#that’s where most of the catharsis comes from

[mending-up-your-fences]

***new BC cover alert***

Long Long Time (Linda Ronstadt, covered by Brandi Carlile)

[junemermaid]

I need a sign I can tap that just says:

while I understand that many people in fandom use fanfic to self-soothe or deal with or figure out their own baggage, I personally dislike using characters' (whether textual or inferred) trauma as the primary or indeed only lens for character analysis, and thus I will not be doing that

it is kind of wordy but, yeah

[clerichs-xi]

tender as a bruise, sharper than a razor wrap her tentacles around me like she'll never let me go

klaus' backstory arc just ended heho and it was revealed he used to be the lover of the goddess of storms and pirates... she had basically kidnapped him and imprisoned him into murder and piracy for 20 years and needless to say it greatly damaged him on every level <3 its okay he's been able to be normal for once since the start of the campaign thanks to the party aka his new found family

get urself a surrogate middle-aged father who can speedrun a forbidden romance in one minute and then immediately go to confront the darkest version/a corrupted version of himself, as well as his toxic lover as she tortures him -w-)b

details and just the lines hehe

[moonlightspencie]

This Ain’t for the Best

Description: Mutual pining. Classic hunting scenarios. Sharing a bed. Wearing the other’s clothes. Confessions. Friends to lovers. Tswizzle title. Need I say more?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x gn!Reader

Warnings: a little bit of violence, me cramming in every cliché i can because i love the classic fanfiction tropes more than i love breathing

Word Count: 5.9k

A/N: i was kicking my feet and giggling as i wrote this, especially when i snuck in criminal minds AND taylor swift references. i love writing and never beta-reading or editing what i’ve written. catharsis.

Crashing at Bobby’s had its benefits.

First, we had the comfort of knowing where we were going to sleep at night. It was good to have a bed waiting that wasn’t in a motel room.

Second, there was almost always good food around. I had a knack for home-cooked meals, and it was much easier to be appreciated for it when I actually had a stove to cook on.

Third, there were boundless opportunities for Sam, Dean, and I to kick back and actually relax.

That’s how I ended up in the kitchen, laughing with Dean over old stories we’d told a million times before. He reached in the fridge, pulling out two bottles after we’d come down from the most recent remembrance of an old case. He cracked open the top of his beer, then my drink, sliding it towards me on the counter. Sam and Bobby strolled in st that moment, pausing when they saw us.

“You both woke up like an hour ago,” Sam said, unamused.

“6pm somewhere,” Dean and I said in unison.

We looked at each other with a small laugh, leaving Bobby and Sam rolling their eyes. I took my drink and stood a few steps away.

“We should really get going, though, Dean,” Sam stated.

“Where?” Bobby asked.

“We were planning on doing a run to the grocery story. I don’t want us to eat up all your food without repaying you, and we’re almost out of beer,” Sam said, pointedly looking at his brother.

“This one needs more of those little fruity drinks, too,” Dean teased, nodding at the bottle in my hand.

“Hey, it’s still a malt liquor. Just one that I like,” I said with a laugh.

They said their goodbyes, and I started walking into the front room. Bobby watched the door for a few moment after the boys left, then turned in the archway and locked his gaze on me as I sat on the couch.

I looked at the bottle in my hand. “I know y’all are all about beer, but I can’t help if I prefer something with a little flavor.”

“That’s not why I’m looking at you,” he grumbled, fed up with me already. “What in the world is goin’ on with you and Dean?”

“Huh?”

He furrowed his brow. “Don’t act all shy, now. You two have been flirting nonstop lately.”

“What’s new? We’re both pretty flirtatious in general.”

“Not like this,” he said with a shake of his head. “I don’t know the last time I saw that boy blushing, or you getting all flustered like a teenager.”

“I am not,” I scoffed. “Nothing’s happening, Bobby.”

“I’ve known your for five years, now, and I’ve known those boys since they were kids. You stayed in my house for a year, too. You can’t hide this kind of thing from me.”

“I’m not hiding anything. I’m an open book.”

Now, he scoffed. “Yeah, and I’m running for president.”

I rolled my eyes, taking another drink. He came closer, sitting down next to me.

“If you keep denying all this…”

I swallowed, finally resigning. “There’s nothing to do about it, Bobby.”

“Yes, there is. You could tell him.”

“It wouldn’t do any good. You know how he is, he doesn’t want to be tied down. If we don’t make any moves or promises or whatever, a lot less doesn’t get broken.”

He raised a brow. “I do know how he is. For you, he’d make an exception.”

“I don’t think so. Besides, it’s all just flirting for him. Doesn’t mean anything.”

“Are you blind?”

I looked at him, brows raising. He shook his head, picking at the label on his bottle.

“Sorry. I just— I know what I’m seeing, and I really don’t think it’s just a little friendly flirting for him, either,” he said, looking at me again. “I really think you should speak up while you’ve got the chance to. We don’t often get good things with lives like ours.”

“I know. I just don’t want to screw things up.”

“You’re gonna end up screwed if you keep pushing it down, anyway.”

I sighed. He took that signal as a time to change the subject, and for that I was thankful.

“Well, let’s find you the next case, huh?”

The next one was an easy find, and it would’ve been great to break the news to the boys when they got back, if not for a very clumsy Sam walking in the door with a twisted ankle.

“You what?” Bobby asked, incredulous.

Sam sighed, pouting. “I rolled it when I stepped in a pothole.”

Dean shook his head, clearly hiding his amusement as he helped his brother hobble towards a kitchen chair.

“So, no case, then?” I asked.

Bobby perked up. “No, you and Dean can still go. I can take care of Sam.”

“Bobby…” I warned, seeing through him instantly.

“Yeah, that’d be great,” Dean said, cutting off my death stare. “When was the last time we went on a case, just you and me?”

I looked at him.

“Seriously, you guys can go without me,” Sam said. “It might be good for you, Y/N. You seem a little restless.”

“I am not,” I defended.

Bobby chuckled. “Sure, you’re not. But I’m not suggesting, I’m telling you. Get out of my house.”

I glanced at him, offended. “I am a delight.”

“You are, but I still want you out. You become much less delightful when you’re antsy.”

Dean laughed. “Come on, it’s only a state over, right? If we start driving now we can make it by sundown.”

I took a moment.

“Alright,” I nodded, heading towards the stairs to gather my things.

The case was a hot mess, to say the least. We couldn’t figure out what we were hunting to begin with, and the only true consistency is that the deaths were messy, leaving each victim with a missing liver. It wasn’t until we were at the most recent site of the death that things took a little bit of a turn.

“What do you think?” Dean asked, leaning in my direction.

I shrugged, looking around the house.

“It seems… clean.”

“I mean, I guess. We haven’t found hex bags or EMF readings—”

“No,” I cut him off, gesturing around the living room. “Like physically clean. Nothing is out of place. Look at the mantle.”

I walked over, using my gloved hand to wipe along the surface. I showed him my hand.

“Clean. Not even dust.”

He raised a brow. “And that matters because…”

“Because we’re supposed to be looking for some monster-unknown that never cleans up their messes. Every other scene we’ve been to has been a wreck, so why is the only thing out of place the blood stains on the floor? This is also the first time it’s been in the victims house.”

He paused. “You’ve been watching Criminal Minds again, haven’t you?”

I rolled my eyes, taking off the glove.

“That’s not important right now,” I shook my head, standing next to him again. “And, for the record, it’s helping our case.”

“Right,” he chuckled. “Well, profiler, why don’t you tell me more about what you’re gathering from the scene.”

“Don’t patronize me,” I said with a laugh.

He smirked, placing a hand on my back.

“Let’s get out of here and figure out why things changed.”

We followed dead-end leads all over town, until we hit a lucky streak.

“Check this out,” Dean said, calling me over to the table in our room. “Remember that dive bar our last vic was seen at? Look at this dude’s last social media post.”

I walked over, resting a hand against the table as I leaned in. I looked at the laptop, raising a brow.

“Same place.”

“Same place,” he confirmed. “Wanna check it out? See if anything suspicious is up?”

“You sure you don’t just want to hit the bar?”

He looked up at me with a quirked brow.

“What do you think I am? Drinking on the job. I’d never,” he feigned innocence.

I snorted. “Right. So not you.”

“Leave in ten?”

“Sounds good to me.”

We hit the road soon after, winding up at the bar with our eyes peeled for any suspicious activity. There was plenty for us to see in a seedy town like this, but there was only one interaction that truly piqued our interested. I nodded at the man who was paying a little too much special attention to a woman, drawing Dean’s gaze in that direction. He was equally skeeved out. We kept an eye out for another hour or so before the weird activity took another step into the creep category.

We followed out the man who we caught following the woman, all the way to a neighborhood just outside the city. We made our move as soon as the man walked up to her house.

I followed Dean up to the house, and we started to slink around, waiting for any sign of trouble. I first checked through a window near the front of the house.

“Nothing,” I said, motioning for us to move further.

He took the lead, and we came up on a window that looked into the dining room. He slowly looked inside.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be freakin’ kidding me,” Dean mumbled, pulling his head back from the window.

“What?”

“Well, do you want the chance to play out your little crime show fantasies?”

I raised a brow. He sighed, shaking his head.

“That’s not— well, it is a monster in there, but not our kind of monster,” he said, tilting his head.

“It’s a human?”

He nodded. “Looks like it. Nothing supernatural that I can see. She’s passed out now, but let’s get a move on before he starts in on her.”

He started walking towards the back of the house, but I stopped him before we got to the door.

“Can— How do we do this?”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s a human. We can’t just chop his head off or exorcise him.”

“We could still stab him.”

“But should we?”

He gave me a very unamused look, waiting for me to make my point.

“Can we attempt to just— Kick his ass and leave him to deal with life in prison? Only go for the shot if it’s necessary.”

He softened. “He killed people, Y/N, does he really deserve mercy here?”

“Do you really think the prison system is mercy?” I asked, earning a slight chuckle. “I just feel weird about killing humans unless our lives are in immediate danger.”

“Okay,” he nodded. “Okay, we’ll play it your way. But if anything goes sideways—”

“Then you feel free to shoot him.”

He nodded curtly, then we continued to the door. He opened it carefully, and we stepped inside, checking our surroundings before we headed towards the woman in the dining room. We saw the man first, his back to us as he sat across the table from her.

“Playing house? Really?” Dean quipped, causing the man to whip around.

My gun was pulled before the man had a chance to stand up and react. He looked between us, obvious annoyance on his face.

“You’re not cops,” he stated.

Dean smirked. “No, we are much worse news for scumbags like you.”

“Now,” I started, “you can try and fail to fight your way out of here, or you can sit still while my partner here makes sure you’re sitting nice and pretty for when the cops do show up.”

Dean moved before he had a chance to formulate a response, dragging him out of the chair. The man tried to put up a fight, but it was pretty quickly silenced by means of a fist to the face. Dean left him on the ground after a few minutes and a roll of duct tape.

“Nice,” I commented, then put away my gun.

I moved to the woman at the table who was still passed out. I checked for a pulse, and when I was sure she was still breathing, I started undoing the binding that kept her to the chair. Dean called in an anonymous tip to the police station as I finished up clearing her of everything. She started waking right as I was about to try and move her to the couch.

“Hey, hey,” I said quietly, trying to give a little comfort before her panic set in. “You’re safe now, alright? You’re fine.”

Her eyes opened, and she immediately clung to me when she saw the man on the ground incapacitated.

“What happened?” she asked with a quivering voice.

“Me and my friend Dean saw this guy creeping around your house. We wanted to make sure everything was okay, and when we found out it wasn’t, we found a way in. The cops are on the way now.”

She nodded. “Thank you. Both of you.”

I glanced back at Dean with the ghost of a smile on my face. He raised his brows at me.

“Why don’t we get you to the couch?”

“You’re not staying?” she asked, still in shock.

“No, we gotta leave,” I said, helping her to the couch. “We’ll stick around for a few minutes outside till the cops get here, though.”

“Okay,” she nodded along absentmindedly as she laid on the couch.

I walked back to Dean, motioning for us to go outside. He looked back down at the man for a moment who was still passed out, then followed behind me. We got back to the Impala and waited.

“Weird to be thanked,” I said, watching the house.

He hummed. “Doesn’t happen often, that’s for sure.”

“I can’t believe we were accidentally hunting a serial killer.”

He snorted. “I’m surprised there’s not more crossover when we hunt.”

I hummed in agreement. “I also wonder why things changed so much. From the murders messy and public to being more confined in the homes.”

“Who knows,” he said, shaking his head. “Monsters make a hell of a lot more sense than people do.”

“You got that right.”

Soon enough we saw flashing lights coming down the street. We watched some officers step out of the first car, and a few more get out of an SUV.

“Is that FBI?” Dean asked, looking intently.

“I mean, we just found them a serial killer. They’ve probably been on high alert,” I said.

He nodded, and we watched for another moment as they prepared to go inside.

“Man, those vests are cool as hell in real life, too,” I commented.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he wrapped up the conversation with a laugh.

He pulled off the sidewalk at that, and started driving in the opposite direction of the cops. We decided to stay the night at the motel, neither of us awake enough to get back to Sam and Bobby. He pulled into the parking lot, and we trudged inside.

“At least we aren’t covered in monster guts this time,” I said as I fell onto the mattress.

“Right?” He chuckled. “Cool if I take the first shower?”

“Of course. I’ll be here.”

He shut the door of the bathroom, and I let out a sigh. All of the teamwork bull crap we’d been doing certainly didn’t help my case, but I could at least be thankful he didn’t want to go the bars and find a hookup. I threw my arms over my eyes and sighed.

“Hey,” I heard Dean’s voice call out, his hand on my knee.

I uncovered my eyes. “Sorry. Must’ve dozed off.”

He smiled. “Go take a shower.”

“You sayin’ I need one?” I asked with a quirked brow.

“Yeah. You’re a mess,” he replied, a playful glint in his eye. “I don’t know how I sat in a car with you all day, to be honest.”

I scoffed, getting up. He moved enough for me to get by, but didn’t let me get far before he started talking again.

“Movie tonight?” he asked.

I rustled through my bag, pulling out my pajama shorts.

“Sure.”

“Any requests?”

“Uh,” I started, still looking for a clean top. “Maybe a comedy. We could use something funny.”

“Good point.” He stared for a moment as I kept digging. “You missing something?”

“I can’t find my t-shirt. I thought I packed three in here.”

“Do you want one of mine?”

I paused, considering the offer. One one hand, I wouldn’t have to wear a cami to bed and risk accidentally flashing him in my sleep. One the other, I’d be wearing his shirt and that would be a sure way to get me in my own head. The risks of the first definitely outweighed my lack of self control.

“That would be awesome.”

He walked to his own bag, pulling out a shirt that matched the one he wore and handing it to me.

“I still think wearing our outside clothes to bed worked just fine.”

“Did you ever feel rested doing that?” I asked.

He sighed dramatically. I laughed.

“Exactly my point,” I said. “Most of your well-being has to do with mindset, Dean.”

He grumbled to himself as he settled into bed, and I took that as my chance to get in the bathroom. My shower was quick, especially since Dean used up most of the hot water. I knew I should’ve gone first, but it forced me not to stay in forever. I pulled on his shirt and my shorts, trying not to let myself smile when I saw myself in the mirror wearing his clothes. I walked back into the room before I allowed myself to think too hard.

He looked at me as I walked out, a smile creeping on his face. I fought back my own to raise a brow as I lingered at the foot of my bed.

“What?”

He shrugged. “Funny seeing you in my shirt.”

“Looks better on me than it ever did on you,” I sassed with a smirk, crawling into bed.

“Can’t argue with that,” he noted, still watching me. He cleared his throat a moment later, looking at the TV screen. “Uh, I found something, I think. They had Step Brothers on demand.”

“Oh, perfect,” I said as he clicked play.

We settled into a comfortable silence for a while, and I cuddled into the duvet. After we were halfway through the movie, I gathered the blankets around me even more.

“Is it just me, or is it freezing in here?” I asked, looking over to see Dean still sitting above the covers.

“It’s a little cold,” he shrugged, then looked at me. “I can check the heater.”

I nodded as he got up and crossed the room. He held a hand out, a puzzled look on his face after a moment. He smacked it with his hand, and still felt nothing.

“Hm. Hang on,” he said, moving to the phone. “Hi, I think the heater in here’s broken.”

A pause.

“Ah, great. Okay, thanks.”

He hung up the phone, looking to me apologetically.

“They said the heating’s down in the whole place.”

I sighed. “That sucks.”

He sat back in his bed, looking at me for a moment before he spoke again.

“I know it’s been a while since we had to, but do you wanna come sleep in my bed tonight? I run hot, it might keep you warm.”

“I know. I had to sleep next to you in the summer, and it was like roasting in an oven,” I chuckled.

“See? It’ll work perfect when you’re cold,” he said, standing again.

He pulled the covers back, getting underneath and patting the mattress next to him. I cursed myself for finding this case in the first place.

“Just don’t complain if I kick you in my sleep,” I said, getting out of my bed.

He chuckled. “I’m not worried about it.”

I got into his bed, and he threw the covers over me. He then reached over top of me to grab the remote, pressing play and slinging an arm around my shoulders. I pulled the duvet up to my chin, leaning into his side.

This position put me in a delicate spot, and I found that to be true more and more with every passing minute. Every time he laughed, I felt it reverberate in his chest. Every time he talked to me, I’d look up to see his face inches from mine. Every time he moved, he held me a little tighter.

In short, Bobby was all too correct about me being screwed.

“Hey,” Dean said, voice soft. “You okay?”

“Mm?”

I looked at him, once again trying not to think about the proximity.

“You always laugh at this scene. You didn’t make a sound this time.”

“Oh,” I chuckled, looking towards the screen. “Sorry, I must be exhausted.”

“Is that all? Seems like there’s something on your mind.”

“Alright, Dr. Phil,” I joked.

“Seriously,” he said, squeezing my shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. I think I just need some sleep,” I replied, glancing at him again with half a smile.

