#why did EVERY OTHER LINE have to hit like a punch to the gut

[shitpostingkats]

Hi.

I am no longer the same person I was a few hours prior.

[verstappenverse]

What We Never Said

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max Verstappen, your best friend, has always been a constant in your life. But when jealousy surfaces over a recent date, it stirs emotions he hadn’t quite confronted. Is there more between you two than just friendship?

1.9k words / Masterlist

Max had always been good at keeping his cool. On the track where everything is measured in tenths of a second and a moment’s hesitation can cost everything, keeping a level head was what set him apart from the others. But lately away from the track something had been gnawing at him, disrupting his usually unshakeable focus.

It wasn’t new this feeling it had been there for a long time, simmering quietly beneath the surface. Max knew that. He was painfully aware of it in every shared glance, every late-night conversation, and in the way your laugh could instantly pull him out of his darkest moods. For years you’d both kept things easy, uncomplicated, two best friends never crossing the invisible line that tethered you close but never too close.

At least that’s how it was supposed to be.

It wasn’t until a few nights ago when he overheard a casual comment at a party that Max realised how fragile that balance really was.

“I didn’t know you’d gone on a date,” your friend had said her voice light and teasing.

Max wasn’t eavesdropping intentionally he had been halfway through a conversation with another driver when the words hit him like a punch to the gut. He barely registered what was being said to him after that. His attention had been locked on you, watching the subtle shift in your posture as you casually replied.

“Yeah,” you said, like it was nothing. “We went for dinner and drinks, it was really nice...he was nice.”

Max’s hand had tightened around his drink. Nice. The word grated against Max’s nerves. The conversation around him faded into white noise as his mind fixated on what you hadn’t said, on what you’d kept from him. A date? You’d gone on a date? Since when did you go on dates without mentioning it to him? It felt like the ground beneath him had shifted, like something fundamental had changed, though he couldn’t quite explain why.

For the rest of the evening Max stayed quiet his usual easy-going demeanour replaced by something darker, something more brooding. You didn’t seem to notice or if you did, you didn’t bring it up. But every time he looked at you all he could think about was someone else sitting across from you, someone else making you laugh, someone else getting to know the parts of you that Max had always believed were his to cherish.

-------------------

He thought about it more than he should have over the following days, a slow burn of frustration and confusion twisting in his chest. It wasn’t that he had a claim over you but there had always been something unspoken between the two of you, and hearing about you with someone else, someone who wasn’t him, made it feel like everything was slipping through his fingers.

Max found himself at your door days later, heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with the adrenaline of racing. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say only that the unresolved tension between you needed addressing.

The door opened and there you were, smiling like always, the kind that usually made his stomach flip, but today it only made him more tense. “Hey you,” you greeted stepping aside to let him in.

He walked in without hesitation, but his usual ease was nowhere to be found. He hadn’t been able to shake the image of you with someone else. Max had tried to push it down, to convince himself that it was none of his business. You were your own person, free to do whatever – or whomever – you wanted. But the truth was, it did bother him. A lot more than he cared to admit.

He dropped onto your couch more tense than he’d been in weeks. You sat down next to him, your brow furrowing as you picked up on his mood. Max was many things, but unreadable was not one of them. He wore his emotions on his sleeve and right now you could sense the storm brewing behind his usually calm exterior. His jaw was clenched, and you could see the tension radiating off of him in waves.

“What’s up with you?” you asked, tone light but probing. “You seem… off.”

He wanted to shrug it off, say it was nothing, but the words wouldn’t come. He couldn’t pretend anymore, not with you.

Instead he turned toward you, his blue eyes sharp “Why didn’t you tell me you went on a date?”

Your expression shifted subtly, surprise, then confusion trying to place his tone, “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

A beat of silence passed, Max could hear the faint hum of the city outside your apartment window, but inside, the air felt thick weighted with something unsaid.

“I overheard you the other night,” he continued, his voice rougher than he intended.

You blinked, processing his words. “You overheard?”

Max nodded, watching you closely waiting for some kind of explanation that would ease the knot in his chest. But you just sat there, not defensive, not guilty, just calm.

You hadn’t kept it from him on purpose. In fact you didn’t even think it was that big of a deal. The date had been fine, nice, but nothing extraordinary, certainly not enough to warrant telling Max about it right away.

“It wasn’t anything serious,” you said after a long pause. “Just dinner. I didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”

Max exhaled sharply running a hand through his hair. “And if it had been serious?”

Now you were even more confused. Your eyes met his then, a flicker of something passed between you. “Why does it matter?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Why did it matter? He wasn’t your boyfriend. Hell, he wasn’t even sure what he was anymore, except confused. Maybe a little scared. The kind of fear that sinks deep, the kind that makes you realise you’ve been taking something for granted.

“Because it does,” he muttered quietly, his voice tight.

You leaned back slightly, studying him. There was something different about the way you looked at him now, more attuned to whatever was hanging between you. You’d always known that Max was protective of you, but this? This was something else entirely.

“You’ve never cared before,” you said, your voice quieter now, like you were piecing together a puzzle neither of you had fully acknowledged.

Max hesitated then sighed. “Maybe I should’ve.”

The words were out before he could stop them, and they hung in the air, heavier than anything he’d ever admitted to you before.

You didn’t respond right away. The silence stretched, uncomfortable in a way that it never had been between the two of you. And then, after what felt like an eternity you leaned forward resting your elbows on your knees hands clasped in front of you.

“Is that what this is all about? Me going on a date and not telling you?” You paused, your eyes searching his face,“Or is it something else?”

He didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. Because of course it was something else. It had always been something else. He just hadn’t let himself admit it not until now, not until the idea of you with someone else had thrown everything into sharp, painful focus, and maybe that wasn't fair but he didn't know how he could go back now.

Max stood, pacing the length of your living room his mind racing. “I don’t know,” he finally muttered, though it was a lie. He did know. He just wasn’t sure how to say it, cross the line you’d both been skirting around, to take years of friendship and lay it bare without ruining everything.

“Max,” you said softly, your voice pulling him out of his thoughts. “Look at me.” You needed to hear him say it. You needed to know if what you felt for him was mutual or if you were reading too much into this.

He stopped pacing but didn’t turn around right away. His fists clenched at his sides, and for the first time in a long time, Max felt completely out of control. It wasn’t like driving where every move was calculated, where he could read the car, the track, the competition with precision. This was messier, rawer, and there was no strategy for it.

Finally, he turned to face you his blue eyes meeting yours. There was no running from it anymore, no pretending that what he felt for you was anything less than what it really was.

“I didn’t like it,” he said quietly, the admission catching in his throat. “Hearing you talk about him… I hated it.”

You didn’t look away but your eyes softened, your expression still guarded.

“Why?” you asked, though your tone told him you already knew the answer.

Max let out a shaky breath. “Because… I’ve always wanted it to be me.”

The confession hung in the air, and for the first time with you Max felt truly exposed, vulnerable. The invisible line between you two, the one he’d always danced around, was gone.

All the emotions you’d been burying for so long, all the feelings you’d tried to convince yourself weren’t there, came rushing to the surface.

You walked toward him slowly, and for a moment, Max wasn’t sure what you were going to say, but when you reached him you didn’t say anything. Instead you just looked at him, really looked at him, like you were seeing him in a way you hadn’t before.

“I’ve always wanted it to be you, too,” you whispered, the words so soft he almost missed them.

“I didn’t want to ruin things between us,” Max continued, “I didn’t want to lose you. But hearing about you with someone else… it made me realise that maybe I’ve already lost you and I didn’t even know it.”

You took a step closer to him your heart pounding in your chest. “You haven’t lost me."

His heart clenched, and before he could stop himself, he reached out, gently cupping your face with his hand. Your skin was warm beneath his palm and for the first time in days the tension in his chest eased slightly.

You didn’t pull away, you stepped closer eyes never leaving his. It was as if all the years of unspoken tension between you had finally come to a head, and neither of you could ignore it anymore.

He leaned in, slowly, cautiously, giving you every chance to pull away. But you didn’t. And when his lips finally met yours it was like everything he hadn’t been able to say, everything he’d been holding back for years, poured into that kiss.

It wasn’t hurried or desperate. It was slow, deliberate, a moment stretched out between two people who had spent too long pretending they didn’t want this. Max’s arms wrapped around you as the kiss deepened, but still, there was a softness to it a tenderness that spoke of the years of friendship, of trust.

When the kiss broke, you both stood there inches apart breathing in the moment. Max's hand lingered on your cheek his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

“You know,” you whispered, smiling against his lips teasing, “this is probably something you should’ve told me ages ago.”

Max let out a soft laugh, his forehead resting against yours. “Yeah, well” he said, his voice low and teasing back, “I guess this means I can stop pretending I’m okay with you dating other people now," you laughed softly as he smirked "but I wasn’t too worried, everything’s about timing isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you murmured, your lips brushing his. “I guess you got it right.”

"Finally," he whispered with a grin, before pulling you into another kiss.

[raekensluver]

unraveling love

description: spencer reid breaks up with you, focused on the fact that he couldn't be the man you "needed" after his experience away in prison despite your reassurance.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

contains: angst, breakup, mentions of spencer in prison.

song rec: atlantis by seafret- "she said in my heart and in my head, tell me why this has to end."

w.c: 1.2k

an: only spencer reid could make it impossible to not hate him after a breakup....

spencer reid's eyes, once a warm shade of brown, had grown cold and calculating. his face, which used to light up at the sight of you, was now a mask of indifference. you watched him from the corner of the room, an old, tattered book clutched in his hand as he paced. the fireplace crackled, but it couldn't fill the silence that had stretched between you like a thick, impenetrable veil.

you swallowed hard, the words echoing in your mind like a gunshot. "what did you say?" you managed to ask, your voice trembling.

spencer stopped his pacing and turned to face you, his gaze unwavering. "i said, i don't love you anymore." his voice was calm, almost rehearsed, as if he had practiced the phrase countless times in his head.

you felt your heart plummet to the floor, shattering into a million pieces. the room grew blurry as tears threatened to spill from your eyes. "why?" you whispered, barely audible.

spencer sighed heavily, the weight of his decision etched into every line of his face. "it's not you," he began, the age-old cliche feeling like a dagger to your heart. "it's just that, after everything i've been through, i've realized that i can't be the person you need me to be."

you stared at him, the words not fully sinking in. "what do you mean?" you choked out, desperation clinging to your voice like a lifeline.

spencer's jaw tightened, and he took a step closer to you. "you know what i mean," he said softly, but with a firmness that sent a shiver down your spine. "i've changed. the man you fell in love with isn't here anymore."

you could feel the warmth draining from your body as his words sank in. "but, spencer, we can work through this," you pleaded, the tremble in your voice growing stronger. "we've been through so much together."

spencer's expression softened, a flicker of the man you once knew shining through. "i know," he said, his voice a little less steady now. "but some things are just…irreparable."

you searched his eyes, looking for any sign of the love that once burned so brightly within them. all you found was a sadness that seemed to consume him from the inside out.

his hand reached out to touch your cheek, but you flinched away, the gesture feeling foreign and painful. "you don't have to do this," you said, your voice cracking. "we can get help."

spencer's hand fell to his side, and he took a step back, the distance between you growing palpable. "it's not about help," he said, his voice tinged with resignation. "it's about who i am now. who we both are."

you stared at the floor, unable to look at him. the room felt like it was closing in on you, the walls pressing against your chest, making it hard to breathe. "who are we then?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

spencer paused for a moment, considering his words carefully. "we're two people who love each other, but can't be together," he said, his voice filled with a sadness that mirrored the pain in your heart. "i can't go back to being the person i was, and you deserve someone who can love you without all this…baggage."

you felt the room spin as his words hit you like a ton of bricks. "so, what now?" you managed to ask, your voice shaking with the effort of holding back the sobs that threatened to overwhelm you.

Spencer took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "now, we move on," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "we find a way to live our lives apart."

you looked up at him, the reality of his words hitting you like a punch to the gut. "but, spencer," you protested, your voice thick with unshed tears. "i don't want that."

he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "i know," he said, his eyes filled with a sadness that seemed to go on forever. "but it's for the best. you deserve someone who can give you their whole heart, and i can't do that anymore."

you opened your mouth to protest, but the words got caught in your throat. you knew he was right. the spencer reid you had fallen in love with was gone, replaced by a man who was haunted by his past and the demons that lurked within him.

you felt a tear slip down your cheek, tracing a cold path down your skin. "i don't know how to do this," you admitted, your voice cracking. "i don't know how to let you go."

spencer's gaze softened, and he stepped closer, placing his hand on your shoulder. "i know it's hard," he said, his voice a gentle whisper. "but it's what we have to do."

you nodded, unable to speak as the first sob tore through you. spencer pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest as you cried. the warmth of his embrace was a stark contrast to the coldness in his eyes, and you clung to it desperately, trying to remember the last time he had held you like this.

his hand rubbed circles on your back, his touch soothing despite the pain of his words. "i'm sorry," he murmured into your hair. "i never wanted to hurt you."

you nodded against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. it was a comforting rhythm that you had come to rely on, but now it felt like a taunt - a reminder of what you were about to lose. "i know," you whispered, your voice muffled by his shirt.

spencer held you for a long moment, his grip tightening slightly before he pulled away, a silent acknowledgment that this was the end. you took a step back, wiping the tears from your face with trembling hands.

his eyes searched yours, looking for understanding, for forgiveness. "i need you to be strong," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "you're the strongest person i know."

you nodded, trying to be brave, trying to be the person he needed you to be. but inside, you felt like you were breaking apart at the seams. "i'll try," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

spencer's eyes searched yours, looking for any sign that you were okay, but all he found was pain. "i'm sorry," he said again, the words feeling as empty as the space between you.

you watched as he grabbed his coat from the chair, his movements mechanical, as if he had done this a hundred times before. each step he took towards the door felt like a nail in the coffin of your relationship.

spencer paused at the threshold, his hand on the doorknob, looking back at you one last time. his eyes searched yours for any hint of anger or resentment, but all he found was a sadness that mirrored his own.

you forced a smile, the effort visible in the tremble of your lips. "goodbye, spencer," you said, your voice strong despite the turmoil inside.

spencer's eyes searched yours, a silent plea for understanding. then, with one final nod, he opened the door and stepped out into the cold, dark night. the door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in the quiet emptiness of the room.

edited 8.20.24

[quokkareactions]

Stray Kids as angst tropes:

Part 2

Jisung:

You and Jisung are spending the Saturday at the diner where you work as a waitress. Neither of you can stop smiling even for a minute cause you are just so in love with each other it's not even funny.

