door at a dead run and skidded to a stop, setting his shotgun down on the ground and pulling out his lockpick tools again, quickly getting to work on the lock. It was stubborn, but he was good. He had it open in seconds, and snatched his shotgun off the ground, disappearing into the basement just before the security guard turned the corner.

Standing at the top of the basement stairs, Dean paused to catch his breath and listened as the guard passed by the door without a pause in his footsteps. Safe. (Ish.) He turned his flashlight back on and peered down the steps in front of him, but nothing jumped out at him immediately, so after only a brief hesitation he headed down.

Nest was a word he usually reserved for vampires, but he thought what he found at the bottom of the stairs definitely qualified; the entire ceiling was covered in strands of webbing, thick in some places and thinner in others. Some of the webs had strands that connected down to the floor, or to the walls. And there were cocoons. Several of them, webbed up in the nest, likely full of desiccated corpses, the same as the others had been.

It seemed like nobody was home, he probably would have been attacked already if the creature was there, but Dean held his sawed-off at the ready just in case as he slowly walked a circle around the basement, flashlight illuminating everything around him.

And then he tripped over something, almost falling on his face. He had been so focused on looking up that he hadn’t been watching his footing. Now he shone his flashlight beam down, and—

What the hell was that?

Crouching down, Dean picked up the object he had tripped on and brought it up to inspect it: it was about a foot long and as big around as his forearm, hard like bone but light as a feather. Covered in short, coarse hair. Obviously broken off of something larger. The in-tact end came to a rounded point and sported a pair of nasty looking claws, while the broken end was ragged and showed it was hollow inside.

Dean honestly had no idea what he was holding in his hand at that moment.

He just tucked it into his jacket to take back to the motel with him and stood again, beaming his flashlight around for another minute or two before heading back for the staircase again. Now he just had to make it back out past the security guard as well, but that shouldn’t be a problem. Hopefully.

And now they had something more to go on—and something new to tell their dad when he called next, other than about more freaking cocoons.

-- --

The next day it was raining, so lunch time soccer practice was moved inside the gym. This meant that Cas and Dean were far from the only people there, which meant that a repeat performance of the day before probably wasn’t a great idea. Damn it. It also meant that Dean couldn’t feel for any more vibrations in the floorboards since, well, the whole floor was vibrating from all the running people. Double damn it.

Still, they weren’t too phased, just a little disappointed, and they could pick it up later in a more reasonable place and at a more reasonable time if they wanted to. It probably wasn’t a good idea to screw around in the gym where anyone could catch them anyway, Cas reminded himself.

So, they ate in companionable silence for a while, then briefly discussed the piece of whatever it was that Dean had found in the basement the night before, until Dean finished his sandwich and began picking at the edge of his fruit cup without actually opening it.

“Hey Cas,” He spoke up after a moment, then; “can I… ask you something?”

Cas looked sideways at him. “Mm?”

Dean continued to fidget with his fruit cup before asking, “have you always, uh… known. That you were into guys?”

Cas blinked. “I’m not.”

Dean blinked right back at him. “Come again?”

“Well, I am, obviously.” Gesturing between himself and Dean with one hand, Cas finished off the last bite of his own sandwich and then continued; “Dean, I like people, not genders.” He offered Dean a smile. “I don’t like you because you’re a boy, I like you because you’re you. Gender has nothing to do with it.”

That seemed to stump Dean, who looked at him in obvious confusion before glancing down, turning away a little.

Cas watched him for a few seconds, then sighed and set the rest of his lunch aside, scooting over to climb into Dean’s lap despite the older boy’s muttered, half-hearted protests. Once he was settled, Cas leaned his head down against Dean’s shoulder. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I…” Dean hesitated. He was very specifically not touching Cas, and Cas finally made a quiet frustrated noise and reached to wrap Dean’s arms around himself. Dean heaved a sigh but allowed it. “I’m not a good person, Cas. I know you think I am, but I’m not, I’ve done so many terrible things, I’ve hurt people, and it won’t stop for the rest of my life, I’m going to keep doing bad things, keep hurting people, I—how can you just like me for me when that’s who I am?”