He quirked a brow, clearly not believing me, but willing to drop the subject.

“Okay. You know you can always talk to me?”

“I know.”

He smiled softly, then looked back at the TV as he shut it off. He settled into bed, still holding onto me. I snuggled into his side, using his chest as a pillow. I felt him breathe deep before he shut off the light.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Night, Dean.”

I woke up the next morning before he did, and decided there was little harm in remaining there. I shut my eyes, letting myself enjoy the fact that I was still snuggled against him. It gave me a moment to pretend he was mine, at least for the morning. I listened to his breathing, and wondered if he ever dreamt about me in the same way I did about him. As if on cue, his arm tightened around me a little as he stirred. His thumb brushed against my shoulder where his hand had snuck under the sleeve of the t-shirt, though I couldn’t tell if he was really awake until I felt a soft kiss against the top of my head.

At that moment, I decided it was probably best to continue pretending I was still asleep.

He stayed that way for a little while, his hand still against my shoulder, making little patterns with his thumb. It took everything in me not to move when I felt him brush a few stray pieces of hair away from my face, and even more when he let his hand linger against my cheek for when felt like a few seconds too long to be purely friendly.

I wondered if he was always like this when I wasn’t awake. Extra attentive, and sure not to wake me. Maybe that’s why I somehow remained asleep every time I fell asleep in the car that normally jostled me around like a rag doll with his driving. I wondered even more if Bobby was right about something else he’d said days ago: the unrequited feelings might not be so unrequited after all.

I nestled my head against his chest, trying to give him a warning that I was about to open my eyes, and he quickly pulled his hand away from my face. I took in a breath, blinking slowly as I let the light seep in for the second time that morning.

“Morning,” he greeted quietly, his voice still soft and raspy from tiredness.

I smiled. “Morning.”

“You hungry?” he asked, drawing my attention to him.

I nodded, leaning back a little to see him better.

“Very, and I saw a café on the way into town that looked good,” I said.

He smiled softly, shutting his eyes for a moment. Then, he yawned, finally sitting up. He turned and looked at me as I stayed laying.

“How’d you sleep? Warm enough?”

“Thanks to you, yeah,” I replied, stretching. “I’m scared to get out of bed, now, though.”

He patted my leg over the covers, “If you want food, that should be motivation enough.”

“Good point.”

I reluctantly climbed out of bed as he walked into the bathroom to get ready for the day. It was cold, but not unbearable. I decided to throw on some clothes in the room since he always took a while in the bathroom. By the time he was finished, all I needed to do was wash my face and brush my teeth, then we were off.

Breakfast was short and sweet, and we made it back to Bobby’s in record time. We strolled in the door, seeing Sam gimping around the kitchen as soon as we walked in.

“Still letting that ankle beat your ass?” I asked immediately.

He laughed. “Trust me, if I had any control over it, this wouldn’t have been a problem in the first place.”

“Maybe you just wanted out of the hunt,” I said in reply.

“Oh yeah, I loved hanging out and making Bobby bring me ice packs all day. Dream vacation, actually.”

Dean shook his head with a smirk. “You didn’t miss out on much anyway.”

“How’d it go?” Sam asked as he took a seat.

I looked to Dean who was already glancing in my direction. I shrugged.

“We stopped a serial killer, actually,” I noted.

Sam gaped. “And I ‘didn’t miss much’?”

“Just knocked him out and called the cops. Not much fun, anyways,” Dean shrugged. “Oh, we did find maybe the best pancakes I’ve ever had, though.”

I hummed in agreement enthusiastically, nodding.

“They were freaking incredible,” I said, then looked back at Sam. “And they had like, real, fresh maple syrup.”

“Unlimited stacks when you bought the platter, too,” Dean chimed in with a gleeful smile.

“You two sound like an old married couple,” Sam scoffed out with a laugh. “What, did you fall asleep together after reading the newspaper, too?”

“After watching a movie, actually,” Dean corrected, grabbing a beer from the fridge. Then, he looked at me. “Did you want anything?”

“I’m okay.”

Sam looked between us, a raised brow and an amused look on his face.

“You two actually fell asleep together?”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s what you choose to focus on?”

He smiled mischievously, then looked at Dean.

“Making moves on her, now?”

Dean swallowed, glaring at his brother with wide eyes. I furrowed my brow, about to see if I could prod Sam for information, but Bobby walked in before I had the chance.

“Hey, you two. How was the hunt?”

Dean let out a breath. “Not real eventful. I could use some sleep.”

He started walking out of the room, all of us watching as he left. Bobby turned to me first, a questioning look on his face.

“Don’t look at me,” I said with my hands up in defense. “I think Sammy pissed him off.”

“Real smooth, Sam,” Bobby commented.

Sam scoffed, shaking his head. Bobby merely sighed, going to take a seat across from Sam. I looked at them both, hands on my hips.

“Why do I get the feeling you two know something I don’t?”

“Did Dean not talk to you?” Sam asked, looking at me.

“We talk plenty.”

“That’s not what I mean. He said he was gonna talk to you when the next case was over,” he stopped, then looked at Bobby. “Case came and went, and still nothing.”

Bobby shrugged. “Out of our hands, Sam. Told you not to meddle.”

I sighed in annoyance. “You two are children, you know that?”

“Hey,” Bobby said, offended.

“I’m gonna take a walk,” I said finally, turning for the door.

The second I was halfway out, they started talking again, but I couldn’t bring myself to care too much about what they said. Clearing my mind sounded like the best option, and I was determined to do it.

I started walking around the yard, music blaring from my phone to keep me preoccupied as I watched the sky light up with a million different colors. I found an old car with a relatively clean exterior and decided to climb onto the hood. I leaned back, watching the sky as it turned darker, the stars slowly peaking out.

“Room for one more?” Dean’s voice asked from behind me.

“Come on up,” I said, scooting over a bit.

He came and sat next to me, looking up at the sky. He let out a slow breath, then looked at me.

“Taylor Swift?”

“You know it,” I replied.

He smiled, turning his head back.

“Stars are coming out,” he commented.

“They are. You should’ve seen sunset, it was gorgeous.”

He scooted closer, leaning his head against mine silently. After a moment, I let myself lean against his shoulder a little more.

“You okay, Dean?” I asked after a beat.

“Of course. Why?”

“I dunno. You just seemed a little off when we got back today.”

He sighed. “Yeah. It’s— It’s nothing.”

“You sound like me, now.”

He chuckled. “Guess we’ve got the same bad habit, huh?”

“Yeah, guess so.”

We stayed there until it got dark enough to really see the stars come out, not moving even when the chill of the night started creeping in. I readjusted my head against his shoulder, preparing myself to speak again.

“Did you really follow me out here just to look at stars?”

I felt him still. Then, after a moment, I sat up a little straighter and looked at him. He glanced back at me, clearly feeling caught out.

“Thought you could use some company.”

I raised a brow, and he smirked, looking away.

“Alright, you got me,” he said, “What gave it away?”

“First off, I’ve known you for years,” I started, nudging him in the arm. “Second, Sam and Bobby were all uppity about the fact that you apparently told Sam you had something to talk to me about.”

“I swear, he can’t keep a secret to save his life when it comes to stuff like this,” he said, rubbing at his face.

“Well, try me,” I said, unable to keep my eyes off of him. He was extra cute all flustered. “I’m a good listener.”

He let out a breath, then looked at me, scanning my face for a moment.

“I know I’ve got a certain type of reputation—”

“You?! No way,” I exclaimed with a smile, my eyes wide.

He laughed. “Exactly my point.”

“You know I don’t care about that, though. Reputations are a one-sided story.”

He hummed. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

He sighed, looking back at the sky for a moment.

“I just,” he started, giving a shrug, “I feel like it— Like it makes people feel like I never want anything but a hookup, you know?”

“It makes people feel that way?”

“I’m that easy to read, huh?” he asked, looking at me again with a faint smile. “You. I mean you.”

“I gathered that much.”

He laughed softly, as did I.

“How’d you know?”

“I had suspicions fueled by Bobby. Then you kissed me and started being all affectionate when you thought I was asleep this morning.”

His eyes widened. “You were pretending to be asleep? That’s so not fair!”

“Hey, I woke up snuggled into my own personal space heater, I didn’t exactly want to be up and at ‘em.”

He rolled his eyes, tugging me into his side with an arm around my shoulders once more.

“How long has it been for you?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t even know. I guess I started realizing it a year or so ago.”

“That’s embarrassing for me, then. I knew the second I met you,” he said with a laugh.

“Dean,” I said with surprise. “It’s been half a decade! No wonder Bobby got on my ass about it before we left.”

“Well, hey, Sammy’s been on mine for a couple years. You got off easy up till now.”

I laughed. “I guess so. To be fair, we were flying under the radar for quite a while, though. The incessant flirting the past few weeks is what got us in trouble.”

“Why did you start being extra flirty, anyway?” he asked, resting his cheek against the top of my head.

“I don’t know. I guess I was, like, subconsciously seeing a window. You haven’t been doing your normal bar hookups the past few months, so I thought maybe there was a reason for it,” I paused. “Though, finding out you’ve been crushing on me for five years kind of makes me question that.”

He snorted out a laugh. “Easier to keep my mind off you that way. That sounds terrible. I just— I never thought in a million years you’d think anything of me.”

“Well, when did you realize I might?”

He sighed. “You remember a couple weeks back when we were taking down that vamp nest? You easily could’ve died, and we hugged afterwards, but when I pulled back I… I saw that look in your eyes that seemed an awful lot like how I look at you when you’re not paying attention. I wanted to kiss you, and I didn’t doubt in that moment that you would’ve let me if I had.”

I paused. “Why didn’t you?”

“I was scared. We’ve been friends for so long, and we practically do everything together. I didn’t want to ruin anything on the off chance that I was reading those signs all wrong.”

“You weren’t.”

He fell quiet for a moment. I looked up at him, and he looked back at me as I did. He quickly wet his lips, drawing my gaze downward before my eyes flicked back up to his. His lips parted momentarily. Then…

“We should get back inside. It’s getting cold out here,” he said quickly.

I nodded curtly, pulling away to let him get off the hood first. He gave me a hand, helping me down next. We walked back to the house quietly, saying soft goodnights before we went to separate rooms.

I was all settled in for the night, cozy in my bed with a book in hand. Then, I heard a knock on the door. I grumbled as I got up, annoyed that I had to leave the comfort of a mattress that wasn’t a sure cesspool of germs I didn’t want to think about. I flung the door open.

“Someone better be dying or I’m gonna kick some ass for—”

Dean’s lips crashed into mine, effectively silencing me from my rant. I melted after a few seconds of mental delay, my hands gripping onto the material of his shirt as his cradled my face. I felt him smile into the kiss, drawing my closer with arms that snuck around my waist, holding me tight. He wasted no time in deepening the kiss once he was sure that the signs were all giving him a positive response.

We finally broke apart a few minutes later, breathing heavy with pounding hearts.

“I figured I should stop letting opportunities pass me up,” he said with a nervous chuckle.

I nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, good thinking.”

His eyes scanned over me, his chest still heaving.

“You wouldn’t happen to need another space heater for the night, would you?”

“I run cold, what can I say?” I replied with a smirk, and a spark in my eye.

He smiled, walking me into the room with his lips on mine, kicking the door shut behind him.

(EDIT: starting taglists now! let me know if you want to be on any!)

FULL MASTERLIST | BUY ME A COFFEE

[writingwithcolor]

Author with cultural disconnect: How do I write without making it seem as if I hate my own heritage?

Anonymous asked:

I’m a white-passing Asian author, and I’ve never felt all that connected with my heritage. My current story centers on a fairy (re: fantasy-world POC) child and ends with her realizing that her parents are toxic af and her human best friend’s family takes her in. This is the perfect opportunity to sort through my own issues with my heritage and finally convince my monkey-brain that it’s okay to not know how to cook Vietnamese food or celebrate tet or speak Vietnamese… But I also realize that if I’m not careful, this could easily slip into “Hey, I hate my heritage and so should you!” So how can I stop that from happening?

Writing for yourself first, not an audience

I ask you a simple question: why put pressure on yourself to have any sort of non-offensive messaging for a story that hasn’t been drafted yet and is to convince your monkey brain it’s okay to exist as yourself?

That seems like the fastest way to stop the story from being actually cathartic and instead a performance art piece when you already feel hung up on performing as “properly��� part of your culture.

As I said in Working Through Identity Issues and Other Pitfalls of Representation, not all stories you write need to be for public consumption. Especially stories you’re using for your own self-processing and therapy, because you’re trying to get a cathartic moment that is rewriting your own story.

At what point does the public need to be involved in that?

I do understand the compulsion to want to post—I have definitely posted some Questionable™ material in my drive to get validation for feeling the way I do, wanting people to witness me and say “same.” It’s a powerful urge. Sometimes it’s worked, but most of the time it’s just made me feel horrifically exposed.

But you really do not have to post in public to get any sort of validation. Set up a groupchat with friends if you want the cheerleading and witnessing—people who will know your story and give you good-faith interpretations and won’t accuse you of anything. Honestly I’d suggest setting up this groupchat anyway; as someone who just got one again after quite a few years without it, my productivity has skyrocketed from being around supportive people.

Let the monkey brain have its monkey brain moment and shut off the concept the story is for the public. Shut off the concept of performing for an unknown audience. It’s for you. Be authentic, no matter how bad it would look to outsiders. They’re not reading it. Part of getting catharsis, sometimes, is being the worst version of yourself, somewhere nobody else can see it.

Deciding to publish the work

If, after you do write it, you find that you actually do want to polish it up and put it somewhere… edit it. Rewrite it entirely if that’s what it takes. Take the story through the same drafting process every story needs to go through, ripping out the unfortunate implications as you go.

Editing can be its own form of healing, as you try to figure out what this character would need to not be hateful. As you realize, once this longform journal entry is out of your head, what was bothering you now that you can see it pinned down on a page. But you absolutely do not need to write with the intention of editing in that healing. When I’ve tried, it’s fallen flat.

The healing will come from being yourself, no public involved, and writing about your feelings in their rawest form. Anything else is extra.

There’s no point in trying to put guard rails on the drafting process, not for a deeply personal piece. And by the time that drafting process is done, you’ll likely have specific scenarios and contexts that you can ask about, and you might even have ideas on how to fix it yourself once the story has a shape to it.

This is 100% a situation where there’s no real sense in idea workshopping something in the plotting stage. You’re doing something for you. Decide if it’s for public consumption later (while acknowledging “no” is a perfectly valid answer), and only figure out how to make the story not overtly harmful if you decide to put it out into the public.

~ Leigh

[sarahreesbrennan]

Thank you for writing Long Live Evil.

I'm no cancer survivor, so I haven't been through the horror that that must've been, congratulations to enduring and surviving, and my sincere condolences that you had to go through it.

But I am chronically ill (cystic fibrosis, genetic defect) and have so far lived for 5 years longer than my prognosis allowed. My health's been good and stabile for a long time now, but I remember times where I couldn't walk alone, had a 18/6 nasal cannula and a 24-hour IV drip instead of school or a future.

Now I'm working at university, an archaeologist, chipping away at writing stories for years and years, and incredibly glad and privileged to see the world. All this to say that seeing how hurt Rae was in the beginning (and again throughout the story, while also never truly forgetting her true roots and motives) and how she grew around it like a gnarled tree, was like catharsis for me. Having miraculously given a second chance, no matter how hard the fight to keep it will be; I haven't ever read any story talking about this in a way that made me feel seen and understood like this. Thank you also lots and lots for taking the time to mention Rae's appreciation for Rahela's curves — it's been the same for me, since I've managed to get out of the underweight-trap. It means a lot to me, and I guess to many others in similar situations, including you of course. Thank you for sharing this with us, it must've been hard to touch on a deeply personal experience like this in writing that's simultaneously removed from oneself through fiction (at least that's what I'm imagining).

Thank you, and I wish you nothing but the best, health, and lots of good days to come. Deeply curious to see how Rae's story will continue!

Thank you so much for this.

I am so glad you are alive. Thank you for that, too - for living on even when you couldn’t see a way forward and everything was helpless despair.

I haven’t been through what you’ve been through, either, but it’s a privilege to have shared adjoining experiences trapped in darkness, and to share gladness and the wide world with you now. I’m so sorry it happened, and so happy you have archaeology and stories, and the world has you.

I will be totally honest and say it has been hard sharing Long Live Evil with the world, and I’m so grateful to you for knowing that, and for sending this message because you knew. This book is highly personal to me, but it’s also meant to be a wild celebration of messiness, escapism, and finding humour in art and darkness. And that means to some it’s just a joke, and in the words of Joanna Russ, ‘she’s not really an artist and it’s not really art.’ And so it gets dismissed, and it does hurt to see my most important story dismissed sometimes.

I was with other writers in a public space at one point and they were talking about how their books were about serious issues while ‘Sarah’s book is just for fun, and that’s fine too!’ (I had to take a minute before I could lean into my microphone and say ‘My book is about cancer’ in a cheery tone.) I’ve seen readers saying ‘this book’s just fluff, just silly, I’m ashamed of myself for reading it, there’s nothing to it’ about the book I wrote about almost dying.

My Rae, while of course she has bits of me in her (every character I’ve ever written does), and evil queens I’ve loved, and characters with wild hubris going on in the Greek plays I mention often in the book, and readers I’ve seen and I’ve been who are blithely confident they know what’s going on without doing more than surface reading and while forgetting key details… she’s also bits of women and girls I’ve mentored, been mentored by, befriended. And some of them are dead. So seeing the bits that were them particularly scorned or judged, seeing her pain dismissed or the discussion of her body sneered at…

That has been hard.

But.

In the end I believe I am really an artist and this book is really art, and art is there for the wide world to judge - to be mocked and dismissed, yes, as a price that comes with the opportunity to also be truly seen and appreciated, to get to influence real people’s real lives. Art is the gold that comes from the crucible in which we put all our pain and all our love and all our joys. I believe it deepens and transforms.