"Close your eyes, I have a surprise for you" you say with a huge grin on your face.

"Why? I don't want to"

"Pleeeease, baby... Trust me"

"Okay" he gives in with a sigh

~

"Alright. You can open them now"

And when he does you aren't there. He sits at your favourite booth at your favourite diner with his favourite strawberry milkshake in front of him but your mint chip one isn't there. When he looks up to the wall next to him he sees a picture of you smiling down at him. There's a writing below the picture.

"In memoriam: y/n l/n

2000-2022"

Felix:

You and Felix were best friends since forever. Your parents were besties so you basically grew up together and you're definitely not complaining about it. You always did everything together and were really affectionate with each other so much so that people usually believed you two were dating. And when you actually started dating your parents were over the moon.

But soon enough you had to realize that even though you loved each other being a couple just wasn't working. The usual hangouts that previously were filled with laughter, hugs and a lot of fun now became nerve-wrecking and brought discomfort for both of you. You wanted your friendship back but you weren't sure if it's even possible.

"This isn't how I thought it would be" you whispered, voice thick with unshed tears. You weren't sure if you were talking to him or yourself.

"What did you think it would be like?"

His voice was calm but there was an edge to it, a tiredness that you'd never heard before.

"We've known each other forever, but we're barely holding it together"

"I thought we could fix it. I thought love was enough to make it work. I just... I don't understand how we ended up here" you told him.

"Maybe because we tried to make something more out of something that wasn't meant to be"

He took a step towards you, the distance between you and him still feeling like miles.

"Y/n, we were amazing as friends, but this... Us... It's tearing us apart"

Your heart twisted at his words, eyes burning even more than before, but he was right and you knew it.

"So what are you saying? That we just give up and throw away everything we've built?"

"I'm saying that we should stop hurting each other. This is not a goodbye, we just need some time away from each other. "

That's when you finally let your tears fall freely. You wanted to believe him, you really did. But you've crossed lines you can't uncross, broken things that cannot be mended... things will never be the same again between you.

Seungmin:

The airport was crowded, a sea of people moving with purpose, but for you and Seungmin, time seemed to slow. Neither of you spoke, the silence stretching on as the weight of what was unsaid hung heavily between you. Seungmin looked at you with a mixture of pride and pain in his eyes, trying to memorise every detail of your face.

It was you who finally broke the silence, your voice trembling. "I should go"

He nodded but kept quiet. The words he wanted to say caught in his throat, choking him. He wanted to tell you not to go, to stay with him. But he couldn't. He couldn't be that selfish.

"I wish... I wish things were different," you whispered, your voice laced with regret and sadness. "I wish we didn't have to do this."

"This is your dream, Y/n. You've worked so hard for this."

You squeezed his hand, holding on like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. "But I don't want to lose you"

"I don't want to lose you either," he said, his voice hoarse. "But I can't be the one who holds you back."

The finality of his words hit you both like a punch to the gut, and you pulled him into a tight embrace, your tears soaking into his shirt.

"I love you" Seungmin said to you, most likely for the last time.

"I love you too" with a final, tearful glance, you turned and walked away. He stood there, watching until you disappeared from view, his heart shattering with every step you took.

Jeongin:

"Why can't you see it?"

"See what? Why are you shouting at me?"

"You've been the one that he runs to when he's got nobody else"

"That's not true at all, he's just confused about his feelings"

"No, he's just a dick"

"He'll change, Jeongin, I know he will"

"We've already been through this. You always say he's gonna change and he only keeps letting you down"

"Why do you even care?"

"Cause I love you"

You stared at him flabbergasted. If you wanna be completely honest what he said wasn't really shocking just the fact that he had the guts to say it. You've suspected that he likes you for quite some time now but were trying really hard to ignore it cause sadly you did not feel the same.

"Jeongin..."

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry, but-"

"You don't love me that way" he interrupted you.

"I really am so sorry but I just can't" you look down.

"I know, it's okay"

"You sure?"

"Yeah, it's better having you as just a friend than not having you in my life at all"

[artyandink]

amoralism | eighteen

SUMMARY: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

TW: smut, angst, reader’s mad at Sam for a bit, death

Song Inspo: River - Bishop Briggs

SERIES MASTERLIST

erraticism

The kitchen was warm, the kind of warmth that came from both the stovetop’s steady heat and the familiar pull of old memories, memories that held Dean’s face like a watermark on every corner of your heart. You’d told yourself you’d make it through this evening, get through one meal, without breaking down. It was, you reasoned, just a meal—no hidden meanings, no sentimental attachment, just food. You were cooking for Sam, his kids, maybe even yourself, if you could stomach it.

A half-sliced onion sat in front of you, blurred slightly by the tears that had managed to sneak past your resolve. The chopping board bore the aftermath of a few haphazard cuts, and for once, you didn’t care about the details. As you brushed your wrist against your cheek, wiping away the evidence, you heard the quiet creak of the kitchen door. A pair of footsteps crossed the linoleum. You didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

“Hey,” Sam’s voice came softly from behind you. There was a hesitation in his tone, a wariness that only someone like Sam would notice—someone who saw the tension in the set of your shoulders, someone who knew the silent language of hurt.

“Hey,” you murmured, voice wavering. You swallowed hard, trying to disguise the tremble as just another cough. But your heart was pounding now, because in Sam’s presence, the flimsy walls you’d built against the loneliness started crumbling all over again.

Sam shifted, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him glance down at the mess on the cutting board, the half-prepared meal you were putting together for his family. He said nothing about the onions, or the tears, or the fact that he’d seen you wipe your face a second ago. Instead, he cleared his throat softly.

"You, uh… need a hand?” he offered, his tone careful.

You shook your head quickly, staring down at the countertop, hands gripping the edge of the cutting board as if it were a lifeline. “No,” you said, a little too quickly. “I’m fine. Just trying to… get this done.”

Sam’s silence filled the kitchen, thick and heavy. Then he took a step closer, close enough that you felt the warmth radiating from his presence, steady and calm. Sam, the rock, the one who never wavered. You almost hated him for it, because even now, even when he was standing there watching you unravel, he was steady.

“I know you miss him,” Sam said quietly, his voice barely more than a murmur. “I miss him, too.”

The words were simple, but they hit you like a punch to the gut. Your hand slipped on the knife, and you felt the sting before you saw the thin line of red blossoming on your fingertip. You cursed under your breath, but Sam was there in an instant, grabbing a paper towel and pressing it gently to your hand. He held it there, his fingers brushing against yours, grounding you in a way that felt too painful to bear.

You could have told him, right then, that it wasn’t just missing Dean. It was the hollow, aching emptiness that gnawed at you every day, the feeling that some part of yourself had been ripped away and left bleeding. But the words stayed trapped in your throat, strangled by the weight of everything you hadn’t said, everything you hadn’t let yourself feel.

“Why did he leave, Sam?” you whispered, the question slipping out before you could stop it. Your voice was raw, edged with anger and heartbreak. “He just… vanished. No explanation, nothing. How could he do that?”

Sam was quiet for a moment, his gaze fixed on the floor. He let out a long, slow breath, as if he’d been holding it in for far too long. When he finally looked up, there was something in his eyes—something haunted, something that hurt just to look at.

“He didn’t want to leave,” Sam said, his voice barely a whisper. “But… he didn’t have a choice.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words settling heavily on your chest. “What are you talking about?”

Sam hesitated, and you could see the conflict flickering across his face, a struggle that he was clearly losing. He looked at you, his gaze piercing, as if he was finally letting you see something he’d kept hidden for far too long.

“He’s undercover,” Sam said finally, the words tumbling out in a rush. “With Hell.”

The room seemed to freeze around you, the air thick and suffocating. Your mind raced, trying to make sense of his words, but they felt like shards of glass, cutting and splintering with each second. “Undercover?” you repeated, barely able to wrap your mind around it. “With… Hell?”

Sam nodded, his expression grim. “He’s been… posing as one of them. A Knight of Hell. It was the only way he could get close enough to take them down from the inside. It was a… high-risk mission. The kind you don’t come back from easily.”

The world tilted, and you had to brace yourself against the counter, your hand shaking as you struggled to process the words. It didn’t make sense. Dean—your Dean—working with Hell? Pretending to be one of them, playing a part so dangerous that he’d had to disappear, to cut you out of his life completely.

“He didn’t tell me.” Your voice was barely a whisper, but you could feel the fury bubbling up inside you, the betrayal like a poison in your veins. “He didn’t even tell me.”

Sam’s gaze dropped, and you could see the guilt etched into every line of his face. “He thought it would be safer,” he said quietly. “He didn’t want you to get hurt. And… he thought it would be easier if you didn’t know.”

“Easier?” The word slipped out like a snarl, laced with all the anger and heartbreak that had been festering inside you for months. “Easier for who, Sam? For him? For you?” You pushed him away, the paper towel falling from your cut finger as you took a shaky step back. “He just… he left me, Sam. He vanished, and you let me think he didn’t care. You let me believe I wasn’t enough.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and painful, and for a moment, Sam looked as if he’d been struck. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but nothing came out. The silence stretched between you, heavy and unbearable.

“He thought he was protecting you,” Sam said finally, his voice hoarse. “He didn’t want you to know. He didn’t want you to… suffer.”

You laughed, but it was a bitter, hollow sound, echoing off the walls of the kitchen. “Well, congratulations, Sam. Mission accomplished. I didn’t suffer at all, did I?” The tears were hot against your cheeks, and you could feel the anger trembling inside you, ready to explode. “Do you have any idea what it’s been like? To wonder every single day why I wasn’t enough to make him stay?”

Sam’s face crumpled, and he took a step toward you, his hand reaching out as if to offer some kind of comfort. But you stepped back, crossing your arms tightly over your chest, a barrier between you and the man who had kept this terrible secret.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said softly, his voice breaking. “I thought… I thought it would be better this way. But I was wrong. I was so wrong.”

You wanted to forgive him, wanted to let go of the anger and the hurt, but the betrayal was too fresh, too raw. You felt as if you’d been ripped open, your heart laid bare, bleeding and vulnerable. And in that moment, you couldn’t see past the pain.

Without another word, you turned and left the kitchen, the half-prepared meal forgotten on the counter, the smell of onions and garlic mingling with the bitterness in the air. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

Because the truth was, you weren’t sure you could forgive Sam. And as for Dean… you didn’t know if you’d ever be able to look at him the same way again.

The abandoned parking lot was desolate, a stretch of cracked asphalt bathed in cold, dim streetlight. The air was thick with silence, broken only by the distant hum of the city that felt a world away. You spotted him immediately, standing in the shadows by an old Chevy, hands shoved in his pockets, head bowed as if he were deep in thought. But he knew you were there—you could tell by the way he shifted, just slightly, just enough to let you know he’d been waiting.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. The anger simmered beneath the surface, roiling through every vein, every heartbeat, every breath. But even as you approached, that familiar ache spread through your chest, warring with the fury that had driven you here.

“Dean,” you called, your voice sharper than you’d intended. He looked up, and for a split second, his face was raw, open, vulnerable. Then his expression hardened, that wall you knew too well slipping into place. He was so good at building walls, at hiding behind that tough, sardonic exterior, but you weren’t here to let him hide.

“Figured you’d find me eventually,” he said, the words almost casual, like you were meeting up for a drink rather than tracking him down in the dead of night. His voice was gruff, edged with something unreadable, but there was a flicker in his eyes—a flicker of guilt, maybe regret, though he hid it well.

“Eventually?” The word shot out like a bullet. “You were planning on just… waiting until then, huh? Leaving me to keep wondering why I wasn’t enough for you to stay?”

Dean’s jaw clenched, and he looked away, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. It was a familiar gesture, one that usually made you soften, but tonight it only fueled the fire burning inside you.

“What do you want me to say?” he muttered, his voice low, almost defeated.