“You do good things, too.” Cas pointed out softly, “and I think they outweigh the bad. You are a good person, Dean.” Shifting a bit, he brought one hand up to rest over where Dean’s heart was beating in his chest, “I can feel it in here. You care about everyone; you care about me. You protect people, at the cost of your own safety. You’re strong, but you’re also gentle and loving and—” Breaking off, Cas ducked his head closer to nuzzle into the crook of Dean’s neck. “You’re good, Dean Winchester. I am very sure of that fact.”

Another long, drawn-out silence before, “…Cas?”

“Mm?”

“Come up here.”

Cas sat up properly again, hand still resting against Dean’s chest, fingers rubbing there absently, and looked at him quizzically. Dean brought one hand up to cup Cas’s face, thumb brushing along his cheek lightly and making him smile. He leaned into the touch. Then Dean leaned forward to kiss him, just gently, leaving Cas to kiss back in kind, sinking into Dean’s chest with a pleased hum.

The thing about it was that when it came to this topic Cas was an utter hypocrite. Dean was constantly telling him how incredible he was, how amazing he was, and he could never believe it, just like Dean couldn’t believe that he was a good person. Neither of them had the best self-esteem in the world, it would seem, though probably for radically different reasons.

Another few long, warm kisses, and Dean sighed out, “you shouldn’t have so much faith in me, I’m not—”

“You are.” Cas interrupted—and Dean grunted softly, but that was his only protest this time and then they were kissing again, just deep, slow, full-bodied kisses that easily conveyed the emotions that neither of them were willing (or able) to express out loud yet. And then—

“Well at least you guys’ve still got your pants on, I mean sheesh!”

They practically jerked apart at the new voice, cheerful and female, that interrupted their little sanctuary. When Cas looked over, a head of red hair was poking around the corner—and he sighed, smiling a little. “Hi, Charlie.”

Dean let his head fall back against the wall and echoed, “hi, Charlie,”—despite the fact that he didn’t even know Charlie.

Cas laughed softly, even as Charlie scooted in behind the bleachers a little and informed them, “if you’d had your dicks out I’d’ve had to have left immediately.”

“You could still do that.” Dean pointed out dryly.

Charlie stuck her tongue out at him, then reached to drop a little blue organza bag into Cas’s lap. “You owe me fifty bucks!” She chirped before waving a hand toward them and making her exit, “you guys go back to… whatever you were or weren’t doing! See you in class, Cas!”

Cas’s smile widened considerable as he picked up the bag. “Thanks Charlie!”

“Bye, Charlie!” Dean called after her—then turned his attention back to Cas, “did you tell her where we eat?”

“I… did. A while ago.” Cas admitted, “please don’t be mad? Charlie’s kind of my best friend. Besides you.”

A soft laugh and Dean shook his head. “Looks like she was delivering something?”

Cas toyed with the organza bag for a moment before clearing his throat. “Um,” he began, already wincing a little, “so I was talking to Sam, and he told me your birthday is coming up. He wouldn’t tell me which day because he said you’d be mad, but he said soon and—”

“Why are you in communication with my brother, Cas.” Dean deadpanned.

“Stop.” Cas smacked a hand into his arm, “Sam’s a good kid. I like him.”

A sigh. “Go on.”

“Sam said you don’t celebrate your birthday,” He continued, “but that seemed kind of wrong, and I wanted to—I—so—here.” Unable to find the right words, Cas just wound up shoving the little parcel at his boyfriend, avoiding his eyes the entire time. “Happy Birthday. Whenever it is.”