I wrote this book about how deeply unsympathetic people actually are to sufferers of illness, chronic or otherwise, and especially to women expressing pain. How the world villainises imperfect victims—which means all victims. How the world villainises bodies, and robs us of our joy in them—even when there’s horror in a body, too. I did know that by putting this book out into this world, that attitude would be reflected back by the world onto the book. And that attitude has hurt me in the past, and hurts me when I see it now.

I still think it’s worth calling out that attitude, even if it means getting more of that attitude reflected back onto me - because it means readers like you see it, and know others have been through this, and it was never okay, and you were never alone. While I know there will also be readers with chronic illnesses and/or cancer whose experience doesn’t overlap with mine at all, that only means there need to be more stories. So everyone who needs it gets the map into fantasy lands.

And I do hope some able-bodied readers read it, and think twice about adopting the world’s attitude to the people in their lives who are already going through enough. Some readers have told me the book helped them sympathise with and understand the cancer sufferers in their family and friend circles, and that’s meant a great deal. What do we write for, if not to learn to love each other better?

Long Live Evil has also given me my life back, as truly as chemo did, in a way that makes the pain worthwhile - I think I would have kept telling stories in some form, but Long Live Evil was my last throw, for as far ahead as I could see. Now since the book’s done well so far I’m hoping I can write more books, and my life can be the storytelling shape I always wanted it to be.

I read your message and I regretted nothing. I remember the pain and the way so many of us laughed or tried to laugh our way through it, and I know this was my way. Jokes, like stories, are the golden thread we follow through the dark labyrinth of our own agony and incomprehension.

It really has been hard, and it’ll stay hard. But like living, it’s worth it.

Please know two things.

I am so happy I wrote this book. Ultimately more than any other feeling I had so, so much fun writing it, and I’m having even more fun seeing the book be read by the people it was meant for.

2. This book was written for you.

[sitp-recs]

top 10 drarry fics by the sheer force of the feels they gave you? not necessarily good feels! things you remember primarily because they hit hard in some way.

obviously, i'd also love to hear exactly how/why they hit hard if you're up for sharing that!

Oh that’s such a wonderful ask, thank you! I’m sorry for the late reply, the 10 fics came easily bc whenever I see those titles I get immediately transported back to where I was and what I felt reading them for the first time. But putting into words what exactly makes them heartkick-y for me was a bit more challengeging. It’s usually a “when you feel it you know it” kind of thing (and quite literally too, as sometimes it manifests as an actual physical reaction!) but more often than not the fic just clicks for me and there’s no rationale behind it. As Clarice Lispector said: “I suppose that understanding myself is not a question of intelligence but of feeling. It either touches you, or it doesn't."

Anyhoo, I tried my best to keep this short and sweet but since I’ve written individual recs for almost all these fics, I thought I’d include them too :) thanks again, this was super fun! And I’d love to read about your picks as well 👀

An Emerald In The Sky by corvuscrowned | my rec

it doesn’t get more romantic than star-crossed lovers doomed by time travel!!!! (see also: my thoughts on The Eighth Tale by lettered). this is my brand of melancholy, something about the constant yearning, the beauty of stolen moments in liminal space, the unfairness of it all… ugh

Far From the Tree by aideomai | my rec

fft has altered my brain chemistry and ruined me forever with its tender devastation, I had such a visceral reaction to it - to the point of feeling dizzy and feverish. a simple time travel concept (this is my kryptonite istg) but the epic storytelling! the gratification! the bittersweet ending! rereading it would kill me but what a way to go

Forgive Those Who Trespass by Lomonaaeren

easily one of the most haunting and terrifying fics I’ve ever read, one jumpscare after the other but so creative and well-written I was too busy collecting my jaw from the floor to talk myself out of it lol

Little Compton Street by writcraft | my rec

as a queer woman, this one feels extremely personal and is very dear to my heart. I’ll never forget the emotions I felt learning about queer history and finding a sense of peace and belonging. lcs feels like coming home 🏳️‍🌈

Little Red Courgette by blamebrampton

this was my first bb fic and their sense of humor just blew my mind. I was so impressed by the smooth world building, by their wit and clever political commentary. I just couldn’t stop laughing. the dialogue is so good it makes me wanna weep, I can’t explain how much joy and comfort this fic gave me

Merlin Works in Mysterious Ways by lordhellebore

full disclosure: my reading experience was shaped by the fact that I didn’t realize the tagged disability would be major and permanent 🤡 by the time I noticed I was so emotionally invested I couldn’t stop. one of the most painful reads I’ve ever endured, worth it tho

Running on Air by eleventy7 | my rec

introspective fics are my jam and this one was just what I needed while working through some shit at a turning point in my life. so I guess it was more about finding the right fic at the right time, and I’m hit by mixed feelings of catharsis and nostalgia every time I revisit roa.

Still Life (orphaned) | my rec

my definition of a perfect shortfic. gorgeous prose, flawless execution, the “nothing is happening but everything is changing” vibes I live for, one of the best Harry pov I’ve ever read and an ending that always makes me gasp in awe. few authors can write complex emotions so effortlessly as seefin, absolute masterclass

Super Rich Kids by trishjames | my rec

criminally underrated, this story broke my heart but also gave me such a THRILL. I usually avoid substance abuse in fic but something about Draco’s spiral journey felt so raw it kept me at the edge of my seat. devastating but also a surprisingly funny and exciting thriller. the range!!!

The Long Fall by tackytiger | my rec

as someone who’s never been into kid fic and family dynamics, this was a punch on the solar plexus and rearranged my whole view about this trope. I was deeply moved by Harry’s longing for a family of his own and despite not having or wanting kids, this still felt really cathartic and changed me in a way I can’t quite explain.

[darkcircles4lyfe]

I've given it some thought--

Now, if you've read any of my posts and you've read 430, you know there are a lot of ways it falls short of what I wanted. On the other hand, I can respect an open ending, one where we are allowed and encouraged to dream. All things considered, I'm not satisfied or disappointed, but a secret third thing... bear with me.

For a lot of storylines, I can fill in the blanks how I want.

I'm heartbroken over Himiko's fate, but there's no denying that the lack of camera footage leaves open the possibility of her simply disappearing. Perhaps she is waiting in hiding for the world to change, just like Lady Nagant.

Dr. Yoshida is described as someone who can cure the incurable. That may be referring to Katsuki, but the doctor himself said it's a complete mystery how he survived, all Katsuki's own doing. Maybe he cured someone else in those 8 years... someone like Touya?

Honestly I got nothing on Tenko but who knows. Who knows! Something something OFA connection. Izuku having vestige visions. Idk.

As for the manner in which society is changing, I'm drawn to Shouji's speech: "I'm dedicating the honor to those who joined the uprising eight years ago. All I've done is stand atop the resolve that they demonstrated to the world, nothing more." That at least tells me his earlier judgment of the other heteromorphs "setting them back" was a narrow point of view Shouji was supposed to grow out of, rather than a way of Horikoshi trying to criticize revolutionaries. In general, just because a character says something doesn't mean we're supposed to take it as gospel. That's lit crit 101, people.

Then there's Izuku. Once again I am feeling this pretty close to home. I keep coming back to the fact that the class is 24/25 now and I'm 25, man. On top of that, anyone else who was 14/15 ten years ago when the manga started gets to feel like we've all grown up together. I wanted catharsis for Izuku's trauma so badly. I wanted words. But I can't deny that the way Izuku is shown attempting to make the best of things and be content with a humbler life resonates with me, as painful as it is, as much as I know deep down he's kidding himself. It doesn't surprise me that he kept his walls up all this time and continued to shun his "selfishness."

I almost feel like there's an all-encompassing narrative theme being expressed here, in the fact that Izuku was trying to push past his pain and focus on the next generation, but surprise, his story's not over yet. I think the implied message there is that more can be done in the here and now, and maybe other stories that seem to be over, aren't.

With these things in mind, I can take the ending in stride, even if this is all the more we get from Horikoshi. However. There's one thing that is jolting me out of my peace every time I start to get comfortable here. It's actually related to the storyline that got the most closure.

I've seen a lot of fellow bkdk enjoyers calling their conclusion the best part of the ending, and I agree with that. They got a truly full circle moment, and a way of communicating to the reader that they're together, they have their forever, in a way that is personal to them. It's not "canon" in the way a kiss or a confession is, but I've said it before--this makes sense for them. And Horikoshi also did something legitimately interesting and groundbreaking by not making Ochako confess, not showing her future being tied to the main character as a love interest.

No, the thing that's bugging me is a seemingly small detail: why does Izuku and Katsuki holding hands at the end, of all things, have to be implied? Lots of things about 430 make sense in the context of the interview Horikoshi recently gave where he expressed being content with what he has drawn, and what he has left to the imagination. But not this. You can't convince me he didn't want to draw this. It's a motherfucking story about hands. This is the one thing I was 110% certain would happen. It's been teased for forever. Katsuki clearly wanted it so bad. So many other characters got to hold Izuku's hand in-frame. What the hell. Why.

Idk. I will be thinking about it for the foreseeable future.

[radioapplerevue]

Radioapple Fic Recs

Finally got around to organizing a rec list. Going to pin this, since I see people ask for recs a lot. I expect I'll be updating this periodically, too, as I've only just started adding things to it.

These are my personal favorites. For context, I'm an almost 40 year old aroace person whose favorite fics tend to be those who take you apart and then put you back together, haha. Putting them under a read more because I expect this to get long.

The Ruination of Lucifer by @syaunei. (Explicit)

Remember what I said about taking apart and being put back together? Nothing has come close to toppling this fic for me when it comes to emotional catharsis. One of the things I love most about it is how directly it deals with Lucifer's severe depression and the consequences of it, as well as the many, many centuries of him having to deal with just being Who He Is, Where He Is. He's terribly wounded and suffering, but he's also indisputably the King of Hell, with all the power and all the knowledge and all the experience that comes with it.

This fic also stands out for being from Alastor's POV, which I love, because as much as this fic is called The Ruination of Lucifer, the subtitle could be "How Alastor Fucked Around and Found Out". Both of them are getting broken down here, and both of them are -- hopefully -- learning how to grow and move forward. It also takes into account Alastor's asexuality and his unconventional approach towards sex, and what it can (or can't) do for him.

Mind the warnings, though, because shit does get heavy in here for a while. And enjoy the gorgeous illustrations by @betti2024.

2. Lucifer and his Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Relationship by @keelywolfe (ratings vary by part)

This series has me in a chokehold. It's considerably softer than many Radioapple fics, but it really draws you in and makes you so invested in these two idiots and how much they care about each other but also how bad they are at understanding how much they care about each other. It's Lucifer's POV, which causes Suffering not only because he's an incredibly unreliable narrator, but because there's Something Going On with Alastor that we know nothing about except that it's Bad. And we (and Lucifer) are dyiiiing to know what it is, haha.

There is a lot of sex in this series, but there's something about it that's very compelling to me, especially from Alastor's side. The way he is written in these encounters is just so... tender. It's obvious that (most of the time) he's not getting anything really in terms of sexual gratification, but he's getting a great deal in terms of gratification of a different sort, and the fact that it's so clear that he derives as much -- or perhaps more -- pleasure from that as Lucifer does from the sex itself is so delicious.

But my favorite aspect of the whole thing is that no matter what conflicts are going on -- whether outside of themselves, or of their own making -- Lucifer has become Alastor's safe harbor. And that kills me.

3. Bedtime Rituals to Try Out Before the Next Angelic War by @miribalis (teen and up)

Did I mention I like soft? Because I do. And there's something so lovely about the slow, careful way their relationship progresses here, especially on Alastor's side. My issue with this fic is that it ended, haha! I was so looking forward to seeing where it went, because I got addicted to the particular tender rapport that the two of them built. But being left wanting more is hardly a knock on the fic itself, and it's absolutely a treat to get to read.

4. All changed, changed utterly by @tollingreminiscentbells (explicit)

This series is very different from the rest. It's a canon AU where Lucifer and Alastor first met when Alastor was still alive, and then proceeds to go into canon events from there, with Lucifer being the one holding Alastor's leash. There's a lot to chew on, and the author has chosen to go a very different route regarding biblical mythology than the show does. Definitely something I recommend if you want a deep dive into a really meaty series, that delves into both the dynamics of Heaven vs. Hell as well as the worth of free will, as embodied by Alastor (for better or worse).

It also includes one of my new favorite recurring things, which is Alastor's 'delusional not-sex'. (It's sex.)

5. devils don't fly (don't expect me not to fall) by @corgiss (mature)

I think it's becoming apparent that I really enjoy fics that begin with the two of them butting heads, and sometimes stumbling into a huge blunder, only for them to slowly grow together into something much softer than either of them likely intended. This is one such fic. It also involves some fun stuff with the rest of the cast, and a masquerade. Gotta love that.

6. Of Saints and Sinners by @morningstarwrites (teen and up)

This fic is probably the most lighthearted of the radioapple fics I read, haha. It's a fun romp and has definitely made me laugh out loud on more than one occasion. So if you're looking for something that preserves that antagonism-to-grudging-friendship-to-oh-no-we've-caught-feelings kind of story, but with more comedy and less angst, this is the fic for you! (I mean, I have no idea if angst is going to happen in the future, but so far.)

7. hit me where it hurts (the bruising will be worth it) by RestlessWanderings (mature)

This one can only be called radioapple if you squint, but I'm including it because a) it's by far my favorite take on the hotel battle scene, b) I love when Lucifer gets fucked up and people get scared for him and c) it's technically part of a radioapple series. I don't know if that series is still going to happen, but I do enjoy this plenty on its own!

8. Lucid Dreams of New Orleans by @radiaurapple (teen and up)

This is fic has a very unusual set up -- it deals a lot with memories (mostly Alastor's) with Lucifer along for the ride. If you're interested in seeing Alastor's background and relationships in life fleshed out, with the addition of Lucifer both within those memories and outside of them (and, perhaps, a bit of the other way around), then you should enjoy this journey! Also, pining. Gotta love pining.

9. Take Your King to Work Day by @decembercamiecherries (gen)

This is just a one-shot that I love. It's funny and clever and so very, very Lucifer and Alastor in a nutshell.

10. Line of Sight by @yersifanel (ratings vary -- teen to explicit)

I really enjoyed this series that was done for radioapple week. I'm always into it when Alastor thinks he's being clever and has everything under control and then it comes back to bite him in the ass when he realizes that what he wants isn't what he thought he wanted, and isn't that fucked up, how dare this happen to him. (Basically, I love him being a melodramatic baby over things that are actually not an issue at all. ) The drama of it all! (Alastor is the drama. That's it.)

11. Hunger Pains by @theaffablescamp (explicit. VERY explicit)

This is porn. Ha no it's not just that at all, but as a heads up, this is a very explicit series. So much smut. So if you're not into that, it's not your thing. Basically, Alastor eats a lust demon which does not turn out well for him, proceeds to make a deal with Lucifer to 'fix' the problem, and then creates many many more problems for himself along the way. This series is great for the incredible mental gymnastics Alastor uses to avoid the answers that are staring him right in the face in favor of much worse ones. Also, for a confident Lucifer who often has the upper hand and tries to nudge Alastor into actually acknowledging what he wants (and usually failing). It's messy and fun and very hot.

12. Between the Shadow and the Soul by @winterveritas (explicit)

This series has a bit of a different Alastor than a lot of them, where he's interested in Lucifer off the bat and intent on pursuing him. Of course, being Alastor, he has no idea what he's doing (even when he thinks he does). I am particularly fond of the second entry in the series, because hurt/comfort is my lifeblood. Also, it includes the most creative disposal of Lucifer's wedding ring that I've seen. This series is definitely on the softer side, which is something I take comfort in when some of the other fics hurt me, lol. I certainly hope to see it continued!

Hold here for more! There are a bunch of fics I’m following but am unsure if they’ll ever be finished — which is fine, writers don’t owe us anything! But it will definitely determine how high up they are on my favorites, haha. And of course people are posting new ones all the time.

[inphront]

thinking tonight about griddlehark as doomed by not seeing power and control as linked/trying to have one without the other.

harrow is desperate for control over every aspect of her situation, breaking down the moment anything happens that she can't predict or change or have agency in, but she's consumed by guilt and horror at the idea of being in power. she takes so much pride in necromancy as an element of her world and life where she is capable and a genius and in control, and it's a massive source of internal contention because one of the biggest gears turning her character is the cost of that control, and the fact that necromancy is inherently caught up in power dynamics. ianthe notices this about her in the epiparados: she's used to having her hands on the reins, can't cope when they're taken off, and doesn't have the personality to put them back on. harrow wants to run the ninth for the sake of having control over it, but situations like her birth where she has clear power over it make her want to die. she wants control over gideon, but is horrified by the power differential involved within necro/cav relationships. harrowhark deals horribly with uncertainty. she doesn't want power, just certainty, and therefore control. much of her arc involves the recognition that it is impossible to control an equal, which is her fundamentally impossible want: to be gideon's equal without giving her the right to leave, to be necromantically capable without the leveraging of power over her house that this requires, and the ability to align the world with what is just without the social position or the force so often involved in making meaningful change.

meanwhile, gideon has never felt important to anyone. her most fundamental desire is to be important to someone, and this manifests in her military fantasies and rebellion against authority as a desire for power. she wants the status and the catharsis of being at the top of a podium she's spent her life crushed underneath. but she doesn't put much thought into actually using any of this power she wants so badly. gideon doesn't want power for the sake of agency, but for the sake of admiration, which is how she ends up as a figurehead-- someone theoretically in a position of total power, with no control over even her own body. even her self-actualization as a cavalier was, to some extent, an acceptance of a title and a position within the empire under the understanding that she would be used. expressions of power, such as killing crux, don't feel good to her, but the concept of power itself, of having important parents and prestige and a big sword and recognition, do.

and how can they explain this to each other? they're both trying to take opposite halves of a mutually inclusive set. it's no wonder, then, that the tragedies of their relationship are desperate attempts to give each other things they don't want: gideon's death makes harrow far more powerful under terms harrow can't control. harrow then attemps to control those terms, and by extension to give gideon back her life and her agency, which gideon interprets as revoking the power she had over harrow's emotions and memory (as well as her imperial title, which may not indicate much power but sure does mean more than "indentured servant to the ninth"). for much of gtn, harrow had both power and control, while gideon had neither, and i expect this to switch when they interact in atn because it is impossible to only have one. in this way, their relationship raises a lot of questions about power structures as a whole: what do you do when changing the world requires you to leverage power against other people? what do you do when positive recognition inherently comes with a responsibility to be cruel? when relinquishing your capacity to hurt people limits your capacity to help, and when getting out from under the boot means putting it on? how do interactions with power and control interpersonally reflect systemic influence?

idk mostly i just shake them

[itsmarsss]

Scandalous (Blitzø x Fem!Succubus!Reader x Stolas) [Helluva Boss] pt. 8 - Catharsis

How the mighty do fall. (Getting into a weird three-way situation with an imp and a succubus isn't exactly considered classy, Stolas)

Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? 