“I want you to tell me the truth, Dean!” The words came out louder than you intended, echoing off the empty lot. “I gave you everything I had. Everything. And you just… walked away. Left me without a single word, like I meant nothing to you.”

He winced at that, just a flicker, but you caught it. He could pretend all he wanted, but you knew him too well. You knew the man behind the bravado, the one who felt too deeply, cared too much, even if he would never admit it.

“It wasn’t like that,” he said, his voice softer now, the edges smoothed out. But he didn’t meet your gaze, his eyes fixed somewhere over your shoulder.

“Then what was it like?” You stepped closer, refusing to let him retreat into his own silence. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you lied to me. Like you decided what was best for me without ever giving me a say. Like you didn’t trust me enough to let me in.”

His mouth opened, then closed, his throat working as if he were struggling to find the right words. “It wasn’t about trust. I was trying to protect you.”

You laughed, a hollow, bitter sound that seemed to hang in the cold night air. “Protect me? By disappearing? By letting me think I didn’t mean anything to you?”

“It was the only way I knew how,” he said, the words tumbling out like a confession he’d been holding onto for far too long. He ran a hand over his face, looking exhausted, like he’d been carrying the weight of this lie for so long it had become part of him. “You don’t know what it’s like… the things I’ve seen, the people I’ve lost. I couldn’t let that happen to you, sweetheart. Not you, not when I finally had you.”

“Dean, I would have gone with you,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper, the truth of it raw and undeniable. “I would have stayed by your side, no matter what. But you didn’t even give me the chance, you lost me again.”

He shook his head, finally meeting your gaze, and the pain in his eyes was a mirror of your own. “You deserve better than this,” he said, his voice rough, almost angry. “Better than me. Better than this… life you had with me. I’m not worth it, you hear me?”

“Maybe that’s not for you to decide,” you shot back, and the words hung between you, sharp and unyielding. You took another step closer, close enough that you could see the way his hands were clenched at his sides, the tension radiating from him like a physical force. “Maybe I loved it, maybe I wanted us, even if it’s fucking corny!”

The silence stretched between you, thick and charged, neither of you willing to break it. But you couldn’t hold back anymore, couldn’t keep all of it inside. “I gave you everything, Dean,” you said, your voice breaking. “I loved you, and you just… ripped yourself away like it didn’t matter. Like I didn’t matter.”

For a moment, he looked shattered, like your words had cut him to the bone. He opened his mouth, as if to argue, to defend himself, but then he stopped, his shoulders sagging as if he were carrying the weight of a thousand regrets.

And then, without warning, he closed the distance between you, his hands reaching for you, pulling you in. Before you could react, his lips were on yours, the kiss fierce and desperate, like he was pouring all the things he couldn’t say into that single moment. It was a kiss that spoke of years of missed chances, of words left unspoken, of the love that had always simmered just beneath the surface, too dangerous to name.

You melted into him, your anger and heartbreak mingling with the overwhelming relief of finally, finally being in his arms again. His hands cupped your face, his touch gentle despite the desperation in his kiss, and for a brief, fleeting moment, everything else fell away—the lies, the pain, the betrayal. All that mattered was the way he held you, like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers if he let go.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, you could feel his breath coming in shallow gasps, his heart pounding in sync with your own. His hands stayed on your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had slipped free, his gaze searching yours with a vulnerability that took your breath away.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words rough and broken. “I’m so damn sorry. I thought… I thought this was the only way to keep you safe.”

You closed your eyes, trying to steady yourself, to hold onto the anger that was rapidly crumbling beneath the weight of his touch. “Dean, I didn’t need you to protect me. I just needed you to let me in.”

He let out a shaky breath, his hands falling to his sides as if he’d run out of strength, out of excuses. “I know, baby,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “But I didn’t know how. I still don’t.”

You reached for him, your fingers finding his, lacing together in a silent promise. “Then let’s figure it out. Together. Please?”

For a moment, he looked at you like you were something he’d never dared to hope for, something he’d believed he could never have. And then he pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you, holding you as if he were afraid that if he let go, you’d disappear.

The anger and hurt hadn’t vanished; they were still there, simmering beneath the surface, waiting to be addressed. But for now, in his arms, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you could find a way forward. Because despite everything, despite the lies and the pain, you still loved him. And maybe that was enough.

“Thank you, sweet girl.” He murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, cradling it. “You didn’t give up on me.”

Title: The Devil’s Due

The warehouse was dark, its windows clouded with years of dust and grime. Outside, thunder rolled in the distance, casting a grim tone over the night. You, Dean, and Sam were hidden in the shadows of a forgotten industrial part of town, a place where no one would look twice at a gunshot, let alone the storm that was about to unfold. This was it—the night you’d been planning for months, the moment where every move, every risk would come to a head.

You looked over at Dean, who was busy checking his guns, his expression the usual mixture of casual and focused, a look you knew all too well. Sam, meanwhile, was pacing a little, more serious, his eyes scanning the warehouse perimeter. He was already in mission mode, a study in steely calm. But Dean, as always, looked like he was just here for a good time.

He caught you watching him and gave you one of those infuriatingly cocky grins. “See something you like?”

“Oh, please,” you shot back, rolling your eyes but unable to keep the smirk off your face. “You wish.”

Dean’s grin widened, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Can’t blame a guy for hoping, can you?”

“You two,” Sam cut in, though you could see the corner of his mouth twitch in amusement. “Can you just get this out of your system now?”

“Hey, if you can’t have a little fun before a firefight with the devil himself, what’s the point?” Dean replied, slinging his rifle over his shoulder with that easy, practiced motion that always seemed to come naturally to him.

“Right,” you said, crossing your arms as you looked him up and down. “Big talk for the guy who’s pretty much a magnet for bullet wounds.”

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t worry about me. Worry about how we’re gonna celebrate after this,” he replied, lowering his voice just enough to make your pulse jump. “Once we’re back in one piece, that is.”

“Keep talking like that, and I’ll have to save you just to shut you up,” you muttered, but your voice softened, the challenge sparking something undeniable between you. It was the same thing that had been simmering for years, flickering just beneath the surface, always on the verge of tipping over.

Sam rolled his eyes but grinned. “How did I get stuck with the two of you again?”

“Hey, Sammy, you love us. Admit it,” Dean said, flashing his brother a wide grin.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s just get this done,” Sam muttered, shaking his head, but there was a warmth in his tone, a certain relief in having both of you by his side. No matter what happened tonight, the three of you were in this together, just as you always had been.

The plan was simple but risky—lure Lucifer and his men to the far end of the warehouse, separate them, and take out Lucifer before he had the chance to retaliate. It had taken months to get close enough, months of careful planning and coordination. But tonight, it would finally pay off.

As you moved into position, the silence stretched, tense and expectant. Every sound seemed magnified—the click of your gun, the shuffling of feet, the low hum of anticipation in the air. Then you heard it, footsteps echoing down the hall. Lucifer’s team was moving in.

Dean’s eyes met yours from across the shadowed aisle, his expression shifting into something deadly serious, the playfulness vanishing. You gave him a small nod, your fingers tightening around your weapon. This was it.

The first gunshot rang out like a crack of lightning, splitting the silence. Chaos erupted as bullets tore through the air, and you ducked behind a stack of crates, adrenaline flooding your veins as you fired back. The warehouse became a battleground, the roar of gunfire echoing in every corner, a cacophony of noise and violence.

Through the haze, you caught glimpses of Dean moving with deadly precision, his eyes sharp and focused as he fired round after round, clearing a path toward Lucifer. Sam was on the other side, his gun blazing as he covered Dean’s advance, each movement practiced and coordinated.

You focused on the guards, taking down anyone who got too close, watching Dean and Sam’s backs as they moved in tandem, their unspoken bond honed from years of fighting side by side. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him—the man himself, Lucifer, standing at the far end of the warehouse, his expression smug, almost amused.

“Well, well, well,” Lucifer drawled, his voice carrying over the din of gunfire. “I have to admit, you three put on quite a show.”

Dean leveled his gun at him, his expression hard and unyielding. “This ends tonight, Lucifer.”

Lucifer laughed, the sound chilling in the darkness. “You think you can just waltz in here and take me out? Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with?”

Dean’s gaze didn’t waver, his voice steady as steel. “I know exactly who you are. That’s why we’re here.”

Lucifer smirked, lifting his gun, and in that instant, the warehouse seemed to shrink, the world narrowing to just the two of them—Dean and Lucifer, predator and prey, locked in a deadly standoff.

“You’re just like your father,” Lucifer sneered, his eyes glinting with malice. “Always biting off more than you can chew. But look where that got him.”

The mention of John was like a spark to dry tinder, and you saw the flash of fury in Dean’s eyes, the anger that had been smoldering there for so long igniting into something fierce and unstoppable.

“Say one more word,” Dean growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “I dare you.”

Lucifer just laughed, his eyes filled with a twisted glee. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I hit a nerve?”

And then, with a movement too quick to follow, Lucifer raised his gun. But Dean was faster. His gun fired, the shot echoing like a thunderclap, and Lucifer staggered, a look of shock and disbelief flickering across his face as he crumpled to the ground.

For a moment, everything was still, the silence thick and heavy, the reality of what had just happened sinking in. Lucifer, the man who had haunted your lives, who had torn through families, who had left a trail of destruction in his wake—was dead.

Dean lowered his gun, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath, his face a mixture of relief and exhaustion. He looked over at you, and for a moment, you just stared at each other, the weight of the victory settling over you like a heavy, bittersweet shroud.

Sam joined you, his expression grim but satisfied. “It’s over,” he said quietly, his gaze flicking between you and Dean.

Dean let out a low, shaky laugh, running a hand over his face. “Yeah. It’s over.”

The three of you stood there, side by side, the warehouse silent around you, and in that moment, you knew that whatever came next, you’d face it together. Because this wasn’t just a victory—it was a promise, a reminder of everything you’d fought for, everything you’d lost, and everything you’d gained.

And as Dean’s hand found yours, squeezing gently, you felt a warmth blossom in your chest, a flicker of hope that, for the first time in a long time, felt like it might be real.

The drive back to Sam’s house was quiet, the kind of silence that settles in after a storm, heavy with both relief and exhaustion. After months of planning and nights wondering if you’d ever see an end to it all, Lucifer was gone. And now, there was nothing left but to go home.

Dean kept his hands steady on the wheel, his gaze fixed on the road, but every so often, you’d catch him glancing at Sam in the rearview mirror, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. It had been too long since the three of you had felt something like peace, and even longer since Dean had been back at Sam’s place—back with family.

As you pulled up to Sam’s house, you felt the familiar warmth of the place wash over you. The small, unassuming house had always been a sanctuary, its modest walls hiding years of laughter, arguments, and all the little moments that made it a home. As the three of you walked up the steps, the porch light casting a soft glow over the night, you felt Dean’s hand rest on your shoulder, a small gesture that said everything he hadn’t had the chance to say.

“Feels good to be back,” he murmured, his eyes warm as he looked around.

“You sure?” Sam teased, unlocking the door and pushing it open. “Last time you were here, you nearly started a fire trying to ‘cook dinner.’”

“Hey, that was a one-time thing,” Dean shot back, feigning offense as he walked inside, glancing around at the familiar space. “Besides, you’ve probably missed my cooking by now.”

You laughed, nudging him playfully as you followed Sam in. “If by ‘cooking’ you mean ‘burning toast,’ then sure.”

Dean chuckled, but the sound softened as he took in the sight of the house—photos on the walls, toys scattered across the living room floor, the unmistakable signs of a family at home. And then, as if on cue, a small voice called from down the hall.

“Dad? Is that you?”

Sam’s son, Dean Jr.—little Deano, as his uncle called him—padded into the room, rubbing his eyes sleepily. At the sight of his dad, he broke into a wide grin and ran over, wrapping his arms around Sam’s legs.

“Hey, bud,” Sam said, crouching down to give his son a hug. “Guess who else is here?”

Little Dean turned, his eyes widening as he spotted his uncle. “Uncle Dean!” he cried, running over and throwing himself into his uncle’s arms with a squeal of excitement.

Dean scooped him up, grinning like a kid himself as he lifted the boy high into the air. “Hey, squirt! Look at you, growing like a weed!” He ruffled the kid’s hair, his expression softening as he looked at his nephew. It had been far too long since he’d seen him last, and he seemed to drink in every detail, the pride and affection clear in his eyes.

“Mom says I’m getting big and strong!” Little Dean declared proudly, flexing his arms for emphasis.

“Damn right you are,” Dean replied, his voice warm. “Strong enough to wrestle a bear, I bet.”

The boy’s eyes lit up at the challenge, but before he could answer, a soft, muffled cry drifted from the back room. Little Dean’s attention shifted immediately, his face lighting up as he tugged on Dean’s arm.

“That’s my baby sister!” he said proudly, his voice filled with the excitement only a big brother could muster. “Do you wanna see her?”

Dean hesitated for a split second, but then he nodded, his expression softening even further. “Yeah, kiddo. I’d love to.”

With little Dean leading the way, the three of you moved down the hall, Sam watching with a quiet smile as Dean followed his nephew’s eager footsteps. When you reached the nursery, Sam slipped inside first, motioning for you and Dean to wait just outside. He came back a moment later with his daughter cradled in his arms, her tiny fingers curling around his thumb as she blinked sleepily up at him.