“I already told you it was in January, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but not what day, so…”

Dean stared at him hard for a long minute before taking the package and opening it, pulling out the contents—eight thin but strong strips of black leather, all braided together into a Celtic-style bracelet with what appeared to be actual silver snap closings. Thick and obviously made for a man. Cas made a quiet pleased noise to himself when he saw it for the first time, then carefully peered at Dean, looking for a reaction.

“Uh,” When Dean didn’t say anything immediately, Cas shifted in his lap and offered; “Charlie is in my calculus class, and she’s really nice. Funny. I think you’d like her. She makes these things, and other jewelry,,, for her Etsy, I guess.”

“What’s an Etsy?” Dean seemed to have found his voice again. He was turning the bracelet over in his hands, running his fingers over it, green eyes focused on it intently.

Cas smiled, amused, “a store on the Internet.” He clarified. “I had to ask, too. Anyway, I asked her to make this for you, it’s… nothing special. Really. But I thought it would go with your style, and it’s minimal so it won’t get in the way while you’re on Hunts. If… you don’t like it, you can just say so, I’m sure I can give it back to Charlie and she can sell it online or something instead, I just—”

“Cas,”

“—wanted to get you something… for your birthday… so…” Trailing off, Cas swallowed slightly. “Yes, Dean?”

“Shut up.” Dean told him gently, even as he was fiddling with the bracelet to get it on his right wrist. He smiled once it was in place, just a little, fond quirk of his lips, and then leaned forward to bump his forehead into Cas’s and look into his eyes. “Thank you.” He said sincerely, “only Sammy’s ever gotten me something like this. It means a lot to me.”

Cas smiled a little and reached up to tug at Dean’s pendant gently. “I was afraid you’d be angry,” He admitted softly, “Sam said you really don’t like to celebrate your birthday. Or talk about it. Or… anything.”

“I have vague memories of my last birthday before Mom died,” Dean leaned back again, arms coming up around Cas to pull him along, “it’s painful to think about, with how my life is now. So, I tend to avoid it. But this is… special. It’s from you, so it means something. It’s just as amazing as you are. How could I be mad?”

Cas leaned into him, quiet for a long moment, and just listened to the sounds of soccer practice winding down for the day. Finally, he said, “you should celebrate your birthday, Dean. And Christmas. And all the other holidays. It’s important to make new memories during those times, too. Celebrate them with Sam and your Dad.” Though it didn’t sound like his dad was really one for celebrating things.

“And with you?” Dean asked softly.

“Mm.” The younger boy agreed with a smile, “and with me.”

“For as long as I can, anyway.” Dean dipped his head to give Cas a gentle kiss. “Thank you, Cas.”

“You’re welcome, Dean. I’m glad you like it.”

“Sam is never going to let me live this down, you know.” Then, “hey, when’s your birthday?”

“July tenth.” Cas settled against him again with a sigh, “you’ll be long gone by then.”

“Yeah.” Dean sounded disappointed. “But maybe we can meet up somewhere around then, like you said. Spend a weekend together.”

Cas closed his eyes, smiling. “That actually sounds perfect, we should definitely do that.” When the warning bell for classes rang at that moment, he sighed and gave Dean a smile. “But later. Classes now.”

“Killjoy.” Dean accused with a little grin.

“That’s me.” Cas agreed, even as he climbed out of Dean’s lap and started shoving the remans of his lunch back into his backpack. Once he had tidied up, he slung the bag over one shoulder and went to scoot out from under the bleachers—but then changed him mind just long enough to lean over and drop a kiss against Dean’s cheek. “See you after school.”

“Yeah.” Dean waved him off with a soft smile, making no move to exit the bleachers himself, “see you after school.” Then, when Cas was just about to duck out of sight; “January twenty-fourth!”

Cas’s head poked back around the corner. “January twenty-fourth?”

“My birthday.” Dean clarified. “It’s January twenty-fourth.”

The other boy smiled fondly and resisted the urge to climb back under the bleachers again. “See you later, Dean.”

Dean offered a smile of his own. “See you.”