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4 | pt. 5 | 1st bonus | pt. 6 | pt. 7 | pt. 8 | pt. 9 | 2nd bonus

Word count: 4,900

Warnings: self-deprecating thoughts, thoughts of death, heavy drinking, use of alcohol and sexual behavior as coping mechanisms. you know it's what you can expect from a blitzo-centered chapter. this happens right after the ozzie's chapter.

Blitzø is going to die alone. 

He’s going to die alone and no one will attend his funeral or even visit his grave other than to spit on it and his gravestone will read ‘Here Lies Blitzo Buckzo’ and nothing more because no one will be there to tell them to cross out the O and he most certainly won’t be a beloved anything. He'll just stay Blitzo Buckzo, forever.

And Blitzo Buckzo fucking sucks. 

Sometimes he wishes he was able to think before he spoke. He never does much of that and he’s aware he’d probably have refrained from hurting half the people he’s hurt if he could just keep his damn mouth shut. He didn’t think about this all that much… except for when he did. 

Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? 

Her voice rings in his head non-stop, like one of those annoying fucking church bells he’d come across once in the living world that ring every single hour, making it unable for its existence to be forgotten.

Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? 

It rings over and over again, stubborn, and it just won’t fucking go away.

Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? 

Blitzø drives home on his own, but not in silence. He turns the radio on and the volume up until he figures it must be loud enough that he’ll have trouble hearing his own thoughts. It doesn’t work. The shit thing about thoughts is that they’re not something you can just turn off when you get sick of them. They follow you everywhere, all the time, inconvenient and impossible to get rid of. He proceeds to ignore the songs that come on in favor of mumbling incoherent things under his breath in a desperate attempt to reassure himself that he’s not bothered by everything that just happened.  Things like I can think about people’s fuckin’ feelings and think you’re so much better than me, well fuck you and rich fuckin’ asshole thinks he’s hot shit and probably suckin’ face right now. 

You know, things that prove he doesn’t care one bit. 

Whatever.

He parks the van without a care, still too busy mumbling to himself, leaving it askew, taking up almost half of the parking spot next to his own. The old lady from 22 is gonna be pissed at the inconvenience. Well fuck her too. He doesn’t spare another thought on that. 

He dreads the walk up the stairs to the apartment, wishing he lived somewhere with an elevator, or in a house, or in a super sick fancy mansion where he used money as toilet paper when he took a shit because he was just that rich. Actually, scratch that, that sounds uncomfortable. At least his shitty apartment with limited hot water and four flights of stairs before it had real toilet paper, and it was the nice kind even, he always made sure of it even if it was a little more expensive. 

His little luxuries start to sound stupid when he’s been spending so much time around Stolas and all his fancy stuff.

When he opens the door and enters the apartment, his first immediate thought is to knock on Loona’s door. He groans once as he walks towards it and then once again when he spots the note she left taped to it. ‘Tex invited me to a party. Don’t wait up.’ Yeah of course he fucking did.

Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? 

Does he? 

He does. He thinks he does, at least. Maybe not all the time, but why else would he have said those things to her other than to protect her feelings? It’s not his fault if she was setting herself up for heartbreak. She needed to kill those feelings and if she wouldn’t then he would, fuck being the bad guy. In fact, fuck her too! He could so think about other people’s feelings.

He groans a third time at the thought of spending the night all alone, because he already knows what being alone makes out of him, and he doesn't like it one bit. If he could, he’d never be alone, not even for a single second, ever. Maybe that way he wouldn’t be so pathetic and so sad, because that’s what being alone made of him: pathetic and sad. 

It’s why Blitzø used to hate weekends. 

Satan, he fucking hated them. Why couldn’t every day be a work day? Why would they need a break? If it were up to him, there would be no such thing as a weekend. Because on weekends he had nothing to distract him from the ever-growing nothing in the pit of his chest and that wasn’t much fun at all.

Until Y/N accepted the job at I.M.P.

Before that, they used to speak almost exclusively through text, extremely inconsistently. He’s never really been the greatest at texting, but he could spam her with stupid memes and pictures of him doing random things throughout his day and horse doodles that she didn’t seem mad about receiving. They spent a whole year like that, only meeting in person a few times here and there.

When he offered her the job he promised himself not to have any expectations because, well shit, why would she trade in an obviously well-paying job, with her best friend as her boss, where she’d been working for years on end without having to hurt or kill anybody, for whatever it was he was asking her to do? 

But then she said yes.

It wasn’t long until he figured out they weren’t all that different from each other. Apparently, as much as she liked to complain about needing a break, just to annoy him, she dreaded weekends too. Not that she’d just admit that point-blank, but they did go out on on a Friday night after work and she did drink one too many and she sighed and complained about having to go home and it was all so much like him. ‘I don’t wanna be alone, Blitz,’ she’d told him. 

He didn't wanna be alone either.

And so he took her back home and he slept on her couch and he stayed there the next day, keeping her company and, honestly, enjoying hers. 

That’s how their tradition started. Almost every single weekend, the two will find themselves in either of their apartments, in the ugliest clothes they own, to cook or order something extremely greasy and unhealthy and marathon a shit-ton of movies, staying in on Saturday after going out somewhere on Friday. Loona would routinely call it ‘patheticville’ and ‘loser day’ and things like that. 

He doesn't hate weekends anymore. 

Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? 

And now he’d fucking gone and done this. 

He still wanted to fight, then. To argue, to scream, to yell. He wanted them to do it too. To get down and dirty and scream back at him. He wanted a reason to react.

Blitzø has always been very good at reacting. 

Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than you own?

But how was he supposed to react to that? The thought of grabbing his phone and texting her something along the lines of ‘fuck you and your pet bird too’ crosses his mind for a moment and, shit, maybe he is a prick, and he was gonna die alone wasn’t he? He was sure to if he kept doing this kind of thing. 

And maybe he fucking deserves it. 

Sometimes he wonders just how he’s going to die. Will it be peaceful? He hopes not. He sure as shit does not deserve peaceful. Maybe it could at least be cool. Maybe he could go down in a super badass shootout in the human world or a cool-as-fuck sword fight or something. Or maybe he’ll die in some dumbass way like tripping on the sidewalk and cracking his head open on the pavement. Maybe it’ll be in one of those days when he’ll be climbing up Stolas’ balcony and then he’ll slip and fall and break all his bones only to be found dead on the grass surrounded by ball gags and anal plugs. A stupid send-off for a stupid motherfucker. 

He throws himself on the couch instead and curls up into a ball, wishing he had a big royal-size bed with soft sheets and like three or four fluffy pillows, or even a simple twin-sized one, or at least that the couch was a pull-out. 

He grabs his phone and inevitably goes where he always goes when he feels like this- his ‘people I care about’ folder. He swipes through the various pictures. The ones of himself with I.M.P. in the living world, the one he made Moxxie pose with him for with them pointing their guns at each other, the one with Millie when she still had her long hair. The one from the day of Loona’s adoption, the one he took of Stolas sleeping next to him. The selfie with Verosika, the one he secretly took of Y/N watching the screen when he first showed ‘Spirit’ to her. 

And then he lands on the one. The one with Barbie and his mom. 

Blitzø is a 35 years old single father who kills people for a living. He’s been handling his own shit for almost two decades now. But in this moment… he just wants his mama.

Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? 

What would she have thought of that?

Yeah, he should have known it would be a ‘cry himself to sleep’ kind of night.

Blitzø doesn’t know for how long he’s been passed out when he wakes up disoriented. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, and that probably explains why his body ached so much with how uncomfortable the position he’d slept in was. He wakes up with the barking sounds of Loona’s special ringtone and scrambles to pick it up. 

“Loonie baby? You alright? Did something happen to you, are you hurt?”

“No, Blitz. I just- can you just come pick me up?” She sounds like she’s been crying. Fuck, no, his baby needs him. No time to be sad.

He’s up in a second. “On my way. Send me the address.” He hangs up, searching for his car keys (which he found between the couch seats) and running down the stairs.

Loona went two rings down to Gluttony for this party. It makes sense, he supposes. He’s more of a Lust Ring party kind of guy himself, but he’s heard Gluttony parties got crazy. He accelerates as fast as the shitty van will let him and gets there pretty quickly, only to find her outside, still crying.

He rolls down the window before he even stops the car completely. “Hey, Loonie. How ya doin’, you alright?”

She wipes a tear with the back of her hand and enters the car with a huff, crossing her arms over her chest. “Yeah, I’m fine! I just wanna go.” She sounds anything but fine.

He’s about to ask her what happened when some fuckface he definitely doesn’t remember calls him by name. The wrong one. “Hey! That sounds like Blitzo!”

“The ‘O’ is silent, asshole!”

“Hey, I knew it was you! Fuck, man, where you been? You here for the party?”

“No, I’m just here picking up my daughter.”

The guy walks up to Loona’s window, and she hides her face from him with her hands, embarrassed. “Oh, shit, you have a daughter now?”

“Adopted!” She yells out, and it stings a bit, regardless of being objectively true. 

“Oh, man, you’re already leaving? Things just got started! Come in and show us all up again.”

Blitzø groans, annoyed by the insistence. “No, no, thank you, but I think Loonie wants to head back now.” 

Some other weirdo approaches the van, leaning on the passenger’s window. “Huh, the hottie wants to leave?” Come on, right in front of him? 

He instinctively starts to growl. “Watch it.”

“I mean, we could stay a little longer,” Loona tells him.

He sighs. He’s not normally one to turn down a party, especially one with free booze, but he feels that’s probably what he should do.. “I think we need to go, ‘kay? I think it’s been a long night.”

“Well, these people seem to know you. Come on! I think I wanna give this another try. Pleeeeaaase?” She gives him the goddamn puppy dog eyes and she knows he can already hardly resist fulfilling her requests.

Well, if she insists. He could definitely use a drink…

“Okay, fine. Maybe one drink.”

… Or a good old night of drinking to forget.

Blitzø downs two tequila shots before he’s even made it into the house. He downs four beers at rapid speed as soon as he does manage to get inside, crushing the cans and cheering loudly when he was done, and then suddenly he finds himself saying yes to a keg stand. It’s so easy he can do it in his sleep. Fuck being too old for this, he’d never be too old to have fun. And he can handle so much more than a keg stand. “Ha-ha! That was nothing, bitch! Give me a real challenge!”

Beelzebub herself appears in front of him, seemingly materializing out of nowhere (or maybe he’s just drunk), all cheers and neon colors and psychedelic paraphernalia floating around her, and she does challenge him. “Oh yeah? Wanna fucks with the big bitch, imp boy? I got a challenge for ya.” 

Someone somewhere murmurs “He’s gonna die.”

Now that sounds like a challenge he can get behind.

Vortex walks up to them, carrying two huge gallons of something and placing them on the floor between him and the Sin. “Aaaaight, let’s do this! From Bee’s personal supply, the hardest shit there is.” He crouches down to Blitzø’s height. “You ready, my man?” 

Fuck, this better fucking kill him alright. “Bring it, barky! I will drink you under this fucking table, you have no idea what kind of night I’ve had.” He struggles trying to pry the gallon open, and Bee uses her magic or whatever to make them levitate, extending a straw from it. Of course she’d flaunt her magical powers and her easy fucking life to him.

“Alright, shit-talker, but there hasn’t been a soul yet who can beat me at my own game, so you better bring the fire, baby!.” 

“Ohh, is Queen Bee too scawed to lose to a widdle imp like me?” He bets she is. And he bets she’ll be embarrassed when she loses to him (because she is going to lose). Fucking big names like her always are. 

“Oh, okay. Let’s get it on, you little bastard!”

Vortex signs for them to begin and it takes about two seconds for Blitzø to have downed about a fourth of it already, but why stop there? He pulls the straw out and pours the drink straight into his mouth, downing the entirety of it at light speed. He’s so quick Beelzebub even stops chugging her own, amused… Concerned? Noo, no way. Amused. 

He climbs on top of the huge gallon to be at face level with her and properly rub it on her face, high on the adrenaline of it all (and perhaps a little bit on the buzz from the extremely strong drink too). “Yeah, who’s the queen now?”

Loona cheers for him loudly, and it fills him with joy when she proudly yells out “yeah! That’s my dad!” Yeah. That’s damn right. 

Bee lets her own unfinished gallon fall down to the floor and crosses her arms over her chest. Yeah, definitely impressed. “Well, fuck me. That’s a first. I haven’t had a first in a while. That was magical, seriously. Impressive. I tip my crown to you, imp boy. Respect.” Fuck her still calling him imp boy, but she’s actually admitting his victory and shes bowing to him, as she fucking should. 

She howls, every hellhound around following suit, and Blitzø feels on top of the world. 

Why does the world start spinning when you get yourself on top of it? 

He almost falls to the ground, but then he’s getting held up by a bunch of strangers like a cool-as-fuck goddamn rockstar and, shit, why had he stopped getting wasted and doing this kind of thing every night again?

He doesn’t exactly remember when people started doing body shots off of him but he does remember getting freaky with a few of them, which did very little to make him feel good and honestly felt a little gross with the amounts of drinks getting spilled all over and making things rather… sticky, but it was doing wonders to his thought problem. 

Who would have known having four strangers’ tongues inside of you at once could be a great way to muffle the unsolicited thoughts in his head?

The second those people fuck off somewhere else the thoughts come in again, though. Stolas hiding his face in shame behind the menu. Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? Y/n unable to look him in the eye. Are you worried someday I may have enough of it as well? Fizz is gonna hate him forever. You’re not my real dad! Verosika will always regret him. We could just… talk. Or… watch a movie? Or maybe… cuddle? Y/n’s crying face, Stolas’ disappointed one. Oh, they both had such fuckable faces didn’t they? Which reminded him: he really wanted to fuck someone.

He’s making out with a guy whose name he doesn’t know and whose face he doesn’t even remember when Loona pulls him off of him. “Oh, piss on a dick! What the fuck are you doing, Blitz?”

“This guy,” he grins, pointing to the unnamed man, who now stands still behind him. Wasn’t it obvious?

“It looks like you’re in the middle of a goddamn orgy. Stop!” Oh shit. Loona saw all that? An orgy does sound like some real fucking fun right now. Wait, focus, Loona. Fuck.

“Look, I didn’t expect you to come here and see any of this, Loonie, I’m so sorry, but it’s a party! I’m just having fun with uh… uh…” he turns back around to the man Loona pulled him off of. “The fuck is your name again?”

“Dennis.”

Ew. “Christ on a stick, you would be a Dennis. Get the fuck away from me! I’m not fucking a Dennis tonight. I need a Monica or an Alejandro here, stat.” He’s genuinely surprised that works when some hunky dude pulls him into his huuuge chest. Fuck yeah. “Better.”

Loona punches his Alejandro in the face, and he sincerely doesn’t give a fuck about it, because the world is spinning again, which is weird because this time he does not feel like he’s on top of it at all. In fact, it feels like the world is the meanest dom top ever and he’s a whiny, whiny bottom just sore all over from getting spanked ‘till his ass hurt. Not in a good way.

He falls back on Loona, and she catches him. “You don’t need anyone else sucking your face, freaky weirdo.” She throws him over her shoulder. “You need to drink something other than beelzejuice.”

She pulls him into the van, and she doesn’t rush to get home, because, according to her, she can see he’s already about to throw up. No he’s not, no sir! Ma’am. Loonie. 

Whatever. 

His mind clears a little as they make their way back home, and he pulls out his phone from his back pocket. Thankfully it’s still there.

“The fuck are you doing, dumbass? That’s gonna make you dizzy.”

“Gotta… gotta draw a thing.”

“You gotta draw a thing?”

“Yeah,” he affirms, as if that was enough information for everything to be self-explanatory, even nodding his head yes for emphasis. He surprisingly manages to take his time and put real effort into doodling it, showing it to Loona before sending it.

“Does it look like I did it drunk?” He slurs, letting out an unintentional burp.

“It actually looks pretty good, Blitz.”

“Okay.” 

“So. Who’d you call stupid?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Okay.”

“Can you call me dad again?”

“Nope.”

“Okay.”

He presses send and clicks on Stolas’ contact next, only to see there’s an unread message in their chat.

Stols:  I’m sorry if anything I said or did offended you tonight. 

Ha. Bet you really fucking are. 

Still, he’s not Stolas’ fucking boyfriend. What was there to expect from him? Why would he expect anything? 

Blitzy: ITZ WUTEVS

To Blitzø’s surprise, Stolas begins typing immediately, as if he’d been waiting obsessively for his reply.

Stols: Next time you come over, maybe we can talk about what happened at Ozzie’s?

Talk about it? What was there to talk about? Blitzø wanted nothing more than to bury the memories of tonight the deepest under the ground he possibly could. But of course Stolas would want to talk about it.

He always wants to fucking talk about shit.

Blitzy: Y?

Stolas types for what feels like forever, and it must have been, seen that they’re now only one street from the apartment complex, before he sends in a huge-ass paragraph. 