Dean’s breath caught for a moment as he looked at the tiny bundle in Sam’s arms, his expression filled with a mix of awe and something softer, something that lingered in his gaze as he reached out carefully, as if he were afraid he might somehow break the fragile moment.

“Dean,” Sam said softly, his eyes glinting with pride and something unspoken. “Meet my daughter, Emily.”

Dean reached out, his fingers brushing the soft fabric of her blanket as he looked down at her, his eyes misting just slightly. “Emily,” he murmured, his voice rough but tender. “Hey there, sweetheart.”

The baby cooed, her tiny hand reaching up to grab at his finger, her grip surprisingly strong for someone so small. Dean let out a soft chuckle, a hint of wonder in his voice. “Look at that. Got a grip like a vice already.”

Sam laughed, his voice a mixture of pride and relief as he watched his brother meet his daughter for the first time. “Yeah, she’s a tough one, alright.”

You watched as Dean’s expression softened, the usually hard lines of his face relaxing as he gazed down at his niece. It was a side of him you rarely got to see, a side that was quiet and unguarded, filled with a love that didn’t need words.

As the night wore on, the four of you gathered in the living room, little Dean falling asleep in his dad’s lap while baby Emily dozed in your arms, her tiny breaths soft against your chest. Dean leaned back on the couch, watching the scene with a contented smile, his hand resting on your knee, a silent reminder of his presence.

For a while, you all sat in comfortable silence, the weight of the past few months lifting with each passing moment. It was a peace hard-won, a quiet filled with the warmth of family and the knowledge that, no matter what came next, you’d face it together.

Dean glanced over at you, his eyes warm as he murmured, “Feels like home, doesn’t it?”

You nodded, leaning into his side, a smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. It really does.”

You were finishing up in the bathroom, toothbrush in hand, the last traces of exhaustion finally starting to catch up with you. It had been a long day—a long few months, really—and there was something quietly comforting about the nighttime routine, the familiarity of it all. You wiped your mouth and took one last look in the mirror, trying to convince yourself that sleep was the only thing you needed right now.

Then, you saw him in the reflection, his figure filling the doorway as he leaned against the frame with that easy, self-assured grin. He walked over slowly, slipping behind you, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror.

Dean’s hands slid around your waist, pulling you back gently, his breath warm against your neck as he pressed a slow, lingering kiss just beneath your ear. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and coaxing. “Been waiting all night to get you in bed.”

You smiled, meeting his gaze in the mirror, raising a brow as you tried to keep your voice steady. “I’m just finishing up.”

He chuckled softly, his hands slipping up to cup your chin as he tilted your face slightly, giving him better access to your neck. He pressed another kiss, slow and deliberate, trailing along the sensitive skin just below your jawline. “You know,” he murmured, his words a little teasing but softened by the warmth in his voice, “I could be more patient if you didn’t look so damn tempting every time I look at you.”

You rolled your eyes, but a shiver ran through you as his hands slid down, his fingers brushing along your waist, grounding and gentle. “Always so smooth, aren’t you?”

He grinned against your skin, letting out a soft, breathy laugh. “I try.”

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around your middle as his lips continued their slow, steady path along your neck, every kiss sending a wave of warmth through you that melted away the last remnants of your exhaustion. There was something about the way he touched you—intentional, unhurried—that made you feel as though the rest of the world had fallen away, leaving only the two of you in this quiet, shared moment.

You turned slightly, meeting his gaze with a soft smile. “Alright, you win.”

Dean’s grin widened, his fingers tracing a slow line down your arm as he led you from the bathroom, his movements gentle but sure. He kicked the door shut behind him, the room bathed in a warm, dim light that made everything feel softer, more intimate. As he pulled you toward the bed, his hands slid up to frame your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

“Been a long time since I got to just… be with you,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, the playfulness softened by a warmth that made your heart beat a little faster.

He leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was soft and slow, his hands moving to slide over your shoulders, grounding you, anchoring you to him. You melted into his touch, feeling the last bits of tension slip away as his hands traveled along your back, his touch reverent, as though he were memorizing every inch of you.

The world seemed to fade away, replaced only by the warmth of his skin, the quiet, gentle weight of his touch, the steady beat of his heart against yours.

You felt yourself get lost in Dean’s kiss, the world around you fading into a soft haze. The way he held you, the way his lips moved against yours, was intoxicating. There was no urgency, just a simmering heat that built between you, and it sent shivers down your spine. You melted against him, every worry, every fear, every bit of stress from the past few months evaporating into the air, leaving only this moment, this feeling.

As you pulled away slightly, you looked up into his eyes, the warmth and intensity there making your breath hitch in your throat. Dean’s gaze held a mix of affection and longing that made your heart race. “You okay?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent another shiver through you.

“Yeah,” you replied, smiling softly. “Just... you.”

“Just me?” he asked, feigning hurt as he stepped back slightly, giving you a dramatic pout. “I thought I was more than just ‘you.’”

You laughed, shaking your head at his antics. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” he said, closing the distance again, his fingers curling around your waist as he pulled you closer. “But I like hearing you say it.”

With a playful roll of your eyes, you decided to change the subject. “So, what’s the plan? You just going to keep kissing me all night?”

“I mean, if that’s what you want,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’m more than happy to oblige.”

You raised an eyebrow, pretending to consider it. “Hmm, maybe I’ll allow it, but you’ll have to earn it.”

“Earn it?” he echoed, feigning incredulity as he stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest. “What do I look like, a dog doing tricks?”

“More like a flirt trying to charm his way into bed,” you shot back with a smirk, stepping closer again, forcing him to drop his bravado.

Dean chuckled, his posture relaxing as he closed the space between you once more. “Alright, fine. What do I have to do to earn it?”

“First, you could start by taking off that stupid jacket,” you said, glancing pointedly at the leather that had become a staple of his wardrobe. “You wear it everywhere.”

He laughed, clearly enjoying the banter, and shrugged it off dramatically, tossing it onto the chair in the corner. “Done. What’s next?”

“Next, you can help me out of this,” you said, gesturing to your oversized T-shirt that had been your go-to for comfort.

“Now that’s something I can get behind,” he said, his eyes glinting with mischief. “You want me to help, or do you want me to just rip it off?”

“Whoa there, caveman,” you teased, rolling your eyes again. “Let’s keep it civil for now. Just help me with it.”

“Fine, fine,” he relented, stepping closer again, his hands gently tugging at the hem of your shirt as he lifted it over your head, exposing the soft fabric of your tank top underneath. He paused for a moment, just looking at you with an intensity that made your heart race. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, his voice low and sincere.

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks, warmth blooming in your chest as you met his gaze. “Thanks,” you murmured, feeling a little shy under his scrutiny.

“Now it’s my turn,” he said, pulling his own shirt over his head, revealing the familiar contours of his muscular frame. You took a moment to appreciate the sight, the way the soft light of the room accentuated the curves and lines of his body, the way he held himself with such confidence.

He grinned at you, clearly enjoying your reaction. “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”

“Just... wow,” you admitted, shaking your head slightly as you tried to regain your composure. “You really need to stop being so distracting.”

“Me? Distracting?” he asked, pretending to be innocent as he stepped closer again, his hands moving to your waist once more. “I think you’re the one causing all the trouble here.”

“Yeah, right,” you said, leaning into him, letting your body press against his, feeling the heat radiate off him. “I’m not the one who started this.”

“Touché,” he replied, leaning down to capture your lips in another slow, lingering kiss, this one more intense, the heat rising between you like a living thing. His hands found their way to your back, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss until you were lost in him again. His hand ran through your hair, gently unbuttoning your jeans and tugging them down, lips descending to the arch of your throat.

You couldn’t help but moan, your nails raking down his arm, right as his fingers pushed your panties aside and pushed slowly into your pussy, biting his lip and groaning at how tight you were. “Haven’t had anyone but me, baby? Good girl.”

Oh, you weren’t getting out of that bed anytime soon.

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[modernchillthings]

I wanna talk about Weak Hero Class because I saw this on twt where Hyunwook talks about Sooho's relationship w Sieun and it's making me cry.

So basically I wanna talk about Sooho and how, for the whole show, he always emphasizes not crossing the line. From his first introduction of his fight with the baseball team, he told the dude that he crossed the line so he punched him. But before that he was mostly fighting in self defense and his attacks weren't too harmful (playful smack with a book for example). I think for Sooho, 'crossing the line' means harming someone severely and with malicious intent. Like those baseball dudes had intent to harm, sure, but Sooho never saw it that way and was even being playful. But the moment the baseball dude acted with the intent to really harm Sooho with the bat, thats when it was 'crossing the line'

The next instance was at the end of ep1 when Sieun was about curb stomp the shit out of Youngbin but he stopped him. Idk why he didn't stop him before that (if he was asleep through that then wtf..how??) but let's assume he woke up during the fight. He probably let Sieun handle it for a bit because he might have recognized how Youngbin deserved that but knew that if Sieun went any further, he would've been severely hurt. (Yeah he got a broken nose but he looked fine by ep 5 or 6 and STILL didn't learn his lesson so...if Sieun kept going, he would not have been walking around and shit)

Even when he was training Sieun, Sooho told him to run instead of 'finishing off' the opponent (which Sieun ignored obviously)

Every fight scene with Sooho before ep 7 have been either in self defense or defense of others and to me, I never saw it as him fighting just to fight or hurt but more to assist or defend. He's never sought out violence or harmed others maliciously...until Sieun got hurt.

(I would analyze all of Sooho's fight scenes but I don't have the words to articulate it and this post is getting too long)

We can also argue that he was defending Sieun when he lined up all the bullies and punched them in the gut one by one but Sieun wasn't there to witness this and I don't think he ever found out. Like this Sooho wanted to HURT those dudes. He wanted them to feel the pain that Sieun felt. Still, the Sooho in ep 7 was a vengeful one. The moment he saw Sieun and was hiding his cast from him, Sooho was on a path of revenge.

Then he sought out Yeongbin and broke his fingers and arm and was sending really threatening texts towards Bumseok. If I watched that scene out of context and without subtitles, I would assume Sooho was the bad guy. And then when he hit Bumseok, he probably would have kept going if it weren't for that other ufc dude interrupting. And tbh, I feel like the only fight that didn't cross the line was w that dude bc it did kinda feel like a spar for Sooho, like they both even wore the gloves. Like I don't think Sooho came in there wanting to hurt that dude, only Bumseok, and it was more like a sidequest for him. If the other bullies didn't get in the way, Sooho deffo would have won then he probably would've reverted his attention back to Bumseok.

But the moment he crossed that line, Bumseok decided to cross that line as well and then in ep 8, so did Sieun (until he faced Bumseok in the end and held back but that's another thing)

Idk what I'm really getting at here, just know that Sooho's fights in ep 7 were to HARM others intentionally whereas the fights before were not and maybe you could say it cost him his life (I know he's not dead but....yknow..)

[fuck-you-upmusicbracket]

Love Like Ghosts (Lord Huron)

I don't feel it till it hurts sometimes/Oh, go on baby, hurt me tonight/I want ours to be an endless song/Baby, in my eyes, you do no wrong/I don't feel it till it hurts sometimes/So go on, baby, hurt me tonight/All the spirits that I know I saw/Do you see no ghost in me at all?

"The use of ghosts as a metaphor for ghosts is just. so good. The idea of being haunted by your pasts love/seeing yourself as a ghost because of love is such a fascinating idea like?? Referring to the concept of love with "what ain't living can never really die" is really interesting because the love was "never living" meaning....that the love wasn't real? that the love was one sided? that they were never in love at all? it could mean a thousand different things and the entire song is skewed from the perspective of the narrator. The character narrator's of LH songs are....notoriously unreliable to put it lightly, and this one could be viewed in the same way. The narrator is adamant that the person they're singing to doesn't truly love them, but doesn't want them to leave her, but we have no way to know that for certain. She implies that the person is lying to her and doesn't truly want her with the line "You don't want me baby, please don't lie" but again, we don't know if thats true. It leaves this song is such a weird state of leaving the listener guessing and walking away with their own meaning of the song."

Against The Kitchen Floor (Will Wood)

And I swear! I will die trying!/I'm still in the process, but I'm making progress; I promise I honestly wanna prove improvement's possible, I swear!/I'm so fucking sorry! I'm not a good person, I'm barely a person at all, But someday I'll be perfect, and I'll make up for it all!

Less rare than scarce, less diamond then rough/Unlikely to be more than just the coal you failed to crush

I'm catatonic in your arms, crying, "How did I cause so much harm?"/I'm down pounding my head against the kitchen floor/Apologizing for my life and ever entering yours

The vertex of my redemption arc/I’m searching on that virgin heart

"The raw emotion! And I strongly relate to desperately wanting to improve for someone you love. I belt out this song when I feel really hopeless"

"my one OC. also me. also it's just a really good song. one of will's best imo. screaminbg"

"Literally hits almost all of my self-esteem issues. Feeling like people only care about you for your body? Check. Not understanding why anyone would want you? Check. Thinking that all you do is hurt people? Check. I don't cry very often but this song DEFINITELY made me teary"

"one of those if u aren’t paying attention to the lyrics ur like this is nice but once u hear them its an OW holy OW and guilt and I’m sorry feelings"

"Just. Loving someone but not feeling like you’re good enough and trying to improve."