[threehuskiesinatrenchcoat]

Hello there! At this point your inbox feels like home, I should start decorating it Imao. Any suggestions? Btw did you see the transformer au meme just asking for a friend.. talking about friends, mine are trying to get me to expose myself, those traitors

When I posted all those drabbles (3, how can there be 3 already?! over on a03. (haha 3), I noticed I haven't written Ale and Phil fluff yet. How did I miss that? I decided to rectify this grave(s) mistake and ended up with this little bird, enjoy! And yes, I've apparently eaten a clown for breakfast the way I crack jokes like it's the end of the world (more evidence being the previously mentioned transformers au, I‘m glad you think it’s as amusing as I do lmao)

The sheets were warm and cozy, the sun barely peaking through the curtains. Phillip groaned in annoyance as he felt the bed shift next to him and struggled to lift his arm towards his partner, trying to get him to settle again. It was way too early to wake up on one of their rare free days; he didn’t even have to look at the clock to know that. Ale gently took his hand and brought it up to his face, kissing it and sounding so soothing when he whispered softly for Phil to go back to sleep.

It took all of the American‘s willpower to crack his eyes open and squint up at his partner. Even in the dim lighting of their bedroom, Phillip was able to make out Alejandro‘s perfectly fluffy hair and reassuring smile as he sat at the edge of the bed, clearly intent on leaving it, leaving Phillip. He frowned and gripped the Mexican‘s hand in return. He couldn’t leave that way, obviously; at least that’s what his still half asleep mind was convinced of. His thoughts got derailed when Ale softly laughed at his antics. "You’re so cute when you’re grumpy. C‘mon, I want to go make breakfast. Can you please let me go?" Phillip hummed a negative. If Alejandro left the bed, it would get cold… but breakfast sounded amazing right now, he could admit that.

His partner ran a hand through his messy bedhead, making Phil‘s head go hazy again, barely staying conscious with how comfortable he was and how good it felt to have Ale petting his hair. Said man took the opportunity to gently extract the other, previously in captivity held hand and placed a soft peck on his cheek before standing up.

"I will be back soon, mi armor, go back to sleep", he whispered to him while righting the blanket so no warmth could escape from under it and Phillip did just that, returning to his well deserved rest.

About half an hour later, Alejandro would walk in with breakfast balancing precariously on a tray and softly wake up Phillip. They‘d eat it together in bed, planning their day to themselves, Ale making fun of Phil‘s hair, causing him to get kissed simply to make him shut up.

idk hon it is your home so any decorations are welcome. if my opinion is of any value you're already the best thing this place has but by all means go wild

yes i saw the meme had a good chuckle thank you. hope you saw the follow-up drawing i made. tell your friends i said hi

i live for your drabbles at this point honestly. and omg they're so soft here 😭😭😭 like i love some good angst and they're perfect for it because drama but i just NEED them to be soft and happy and caring sometimes. sleepy graves being clingy 😭 yes sir keep your human heater close how dare he try to leave

[freneticfloetry]

hi courtney! @reyesstrand here on my main blog ajdnskd but for nice ask day i’d love to know about to build a home…what was the writing process like? any little tidbits you want to share about it? it’s one of my absolute all time favourite fics, so anything you’d want to share would be amazing <3 also!! i saw your ask where you mention you saw hozier and i’m seeing him on tuesday (!!!) so any hozier songs you feel speak to the lone star characters/relationships the most?

Hey Maddie!

First of all, hugs and kisses to you for all your kind words on to build a home (here and in feedback). I’m so glad it struck a chord.

I’m not sure what else to say about it, to be honest! Um… okay, there were four scenes in my original outline that I cut. Well, three scenes cut and two others combined. Very early on there was a scene at the honky tonk the night TK and Carlos met, sort of the tail end and aftermath of their first hookup and Carlos deciding that he needed to see this boy again, even if it meant breaking his rules and bringing him home. I never even started that scene proper — once things got flowing it made much more sense to just refer to that in the scene following, after TK stormed out on the date. Immediately after that one was supposed to be the scene when Carlos finds out Iris is alive, which got the axe for two reasons: one, I really didn’t want to write Michelle, and two — more importantly — I needed Iris to stay a sort of ghost for Carlos until he’s forced to unearth all that later.