Stols: I’m sorry! Nevermind, it’s not a big deal. I was just worried about you. You seemed very upset and you took off so fast. I’m sure things will be fine with Y/N, she likes you very much, I can see it. Maybe I read too much into everything, though. Not everything is about me, haha. I’m  glad that’s not the case. I wasn’t upset either I just wanted to make sure you weren’t and obviously you can handle a stupid joke a clown can make. Asmodeus can be very invasive in his humor, and Y/N says she’ll talk to him about it, but I thought it was funny myself. What he said about me at least. I enjoy being the subject of jest. Maybe you can say mean things to me too next time you come over. 

Now that is too much to fucking deal with right now. Which means he won’t. 

Blitzy: SHUR.

He clicks out of Stolas’ chat, taking one last glance at Y/N’s before turning his phone off. She hasn’t seen what he sent yet, and that’s actually okay. 

Loona parks the van messily, doing the same thing he’d done earlier and letting the car occupy some space from the neighbour’s spot. He doesn’t even think before asking her to fix it.  “Sweetie, could you just park it a little more to the right?”

“Why?”

Yeah, Blitzø, why do you even care? “Well I don’t want that freaky cat lady to be up my ass about it tomorrow.” Yeah, that. Sure.

She doesn’t seem to find it in her to argue or even as much as groan, simply readjusting the car. She has to carry him over her shoulder again and all he wishes on the way up this time around is that he were a little more sober. She plops him down on the couch and he curls into himself once again while she grabs him a glass of water. 

Nothing to distract him from his thoughts now. 

“I had a really shitty day,” he tells her.

“Oh, yeah? Is that why you drank like five gallons of who-knows-what?”

“I don’t want her to hate me.”

“The person you called stupid?” 

He nods, hiding his face from her when the tears start coming in. “Fuck, Fizz was right. I’m gonna die alone, aren’t I? Just a wrinkly, old, withered waste. Will you be there, Loonie?” Blitzø feels whatever consciousness he’d gained back slipping away again by the second, this time from the need to sleep rather than the alcohol. At what point did he get so tired?

“Be where?” Loona asks, and he’s too out of it to respond properly, only mumbling half-coherent things like lonely and die alone over and over. “I’ll be there, dad," she tells him anyway, and covers him with a blanket, the softest one they own. “Now go the fuck to sleep,” she orders, and he does hear it, he just doesn’t have the strength to say anything in response as he feels himself drifting off to sleep, his last thoughts being that at least he can’t think about anything while asleep and that… 

He vomits all over the living room floor. 

“Oh, fuck, I did need to throw up.”

[. . .]

You feel stupid when it’s Fizzarolli who finds you crying in Ozzie’s waiting area. He skips his way to the room, humming along to some song you can’t quite make out, and he almost doesn’t see you on his way into the office. He hears you sniffling, though, and turns to face you. It takes him a couple seconds to process that it’s you.

“Y/N? What are you doing here? Um. You okay there?”

You look up at him, but it doesn’t feel like you can say anything yet. 

“I-” He motions behind him with his thumb. “I’m gonna- I’m gonna get Ozzie. Stay here, yeah?”

You don’t even know why exactly you’d asked Stolas to send you here when you were still mad at Ozzie. Or maybe not mad. Just… sad about everything that spiraled out of what he did. 

Then again, did you even have anywhere else to go? You could absolutely not make the night worse for Millie and Moxxie by showing up at their place, thinking of Blitzø made you sad and Stolas was not an option. You had Ozzie, though. And you know you always will, despite whatever stupid shit one of you might do. 

And it honestly beats going home to a big pile of nothing. 

Ozzie appears shortly, Fizz having done as promised and fetched him. Fizz doesn’t come back, though, letting you and Ozzie have a moment to talk on your own, which is nice of him.  

“Hey, pretty babe. Fizz said you were here.” He looks you up and down, worried. “Are you crying?”

“Why did you do that?” 

“What?”

“Why did you fucking sing about all that, why did you- it was so humiliating, Oz, fuck!”

“Oh. I am so sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. It got out of control. I didn’t even know you would be here tonight. You didn’t call me.”

“I didn’t know I was coming either.”

“You wanna tell me what that means?”

“It’s stupid.”

“Alright. That’s okay. I am sorry, though. We took the joke too far and I realized too late that it wasn’t funny.”

“Yeah. It wasn’t. So please don’t fucking do that again. It’s humiliating enough to… fuck... and everybody saw it, and- I…” You groan in frustration, struggling to get your words out. 

“No more about Stolas or any of you. Okay? Promise.” He sits down next to you on the fancy couch and he lets you lean on him. “Did something happen between you?”

You hesitate before speaking. “I didn’t- I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe I am stupid. Of course he’s ashamed to be seen with us.”

“Stolas?”

You nod. 

“Did he… tell you that?”

“Well he didn’t deny it.”

“Okay." He takes a deep breath, probably trying to think of how to handle the situation. "You’ll have time to think about all of this. Alright? Now you’re coming with me, you’re taking a bath and you’re sleeping over, and we’ll talk about everything tomorrow. There’s no need to hurt yourself more thinking about it right now.”

He stands up and turns to leave the room, but looks back when he doesn’t hear you do the same. You’re still sat sit still on the couch.

You look up at him. “Oz?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

“What?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” You repeat yourself.

“What- of course not. Did somebody say that to you?”

You don’t reply. 

He purses his lips together, thinking. “Are they worth feeling stupid for?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve gone through this before.”

“It’s different, you know that.”

“Yeah, it’s worse. They’re not hurting you back this time around, they’re just hurting you.”

You decide he was right. You don't want to talk about this right now. “Can we please not talk about it?”

He hesitates before nodding in agreement. “Yeah. ‘Course, babe.” He grabs your hands and pulls you up. “Come on.”

All the crying makes you so tired you’re almost passed out the second you lie down on the soft, silky bedsheets of Ozzie's guest room bed. Taking a look through your texts before you let yourself fall asleep, you click on Stolas’ contact once you see a notification for an unread text. 

Stolas: I am truly sorry if I did something to hurt you or make you uncomfortable with me tonight. It’s not your obligation to talk Asmodeus  out of doing anything and I did not feel embarrassed because of you or Blitz. If you need space from me I will understand, but I want you to know that is not how I feel. And, for the record, I don’t care what that Verosika person said about you. I hope you’re alright. 

It is way too late and you are way too tired to process or deal with all of that, and honestly? You still do feel stupid, and don’t want to further that feeling by replying to him immediately. That feels too pathetic- it feels like proving Blitzø right.

You’ll reply tomorrow.

You click on Blitzø’s contact next, which also had a notification signaling an unseen message, and you brace yourself for a 'fuck you’ text or something of the sorts. 

You can't keep yourself from smiling when you open the text, turning the phone off and just waiting for sleep come to you, and things feel a lot less shitty than just a second before.

Having friends is pretty fucking okay.

A/N: everybody say thank you @sweetadonisbutbetter and also wish them a happy birthday!! the adorable little doodle blitzo drew is theirs and they did it especially so i could put it in this chapter which is so nice of them and so fucking cool!!

[azrielgreen]

Once again back on my "Please write whatever the fuck you want especially if it's unhinged" bullshit.

I feel like fandom doesn't talk enough about contrast to understand how important it is and how human nature will always inevitably seek it out to some degree. One of the BEST things about a pairing in fandom is that you get to read fic about them in all different ways. From Canon typical meet cutes and happy ending fix its to serial killers AU and dead doves ahoy. Contrast and multifaceted expression is necessary. It will always exist. It needs to. It should. It MUST.

I say this because the suppression of "contrast" (I.e anything the loudest people in fandom don't vibe with) is especially rampant where the pairing becomes an extension OF the people engaging with it. The inability to separate and share space securely without needing to dominate through bullying and harassment is behind so much of what's wrong in fandoms now.

But see, most people don't understand what fucking contrast IS. They can only imagine someone doing what they are doing: trying to dominate and suppress by asserting superiority, when in fact that's not the case at all.

Contrast is a good thing. A fic that's different and weird and provocative might inspire something new in a reader. Art doesn't only come from happy hyperfixations and an echo chamber of agreement. Salt tastes AMAZING after chocolate. Everyone's tastes can be expressed and contrast is what's responsible for so much of creative expression that we barely realise it. Contrast is Eddie Munson DYING in SE4. Did anyone like it? Fuck no. Did it trigger a mass movement? Hell yes, at least in part. If everything in fandom is "Happy and Safe and Approved By The Self Selected Voices of Fandom TM" then everything will become a replica of everything else. There must always be space for the new, challenging and downright dark explorations because they provide balance, they trigger reactionary imagination, they provide context and critical thought and that's without even touching upon catharsis or human experience in a narrative frame.

Contrast is necessary. Anyone can write ANYTHING. AO3 is an archive, it's for everyone and anyone but not any ONE person to try to control.

No cruelty or discourse will be worth it in 5 years time. Only the art will remain.

💜💜💜

[goblinontour]

Love Is Calling

someone new joins your story

part 7 | series masterlist

warnings: prof!al, age gap (not specified), angst, fluff, smut, handjob, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), piv, choking

word count: 10.5k

The next morning arrived with an unsettling calmness. After the intense and weird night with Alex, you were supposed to visit your parents. It was a promise you had made when you first told them you’d be around. And while a part of you wanted to call and reschedule or something, you thought that maybe a day, or even just a few hours away from Alex might be what you needed. It almost felt necessary. 

The previous night still haunted you. How he had broken down in a way you’d never seen before. Seeing him cry while he was so intimately close to you was almost terrifying. You had hidden your true feelings in the moment, not wanting to make him feel even worse, but the memory lingered. It was unsettling. 

You prepared your things slowly, your mind replaying the events of the night before. Every tear that fell from Alex's eyes onto your skin felt like a heavy drop of sorrow, each one mixing with the sweat of the act between you. His sobs, so raw, so unfiltered, echoed in your ears, a stark contrast to the usual fake confidence and controlled persona he wore almost like a costume. 

Being so close to him, feeling his body tremble with each cry as he moved within you, should have been too much to bear. But you took it. It was a side of him you had never truly seen, not like that, a depth of pain that he had hidden so well until it erupted in the most unexpected of moments.

You found yourself torn between wanting to hold him, to soothe his pain, and the instinct to protect yourself from the overwhelming emotions that his breakdown had unleashed. It was almost frightening to witness someone that could make himself seem so strong fall apart, and it shook you to your core. You felt a need to be there for him and a simultaneous urge to escape and gather your own thoughts.

As he held you down, you couldn't help but feel a pang of something darker. It made you feel almost used, like a tool for his catharsis, even though you knew he would never intentionally hurt you. His tears, his anguish, everything seeped into you, leaving a lingering ache behind. Despite knowing his intentions were never to cause harm, his desperate need for release had left you feeling more like an emotional crutch than a partner. 

The memory of his broken sobs, the way his body shuddered against yours, lingered long after the physical connection had ended. It was a reminder of the fragile line between his cover and the ultimate truth that had been eating at him, a line that Alex had crossed right in front of you. And it was hard to shake off. 

As you finished getting ready, you glanced at your phone, contemplating the call to your parents again. The idea of seeing them, of stepping back into the familiar, felt like a chance to regain some semblance of normalcy. You needed the distance, if only for a little bit, the time to process everything that had happened without the constant presence of him.

You paused at the door, looking back at him again. He was still sleeping, but it had taken him a long time to be able to actually fall asleep. After that moment of clarity, after you had finished…he finished…where he seemed almost okay, he had started crying again. You remembered how helpless you felt, unsure of what to do other than hold him. His sobs had returned, even more heartbreaking than before, and he had clung to you desperately. Eventually, he fell asleep with his head on your chest, soothed by the gentle rhythm of your fingers playing with his hair. 

Both of you were exhausted. He had pushed himself to the point of feeling like he couldn’t breathe. He felt like his own body was betraying him with its overwhelming emotions. He seemed so lost, so unlike the Alex you knew, struggling to stop the tears that kept coming despite his efforts. It was clear that he didn’t want you to see him like that, but there was no hiding it now. He was laid bare before you. All of him. And you were not sure if he was ready to face the aftermath of that. 

You watched him for a moment longer. His face seemed peaceful now in his sleep, but the memory of his anguish was still so, so vivid in your mind. Proof of how fragile he was beneath the facade.

You decided to leave quietly, careful not to make any noise that might wake him, slipping on your shoes and grabbing your bag with a final glance at the door. 

Once outside, you inhaled deeply, the fresh air filling your lungs and providing a momentary sense of relief. The idea of driving his car felt too connected to him, too much like taking a piece of him with you. Instead, you chose to walk, needing the physical distance and the time to clear your head. The streets were quiet, the early morning light casting long shadows as you moved.

As you walked, your mind eventually wandered back to him, to the way he had looked at you. Part of you wanted to run back, to be there when he woke up, to assure him that everything would be okay. 

The familiar path to your parents' house brought a small sense of comfort, but as the walk seemed to stretch on, you started thinking about what you would say to them. How would you explain what you were feeling without revealing too much? 

Alex stirred, blinking repeatedly as he woke up. The bed felt strangely empty, and he instinctively reached out, expecting to find you beside him. But you weren’t there. There was only the cool, empty space where you should have been. Confusion clouded his mind as he tried to piece together why you weren’t there. He had been dreaming of you again, like he often did. And in his dream, everything was perfect, just as it should be.

Then, the memories began to trickle back. You were supposed to visit your parents today, right? Yeah. Yeah…But even knowing that, he couldn't help the pang of disappointment that you weren’t the first thing he saw when he woke up. 

Slowly, the events of the previous night came flooding back to him. His unfiltered breakdown, the tears he couldn’t stop, the way he had clung to you. His eyes felt sore as he rubbed them, trying to wake himself up fully. Each touch reminded him of how much he had cried, how he had fallen apart in front of you. 

“Oh fuck.” he whispered to himself, a wave of shame washing over him. He had fucked up. Really, really fucked up. The facade he tried to maintain had shattered, and he had exposed a part of himself he wasn’t sure he could ever take back. 

The room was bathed in the soft light of the early morning, but the sheer silence was deafening. He tried to shake off the remnants of his dream, the idealised version of reality where everything was still okay between you two. But the soreness in his eyes and the tightness in his chest kept reminding him of the truth. He sat up slowly, wincing at the dull ache that seemed to permeate his entire body.

He remembered how it had started. How he had tried to maintain control, to keep his emotions in check. But the dam had broken, and once the tears started, they had refused to stop. He had felt so…small. So utterly small and lost in that moment. You had held him, your fingers soothing through his hair, but even in your arms, he couldn’t shake the feeling of drowning himself with his own stupid mind. 

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting there for a moment as he tried to gather the strength to stand. He had exposed his most vulnerable self to you, and now he was terrified of what that meant. Would you see him differently?

Would you still want him?

He ran a hand through his hair, the reality of your absence suddenly hitting him hard. You had left early, probably needing to escape the mess of what had happened. To escape him. His mess. He couldn’t blame you. He barely understood his own emotions, let alone how you must have felt being on the receiving end of them.

As he stood up and moved around the room, the loneliness settled in even more. Every corner seemed to echo with little reminders of last night, and he found himself reliving each painful moment. The way his body had betrayed him with relentless sobs, how he made you just take it. He felt so ashamed, exposed in a way he had never been before.

He walked to the window, looking out at the still empty street, how everything was slowly starting to wake up outside. He pressed his forehead against the cool glass, trying to steady his breathing. He had to pull himself together, had to find a way to make things right when you returned. But the fear gnawed at him…What if he couldn’t? What if he ruined everything? What if-

As the morning light grew brighter, he made a promise to himself. He would try to understand his own pain, to figure out why it had overwhelmed him so completely. And he would find a way to talk to you about it, to apologise for the mess he had placed on you. He couldn’t take back what had happened, but he could try to fix your trust that he felt had been so brutally tested.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he leaned against the window, concentrating on the cool glass against his skin. The memory of another night filtered its way into his mind. It was the first night he had truly let go with you. Right here. Your first night together in any way actually. It hadn't been as intense or overwhelming as the previous night, but it was the first time he had allowed himself to be vulnerable. 

He remembered how he’d drawn a bath that night, and how you’d climbed in behind him, your arms wrapping around his chest as he leaned back against you. The warmth of the water and your embrace had made him feel safe. He could feel your steady heartbeat against his back, your soft murmurs of reassurance helping to ease the tension in his body.

He had told you about the shadows that lingered in his mind, tentatively sharing some parts of himself to you. And you had listened without judgement, your fingers gently tracing patterns on his skin. You had listened with such patience and understanding it had been a revelation to him. He was safe with you, safe enough to let his guard down. That night, you had held him, your presence a comforting balm to his frayed nerves. Tears had come then too, but they were different. Quiet, softer, less consuming. He had managed to keep himself together, feeling a sense of relief in the release but not overwhelmed by it. 

Since that night, he had prided himself on maintaining control, on keeping the darker parts of himself hidden. He tried. And there were many points where he didn’t even have to try anymore, he could just let himself be. But he always wanted to be strong for you, to be the person you could rely on. And last night had just shattered that illusion he created for himself. Now he was left to pick up the pieces. The contrast between the two nights was stark, though at the same time it only showed him that he hadn’t changed as much as he thought. His control over himself was just as fragile. 

Thinking back to that night made him feel like…maybe it was okay to be vulnerable with you. And he didn’t have to get himself to that point of breaking. He hoped that despite the roughness of last night, you would still see him the same way. That you could still be his safe spot, even after witnessing him in a way that he wished he could take back. 

Alex sighed deeply, his thoughts pressing heavily on him as he moved to discard the last of the clothes he still had on from last night. He peeled off his sweatpants and boxers, feeling the uncomfortable stickiness of dried cum against his skin. The need to cleanse himself of it was overwhelming. 

He stepped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over him, washing away the physical residue of the night. As the water pounded against his skin, he closed his eyes, trying to let the warmth soothe his aching muscles. He scrubbed his skin almost aggressively, as if he could erase the memories along with the sweat and tears.