"Not only does this song have lyrics that are deeply relatable to me, but this song also feels very deeply personal to the artist and I feel that anyone who listens to it for the first time has that same feeling of getting punched in the gut. Just the lyrics and the melody and Will Wood’s incredible vocals make this song an absolute masterpiece and I cry every time I hear it."

"One reason I'm attached to this song is because my friend sent it to me and said "I'm kin assigning you this song" and ruined my life (/j) It messed me up because I've always had a hard time in my life figuring myself out and dealing with my emotions, and for what feels like the first time, this song has been able to near perfectly describe how I feel about myself and my impact on other people, and it always just meant so much to me that my friend who sent it to me knows me better than I know myself and shared the song with me and I love them dearly."

Love Like Ghosts submitted by @danidoesathing

Against the Kitchen Floor submitted by @pixopolis + others

[moutainrusing]

aphrodite’s anger

“You have angered Aphrodite,” the Goddess Athena stated, lips pressed into a thin line as she stared at the subject of her patronage, Remus, who was scribbling away ardently on a piece of parchment at the rickety wooden desk by the slit-sized window.

He looked up with a furrowed brow, then squinted slightly as the sunlight shining through the slit hit his eyes. “How?”

Athena shot him a withering look. “I don’t know how to make this more overt. You are Remus Lupin. You are brilliantly sharp-witted and daring. You should therefore be living life to its fullest, taking courageous risks, making wild discoveries… and yet, you insist on cooping yourself up inside this shambolic shack, doing absolutely nothing. I only remain your patron in the hope that you somehow unlock your potential.”

Remus blinked. “Um. Sorry. Thank you, Goddess. But… how does this affect the Goddess Aphrodite?”

If possible, Athena looked even more annoyed. “Aphrodite does not understand why I stick with you. She has seen you rejecting adventure, never utilising your power, and, worst of all, seen you turn down love. She’s furious.”

“Oh.” Remus paused. “When did I ever turn down love?”

Athena looked like she was combusting out of frustration. She gritted her teeth. “I have helped you all I can. It is not my fault you are oblivious.” With that, she disappeared, leaving Remus to his old, derelict hut.

He wasn’t alone for long though, because only a few seconds later, the fisherman from the other side of the island swung the door open, calling, “Come out for a stroll, my love!”

Remus rolled his eyes. “For the last time, Sirius, I am not your love.”

Sirius mock-pouted. “Fine. But it’s not healthy to just stay in here all day! Come down to the coast, Remus.”

“I’ll pass.”

Sirius frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“…Nothing? Don’t I always turn you down?”

Sirius shrugged. “Yes. But usually you only look slightly pathetic, still convinced that you’re happy to live vicariously through your imaginary stories,” he explained, gesturing to the scrolls strewn across Remus’s shack. Remus frowned, but before he could defend himself, Sirius cut him off, “Now, you look like you’ve completely given up, even on your stories.”

Remus realised the truth to this observation, and he squinted at Sirius, not because of the sunlight, but because Sirius was confusing and strange and… different. A good different. A different which made Remus want to explore it, except Remus wasn’t an explorer, no matter how much Athena insisted he was. Really, he didn’t know why the Goddess still stuck with him. Or why Sirius did, still barging into his hut every evening without fail.

Finally, he admitted, “No point in writing anymore.” He shrugged in the most careless manner he could muster. “The Goddess Aphrodite is angry with me.”

He glanced up at Sirius, whose face had immediately fallen. In fact, Sirius had completely deflated, no longer looking animated and cheerful, just lost, like he’d been punched in the gut.

Quickly, Remus added, “Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s all fine. I’m fine.”

Then Sirius broke out of his frozen state, and threw himself at Remus, gripping him by the shoulders, shaking him, hugging him, vociferating, “No, this is not fine! She could kill you! Turn you into a monster! Drive you to insanity! Remus!” Remus listlessly nodded, and Sirius sighed, slumping into Remus. “I’d still love you, though. Even if you were dead, a monster, or insane. You’re already insane.”

Remus laughed at this, gently pushing Sirius off. It was a thoughtful joke. No one could really love someone like him. He was already dead: he was barely living his life. He was already a monster: every full moon since childhood, he turned into a wolf, not that Sirius knew that. And he was already insane, yes. His mind was a mess, churning with incongruous thoughts, forever spiralling and multiplying.

He looked thoughtfully at Sirius, out of his window, at his scrolls. He decided, fuck it, I’m going to die anyway, “Could I borrow a boat from you?”

Sirius raised his eyebrows, before his face split into a beautiful beam. “Come with me, my love.”

Again, Remus rolled his eyes, but this time, he actually followed the skipping Sirius out of the hut, as he frolicked like a dog through the woods, along his well-trodden path between the coast and Remus’s shack.

Remus meandered after him much more slowly, taking in the smell of the scenery. Pine, smoke, fresh grass, soil… he hadn’t been outside in so, so long, and it really showed. He had simply locked himself up in his small wooden lodge, and stayed there, even through the full moon. Ashamedly, the only food he ever ate was the fish Sirius sometimes brought up to share, when he sacrificed his time to sit cross-legged with Remus on the stained floorboards and talk about meaningless musings. Maybe even more ashamedly, those times were Remus’s most treasured.

He made it down to the coast, where Sirius was waiting, with a huge, handsome masterpiece of a boat behind him. Its prow was a tall, regal wolf, which simultaneously terrified Remus because that couldn’t be a coincidence or maybe it could, but also made him gape in awe, because it was undeniably majestic. Who ever saw a wolf in that way? Sirius just grinned at him. “She’s been waiting for you so long, dude.”

Remus blinked. Sirius looked down at his feet and bashfully hesitated, “I— I built her while I was thinking of you, just a few months ago. I didn’t think you’d ever sail her— but, now, maybe, you… could? If you wanted. There are other boats—”

Remus pressed a finger to Sirius’s lips. To silence him, but also because he just wanted to get closer. “Sirius. I love it. Thank you. I wish I could give you something this amazing too.”

If possible, Sirius grinned at him even more than before. He burst out, “Let me come with you.”

Remus frowned. “What?”

“I want to go with you. On your journey. It can be your gift to me.”

“No, coming with me won’t be a gift. I— I’m going because… either way, I’m going to die. I might as well live a little first. But if you come with me, you’ll surely die too.”

Sirius shrugged. “What if I want to live a little with you?”

“I don’t want you to die.”

“I don’t want you to die. But everyone’s going to die at some point. So let me live with you for as long as you have left.”

“I— I want to live with you too,” Remus confessed softly, to both himself and Sirius. “But it doesn’t matter. I won’t let you come.”

Sirius’s eyes flashed. “I won’t let you go without me.”

“And how will you manage that?”

“I built the boat. I know her better than you do. Don’t think I won’t be able to sneak on.”

“I’ll kick you off.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because,” and Sirius sighed, shaking his head slightly, looking up at Remus with a soft gaze, his previous temper melting. “Be safe, Remus.”

With that, he walked away, and Remus felt his chest ache, longing to reach out and pull Sirius back. But it was okay. He could now set off on his travels in solitude, like the lone wolf that he literally was. He clambered onto the boat, and realised he had no clue how to actually sail.

However, Athena was his patron for a reason, and he quickly got the hang of things. He figured out that he could untie the fabric neatly twisted around the central pole through the middle of the boat, and that it unravelled into perfectly square sheets which billowed in the direction of the wind. The boat was then propelled by the invisible force, and when the force changed direction, he could also rotate the mast so that the sails changed in the same direction.

When there was no wind, he realised how useful the oars were, and expeditiously learnt that this way meant he would go forward, this way meant he would turn left, this way meant right. He ended up in the middle of the still, open ocean, feeling incredibly accomplished. Aphrodite, he thought, I wouldn’t mind if you killed me now.

Remus stood in the middle of the deck for quite some time, arms outstretched on either side of his body as the wind blew through him, ruffling his hair and filling his nose with a pinch of salty air. He closed his eyes, relaxed, letting himself feel, without the constant pressure of thoughts.

It didn’t last long though. Because at the noise of a door banging open, his eyes immediately flew open too. Right in front of him, from a small hatch in the floorboards, three fishermen stepped out, and Remus stepped back.

“Sirius,” he stated dumbly.

Sirius grinned. “Nice to see you too, Remus. This here’s James.” He pointed to the fisherman beside him, who shared his dark hair and height, but was wildly different from him in all other aspects. While Sirius’s eyes were a metallic grey, sparkling near-white in the light, James’s were a dark brown, so dark that Remus couldn’t see what was within them. James’s hair was a bird’s nest, and Sirius’s hair was a waterfall. Sirius’s skin was pale, James’s skin was brown.

But then James smiled, “Hi,” and Remus saw it match Sirius’s mischief almost identically. This was going to be trouble. Ignoring the trouble, he turned to the other boy, raising an eyebrow.

The short, plump fisherman just hesitantly smiled at him, and Remus deemed that he was probably more sensible than the other two, but equally clueless.

“That’s Peter,” Sirius pointed. He added, “Are you going to say anything?”

Remus simultaneously wanted to remain in unresponsive silence forever, and yell his head off at Sirius. Compromising, he turned around, and said, “Get off.”

“No,” Sirius sang. “You’re stuck with us.” He paused, adding more solemnly, “We’re just here to help.”

Remus’s shoulders slumped, and he turned around in a way that he was still pointedly not looking at Sirius, but at the other two. “And you both are here because…?”

James smirked, eyeing Sirius, before saying, “We’ve heard so much about you, it’s like we know you personally. Basically, we’re already friends.”

Remus considered this, quickly realising, “You’re the two best friends Sirius is always on about!”

James muttered, “Not in the same way he’s always on about you,” while Peter smiled, asking, “So… we’re already your friends too?”

Choosing to ignore James’s nonsensical comment, he addressed Peter, shaking his head and deciding, “Yes.” Yes, they were indeed his friends.

Sirius clapped his hands together. “That was heart-warming,” he declared, juxtaposing his statement by glaring at James, for presumably more nonsensical reasons. “Anyway, we are on a mission. Onwards! I think the next island is in a couple twenty miles.”

Remus threw his head back in frustration, before turning to face Sirius, who was already glaring at him with daggers that dared, “Fight me and you’ll lose.”

“Fine,” Remus spat. “Stay and die.”

“Thank you,” Sirius spat back.

Giving up, Remus walked to the trapdoor and disappeared below deck.

“He means well,” Remus heard a voice say, maybe twenty minutes later.

He turned from one of the mattresses to see James, nearing him with an amiable smile.

Remus snorted. “To who? Himself? No, he’s going to get himself killed. To you and Peter? No, he’s put you both in danger too.”

James shrugged. “He’d never let any of us die. And he means well to you.” James then looked at Remus very intensely, and Remus’s gaze skittered across the cabin, unable to handle it. Finally, James spoke, “He loves you.”

Remus just turned around on his mattress and tried to sleep. He couldn’t. But soon, sleep didn’t matter, as the boat began to rock violently, and Remus’s mattress full-on slid to the other side of the cabin. He shot up, and hurried to the top deck, where… there was nothing. In fact, the boat was still, empty, completely silent. But before he could question everyone’s disappearance, he saw it.

The most beautiful… creature he had ever seen. He was immediately enamoured with its long, scaly body, rising up over his head as it opened its lovely jaws, which were really so mesmerising. Its roar was mellifluous. Its eyes were so yellow and shiny. The creature made him feel so calm, peaceful, and he stepped closer and closer—

“NO!” The ferocious cry cut through Remus’s thoughts. His head jerked to the side abruptly, trying to locate its source as he deliriously concluded that actually the thing that made that cry had the most mellifluous voice in the world… so magical…

The beast roared again. No, that was the prettiest—

“LEAVE HIM!” No, that was the prettiest—

Roar! No, that was the prettiest—

“YOU VILE, REPUGNANT MONSTER!” A series of grunts, accompanied by the slashing of a sword. Remus shook his head, eyes landing on Sirius as he lunged at a giant serpent, which hissing at him, poised to kill him…

Remus didn’t know what to do. Well, there was one thing. He’d never done it before. It required a very strong emotion. And Remus didn’t do strong emotions. Only, he did, he just bottled them up and pretended they didn’t exist. But, looking at Sirius, he felt it churning within him, bursting from the seams of his skin as it exploded, erupted, surged out from the depths of his heart. Love.

Yes, okay, kill him for it — he was irrevocably in love with Sirius. Happy? The wolf within him was happy, at least. He let it grip onto the powerful emotion, let it overcome him, let himself transform, forcefully, willingly, in the light of a crescent moon. Before he was fully transformed, still with a grasp on his consciousness, he leapt onto the serpent, to ensure that it was the thing he would attack.

And attack it he did. They tore at each other, roaring, howling, ripping off chunks of flesh — no worse than what Remus did to himself, really, locked up in a tiny shack. Soon the wolf realised the serpent’s weakness: every time a claw swiped near one of its eyes, it would flinch, blink rapidly, reel backward. And so, the wolf quickly pierced its two bulbous eyes with a flash of claws, and suddenly, the serpent collapsed, and both of them tumbled into the sea.