Chapter Two pretty much proceeded exactly as planned, with the exception of the post-fire scene at Owen’s — that was just supposed to be Carlos laying in the dark and sort of inside his own head, reflecting on all the things he lost but the one thing he came out with being the only thing he couldn’t bear to lose. But TK sort of stormed the castle. I was chugging along, and all of the sudden, I’d typed that he’d woken up. It was literally like he said “my baby’s hurting, he needs me.” Which was cute, but not the plan. 😂 Still, I was really happy with the conversation that emerged.

Chapter Three, though… well, like mother like son. Not only did TK go rogue again, so did Gwyn, with the whole “future” talk toward the end of their conversation. The post-Cooper scene was originally post-Sadie, but it was too raw and too soon for TK to have processed things in a way that would have let him have that talk with Carlos (who would’ve been too freshly-mired in his own guilt, at that point, instead of adrift and unsure in Cooper’s wake). Switching it was definitely the right call, for me. The We Need to Talk About Iris of it all had huge changes in the moment, because once I started the scene, even though I had a plan, I wrote one line in particular and it unlocked everything else. Going over it with @ambiguouspenny, I thought they were going to have a meltdown. But in a good way! The hospital scene threw me a curveball, in the form of tying up a loose end from the first chapter, so that’s how Dom happened. It derailed the original plan for the first half of that conversation with Gabriel — he was going to tell Carlos that his abuela had always called him such a homebody, that after he came out he couldn’t leave home fast enough, and Carlos was going to confess that he’d sort of detached because he wasn’t sure he’d have a place under their roof after everything, that he had a bag that lived in Iris’ trunk for months, because it was better to be ready than to be blindsided — but I actually like the detour better. There was a scene planned immediately following — the boys coming back to the loft from the hospital after Marjan’s whole ordeal, where TK tries to convince Carlos to take the detective exam — but once I finished the scene before that was the easiest cut ever. It would’ve derailed all the emotional momentum from the scene before. And the wedding and wedding night were supposed to be two separate scenes, but halfway through the hospital scene I randomly got the urge to combine them, and I really love how it turned out.

There are a few lines and snippets that didn’t make the cut, one piece of dialogue in particular that inspired a whole new fic. (Also there was an extended exchange during the move-in scene, with Carlos’ crack about the exercise bike, that kind of went something like this:

TK: “Seriously, how does a guy who looks like you own zero gym equipment?” And then, like a little lightbulb: “Oh my god, you were that kinda gay.”

Carlos: “There’s a gym at the precinct, TK.”

TK: “And I’m sure that’s what you use now.”)

So basically… the writing process was chaos. I guess I had things to say after all! 😂

Second, YAY, A HOZIER SHOW OF YOUR VERY OWN!

Re: Hozier speaking to Lone Star characters and pairings, why yes, don’t mind if I do.

I think there are a bunch of things that fit, actually. Tarlos and Francesca are clearly a match made in heaven, but First Time has hella TK vibes, both Shrike and Sunlight are Carlos as hell (though the former fits TK too), and I, Carrion (Icarian) fits for both Tarlos and Judd/Grace, from TK or Judd or even Grace’s perspective. From Eden is such a Judd-about-Grace song, as is NFWMB, but I think Would That I is his truest theme. Better Love could be Judd or Carlos. Unknown/Nth is my Breakup Era Carlos Anthem, and As It Was fits for TK during that same stretch. I have too many feelings about Movement to even nail down who it belongs to. All Things End feels like it would work well for Owen and Gwyn, and I’ll be damned if Arsonist’s Lullaby isn’t Owen’s buried anger issues to a tee.