After a while, he reluctantly turned off the water and stepped out, wrapping a towel around his waist. He moved to the mirror, finally daring to see his true state, bracing himself before looking up. The sight that greeted him was worse than he had expected. His eyes were bloodshot red and puffy, almost disappearing into the puffiness of his face, swollen from the hours of crying. His eyelids felt heavier with each blink. Dark circles hung heavy beneath them, evidence of the sleepless night, adding to the weariness etched on his face. His nose was red and raw, the skin irritated from the constant rubbing. His lips, usually a soft pink, were chapped and dry now. The overall effect was startling. Seeing himself like this brought a fresh wave of shame over him. It was humbling. And it made him realise just how much he had been hiding, even from himself.

He ran a hand through his damp hair, feeling the weight of his reflection staring back at him. Taking another deep breath, he decided that today would be about changing that. As difficult as it was, he had to confront his own vulnerability, not just for his sake, but for yours too. He had to find a way to navigate this in a way that didn’t rely on the fragile illusion of control. As his fingers moved through his hair, he noticed the grey strands scattered throughout, stark against the darker brown. They were more prominent in the harsh morning light. Normally, he didn't mind them, they were just signs of ageing. But in moments like these, they served as reminders of the gap between your lives.

Each grey hair seemed to glint in the light, accentuating the tired lines around his eyes. He could quite literally see the passage of time etched into his reflection, a contrast to your youth and vibrancy. And it wasn’t just the age difference. It was the accumulated emotional baggage he carried and that you didn’t deserve to bear.

He kept analysing his face, running his hand over his chin and down his neck, feeling the rough stubble growing in. I should shave…Yeah, I should, he thought. He began searching through his stuff but he couldn't find the things he needed. Of course, he still forgot something. Of course. Frustration bubbled up as he rifled through drawers and cabinets, finally finding an old shaving kit. Probably from when he was still in university himself and lived here. It felt like so long ago as he got out the brush and everything. 

The familiarity of it brought a faint, bittersweet smile to his face. He dipped the brush into the warm water, swirling it around in the soap. He started to lather it up on his face, careful to get all the spots thoroughly. The scent was comforting as it invaded his nostrils, a nostalgic reminder of simpler times. He applied it, methodically covering every inch of stubble. The repetitive motion was soothing. 

He carefully shaved, each stroke of the razor precise. As the razor glided over his skin, revealing the smoothness beneath, he felt a small sense of renewal, as cliché as it sounded. It was a minor change, but it made a difference. He rinsed his face and patted it dry, the coolness of the towel a relief against his raw skin.

Finally, he looked at himself again. He still saw the tiredness. He was far from okay. But he was taking steps, however small, to regain some semblance of control over himself. 

The sun warmed Alex's face as he stepped outside and started walking down the street, its rays almost feeling like they were burning  through his hair with their intensity. It made his scalp tingle. He decided to walk, clear his mind and get a feel of the world around him. 

The idea of buying you flowers popped into his head. It’s probably a dumb idea, he thought. Yes, it’s dumb. Maybe. But he didn’t know how else to start. Maybe it was a small gesture, but it was something tangible, something that could express what he couldn't yet find the words to say.

As he kept walking, he noticed the vibrant colours of summer flowers in bloom, their scents mixing with the city air. Each step felt heavy, but at least he found a purpose for them now. Physically, he felt drained, he felt the exhaustion from the previous night in his bones, his steps almost feeling like they required more effort than usual, but the fresh air was invigorating, and the sun’s warmth was comforting now. 

His thoughts, however, were still in a tangle. He wondered if you would even appreciate the gesture, if flowers could somehow begin to make up for what he had shown of himself. He questioned if he could ever truly piece himself back together, or if the fragments of his facade would always be there, waiting to crumble again. Anyway. At least he was doing something, taking an action, however small, to show that he cared about getting through this. He knew that you knew he cared about you. And he did, very much. Too much to let you go. 

As he approached the florist, the colourful display of blooms brought a slight lift to his spirits. He took a deep breath, letting the smell of flowers envelop him. He took a moment to choose the perfect arrangement, hoping it could convey even a fraction of what he felt. Or at least that the vibrant colours and fresh scent would bring a smile to your face. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. 

On his way back to the apartment, after making a stop at the shops to grab some stuff, Alex lit a cigarette, trying to ease the tension still lingering within him. He was deep in thought, puffing smoke into the warm afternoon air, when he was stopped in his tracks by a small, unexpected obstacle that caught his attention. He almost didn't notice it in time, halting abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk.

A pair of tiny eyes stared up at him, wide and curious. The streets were eerily empty, and it was just him and this little creature…a kitten, no more than a few weeks old. They stared at each other, neither stepping away, caught in a silent exchange. They didn’t move for a long moment, each assessing the other. 

Alex didn’t know what compelled him, but he felt an undeniable urge to act. Something about the kitten's innocent gaze stirred something inside him. He stubbed his cigarette out on the sole of his boot, shoving the butt back into the pack. Without thinking any further, he bent down, carefully scooped up the tiny ball of fluff, and fled the scene. 

What am I doing? he thought, his mind racing. He started walking faster, struggling to keep hold of the flowers, the shop bags, his own bag, and now this kitten cradled awkwardly in his arms. It fit snugly in one hand though, and it mewed softly, its small body trembling slightly against his palm. Alex felt a strange sense of responsibility settle over him. He wasn’t sure where this sudden impulse had come from, but he knew he couldn’t leave it behind. 

As he hurried back, the kitten nestled closer, its tiny heartbeat palpable against his fingers. It let out a small meow, its tiny voice barely audible above the thudding of his heart. Alex's thoughts swirled, but he couldn't shake the feeling that this unexpected encounter was somehow significant, a small piece of light amidst the chaos as he nestled it closer to his chest, its tiny claws digging into his shirt, but he held on tight.

He finally made it back to the apartment, pushing the door open with his shoulder and stepping inside. He set the flowers down on the kitchen counter, the bags tumbling beside them. His hands still cradled the fragile life he had impulsively decided to save. He glanced around and it was then that he realised he had nothing for the kitten. No food, no litter, no supplies. Nothing. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” he muttered to himself, pacing around the room. He needed to go back to the store, didn't he? Okay. 

He hurried into the bedroom, carefully placing the kitten on the floor. “You stay there, alright?” he said, gesturing with his hands in the air as if the tiny creature could understand him. “I’ll be right back, okay?” He turned around, closing the door to the room just so that it wouldn’t wander too far. He didn’t need it to get lost inside the house now.

With a sense of urgency, he grabbed his keys and headed back out the door, feeling a mix of anxiety and determination driving his steps as he made his way back to the store, hoping to find everything he needed to care for the unexpected new addition to his life.

He returned, struggling with two full bags in his hands, having grabbed anything and everything that might be useful for the kitten. He had no idea what he needed and he couldn't bring himself to ask anyone for help, so he just bought everything that seemed remotely necessary. 

As he opened the bedroom door, he realised the kitten was nowhere to be seen. Panic set in as he searched under the bed, on the bed, and around the room. He couldn't be going insane. It was real. He searched everywhere. There weren’t many places for it to hide. Then, he heard a sound from the drawer he had left open. He often did that, and had hurt his toes too many times by bumping into it.

Crouching down in front of his sock drawer, he felt a wave of relief. “There you are.” he said softly, reaching in to grab the kitten, which was half-buried inside one of his socks. He gently pulled it off its head and couldn't help but smile as he was greeted by its tiny face. The kitten mewed softly, looking up at him with wide eyes.

Gently getting up, kitten in hand, he carried it to the living room. The small creature's trust in him was endearing, and he felt a renewed sense of purpose. “Alright, little one, let's get you settled.” he murmured, setting up a makeshift bed with some soft towels and laying out food and water. The kitten immediately started exploring its new surroundings, sniffing at everything with curiosity.

As he watched it, Alex felt a strange but welcome calm. This tiny, unexpected life had brought a sense of normalcy and responsibility that he desperately needed. And as he sat there, observing its tentative steps, he realised that perhaps this was exactly what he needed to start putting his own pieces back together.

He didn't even notice how fast the time went by. You should be back soon enough. He wasn't sure if he was ready to face you, but he desperately needed to see you at the same time. To distract himself, he decided to start preparing dinner. Cooking was something he loved, especially for you, though he didn't get to do it often. 

He began chopping vegetables and prepping whatever he needed, losing himself in the rhythm. Then, suddenly, he felt tiny, albeit very sharp, claws poking his feet. Looking down, he saw the kitten crying and pawing at his leg. “No, no, don't cry.” he said, crouching down. With his hands covered in food, he couldn't pet the it, but it didn't seem to matter. The kitten started climbing up his leg with astounding determination. Alex struggled to support it with his arm as he reached for a towel, trying to prevent it from falling.

And to his surprise, the kitten stopped crying as soon as it reached his chest. “You wanna stay here, huh?” he said softly. He wiped his hands and tied his t-shirt in a way that created a makeshift pouch, secure enough for the kitten to nestle in. It worked surprisingly well, though he thought he probably looked a bit silly with his shirt tied at his waist. But it didn’t matter because the tiny life nestled against him added a strange but comforting layer of companionship.

“We're gonna cook for mummy together, yeah?” Alex said softly, glancing down at the kitten sitting snugly in his pouch. He smiled at the fluff-ball, which seemed surprisingly content, its little head peeking out from under the fabric of his shirt. 

With the kitten snug against him, Alex resumed his cooking, moving slow as to not disturb it. Every now and then, he murmured softly to it, sharing the steps of his cooking process as if the kitten could understand. “First, we chop the vegetables, nice and fine.” he explained, demonstrating the motion with his knife. “But I already did that without you, sorry bud.” the kitten watched intently, its eyes wide and curious. “Then we sauté them like this in the pan until they're soft.” Alex couldn't help but chuckle at its focused expression. “You're a natural, you know that?” he whispered, continuing his work. 

The kitchen filled with the aromas of the meal, the sound of sizzling vegetables and the occasional meow from the kitten creating a soothing backdrop to his thoughts. He felt a delicate balance beginning to re-establish itself within his mind. With each step of the meal prep, he felt more grounded, more connected to the simple act of caring for something, vulnerable, much like his feelings towards you.

You opened the door, feeling the familiar sense of relief that washed over you at the sight of home. Home...he was home. The range hood was running at full power, a sign that Alex was out of bed, up and about. That was good. 

You put your bag down, slipped off your shoes, and walked to the kitchen. What you saw stopped you in your tracks. Alex was staring at you, slightly startled. He probably didn’t hear you come in over all the noise. But what really caught your eye was the pair of tiny eyes peering out from inside his shirt, mirroring Alex’s shocked expression perfectly.

Alex looked up at you, a tentative smile playing on his lips. “Hi.” he said softly, watching your reaction.

“Are you serious?” you asked, pointing to the kitten nestled in his shirt.

“What?” he responded, glancing down at the kitten and then back at you.

“Where did you get that?” you asked, your curiosity piqued.

He looked down at the kitten again, then back up at you. “I found it on the street. I- I was buying you flowers, they’re right there,” he pointed to the table where a bouquet was now nicely tucked in a vase, “And I just…I couldn’t leave it there…Are you mad?” His voice grew weaker with the question, uncertainty filling his eyes.

“Of course I’m not mad.” you said, moving closer to take a proper look at the kitten.

Alex put down the spoon he was holding and stepped back from the stove. As you got closer, he felt a wave of relief and added warmth wash over him. Having you close again, almost like nothing had happened…Fuck. You’d still need to talk, but in this moment, with you beside him and the tiny kitten nestled against his tummy, he couldn’t think about that. 

You tried to gently take the kitten from his shirt, but it clung to him so tightly that you quickly gave up. Alex chuckled softly, “You wanna stay with daddy, that's right, hehe.”

You sat down at the table, watching him finish cooking dinner. He looked so focused, his arms strong and defined in the snug t-shirt he wore. The way he had tied it at his waist accentuated his lean figure, emphasising the subtle curve of his waist. His hair, clearly freshly washed, looked so fluffy and soft, practically inviting you to run your fingers through it. His movements were sure and practised. You knew he was a good cook, he’d cook for you any chance he got. 

As he worked, the smell of food filled your senses, mingling with the scent of the flowers he had bought for you. It was a strange yet comforting contrast, this little domestic scene. Alex glanced at you occasionally, a soft smile tugging at his lips, as if reassured by your presence. And you eventually got lost in thought. The tension from earlier seemed to melt away. 

The kitten mewed softly, drawing your attention back to Alex, who was now plating the food carefully. Dinner was quiet. Intimate. You shared the meal, exchanging small talk and letting the food fill the silence. The little baby eventually fell asleep in its pouch, and Alex gently transferred it to a soft blanket on the sofa before joining you there. The evening sun cast a warm glow over the room, and for a while, it felt like everything might just be okay.

But as the silence settled in, the earlier awkwardness began to creep back. You watched him. He watched you. Finally, he broke the silence.

“I should explain myself.” he said quietly.

You could’ve pretended that it was fine, postponed it for a little while longer, but you nodded, “Yeah.”

He took a deep breath, looking down at his hands. “When we went to see my parents, things…escalated. You know I told you to go to the car?” you nodded, remembering very well. “Yeah, well…they said some things about us, about our relationship. They’re afraid of the consequences of us being together, seeing as I’m your professor and…I don’t know, that triggered something in me, filled me with all this…I don’t even know what to call it.”

He paused, trying to gather his thoughts. “I started to question everything. I didn’t want to be taking advantage of you in any way. I was scared that I might be, and that you couldn’t see it, and that I couldn’t see it either.”

His voice wavered, and he looked at you, “I love you, but their words made me doubt myself, made me feel like I was doing something wrong by being with you. And that fear just…consumed me, I guess.”

You reached out, placing a hand on his. “Alex, you’re not taking advantage of me. It’s not wrong…Can’t you see it? I chose to be with you, just as you chose to be with me. We both know what we want.”

He squeezed your hand, his eyes softening. “I’m sorry for how I acted, for breaking down like that and for…for how I came onto you.”

You took a deep breath, wanting to show him how much you trusted him. “Al, it’s okay. I know you, and I know you would never do anything to hurt me. I trust you.”

He nodded, your words settling in. “I’m going to talk to them tomorrow. I want to go over there and explain everything, set things straight. I want them to know we’re serious about this.”

You could see the determination in his eyes, to confront his fears and the doubts. “That’s a good idea.” you said, squeezing his hand reassuringly and then settling back to your side. 

To lighten the mood, you poked at him with your foot from the other side of the couch. He had his left leg propped over his right, and he touched you right back with a playful nudge. A small smile began to tug at his lips. You kept pushing him gently, each time intended to get that smile out fully. 

Finally, he laughed softly, the sound warming the space between you. That smile, the one you loved so much, returned to his face, and it felt like a small victory to see it. 

Alex grabbed you gently and pulled you on top of him, settling back down on the sofa. One of his hands played with your hair, fingers weaving through the strands, while the other rubbed up and down your back in soothing motions. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest against yours with each breath, hearing the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. It felt incredible.

“Mmm…I think you’re the lady of my life.” he murmured, letting himself fully enjoy the moment. His voice was soft, and you snuggled closer, feeling a sense of peace wash over you both.

“Am I?” you asked, your voice light with curiosity. But before Alex could respond, the kitten jumped onto your back, instantly grabbing the attention of you both. 

“I'll have to get used to sharing you now.” you laughed softly. 

“Looks like it.” Alex giggled, the sound light and happy. 

The kitten settled down, curling up and falling asleep on your back. You didn’t realise it at first until Alex pointed it out, “Guess you can’t move.”

“You’re stuck with us now.” you murmured. 

The next morning, you were in bed checking something on your phone while Alex was getting ready to leave for his parents’. As usual, he was taking way too long. His shirt was half-buttoned, but his pants were nowhere to be seen as he paced around the room. 

You heard him swear and looked up to see him. He had left the drawer open again, of course, and he hit himself, again. He looked through it only to find the tiny cat inside, again.

“Oh, come onnn, not my socks.” he said, taking the kitten out and turning around to show it to you. “Look what he did.”

You couldn't help but laugh when you saw its little head poking out from a hole in the material. 

“He ripped them.” Alex laughed, trying to fake a frown at the same time.

“It's a boy?” you asked, still giggling.

“I think so,” Alex responded, turning it around in his hands to take a look, “Yep, surely a boy.”

“What do you wanna name him then?”

He took a moment to look at him, and then it was like something clicked. “Sock.”

“Really, Alex? Sock?” you asked.

“Well, he loves sleeping inside my socks.”

“I would've expected something more poetic from you, Mr. Turner.” you playfully shot back.

“Yeah, well, you should lower your expectations then. It's gonna be Sock.” Alex gave you a sheepish smile as he carefully set the kitten down on the bed. 

Sock seemed quite content, its tiny claws kneading into the soft duvet. Alex knelt down, giving him a gentle scratch behind the ears before standing up and running a hand through his hair.

“Okay, I need to get ready.” he said, more to himself than to you, as he moved to find his pants. You watched him, noticing how he seemed a bit more at ease than the day before. He continued the search for his pants, mumbling to himself as he checked various piles of clothes scattered around the room. “I swear I put them here somewhere…”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “You always lose things when you're stressed.”

He glanced at you with a half-smile, finally spotting his pants draped over the back of a chair. “Found them!” he announced triumphantly, quickly slipping into them. He finished buttoning his shirt, tucking it in.

As he turned to leave, he paused and came back to you, his hands gently cupping your face. He leaned in for a kiss, and you felt yourself melting into him. You didn't want to tear yourself apart from him. 

Instinctively, you pulled him closer by the collar of his shirt, the force almost making him lose his balance. He braced himself against the headboard just in time, deepening the kiss as you felt him groan softly into it. 

Reluctantly, he pulled back, his eyes filled with emotion. “I have to go…” he whispered.

You nodded, “I know.” though not letting him go. 

He took a second to look at you, and then his lips were back on yours. The kiss was intense, filled with unspoken words and pent-up emotions. Your hands roamed over his back, pulling him closer and closer until you pulled him onto the bed, and he followed willingly, his body pressing against yours. The desperation in his kiss matched your own. 