Remus transformed back as he broke the surface, broken, defeated, with viscous yellow pus coating his hands, and blood dribbling from the cuts all over his chest, swirling in the dark blue water. He didn’t have the energy to swim back up. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to, anyway. Sirius had seen him as a wolf. As soon as he emerged, he’d be slaughtered. And he wouldn’t let the man he loved get any blood on his sweet, innocent hands.

But apparently, he didn’t have a choice in the matter. Because arms were wrapping around him, pulling him up to the surface, and as soon as they reached air, he heard two desperate inhales. One was his own. The other was… Sirius.

Sirius stared at him, breathing heavily into his face, and Remus knew he was doing the exact same. Their arms were wrapped around each other, and they were impossibly close, and Sirius looked relieved, not disgusted.

“So,” Remus caught his breath. “I— I’m a werewolf.”

Sirius released a breathy laugh, gesturing to the prow piece. “I know.”

“What? And you still… did all this?”

Sirius nodded, eyes sparkling, a small, shy smile on his face.

Remus blinked, squeezing Sirius to make sure he was real, which caused Sirius’s smile to grow less shy, more wide. “But— but you called that monster,” and Remus pointed below, “vile, and—”

“Shh,” Sirius whispered, breathing into his mouth, and Remus immediately shut up. “You’re not a monster. I distinctly remember being concerned that Aphrodite would turn you into a monster. Why would I be worried about that if I thought you were one already?”

“Oh.” Remus paused. “Well, your concerns were erroneous. I think Aphrodite’s punishment was to enchant me with a monster.”

Sirius grimaced. “Don’t tell me you were in love with that thing.”

Remus shook his head. “I broke the enchantment.”

“Uh… how?”

Remus sucked in a breath. “Well, real love usually has the power to overcome fake infatuations.”

“Oh? So, who are you really in love with, then? Hmm,” Sirius teasingly pondered.

Remus tightened his hold on Sirius. “You know who.”

“I’d like to hear you say it.”

“Fine.” Remus stuck his chin up defiantly. “I’m in love with you. Happy?”

“Very,” Sirius responded, immediately crushing his lips into Remus’s.

Although Remus broke away when he felt a presence looming over them. Sirius looked dazed for a moment, before his eyes also landed on the Goddess hovering over them.

“Aphrodite,” Remus acknowledged wearily.

She simply grinned devilishly. “Finally.” And then, she grumbled, “And I suppose Athena was right about you. Daring, smart, worthy of her patronage. I thought you might let the beast kill you all. But no, Athena was right. Damn you, now I’ve lost a bet. Although I believe I’m winning the bet on Marlene and Dorcas…” With that, she disappeared.

Remus blinked, before bursting into laughter.

From above, on the deck of the boat, James and Peter looked down at them. “Should we haul them up yet?” Peter asked.

“First I have to check something,” James responded. He dramatically cupped his hands around his mouth, and yelled, “HAVE YOU TWO SNOGGED YET?!”

Remus smirked. “Not yet.” And then he captured Sirius’s mouth in his own, and they snogged senselessly.

- - -

Back on the deck of the ship, Remus sighed and said, “Well, I suppose I should return to my writing.”

All three heads whipped around to face him incredulously.

“Excuse me?” Peter burst out, while the others seemed too speechless.

Remus frowned. “What?”

“You must keep adventuring!” James eventually cried.

“Remus.” Sirius stated gravely. “You don’t need to write stories anymore. You’re living the stories. With us.”

[beauregardlionett]

just like candy on my lips

AO3 Link

Yasha fumbled the door handle, and all but broke the door off the hinges as she stumbled out the front of the bar. The humid night air smacked her in the face, less of a relief from the stuffy interior than she would have liked. But she hardly focused on the atmosphere.

Shouting behind her, somehow louder than the thrumming bass from the speakers, chased after her. Yasha swung the door back with as much force as she could muster. At best, it would hit her pursuers in the face—at minimum, it would slow them down. Yasha broke into a sprint, ducking around a clueless gaggle of drunk college girls who cheered and screamed at her as she passed. They were not loud enough to drown out the angry shouting that was much closer.

Yasha made it to the corner of the block and cut a sharp left down the next street. She passed a narrow alley opening, pivoted on her heel, and ducked into it, just barely fitting through.

She had approximately three seconds to realize it was a dead end and her sprinting would lead to nowhere before someone slipped out of a back entrance. They stepped directly into Yasha’s path and ended up with Yasha’s full body weight slamming into them.

“Hey!” A gruff voice shouted as the person stumbled back, miraculously not unconscious on the ground. “What the fuck?”

Yasha stumbled to a stop, opened her mouth to apologize, and froze. The shouts of her pursuers were behind her. Panicked, Yasha reached out and grabbed the figure’s wrist in the dim. Pushing them up against the nearby wall with her other hand on their cheek, Yasha crowded into their space and slid her thumb over their lips. She had just enough space to whisper a frantic “sorry” before pressing her lips against her thumb between them.

Whoever this poor person was went still, every line of their body was rigid with tension against Yasha. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling horrible, but hoping they stayed still long enough for those guys to pass. Yasha kept the back of her head toward the mouth of the alley, long hair hiding both her face and her unwilling accomplice.

Thankfully, Yasha heard the angry voices pause at the mouth of the alley for only a few seconds before moving on. The shouting faded and Yasha quickly pulled back, dropping her hands and stepping out of the other person’s space.

“I’m so sorry,” Yasha said immediately, holding her hands up. “Those guys were chasing me and my friend told me once that public displays of affection get people to pay less attention to you because it makes them uncomfortable and I panicked so—”

“Hey, slow down first,” they said, cutting Yasha off. “No harm done, since you didn’t actually kiss me.”

Yasha exhaled a shaky breath, lowering her hands as the person stepped away from the wall and into the dim light from further down the alley.

Oh shit. A woman. A hot woman.

“Why were those dudes chasing you, anyway?” She looked Yasha up and down appraisingly. “And why were you running? You look like you could hold your own.”

Yasha scrambled to gather her wits and stop staring at the muscled expanse of torso exposed by a flattering crop top. She ran an unsteady hand through her windswept hair and chuckled awkwardly.

“I uh...punched one of them at the bar. Down the street. But I like that place and I didn’t want to get banned. So they tried to start a fight, and I ran.”

The woman tossed her head back and laughed, loud and bright. Yasha definitely did not stare at the way it exposed the long slope of her neck. And she for sure did not notice the fine sheen of sweat reflecting off the dim alley glow. That would be ridiculous.

“I’m Beau, by the way,” the woman - Beau - said. She stuck out a hand with a crooked, confident grin and Yasha’s gut swooped.

“Yasha,” she managed, taking hold of Beau’s hand. Her calloused palms slid roughly against Yasha’s, and she spotted the darkened hue of bruises on Beau’s knuckles. It was hotter than Yasha thought it had the right to be.

“Yasha,” Beau repeated, rolling her name over her tongue like she was savoring the taste of it, like the syllables were a piece of candy. Yasha wasn’t turned on by that, nope. No way. “Wanna grab something to eat with me? I’m fucking starving.”

“Huh?” Yasha croaked eloquently. “Oh! Yes, yeah. Yes, absolutely.”

“Great,” Beau grinned. Yasha realized abruptly they were still holding hands when Beau used her grip to pull herself closer to Yasha. There was a spark deep in those stunning blue eyes that even a lack of light couldn’t smother.

“Maybe after that, you can kiss me for real this time.”

Yasha had never agreed to anything faster in her life.

[madamebaggio]

Notes: Previously...

It's short, but it's here. I'm still working on the last chapter of "Those Stark boys", but I've decided I could post something to encourage myself ;)

***

Chapter 3

Was it strange that Sansa’s first desire upon hearing her husband’s voice was to bash his head in?

As soon as he opened that ridiculous smirk and said ‘Hello, wife’, she wished she could just hit him with a blunt object. Multiple times.

“Husband.” She’d replied dryly, but her tone seemed to have no effect on him. He continued to grin like a simpleton. “I have some food for you.” She looked him up and down. “And a bath. You might want to start there.”

He chuckled, like she’d said something charming. “Whatever my wife wishes.” He decided. “So bath first.”

Sansa gave him a look full of suspicion. “I have clean clothes for you as well.”

“Clean clothes.” He sighed. “I have barely arrived and you are spoiling me already.”

Oh great. Her husband had gone mad during the war.

***

Sansa gave Arthur a wide berth after he went to have his bath. She sent other people to help him, then sent him food, then pretended she had more things to do before finally going up to their chambers.

She found him sitting on the bed, clean, with his hair cut and beard in better conditions.

Sansa hadn’t really thought about it before, but her husband was somewhat handsome, if one liked the type.

“Oh, there you are.” He grinned at her. “Thank you for the clothes and the food.”

She just nodded at him.

His grin lost a bit of its strength, but he didn’t give up. “It has been a while, Sansa.”

She held in a scoff. “You could say that.” She looked around. “Should I undress now?”

That managed to shock him, and she almost grinned at his stupid face. “I beg… What?”

“Should I undress?” She repeated. “Do you want to bed me tonight?”

***

Well, that was romantic.

Then again, he probably deserved that.

“No.” He said carefully. “I am quite tired.” Should he say ‘thank you for offering’?

The relief in her face was a punch to the gut. Honestly, she couldn’t have made it any clearer that the idea of sleeping with him was unappealing to her.

He had to give it to her… That was probably his fault.

He’d made a mess of their wedding night, and he felt shame just remembering about it. He could only imagine what she felt when she thought about it.

Arthur really needed to do something about that. He didn’t want his wife to dread every time he touched her.

“We do not know each other well, Sansa.” He told her simply. “I wish we could fix that. Especially because you are stuck with me, so…” He gave her what he hoped was a charming smile.

She narrowed her eyes, as if she wasn’t sure she could trust him all that much. “Of course.”

“I rode the whole day to get here, and I am tired. So why don’t we sleep early today, and tomorrow we start this again?” He suggested. “You can tell me how is Londinium, and we can figure out how things will be going forward.” He cleared his throat. “What do you think?”

Bedivere would be so proud if he could see him being diplomatic.

“That sounds agreeable.” Sansa finally nodded.

“Excellent.” He said, happy to end this conversation.

Oh Gods… This was going to be hard.

**

Arthur might not be the brightest man out there, but he always thought he was reasonably smart.

He was starting to reconsider that notion,

Had his wife always been that pretty?

When he woke up that morning, Sansa was still asleep next to him. It was the first time he’d taken a moment to properly look at her.

And wasn’t that a travesty?

He’d been married to this woman for three years, and never before he’d noticed what he had that morning. The curve of her lips, the lines of her face, the lovileness of her skin.

He did know she was somewhat pretty, but it’d never occurred ot him how pretty until that morning.

And she hated him.

Which brought him to the person he was looking for that morning.

“Arthur!” Kay hugged him, smiling beautifully. “I heard you arrived yesterday. I am so happy to see you.”

“Yes, me too and all…” He ignored her snort. “I really need help.”

She smirked. “Let me guess. The wife is not happy.”

“She isn’t. How fucked am I?”

“Oh darling… Very fucked indeed.”

Great. Just what he needed.

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

2022 Writing Review

Tagged by: @ttimbradford on the LAST DAY OF THE YEAR because she wants me to scramble

1. Number of stories posted to AO3: 14

2. Word count posted for the year: don't make me say it 386,717

3. Fandoms I wrote for: 9-1-1, The Witcher

4. Pairings: Buddie and Geraskier

5. Story with the most: 

kudos: The Best Lie is a Truth (My Best Mask is My Face) - 2,149 bookmarks: same as above - 997 comment threads: Let My Ink Stain Your Pages - 671

6. Work I’m most proud of (and why): This is a difficult question. I'm proud of a few stories I worked on this year - Direct Deposit and Further Than Blood (Or Than Bones) had me pushing myself as a writer and delving into topics I knew wouldn't necessarily be popular. However I think I have to go with In the Gray You are Golden, one of those magical moments where the inspiration hits like something divine, the words flow like water, and it all comes together.

7. Work I’m least proud of (and why): Don't Play Games (Come My Way) - I'm a perfectionist and while I can't quite articulate why, I don't feel like I quite nailed this story the way I should have. Like I just missed the bulls-eye.

8. Share or describe a favorite review you received: @mistmarauder never fails to delight me and make my day with her in-depth comments and general screeching. I think her responses to Further Than Blood (Or Than Bones) and In the Gray You are Golden are my favorites, actually, although I know Curl Up In My Heart and Let Me Keep You is probably her favorite of mine from this year (no one is immune to cat!Buck).

9. A time when writing was really, really hard: Honestly, writing I'll Scrawl it on Every Wall I See was more of a challenge than I expected. I just had a lot going on in my real life so finding time and focus to work on it was difficult.

10. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you: Buck babysitting Chris during the tsunami and while Eddie goes to fight club in I'll Scrawl it on Every Wall I See didn't come to me ahead of time - it just happened as I was writing and I literally stopped and stared into the distance for a second in delighted surprise.

11. A favorite excerpt of your writing: Oof. This was a tough one. Probably a tie between the entire segment of Eddie's thoughts when he's shot in Further Than Blood (Or Than Bones) - the fic wasn't quite where I wanted it to be until I wrote that segment and then went back and sprinkled those quotes throughout the fic, turning the fic into one long flashback (which the reader doesn't realize until they reach the shooting). A small excerpt is here:

The thing he never told anyone is when his lover was unnamed and fed from him all he thought about was love. Love is poured into his mouth and he swallows and he b r e a t h e s.