I won’t even get started on individual lyrics/verses (but “I get along without you very well some other nights” and “be still my foolish heart, don’t ruin this on me” is the most TK Strand shit ever).

Not that I’ve thought about this at all. 😜

(Oh my god, this was an utterly unhinged answer, I’m so sorry.)

[chthonicgodling]

OKAY ELABORATING ON THIS POST listen. listen. hhghhg god. Maci and Tory are: so fucking antsy and eager to tell everyone in the universe about baby (“I don’t want to lie about happy news” sayeth Tory; and collectively, we don’t want to waste any more time we want to show you off - hhHh aHhh) - while Loki is doing absolutely everything he can to keep anyone else from discovering this news.

he’s VERY VERY visibly HUGELY pregnant even when only about 4 months in.

the Lokikids are quite literally having conferences behind his back about where the fuck he is and what he’s up to. 🤨

and all the while Loki has not left Maci and Tory’s bedroom in person (plenty of clones around tending to his children) in— weeks. two months????

So— Here we are today, still ongoing but bc I’m disssolving once more. after waking up together in a cozy domestic pile yet again, Tory has successfully managed to coax Loki out to come with him to the kitchen (even though he whined the entire time about having to get out of bed), but, in and out no socializing there better not be anyone around! Okay well you’re going to have to tell everyone eventually — nuh uhhh. Fortunately there’s been no one else around. Fjöer’s usually in the kitchen cabinets - Loki’s so twitchy that he just teleported Fjöer OUT of his cabinet and elsewhere ambiguously seconds before he walked in the door 💀 o kay

I am obsessed with:

The way Loki talks— and talks and talks and talks and talks. the way he thinks he always has the upper hand and that he’s smug and cool and chill and aloof—

and the way that Tory can clock and disarm him every goddamn time. That “because I love you” from the beginning of this is just one example it’s the. .,,The— gestures to, this,, the reading between all the lines and all the facades and— catching him. seeing stRAIGHT THROUGH HIM—

LOOK OKAY IM..,,. I’m putting direct quotes behind the cut and the abrupt pivot switch from charming banter (there was much much bantering before all of this but this is well after the fact) made me SO 🥺☹️ GOD. I squished many lines together to create Loki’s snide babbling into one paragraph, please behold my point with canon text:

Loki: “You’re just full of demands, aren’t you? Divine the manner of species of our child. Hold a press conference for my own children. Wobble into the kitchen on your arm instead of napping leisurely in your bed for a few more hours. […] I’m not procrastinating. I simply don’t want to do any of these things. […] It’s hardly been so very long for you to be fussing so, anyway. I’m only now beginning to exit the first trimester. Besides, it’s nicer this way, isn’t it? Intimate and quiet. No one asking questions—to your face—prying, judging. Just the peace of growing a baby in calm solitude. Growing your baby, tucked away without intruders. Once everyone knows, all of that ends. Or ooh, you’ll even have to start to share custody of me. On that note Macaria might very well object to the shift of tides as well.”

Tory, having let him go on and on with all of this, finally making a quiet, calm, assessment: “You’re worried about your safety?”

Loki: SMIRK DROPPED, ACCURATELY ASSESSED, COMPLETELY DERAILED; A COMPLETE MOOD SHIFT INTO, VERY QUIET STARING INTO THE KITCHEN TABLE

Tory, sighing softly: “Got it.”