It felt so good, so right. You shoved your hand past the waistband of his pants, feeling the heat of his body through the thin fabric of his underwear. He moaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you. “I should go...” he said, his voice shaky.

“You should.” you replied, but neither of you stopped. 

You kissed and kissed until he melted into you, your tongues tangling, breaths mingling, the kiss deepening, growing more urgent. He melted into you. 

“Lie down.” you murmured.

And he did. He obeyed, positioning himself over your legs with his head resting on your knees so he could still kiss you when you bent down. His fingers fumbled with the button of his pants desperately, pushing them down as quickly as he could to give you access. 

“Please.” he whispered, tugging on your top, pulling it down to reveal one of your breasts. 

He reached out, cupping your breast gently, his thumb brushing over your nipple. You moaned softly, your hand slipping inside his underwear to grasp him fully. The feel of him, hard and pulsing in your hand, made you go crazy. He thrust into your hand, his movements frantic and needy. His eyes darkened with desire as he looked at you, his lips parting slightly. You could see the need in his eyes, the same need you felt. He leaned forward, his mouth closing over your nipple, sucking gently, his eyes closing as he moaned around it. 

“Alex.” you breathed, and he looked up at you again. You leaned down to kiss him again, your hand moving rhythmically. His hips bucked against you, seeking more friction, more contact. You responded by tightening your grip slightly, earning another groan from him. The sound was intoxicating, driving you to push him further, to give him everything he craved and needed. 

“Please…” he repeated, his voice a raw whisper, filled with need. The kitten mewed softly in the background, reminding you of his presence, but in that moment, all you could focus on was Alex, on the way he made you feel. The way you made him feel. Everything about him. 

Time seemed to stand still as you both got lost in the sensations, your bodies moving together in perfect harmony. His breathing became ragged, his grip on your shirt tightening as he neared his release. You increased the pace, your own excitement building in response to the pure look of pleasure on his face. 

“God, I love you.” he whispered against your lips. 

“I love you too.” you replied. 

His hips bucked in broken movements into your fist wrapped around his cock, his mouth falling open and his eyes rolling back as he came. The intensity of his orgasm hit him hard, cum shooting out and splattering his shirt, completely ruining it. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he had you. 

He panted, his body shuddering, and then he whispered, “I don’t want to get up.”

You knew he had to go, that there were things that needed to be said and done, but you couldn’t help but kiss him for just a minute longer. 

Eventually, he sighed and got up, reluctantly pulling away. He glanced at his ruined shirt and chuckled softly. “Well, this one’s done for.”

He changed into a different one, one he thankfully had ironed, and looked back at you, his eyes lingering, wishing he could stay. But he had to go now, or else he’d lose the courage he managed to build up for himself, and he needed to set things right with his parents.

As he grabbed his keys and wallet from the nightstand, you got out of bed and walked over to him. “Good luck.” you said softly, wrapping your arms around his waist. 

“Thanks.” he said, leaning in for one last kiss, this time on your forehead, before heading out the door. And he hugged you tightly. “I'll see you later.” 

You watched him leave, the door closing softly behind him. Sock mewed from the bedroom, drawing your attention back to him. You went over there and scooped him up, cradling him in your arms. “Looks like it's just you and me for now, little guy.” 

A few days later, you were reading in bed, lying on your front, though not completely immersed in your book. Alex had been working in his office nearly all day, and you found yourself wishing he’d be done already. Right as that thought crossed your mind, you felt his hands on the back of your thigh. You pretended not to be affected, but you were. Oh…how you were. The sexual tension had been brewing for a while. He hadn’t touched you like this since that night, other than the quick moment before he had to leave. But that one didn’t count. 

You kept reading, trying to maintain your focus, but then you felt him start placing kisses on the inside of your thighs. His lips were soft and warm, each kiss sending a shiver through you. He pulled your underwear to the side from under your skirt, running a finger along your entrance, teasing you. You tried your best to keep reading, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he was affecting you, but it was useless.

“Please…” you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. 

With that, he didn’t need anything else. He pulled down your skirt and panties in one go, undressing himself as he let you take care of your top. You fumbled with the buttons, your hands trembling with anticipation. 

Alex climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs. He lowered his head, his breath warm against your skin, and began to kiss his way up your thighs again. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, the tension between you building with each touch, each kiss.

His lips trailed along your spine. He paused at the small of your back, shifting to lie down more comfortably next to you, his head right next to your hip. His kisses continued along your side, his hands caressing your body. His fingers splayed on your ass, sometimes slipping between your cheeks just to tease you. 

As his own need grew, he moved lower, hugging your legs to himself. His kisses became more urgent, and you could feel his breath hot against your skin. He nuzzled closer, his fingers tracing patterns on your inner thighs. 

His hands gripped your thighs firmly as he kissed and nibbled at the sensitive skin. His movements were slow and deliberate, driving you wild with need. You felt his tongue flick out, teasing you, and you couldn't help but let out a moan of pleasure. 

You arched your back slightly, pushing your hips towards him, silently begging for more. He responded by running his tongue along your entrance, making you grip the sheets between your fingers. 

His fingers joined in, slipping inside you with ease. His only goal was to see you cum, to make you feel so good that you couldn't think of anything else. He kept a steady rhythm, his fingers moving with precision, slowly fucking your brains out. His hand was getting wet from how much you were dripping, his wrist starting to ache slightly, but he couldn't stop. You looked so pretty, you sounded so pretty, all because of him. His gaze was fixed on you, drinking in every reaction. Your gasps and moans spurred him on, his determination unwavering. 

He watched as your body tensed and writhed under his touch, his fingers bringing you closer to the edge. He curled them inside you, hitting just the right spot, making you cry out. The sight of you, so lost in the pleasure he was giving you, fueled him. He pressed his thumb against your clit, adding to the exquisite torture, the rhythm of his fingers never faltering.

Your whole body trembled, teetering on the brink of release. His hand almost felt numb, but he ignored the discomfort. He was entranced by you and the way you responded to his touch. He leaned in, murmuring soft words of encouragement, his voice a low, soothing hum.

“That's it, baby,” he whispered, “Let go for me. I want to see you come.”

The combination of his words and the relentless motion of his fingers sent you over the edge. Your cries of pleasure filled the room, your body arching off the bed as you came, your walls clenching around his fingers.

Alex didn't stop, drawing out your orgasm until you were a quivering mess beneath him. Only then did he slow his movements, easing you back down from that high. He gently withdrew his fingers, his eyes filled with pride and adoration even though you couldn’t see them. 

He bent your legs, positioning himself to kiss his way up, whispering how beautiful you were with each press of his lips. His kisses were soft, lingering on the tender skin of your calves, then moving upward. He licked a path from your knee to your feet, the wet feeling making you shiver under him. 

As he reached them, he took each one in his hands, massaging them gently. His fingers pressed into the soles, kneading away any remaining tension. His tongue traced along your arch, a contrast to the firm pressure of his thumbs. He seemed to take his time, savouring each moment, every second of it. 

His hands then moved up and down your calves, massaging them with firm but gentle strokes. The sensation was both relaxing and arousing, his touch igniting every nerve ending. His kisses followed, each one a reminder of his devotion to you. 

“You're so beautiful.” he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin. “Perfect.”

You felt cherished, adored, every part of you attended to with such care as his hands and mouth continued their worship, making you feel like the most precious person in the world.

He pulled away, lying back against the headboard with a smile tugging at his lips, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked at you. 

“What? You’re getting old? Can’t fuck me anymore?” you joked, a playful glint in your eyes.

“Want you on top…” he said, extending his arm toward you as a sign to come closer.

“Mhmm…” you replied, positioning yourself in his lap.

“I’m always on top. Come on.” he added with a grin.

Just then, you felt something else on top of the bed. Sock had joined you, the kitten’s curious eyes watching intently.

“Oh, fucking hell, Sock. Not now.” Alex whined, gently getting up from underneath you to nudge the little one out of the room. “Sorry, poppet, but you’ll have to wait for a bit.” he said as he closed the door, Sock outside.

As he walked back to you, you admired the sight of him. His body, completely naked. Beautiful. It caught the light just right. The lines of his lower abdomen were sharply defined, leading down to his erect cock, which bounced slightly with each step. And that stupid smile on his face as he brushed his hair back with his hand made your heart flutter.

You reached out to him, your desire for him only growing stronger with each passing second. Alex climbed back onto the bed, his hands immediately finding your hips as he guided you back into his lap. His lips met yours in a searing kiss and you felt him moving his hips, his cock rubbing against you, teasing you mercilessly. He was so close to being inside you, almost there, but not quite slipping in. The friction was intoxicating. 

His hands gripped your hips tighter, guiding you to move with him. The sensation was maddening, and you couldn't help but let out a moan of frustration. His mouth moved to your neck, sucking and nibbling gently. 

You rocked your hips against him, desperately trying to find that sweet spot, but he maintained his teasing rhythm. Just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, he pulled back, positioning his cock properly. You felt the tip of it right against your entrance, and you pushed down onto him, needing to feel him inside you already. 

He entered you slowly, letting you adjust to the sensation. You both moaned at the feeling. Being intimate with your special person when you had been apart for so long was unmatched. His shaky gasps you felt against your lips when you started slowly moving were everything. Feeling him clawing at your back, to release all his tension that’s been built up. Alex watched you ride his cock slowly, but it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t stop himself from moving his hips in time with yours. 

“Please, ah- Al-” you moaned.

“Tell me what you want…Exactly what you want.”

“Fuck me…” you breathed out.

“Tell me how you crave me…” he said, his voice dripping with need.

“I need you so bad-” you gasped, “So bad…it’s not enough.”

With that, he flipped you around, thrusting hard into you, making you grip the sheets and press your face into the pillow on one side.

“Look at me.” he ordered.

You struggled to keep your head straight, his thrusts making it almost impossible. He didn’t hold back, his movements powerful and precise, fucking you senseless. You could feel yourself drooling, almost crying from how good he was making you feel.

The room was filled with the sounds of your bodies moving together, the bed creaking beneath you, and your combined moans and gasps. Alex’s intensity drove you wild, his determination to pleasure you making you feel like the most desired person in the world. The relentless pace pushed you closer to the edge, and you could feel the build-up of another orgasm already. 

He moved your legs over his shoulders, allowing him to get even deeper. The new angle made him groan, the sensation overwhelming him in the best way. He couldn’t get enough of you, burying himself inside you as deeply as he could with each thrust. It would never be enough, but it was the most he could physically do, and he wanted to give you everything.

Seeing him like this, handling you however he wanted, was incredibly hot. Fuck. It was such a turn-on to witness him not holding back at all.

“M- More.” you begged, babbling random nonsense to him.

He looked you right in the eyes as he brought his hand up to your neck, choking you gently. He watched every expression you made, listened to every sound as he pulled almost all the way out just to thrust harder into you.

It felt so good that almost no sound came out of your mouths anymore. Your eyes rolled back from the intense pleasure, his cock inside you, the way your legs were bent to such an extreme they were going numb, the pressure on your neck from his hand…It was all too much and just perfect.

“Fuck, I’m close.” he groaned, his voice strained with need. His hand slipped from your neck to grip your hip tightly. “Can I come inside?”

“Please, please, I want to feel it.” you panted. 

He couldn’t hold back anymore. With a final thrust, he buried himself as deep inside you as he could. His hips stopped their movements as he came, his body trembling. You could feel the warmth of his cum filling you, the sensation pushing you over the edge once more, leaving you both breathless and spent. Alex collapsed against you, his forehead resting on your shoulder as you both caught your breaths. 

As you tried to get up to clean up in the bathroom, he clung to you, not wanting to let you go just yet. He hugged you from behind and walked with you until you gently shut the bathroom door in front of his face, giggling.

He sighed to himself and made his way to the office to grab his pack of cigarettes from the desk, still naked. He didn't care enough to get dressed. And he wouldn’t mind spending more time with nothing separating him from you. He got back to the bedroom right as you exited the en-suite, joining him back in bed.

“Do you mind?” he asked before lighting the cigarette.

You shook your head 'no', settling on his chest, hugging him to you. Sock eventually joined too, you could hear his little paws on the wood floors before he jumped on the bed. 

Alex took a drag of his cigarette, exhaling the smoke softly as he wrapped an arm around you, holding you close. The room felt peaceful, filled with the quiet sounds of your breathing and soft purring in the background. 

“I like when you take over,” you said softly, “It's hot.”

Alex's face turned an even deeper shade of pink, and he got all shy, so you dropped it, brushing his hair back as you looked up at him.

“I think I wanna buy a new car.” he said suddenly.

“That came out of nowhere.” you replied, surprised.

“I've been thinking about it for some time,” he continued, stopping to take another drag, “I actually have an appointment to check one out in a few days. I think I forgot to mention it to you, I just remembered now.” 

“What kind do you want to get?” you asked, curious.

He smiled and shook his head. “You should come with me, we can choose together.”

Your curiosity piqued even more at his response. “Really? Want my input?”

“Of course.” he said, taking another drag of his cigarette and exhaling slowly. “So you won’t get to make fun of it anymore. Plus, I trust your taste.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “My taste?”

He smiled, a hint of playfulness in his eyes. “Yeah, you did choose me, after all.”

You laughed, feeling your cheeks warm. “Well, you are a pretty good choice.”

He wrapped his arm around you tighter, his smile widening. “Exactly. So, no worries about the car.”

You laughed softly. “Alright, I’m in.” 

You snuggled closer to him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. The peaceful silence returned as you lay together, Sock curling up at your feet. 

You two finished up pretty fast at the dealership. You settled on a car relatively quickly. And it was a nice one, something sleek and modern that felt like a good fit for both of you. Safe to say you were both pleased. 

Now getting back inside his old car, you were surprised that Alex insisted on driving. The ride back home was going to be long, but apparently not long enough for him to not wanna drive. 

About halfway through the trip, he caught you off guard by pulling off the road into a quiet, secluded field. Once he stopped and pulled the brake, he bent over to your side and kissed you. You giggled at his spontaneity.

“What are you doing?” you asked, still laughing as he kissed all over your face, holding your head in place with his arms.

“I think we should give my old ‘grandpa’ car a nice goodbye, don’t you?” he said with a grin, pulling you over his lap. You gasped at the sudden action, the tight space between the seats making it a bit challenging, but he was careful, making sure nothing got hurt in the process.

“Alex, we're in the middle of nowhere!” you exclaimed, half-laughing, half-mortified.

“Exactly,” he smirked, “No one’s around. It’s just us.” His hands moved to your waist, guiding you to straddle him. 

You settled onto his lap, the car's familiar scent mixing with his even more familiar one. He kissed you deeply, his hands roaming your back, pulling you closer. You could feel the heat radiating between you two, the confined space of the car adding to the excitement. He tugged at your shirt, lifting it over your head. And then his lips found yours again, more urgent this time, as if he couldn’t wait any longer. 

“Are you sure?” you whispered, feeling the anticipation build up inside you.

He nodded, his eyes dark with desire. “Yeah. I want to remember it for more than just going to work.”

You couldn't help but smile at his sentiment. His hands moved to unbutton his jeans, and you shifted to help him, the space cramped but manageable. The car's seats creaked under your movements, and the windows would’ve been fogging up from your heavy breathing and the sheer heat if they weren’t already open. Alex's hands slipped under your skirt, making you gasp against his mouth as he grabbed at you harshly.

“Thank god you wore a skirt.” he murmured, a grin tugging at his lips.

“You told me to wear it, remember?” you shot back, your breath hitching as he unhooked your bra.

“Mhmmm, lucky coincidence.” he whispered, his fingers deftly removing the garment. Your nipples brushed against his shirt, sending shivers down your spine.

“You planned this, didn’t you?” you asked, gasping as he left tiny bites on your shoulder.

“Maybe…Did I tell you I’ve been hard the whole way here?” he replied, his voice low and husky. “Let’s give it a proper farewell.” he murmured against your skin. 

Finally, with both of you ready, Alex guided you onto him, the sensation making you both moan in unison. You moved together, the rhythm slow at first, adjusting to the tight space. But soon, the urgency took over, and you rode him harder, the car rocking slightly with your movements.

His hands gripped your hips, his head falling back against the seat, eyes closed in pleasure. “God, you feel so good.” he groaned, his voice husky.

You leaned down, wanting to capture his lips in a kiss, but he stopped you by placing his fingers on your lips, slowly shoving two past them. He watched intently as you took them into your mouth. The image of your lips wrapped around his fingers fucked with his head so bad, and he didn’t even know why. Your plump, wet, and shiny lips, the feeling of your tongue moving under his digits. Fuck. Having your pretty little lips around his fingers while he pounded into you was something else.

He kept you in place by the hips, harshly thrusting deeper just to hear your cries over him, silently begging him to destroy you. His grip tightened as he continued to thrust harder, his breath ragged and his eyes fixed on your mouth, watching the way you took him everywhere.

“Fuckkk…” he groaned again, the sight of you driving him wild. You could feel him twitch inside you, the rhythm becoming more desperate. The mix of his fingers in your mouth and his cock inside you created an obscene sensation, pushing you both closer to the edge.

He spit onto his other hand, using it to rub your clit as you ground your hips into him. The added stimulation was all you needed. His fingers in your mouth, the drool dripping from the corners, and the way he touched you just right were too much. You came hard, your walls clenching around him, a muffled cry escaping as you bit down gently on his fingers.

The sight of you, utterly lost in pleasure, pushed him over the edge. He came deep inside you, his own moans mixing with yours. Finally, you leaned back, releasing his fingers from your mouth, both of you smiling at the intensity of the moment. Alex’s hands moved to gently caress your hips, his touch tender now,  

“That was…” you started, but words failed you.

“A perfect goodbye.” Alex finished for you, a satisfied smile on his lips.

You laughed softly, “Definitely unforgettable.” you agreed, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

He pulled you up just a bit, enough to slip out of you, quickly pulling your panties back in place to prevent his cum from dripping out. “Don’t wanna ruin the seats now.” he said, patting you gently over the material.