The other would be frankly the entirety of In the Gray You are Golden but I really liked how I incorporated the tsunami/Eddie Begins into the fic with the flash flood and how I wrote it happening. I got a lot of comments saying how much the last few lines hit them like a gut punch and I'm so proud of that:

Christopher’s mouth is right at Buck’s ear. “Dad?” Buck starts shaking. He clenches his entire body to get it to stop. He shakes his head. Christopher is a child of the wasteland. He knows how to be silent when he cries.

12. How did you grow as a writer this year: I wrote situations where there's a lot of trauma and emotions going on (including during sex) and got a bit darker in that then I usually do, I wrote a couple tropes I hadn't thought I'd ever write or hadn't written before (such as a Zombie Apocalypse AU), I dipped my toe into HTML coding for the emails in I'll Scrawl it on Every Wall I See, and I incorporated poetry into a fic with Eddie's mental landscape as he's shot in Further Than Blood (Or Than Bones) (yes fun fact I approached that segment as a poem).

13. How do you hope to grow next year: I hope to continue to find new and interesting situations to play with for my annual Halloween fics.

14. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer, beta, cheerleader, etc): @extasiswings who always reassured and encouraged me when I was doubting myself - and of course she co-wrote A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words (But Love is Undefinable) with me.

Can't believe I almost forgot @catdadeddie whose Castle AU moodboard inspired me to write a fic that ended up being over 100k words long goddamn you Nova.

15. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year: If it did, I wouldn't be admitting it.

16. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers: If you don't make yourself take breaks to recharge your brain is going to make you and trust me, you will not like how that goes. Give yourself time to rest.

17. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year: Nothing in the fanfic world. I actually woke up with ideas for next Halloween and wrote them down so I wouldn't forget them, but those won't be until October which is a full ten months away.

18. Tag some writers whose answers you’d like to read.

@extasiswings @kitkatpancakestack @tripleaxeldiaz

[novelmonger]

Happy Birthday, A.

It hit me like a sucker punch to the gut when I realized what day it was today. Has it been two years? Has it been longer? I'm trying to make myself stop counting. Funny thing is, no matter how hard I try to do that or how well I succeed, I can't stop thinking about you every single day.

I've been meaning to write you another letter in a bottle, but haven't gotten around to it until now. Sorry about that.

I don't cry about it anymore. I can't even remember when the last time was that I cried about the hole in my heart. I'm trying to stop counting that too, I guess. But I can't ignore it, because there are so many things, every day, that bring you to mind. Things that remind me of you. Things I wish I could tell you.

I watched the Death Note musical, and all I could think about the whole time was how we would have dissected every moment of it together. I talked about it some with a couple other Death Note fans, but they didn't understand L like you did. For us to see eye-to-eye, I would have had to explain years upon years of reasoning and headcanoning. I never had to do that with you, because we lived through that together.

Did you go see TMNT: Mutant Mayhem this summer? I thought of you the whole time I was watching it. I thought of how much you would love the animation, the way the turtles actually acted like real teenagers. I imagined how we would go watch it on the same day, then get on and talk about it after.

I ran across the name John Freeman in my work. Every time I read the name, I felt an ache somewhere deep inside me, thinking of how much you all would have laughed. The quotes we would share, the far-fetched stories we would come up with for how he ended up in my line of work.

Around Christmastime, Bokksu made an advent calendar, did you see? Did you and your siblings get it and go through it? When I saw the announcement, it felt like I was looking into another dimension, a parallel world where we were still friends. We would have each gotten one this year and gone through them together. I know that with 100% certainty. Even though I'm here, in this reality where it didn't happen. Where all that happened was me staring at the email for far too long, then closing it and trying not to think about it anymore.

I made my first AMV. You would have been so proud of me. You would have clapped, maybe given me some constructive criticism. Maybe I would have been inspired to make another AMV, this one for your birthday. Instead, all I'm doing is writing this letter you'll never read.

The other day, "Near" came on, and as always seems to happen anymore, I had to stop everything I was doing and just stare into space, listening to it. It still sounds like the ache in my heart. When you're at the end, that's when you want the most to keep on going. "I want to live in this world a little bit longer."

Even though we don't talk anymore, I can never escape you. Over the years, I've learned that in a way, I can live without you. I wasn't sure I could before everything fell apart. That was why I clung so tightly, until my fingers were bruised and bloody. But in another way, I can't live without you, because your fingerprints are on every area of my life. I wonder if that would bother you if you knew. I wonder if it's the same for you. And if that bothers you.

As for me, I kind of like it despite the pain. I've both lost you, and I haven't. Schroedinger's pain.

Would you laugh at that joke? I don't know anymore.

I know I've changed in the time since we last spoke, and I'm sure you have too. But I hope your laugh hasn't changed. I hope your enthusiasm for the stories you love hasn't lessened at all. I hope you're still writing, still gaming, still watching things that have no right to be as good as they are and pulling every ounce of beauty out of them to share with the world.

I hope you had a good birthday today. I wish I could have helped you celebrate, I wish my presence wouldn't have been a damper on the whole day. Believe it or not, all I want is for you to be happy.

I hope you've moved on and made new friends. I hope you've discovered new movies, new shows, new games. I hope you've gotten new ideas for stories of your own, and that you're making really good progress in writing them. I hope that, if you do think of me as often as I think of you, that the good memories outweigh the bad.

Maybe that's just me being selfish, but that's the way it is for me.

I love you.

[wyrmfedgrave]

Pics: On "Gaudeamus."

1. Frontpiece to a collection of Anacreon's surviving works.

2. Masterful sculpture of Anacreon 'capturing' his Muse.

3. Map of ancient Thrace, birthplace of Spartacus - a man who couldn't & wouldn't remain a slave.

Even if the only freedom he could find was in death...

4. Thracian national folk costume. The women still perform old styled Greek dances.

5 & 6. Small, colorful Thracian street scenes still dot the local landscape.

7 thru 10. The ruins of Teos, Turkey - with the top of its lion gate, doorway, palace(?) & amphitheater.

1914: "Gaudeamus" Notes -

1. That short story is "Winged Death", which Lovecraft ghost wrote for Hazel Heald.

The "soul stealing" that I mentioned was described as a "change in (the narrator's) personality."

But, come on.

His whole mind was 'magically'(?) transferred into an insect! That would include his so-called soul...

2. I'm of the opinion that none of HPL's narrators can be trusted - at all!

Whatever they've discovered has rendered them insane - & suicidal!!

Every account that they happen to leave behind, were usually written - after - they became mad.

So, in every encounter, the 'alien monster' remains in a mysterious & misunderstood state...

3. The Deep Ones are underwater creatures 1st named in Howard's novella "Shadow Over Innsmouth."

Think of mermen that look like the Creature of the Black Lagoon!

But, this species were "awesomely hinted at" in Lovecraft's earlier short story "Dagon."

I wonder how these mermen are seen in their own culture. Are they sexual deviants or is it a racial conquest pattern or a holy quest or some kind of survival trait?

Also, they must be closely related to humans to be able to successfully mate with us.

But, we still don't know the specifics that allow this to happen...

4. This story is the great "Under the Pyramids." The novella was sold to readers as a 'real life' adventure that Houdini "actually lived thru."

But, other sources claim Howard had already penned the story & that Houdini was interested in being the tale's protagonist.

At that moment, 2 great minds did think alike...

5. Harry Houdini is the still fondly remembered Stage Magician, Public Escapist & Fake Spiritualist Buster!

(That last remark makes it seem like "real" spiritualists are out there some- where. Sorry, I 'see' that they're not.)

Houdini was planning for a sequel to "Under the Pyramids" - just before he died.

A Canadian fan asked Houdini if he could actually take a hit to his gut & remain unphased!

Harry said yes & the guy sucker punched him unexpectedly!

Since Houdini had not had time to prepare his muscles, the blow ruptured his appendix!!

Nine days later, Houdini died.

In typical fashion, for him, Houdini vowed to contact the living - if he found it at all possible!

Since then, on the day of his death, some family & fans have waited for him to 'escape' death itself...

6. Gaudeamus is Latin for "let us (enjoy)." This was sometimes spoken as an invitation to eat - before rich Romans gorged & vomited their usual meals.

Ugh...

7. HPL's main revisions for Zealia are: "The Curse of Yig", "The Mound" & "Medusa's Coil."

But, it's thought that Lovecraft re- wrote other works for her. Even though she specialized in romantic stories...

I don't yet know why she suddenly wanted to try the weird fiction market at this time.

To be followed up much later...

8. A tankard of warm British ale?

Tankards are drinking cups with 1 handle. They are usually made of silver, pewter - even hardened leather!

In earlier centuries, most pewter cups contained lead - which led to drinkers suffering heavy metal poisoning &/or gout!!

Strangely enough, the acids in hard cider speeded up these poisonous effects!

As for traditional British ale, it's known as top fermented cast (or real) ale.

This means that it finishes maturing in a pub's cellar & is only served with natural carbonation.

9. Though this line has to do with time's illusory 'passing', I can't help but think there's some hint of Howard's "Decline of the West" fixation in it.

10. Anacreon was an ancient Greek lyric poet best known for his drinking songs & erotica!

Lyric poets of that time, usually composed joyous religious hymns.

Ouch...

Though born in Teos, Asia Minor (in today's Turkey) he moved to Thrace, an area in northeast Greece.

Sadly, only fragments of his works have survived to this day...

11. "God split me!", translates as "God strike me down (if I am lying)!"

But, it also has an element of defiance to it...

12. Red nose (aka "rum blossom" & "whiskey nose") is actually not directly caused by alcohol!!

Rather, such facial redness is actually more related to rosacea, which affects the blood vessels in one's face.

A red nose can also be caused by sudden flushing, lupus, inflammation, allergies, etc...

13. "White as a lily" here, references a corpse's color - due to blood loss.

But, it's usually used to mean "pure, perfect, uncorrupted or blameless, innocent."

Not so of the Lily-White Movement in 1888, where Republikkkans tried to oust African-Americans from leader- ship positions in the Texas Republican Party - by inciting riots!!

So, Republikkkans have always been acting like this...

Lily White is now used sarcastically for white people as a whole. Like white bread or paleface...

14. HPL's always felt that he had been born too late. He preferred the 1700s, thinking of it as England's "Golden Age."

Perukes (wigs) have been part of the professional, high status jobs of judges & lawyers since the 1600s.

They are also worn in Parliament, as a sign of authority.

15. Chaff usually means "the cast off husks of grains seeds."

But, it's also British slang for "teasing" or "good natured banter."

There's a Biblical chaff, in Matthew 3:12, which describes "those who enjoy the sacraments, but are not solid..."

Guessing here, "Folk who go to church but, don't act in a Christian manner?"

16. Quaff, "to drink (an alcoholic drink) in a hearty manner."

Has some great synonyms: attack, lap, force down, drain, carouse, sink, kill, slug, knock back, take a drop, wet one's whistle, crack a bottle, murder, bit, sot, etc...

Most of which describe drinking too much - or, not enough!

17. A teetotaler is someone who never enjoys any alcoholic drinks.

In the 1920s, a tolerance movement of teetotalers (made up of Protestants, Progressives & women) actually made liquor illegal!

But, this led straight into the violence of the Prohibition & the quick growth of the Mob...

(Oops, the curse of unintended consequences strikes again!)

Today, overdrinking is treated as an addictive medical problem.

18. Usually "any diabolically evil & cruel devil, demon, person, etc..."

But, here it means Satan, the ultimate Christian Boogeyman!

19. Your lips & face turn blue - if your blood has little oxygen in it.

This is caused by poor circulation or, worse, if one is unable to breathe.

It warns you that someone's choking or has drowned...

Also, cold temps can narrow one's blood vessels. But, a gentle massage of the affected area, make it return to a normal blood flow.

Weird Bit: Why does it make me think about blue-skinned Indian Gods & those Thuggee highwaymen who strangled their victims to death...

(The blue color personifies the depth & vastness of sky & sea for Hindus...)

20. Summon? A chair?

Is this some drunken royal command?

Or, worse, the magical summoning up of possessed or demonic furniture?

Pleasant dreams, eh?

(Yeah, it's now sharing your bed...)

[residentdormouse]

Find the Word Tag

‘D Edition’

Tagged by @mrsmungus. I’m so glad this is beginning an alliterative nonsense thing now! I'm here for it! 😂

Words I was given: Dust, Diamond, Duty, Desperate, Dare

Alright, I’ve been playing this alot, so OPEN TAG to anybody who wants to join in!! (Also, ‘@’ me, so I can read - and also let me know that you like to play these; I’ll try to remember to tag you more then. No promises though - Goldfish brain at its worst here.)

Your Words: Erase, Even, Ease, Escape, Elevate

Dust

(This seemed to be a fitting excerpt with all the ���e’ words coming next)

"Can you believe it?!"

Teddy had been downright giddy the entire time he searched the theater. The old collection they had, it was better than he could have imagined. Every new reel elicited a cry out in glee and a rant about the first time he saw the movie. Or his favorite scene. Or some other corresponding anecdote. He couldn't hold back his elation.