gripping your shoulders. Do you see this. How am I supposed to go on like this. anywayyyyYy YyYyy YyYyy YYYYYYYYYYYYYY—

anyway THE CRY COUNTER RUNNING THROUGH THIS PREGNANCY HAS INCREASED TO TWO

as in, Hurriedly wiping your eyes as if you’re Just Fine Everything is Fine counts, (plus I am making this post In The Middle so by the end with any luck I can turn all my dial knobs up to 11)

oh yes Loki you’re so suave and smooth! right from your spot with your face buried in your hands at the kitchen table while Tory puts his arm back around you and whisper reminds him that “You know everyone here’s gonna protect you, right?” Right??OhhHghGHHGH—

these tender chats only happen with Tory cause Maci IS that easily charmed according to Loki’s smug plans and maneuvers by the way. but she’s had her cute moments with him too, namely in the way that they’ve all been sleeping with him in the middle and Maci’s been big spoon to Loki with her arms around the babyyyy every niiiiighttttttt. makes sense - Tory’s the one with emotional maturity, all reflection and intimate talks. Maci’s all physical. both of them love him so much I’m just fully not clear on exactly what way that is, still.

anyway if you’re dissolving too!! welcome to the puddle I’m a mess. xoxo

[theothersarshi]

I don't want to derail @theshitpostcalligrapher's post, so I'll make my own. Anyway, they were really nice to @theworseshitpostcalligrapher on this post, where the latter rewrote the same three words in a similar style in a reblog. (So it's really nice all around - there's acknowledgement of what's going on, there's approval, there's building up.)

And I wanted to share a story.

Back when I was in primary & middle school (grades 1-8 over here in Romania), I was a very, very earnest kid, a bit naive, but when I loved people or things, I really loved them. Keep that in mind for what happens next.

We had 1 hour of Art class/week all throughout middle school, but our middle school Art teacher Did. Not. Teach. I can't emphasize how much teaching didn't happen. We had to have watercolors/tempera and a paint brush, and he'd tell us things like, "Paint something Olympics-themed" or "Draw something for the local theater festival". Then we'd get grades based on how nice our paintings/drawings were. That was it. That was all.

...I found out things like the human body having proportions only when I was already a student, while talking to my future bff. I found out tempera isn't "watercolors, but in a tube" even later. But never mind that.

My middle school best friend had talent, though. She was naturally Good At Art and she came up with this amazing style (well, amazing to us 12 yos) where she made up big drawings out of tiny pencil doodles - asterisks and spirals were among her favorites, I think. It was not quite like typewriter art, because her doodles didn't overlap, but typewriter art + Pointilism + doodles is the best way I can describe it. The rest of us hadn't even thought about using a pencil.

I was in love. And I could sort of understand how she did it, so I started... copying that. I wanted to try it out for myself, do the thing. I changed the basic doodle shapes, but I kept the general idea. (I would have preferred something realistic and colorful, but I had no idea how to do any of that; see: teaching, not happening)

My colleagues called me a copycat (understandable). My mother called me a copycat (*sigh*). Even my teacher called me a copycat (I'm wondering vaguely if that's why he never taught anything, so we'd never end up copying a style we saw, *le gasp*). One must never, ever do what someone else is doing! ORIGINALITY!!!ONE! Figure it out yourself, in your own way!

Adult!Me thinks our teacher could have used this as a Teachable Moment to talk about why her drawings worked and to point us in the direction of similar artists or whatever. Or maybe he could have realized I wanted to learn something and pointed me in the direction of, I don't know, a book about how to draw, maybe. If he didn't want to teach his class himself. But I digress.

I was left feeling bad and like a complete loser. My best friend at the time mocked me, too, because of course she did. As far as I know, when we got to high school she never drew again (we were no longer friends by then, due to unrelated reasons).

It feels particularly wonderful to me to come across people actively encouraging and helping each other to learn, even if they're walking paths others have walked before. I never learned how to draw, but I did learn how to write stories, and there's a lot of fumbling around and imitating others to see what works and why before you become good. It takes so much practice. It's hard.

And sometimes maybe you just want to do The Thing for yourself, and that's also fine. Who the heck cares if you decide to have your own Van Gogh-style painting of your own bedroom on the wall of your bedroom?

Anyway, it makes me so happy when I see creatives being creative and sharing things with others. It's probably very flattering to be the only one at the lonely top, but when you have a community and you can learn from others, everyone wins more.