He opened the door and shifted to get out while also placing you in his seat. Adjusting himself back into place in his pants, he lit a cigarette. The sun was setting behind him, casting a warm glow that made him look almost ethereal. You wanted to capture it, to remember him like that forever. 

You remembered he probably had a camera stashed in the glove compartment and…Yes! There it was. You turned it on and turned back to him.

“I’m gonna miss this old thing.” he said with a smile, glancing around at the car, and you managed to capture it perfectly, right on time. He didn’t even notice until the bright flash went off, covering his face with his hand.

“Stoppp.” he said, and his undeniable smile was still visible no matter how hard he tried to hide.

You got out as well, and he helped you put your top back on, his fingers deftly working the buttons that got undone in the heat of the moment when he simply pulled it off. He brushed your hair back, his touch was gentle, and he leaned in to kiss you against the side of the car. When he pulled back, his eyes met yours, “I love you.” he whispered, his thumb brushing your cheek. 

He kissed you one last time before helping you back into the passenger seat. The drive home was filled with a comfortable silence, both of you lost in your thoughts, enjoying the lingering warmth of your impromptu ‘goodbye’.

a/n: i’m so attached to him…i don’t know what else to say, i hope you like it

tags: @4chaos @st7rnioioss @theonlyoneswhoknowsblog @rentsturner @yourstartreatment @avxoxo1 @jqsvi @turnersfav @youresodarkbabe @aacheinthejaw @hellcatshalalalaa @zayndrider @humbuginmybones @tedioepica

[super-paper]

I feel like Toga and All for One have many similarities, but I am unable to articulate as to why I feel this way.

I think it's safe to say that AFO is an intentional foil to Himiko, Tenko, and Touya at this point! I've discussed how he shares body motifs with all three of them before, but his backstory more or less cemented that he's supposed to be read as "the worst possible extreme and the worst possible conclusion" to each of the trio's respective origins and overall stories.

As for how Himiko and AFO foil each other, specifically:

Cannibalism as a metaphor for Not cannibalism

Let's get the obvious point outta the way first, lol.

AFO and Himiko are both established as children that society wasn't prepared or willing to care for-- AFO was born during the advent of quirks where "paranormal" children like him were treated as diseased and shunned (or worse) by the rest of society, while Himiko was born during an "era of peace" where civilians are expected to maintain said peace through endlessly conformity and complacency-- outside of pro-heroism, civilians are essentially expected to role-play as though they've returned to "normalcy" (i.e. pre-quirk society) and the fear of being labeled as "abnormal" (despite living in a post-paranormal society) drives them to shun those who can't easily conform.

Both AFO and Himiko's "first sin" involves the "consumption of their fellow humans," which they both commit when they are too young to fully understand what they're doing-- and both acts of consumption were initially tied to their attempts to fulfill a basic human "need" that wasn't being provided for. Himiko drank the blood of a friend whose smile she envied after years of having her own smile called "creepy," AFO was a starving newborn whose mother couldn't provide him milk or protection and whose cries were ultimately ignored by everyone else. When Himiko takes someone's blood and "becomes someone else", she finally feels good "about herself". When AFO takes his mom's quirk and uses it to drink her blood, he no longer feels hungry and no longer has any reason to cry out for help/attention. Thus, AFO & Himiko ultimately learn and internalize that in order to fulfill their own neglected needs, they need to take from others.

Something something re: "the catharsis that comes with finally """"embracing your true nature'"""" so you can finally become what your family always feared you'd be (POV: you are 14 years old and utterly doomed by the narrative) (and so is the main object of your ""affection"") (puberty is a bitch ain't it!)" something something

To Himiko, the consumption of others becomes a way to "become somebody else"-- someone the world will treat more kindly than they treat "Toga Himiko." She feels the urge to completely drain the blood of anyone who has the life and relationships that she desperately wants for herself. Before that, drinking blood was simply her way of expressing admiration/affection and fell under the banner of MHA's definition of "pure love" (i.e. love as imitation). Himiko showed no inclination towards completely draining the blood of those she loves until her psychotic break with Saito, and she is notably able to restrain her supposed "urges" around the LOV despite loving them deeply. The "urge to drain those she loves completely" isn't actually tied to her quirk, but to her desire to "become someone else."

To AFO, the consumption of others became yet another way to rob them of their autonomy-- by taking away "a part of them" and forcibly turning it into a part himself in the most base, unsettling, and crude way possible. Before that, his consumption of others was simply driven by his instinct to survive. AFO's "urge to take" is tied to the preconception that no one will provide for him or look at him UNLESS he is taking something from them-- like Himiko, his quirk merely makes it easier for him to act on urges that don't actually stem from the quirk itself. AFO's warped perception of other people balloons wildly out of control by the time he reaches his teens, and finally cumulates in him ""eating"" the glowing baby out of jealousy:

*Kills someone over their follower count* Man, AFO is nvr gonna beat the "was a tiktok e-girl in his previous life" allegations

AFO and Himiko both "consume" other people out of jealousy and a desire to make up for what they feel they lack as individuals-- but an important distinction between the two of them, I feel, is that Himiko's consumption of others is ultimately driven by her desire to connect with other people while AFO's consumption is instead based on fear + mistrust of others. It's the difference between "Consumption as wanting to become a part of someone and become a part of the world they live in (+ consumption as a way to become a part of the world by living vicariously through someone else)" and "consumption as forcibly making someone a part of you and forcibly taking away their connection to the world."

Speaking of "consuming someone who has traits you envy in an attempt to make those traits your own" *pointedly looks at AFO's dynamic with Tomura* ...........yearp.

It's only after Himiko's human needs are finally addressed by Ochako, that Himiko learns the desire to "give" rather than take. I feel that this is probably one of the core take aways of the series while more or less being the "end goal" of the OFAFO plot-- "endless giving without ever taking" (All Might becoming the number one hero at the steep price of himself and Izuku almost destroying himself in the process of trying to emulate All Might) and "endless taking without ever giving" (AFO full stop, as well as society itself towards both the heroes and villains) are both extremes that only cause more people to get hurt. There has to be reciprocity. It has to be "One for All -AND- All for One." Give -AND- Take.

Side note: Himiko's favorite food being pomegranates also strikes me as ironic when you remember that Hori is gigantic mythology nerd-- In both art and mythology, it's not uncommon for pomegranates to be used as a visual for "flesh" and for their consumption to be used as a stand in for cannibalism. In greek mythology, pomegranates are known as the "fruit of the dead", and are believed to have originated from the blood of Adonis. There is also the legend of Persephone, who was cursed to remain within the underworld for six months each year as the price for consuming six pomegranate seeds while in hell.

The Buddhist legend of Hairiti/Kishimojin also stands out for framing pomegranates as a "cure" for cannibalism, by offering them to man-eating demons in lieu of flesh:

As for AFO-- it's been pointed out by several different people that he shares several parallels with the greek titan, Cronus, who is most famous for having devoured his own children whole.

With that in mind, I feel like the act of consuming blood has an almost mythological edge to it for these two (outside the obvious reality-based social stigma of it lol)-- the act of "eating" others, regardless of intent, is what condemned both AFO and Himiko to hell. But Himiko is offered a way out of that hell and ultimately finds salvation in allowing herself to be "consumed" in turn, while AFO just doubles down on eating every rando beefcake he can get his hands on while giggling like a school girl (and yet, when the chance to eat Toshi finally presents itself, he totally fails to capitalize on it. mfer can't even "cannibalism as a metaphor freaky gay sex with your dramaturgical foil" right smh 😤).

As an aside, when I say "people generally read into MHA too literally and expect entirely too literal conclusions for what is largely a fantastical story about abuse/trauma/coping mechanisms," how MHA depicts ""cannibalism"" through Himiko is actually one of the examples that comes to mind lol. So many people think that death or jail is the only appropriate conclusion for Himiko's character because it's the "only realistic conclusion" like they aren't reading a story where people have tape dispensers for arms lmfao.

OMNOMNOM-- (On Mouths)

:D

Not much to elaborate on here, mouths (and smiles) are AFO and Himiko's shared body motif in MHA's narrative. AFO's mouth is his only distinguishable facial feature during Parts 1 & 2, Himiko's smile/mouth is her defining feature and how others perceive it is a source of trauma for her. Her villain outfit is notable in how it covers her mouth/hides her smile while also resembling AFO's act 1 mask:

*squish*

During the final war, Himiko puts her mask on and hides her mouth immediately after being rejected by Izuku. This is symbolic of a lot of different things, but mostly, it drives home how she is no longer interested in talking things out and has "fully embraced being a villain." Ochako understands what's at stake and spends the rest of the fight trying to "take the mask back off"-- she understands there is something behind Himiko's villain mask that she needs to save.

Meanwhile, Toshi smashes past AFO's mask during Kamino and finds there is simply nothing underneath it-- reinforcing the idea that AFO has made "being a villain" his entire identity and that there is nothing worth saving behind his mask. However, Toshi was also the one who "smashed" AFO's facial features away in the first place. AFO definitely deserved getting his head popped, but in the context of MHA as a whole, I feel like AFO and Toshi's dynamic only highlights the overall tragedy of the hero/villain system and why it's a good thing that the new generation is starting to challenge it.

It is worth mentioning that mouths are frequently used to mask and dehumanize within the context of MHA's narrative, but this isn't something exclusive to AFO and Himiko ('sup Toshi) (''sup Tomura).

(I don't actually have anything else to add here lol)

Demon Child, Demon Lord

AFO and Himiko also stand out in how they're both framed as having been "born bad"-- Himiko by her parents, AFO by himself and the narration. Discerning readers already know that this is a crock of shit.

Child for One sees the Demon Lord being surrounded by people who provide for him out of fear while he's stuck living in isolation and squalor with Yoichi, and decides the only appropriate reaction to this is to make a children's comic book his entire personality (he's just like me fr)-- He embraces the idea of becoming a demon and shedding off his humanity, and immediately starts self-styling himself off a generic biz-caz corporate shmuck (lmfao).

Unlike AFO, Himiko resists the label of "demon" as much as she can-- she styles herself as "a cute high school girl" despite being a middle school drop out because she realizes the world will treat her a little more kindly this way (but only a little). Himiko longs to be seen as human, but is made to feel like a monster instead.

What I find interesting is that AFO himself outright admits that he lacked the ego/awareness necessary to "consciously" take Yoichi's quirk when they were children-- yet, both he and the narration continuously frame the siphoning of his mother's life, quirk, and Yoichi's nutrients as though they were intentional, malicious acts. AFO leans into this framing and builds his whole identity around it until that framing is finally pulled away from him literal seconds before his death.

Being "human" to Himiko means going back to a time where she was loved and accepted unconditionally. Being "human" to AFO means going back to being that screaming infant who no one would look at.

Like it or not, everyone is human in the end little dude.

Other Miscellaneous Similarities:

This one doesn't require much explanation-- through prioritizing their own needs above all else, AFO and Himiko both dehumanize other people the same way other people dehumanize them. Himiko is still a child, however-- and she is ultimately saved by her desire to be accepted and form genuine connections with others. Her final fight with Ochako is as much about getting Himiko to see Ochako as "human" as it is Ochako acknowledging Himiko's humanity. Once again, it's all about reciprocity/give-and-take.

""join our family and let me raise you! :D *hard cut to a burning orphanage*" AFO being genuinely puzzled that ppl aren't jumping at the chance to raised by him is my favorite running gag in mha.

Both AFO and Himiko also have a habit of being.... inappropriately intimate with other people, often to the point where whatever "relationship" they have with others exists almost entirely in their own head. Himiko calls Tsuyu by her first name and gets told to cut it out because this is a privilege Tsuyu reserves for her friends, and Himiko immediately interprets this as Tsuyu offering to be friends. AFO calls his worshippers his "friends" and his cult "his family" and asks that his young victims call him "uncle" like he's a kindly family friend and not the dude who is blackmailing them into betraying all their friends.

Also, neva 4get.....

To think AFO could have also had fun yuri times if he had just stopped being a dickhead for five seconds. Tragic. 😔

(/j)

[heartofbusan]

Finally.

As we hit the halfway point of AYS, I've been wondering about the overall story arc. What part of the story is the one that floats over the entire narrative? To me, it is also the story that is the most sensory one, the one thing about AYS that touches me and sets my mind off of these tangents.

I'll give you a clue:

It's them. Their interactions.

The way jikook as a pair kicked off this journey was a contentious one. We all remember the first episode and the talk they had. There are many reasons, from the editing to the self censoring jikook do in front of the camera that have led to #TheCarScene making the audience feel either uncomfortable or made them sit at the edge of their seat. Hanging off of every word (and translation). There is both a lot happening and not enough. But not many can say that scene left them unmoved. I like that! That means that the audience is engaged! It pulls us in. Especially those of us who love to observe human communication. Yet, now we long to move on from the discomfort that interaction sparked. We long for catharsis. To feel that the conversation they had isn't just hanging there balancing them on a precipice, but that it will be OK for them in the end.

Jungkook’s "Finally" went a long way to guide us to such a resolution, but to me, his relieved exclaim is just the beginning. This, to me, is what the entire show portends to be about.

How does that 'Finally' look like throughout the 8 episodes? How will we look back on that 'Finally' once we've seen them all?

Like I said, we're at the halfway point (already 😭), episode 4, and where is that on-screen relationship building towards? What kind of 'beats' does the story NEED to hit in order to come to a satisfying conclusion within the shows narrative? How does the show earn that 'Finally'?

Sure, Are You Sure is a 'travel-vlog-mukbang-buddy-cop-show', but it's also the story of two seemingly estranged best friends/lovers who've been incredibly busy and who've taken it upon themselves to carve out time to be at ease together. If we look at their busy schedules as being in the way of them being THEM, then the most important goal of AYS is to get them back to that state.

Are You Sure is jikook's safe heaven.

If we were to look at all episodes as a way to work towards that hypothetical goal (Jikook back on the same wavelength) then the story beats per episode look a little like this.

Ep. 1: Two friends embark on road-trip, they've missed eo and want to do fun things together. Lot's of eating.

Ep. 2: Even short term illness can't keep them from sightseeing and eating, more warming up together: spanking in bed edition

Ep. 3: Surprise guest! Cut the camera's: the duo take a pause on domesticity and play games as a trio.

Ep. 4: The duo is the core of the story, pick up where they left off: re-kindling. They make beautiful moments together.

Ep. 5: I expect another conversation about their desire to spend meaningful time together 'Deep talk phase 01'. New location?

Ep. 6: New location but treasured memories pop-up from their first Tokyo trip. What does the future for this duo look like (the military service talk?) aka 'Deep talk phase 02'.

Ep. 7: Level-up: fun snow time activities?!

Ep. 8: More deep talk, 'Phase 03' that cements this duo as utterly and completely besotted with eo. They either talk about their joint enlistment or about traveling after MS...maybe both.

How do you think the next episodes will play out if we think of each episode as building towards a satisfying conclusion?

[bookshopsbizarreblog]

Can we talk about how good the Moon Mining song in Midst S3E14 - Shindig is? Like, I've heard lots of songs across the various podcasts I've listened to, some of them quite good. But I have yet to encounter one that was situated in the story as masterfully as the Moon Mining song, or that conveys a fraction of the emotionality. Even without getting into story spoilers, the (at least seemingly) improvised nature of each verse, the layering of shouts and cheers and merry heckling to create a whole crowd leaning into it, the way each character expresses themself and their situation (and is expressed to us as the audience), and even just the way the song is introduced paint such a vibrant and lively setting. The entire 5-ish minutes just radiates a community coming together and having fun.

S2E4 - Weather used to be my favorite episode, as someone who has a deep love of cosmic horror and general eldritch shenans, but I've gone back to Shindig at least seven or eight times just to listen and relisten to that single song. I can't imagine not getting swept up in the revelry, and its position within the episode (and season overall) just sells it so much harder. More concrete spoilers beneath the cut.

If you haven't listened to Midst, please do. Gracious goodness, it's so good.

The entire episode is a rollercoaster of highs and lows for these characters and the community of Stationary Hill that we've gotten to love at this point. Sherman and Tzila finally arrive home, to celebration and joy. The community is barely recognizable but we've seen them band together and rebuild. And at a pinnacle of tension, after the gut punches of Hieronymus' confession to Saskia and the Vault demolition plan and Weepe's victory over Kozma, we finally get a brief break. But even that break is tainted with uncertainty and pain. Right before the song begins, we get Emmet's toast to the fallen, Sherman's uncertainty and fear of staying in Stationary Hill, all the festivities and merriment tinged bittersweet. And then the catharsis hits. It's not announced as a song. It's not a side bar where the ambiance cuts away so a tune can be inserted above the story. All we know is that Goe is getting on stage, and the narrators are saying we're missing something, but what? "That's right." "It wouldn't be a party on Midst without-" "Goe: It's time, you dang raskals!"

It's like the podcast version of show, don't tell. They could have laid out that a song was coming up. They could have even just launched into it. But by merely having uncertain build up and sudden increasing excitement and anticipation from the crowd, we get dragged along with it too. Straight from all the emotions of the previous conversations into this building energy with no clear outlet. It isn't until the cheers and diegetic voices demand "that friggin' moon tune," now that we are also fully on board, that the end point is revealed. And then it slaps.

The different methods of singing for each person, of which Saskia and Ettie (x2) and Ned (whose voice makes me understand the random background lady) stand out the most. Bets and Walter's and Tzila all representing different versions of how a kid would approach being asked to sing in front of their entire community. Sylvester and the chanting and everyone joining in on the chorus and the way each person's verse is a snippet of their life and perspective and situation and story without it being overbearing. It just. The whole thing. It screams of the close-knit Stationary Hill community, which then also pays off in another big way during the last episode.

I highly recommend listening to the song again, with headphones and the volume cranked up to get the full experience if you haven't already. I'm losing my mind over this song. If tumblr woulda let me, I would have just uploaded the full 5:19 clip I isolated, but unfortunately it wound up being too big to post. So here's the link to the time where the song specifically starts.

Thank you so much Third Person ( @midstpodcast ) for creating such a full and magical world.