Thankfully Susan seemed to find it endearing, and it encouraged him to keep on the path.

They spent the full day doing an inventory and organizing. But by the time nightfall hit, they were both covered in dust, and ready for food. Maybe a nice drink. Maybe something a bit more.

Diamond

I got nothing - goose egg. My characters don’t get nice things like diamonds, they get loads of trauma and an emotional punch to the gut. 😂

Duty

Even with the lack of cleanup needed, the pair barely had enough time to set down their packs before a knock came at the door. Alerted by Kojak barking in response, Glen was quick to answer the call.

"Hey there, Nick. I assume the higher powers are summoning us for duty then?"

There was humor to his statement, but Hayden noticed Nick was less than amused. Positive Glen picked up on this too, she simply shook her head knowing full well he wouldn’t bother concerning himself with it. If all of his stories were accurate, which she had no doubt they were, this was the dynamic for most of his personal interactions.

Desperate

(I have to laugh at this one - ‘Desperate times’ is a canon Glen line, and a running joke throughout both stories because of it.)

An involventary ‘hiss’ escaped her as Shay picked up her hand, examining the damage.

“Did a number on this one, didn’t you?”

“Desperate times.”

Her phrasing was instantly rewarded by a chuckle from Glen. Two words that were used all too commonly these days.

“I can’t do anything about that.” A motion was made to her neck. To the damned thing stopping her from doing all of this herself. No, she had expected as much on that front. “But the hand should come along just fine. Nothing too serious.”

Dare

His mind went off of the tangent. She had only been with them a short period; how did he miss this…

Is that why Lloyd had helped them in the fight at the hospital? Or was that what started it… Yes, that had to be it. Of course it was!

Harold stepped in the fight as well, sure. He shot that thing dead. Came to the rescue like he failed to do at the trailer. But he didn’t beat one to death. Didn’t display the typical mindless brutality and physical dominance that society deemed an attractive masculine quality. Pound on your chest in victory wearing the blood of your enemies. The idea brought a bubbling anger to the surface.

"…how could… I know people like him, Max! Arrogant and cruel and—"

"See! That's what I thought he’d be like too! But yeah, assumptions again. Made me feel pretty stupid after it all, but it is what it is. Don’t you dare repeat that shit though. Reputations to maintain."

First Stu steals Fran away. Now Lloyd?! How was Lloyd even competition for him? The man was a fucking joke.

"I can't believe this…"

[cryptwrites]

After a long stretch of bad dates and lukewarm matches, you decide to download Hearts & Haunts, a dating app you've never heard of but that came highly recommended online.

At first, things seem normal. Sure, some profiles have quirky descriptions ("must enjoy full moons" or "not looking for blood ties"), but everyone's got a weird sense of humor these days. So you start swiping, and soon you’ve got a date lined up. Oddly enough, when you arrive, your date—a very charming individual who seems to be more shadow than person—looks shocked that you're not at all disturbed by their, well, "shadowy presence."

You shrug it off, chalking it up to them being nervous. But the trend continues—every date you go on, from the elegant person with fangs to the mysterious figure who never removes their hood, can't seem to believe you’re not put off by their very obvious non-human features. Instead, you just play along, trying to be polite and maybe even a little charmed by the mystery.

But this time, on your latest date, you’re faced with someone who just won’t believe you’re serious. With piercing eyes and a smile just a bit too wide, they lean in close and ask, “Alright, really. What’s your angle, human? Is this some kind of joke, or are you actually not afraid?”

You feel a chill run down your spine at the way they emphasize human, but you swallow and offer a casual smile.

“No joke. I’m really not afraid.” You shrug, hoping you sound more confident than you feel.

Your date tilts their head, eyes narrowing as they scrutinize you. “So you’re telling me that you don’t find…this...unsettling?” And with that, they let their smile spread wider than seems possible, revealing not two, but rows upon rows of needle-like teeth.

You flinch, but it’s more out of surprise than fear. You’ve learned by now that dates from Hearts & Haunts have a knack for the strange and unusual, and you’re kind of impressed by their dedication to the bit. You lean forward, meeting their gaze head-on, “It’s a…unique look.” You try not to grimace. “You pull it off well.”

For the first time, you see something other than skepticism on their face—a flicker of genuine surprise. Then, a low chuckle rumbles in their chest. “Alright, you’ve got guts,” they say, leaning back in their chair. “Either that, or you’re completely clueless.” Their fingers tap against the table, sharp nails clicking like tiny claws. “So, tell me…why did you sign up for a dating app specifically for non-humans?”

You blink, completely thrown. “Wait—specifically for non-humans?”

They arch an eyebrow, folding their arms across their chest with a smirk. “You didn’t know? You’re the first human on this app. We all thought you were a thrill-seeker or something.”

The realization hits you like a punch. All those peculiar profiles—the “blood ties,” the “shape-shifting preferences,” the insistence on candlelit dinners in old ruins—it all makes sense now. Dumbass.

But strangely, as you sit there under your date’s amused and slightly predatory gaze, you don’t feel the urge to run. Instead, you feel…curious. Maybe a little excited.

“Well,” you say, “if it’s good enough for vampires and werewolves, then I must be in the right place.”

Your date's laughter rings out, low and rich, drawing a few curious glances from nearby tables. They lean closer, a glint of mischief in their eyes. "Careful what you wish for, human," they purr. "This world of ours has... unspoken rules. And let’s just say not everyone is as, uh, 'human-friendly' as me."

You shrug, still feeling the thrill of the mystery you’ve accidentally stumbled into. "Look, I just wanted something different," you reply. "And so far, you all have certainly delivered."

They shake their head, chuckling. "You’re serious, aren’t you?" A strange gleam lights their gaze, somewhere between fascination and hunger. "Tell me, what do you even know about our kind? Or is this just a dating experiment to you?"

You take a deep breath, holding their gaze. "I know enough. I get that there’s a whole other world here, and I may not understand it all yet, but... maybe I want to." You hesitate, then add with a grin, "Besides, if you're on this app, maybe you're looking for something different, too?"

They consider you in silence for a long moment, like a wolf sizing up its next meal. Then, with a sigh that feels like the start of a story, they lean back, draping one arm along the back of their chair. "Alright, human. Let’s see just how far you’re willing to dive into the unknown."

Your heart pounds, but you nod, feeling the weight of their words settle over you like a pact. You’re about to get exactly what you asked for: a plunge into a world that, only moments ago, you didn’t even know existed.

They give you a look—half amused, half intrigued—as if deciding what exactly to reveal. Finally, they drum their fingers on the table, the pointed nails clicking in a steady rhythm that makes your pulse quicken.

"Alright," they say, voice smooth as silk but with an edge that makes the hairs on your arms rise. "Let's start with a basic question. Do you actually know what I am?"

You hesitate, taking them in—the subtly too-wide smile, the fingers that end in claws, the shadows that seem to cling to them like a second skin. You’ve read about creatures like this, sure, but you can’t shake the feeling that asking them outright might not go well.

"Well," you say slowly, leaning back with a casual smile, "I'm guessing you’re not just someone who enjoys Halloween year-round?"

They laugh, a deep, resonant sound that fills the small, dimly-lit corner of the café. "Good guess, human. But I don’t think you understand what you’re dealing with." Their gaze intensifies, those eerie eyes locking with yours as they lean forward. "I am one of the Old Ones—the beings who roamed this world long before humans had words for fear. I have seen empires fall, mountains crumble, stars die."

The words hang heavy in the air, and for the first time, a chill seeps through your bravado. But you manage to keep your expression calm, leaning in as though they’ve just shared some juicy gossip. "So...you're basically a walking history book, then?" you tease, offering a wry smile.

They narrow their eyes, but there’s a flicker of amusement in them. "You're...refreshingly different," they admit, sounding almost reluctant. "Most humans would be halfway out the door by now, but here you are, grinning like this is some kind of… thrill."

You shrug, feigning nonchalance despite the rapid drumming of your heart. "You’ve got to admit, you’re all kind of fascinating. I mean, the stories alone—who wouldn’t be curious?"

The creature’s gaze softens, almost imperceptibly. For a moment, you think you see a flicker of something beyond hunger or amusement—a hint of loneliness, perhaps, or a tiredness that no amount of years can shake.

"Curiosity can be dangerous, you know," they murmur, their voice almost gentle. "We’re not made to be understood. Humans were meant to fear us, to keep their distance. And yet… here you are, sitting across from me, looking like you’d rather keep talking than run."

You glance down, taking in the way their fingers are still tapping against the table, claws leaving tiny scratches on the wood. “Maybe that’s because I don’t see you as some monster,” you say quietly. “Maybe I just see someone who’s… a little different. And maybe a little lonely, too.”

Their gaze sharpens, and for a split second, the mask slips. They look… human. Vulnerable. And then, just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by that predatory gleam. “You’re playing a dangerous game, human.”

You smile, feeling more daring than you should. “So I’ve been told.”

They shake their head, something between exasperation and respect flickering in their eyes. "Alright," they say, voice soft but laced with challenge. "If you’re really willing to dive into this world, there’s a party tomorrow night. A gathering of sorts."

Your heart skips a beat, but you manage to keep your cool. "A party, huh? Is that your way of saying you’re inviting me as your date?”

They snort, but there’s a glimmer of warmth in their gaze. “Maybe. But be warned, if you come, you might just find yourself face-to-face with creatures far less charmed by you than I am.”

You consider the challenge, your pulse racing with a strange blend of excitement and terror. “So… what do I wear to a gathering of supernatural beings?”

They smile, showing just a hint of those unsettling rows of teeth. “Something dark. And maybe something you don’t mind getting a little... stained.”

“Bloodstains, right?”

“Perhaps,” they say, looking far too pleased. "Do you think you can handle it?"

You look them straight in the eye, the adrenaline coursing through you like fire. "I guess we'll find out."

You, a normal human, try out a dating app you've never heard of and soon find out it's a dating app for supernatural entities. Every date you go on, your date is always surprised you're not repulsed by their non-human features. But your latest date just can't believe you're not joking…

[kebberron]

Everything I read in September + some rambles

Good month! Enigma/Tomodachi X Monster/Bags/Judge Bao/Name Of The Game were all thrift store finds and legit all of them were great? Enigma lived up to all the hype I read about it man and it honestly didn't feel like anything else I've read before (I haven't read much vertigo my bad). Tomo x Mon was a bit goofy but by the end of the book it introduces so many crazy ideas with the mon format I couldn't help but respect it? Chainsaw Man keeps being great and this past Pochita arc has been really good. I was a bit worried Fujimoto might have been getting 'tired' of it but these past few chapters have just been crazy good (the statue of liberty scene???). Immortal Iron Fist is dope as fuck but I need to get back to it soon. I'm always a huge sucker for a team up between 2 mantle bearers so the whole Danny/Orson duo has been a joy to read! Plas No More was probably my least favorite read of the month and it's not because it was bad or anything but a) I'm not a huge fan of the whole "comedic character is going through serious stuff" story and b) the way the JL was portrayed was odd and I don't even like the JL like that Damian is my fav Robin so The Boy Wonder was obviously peak 10/10 no notes mr Juni Ba please do this to my other favs at DC thank you king. Also I got my partner to read it too and they loved it just as much so it probably added to the book being a top 10 favorite for me! Ultimate X-Men keeps being a blast to read every issue. I feel a bit bad it seems most of the discourse around the line is centered around USM and maybe the Ultimates recently because this book feels so unique and the cast is always a joy to see. Ain't No Grave was wildly cool. I always knew Young for the stuff he did at marvel so I decided to try this on a whim and bro. Bro. That finale? Bro. Skybound Transformers has now made me a Cliffjumper and Beachcomber stan. I got an omnibus of the Fraction Hawkeye run last Black Friday I think? Either last year or the year before and I just now decided to read it through because of his work on Immortal Iron Fist and yeah it kinda reminds me of when I read both Spencer's Ant-Man and Superior Foes close to one another lol. But real shit? Fantastic book man. The gut punches hit so fucking hard it felt ridiculous going back to the comedy and somehow the book manages to handle those so well it's insane. The Kate subplot was so fucking funny why is Masque like that lmfao

I got really into My Chemical Romance this year and I was huh sure let's try Paranoid Garden and it's pretty good but I feel it will work way better for the trade? That said really excited to see how the mystery plays out. I've been meaning to read more manga beyond CSM so I decided to try out Ichi The Witch because I felt really bad for the artist after what happened with Act-Age and Kagurabachi because of all the memes. Ichi is pretty fun so far and I do really enjoy the protag's philosophy on hunting vs killing. I'm still in the "rougher" parts of Kagura but I can't say it's bad y'know? Like I def see those elements there that will make it better going on. I did a big Ant-Man binge read a few months ago and I thought hey why not try Sword Of Atom too? And it was a pleasant read! I think the 4 issue length puts it in a weird place where it doesn't have enough time to develop the world as much as I would have liked it to but it's short enough that the book ends up feeling like a sword and sorcery movie and that's pretty cool? Ngl tho the Atom I grew up with was Ryan so I'm gonna try the Simone run with him next! The Moon is Following Us/Minor Arcana/The Body Trade I read while on a train and yeah it made that whole ride a lot easier lmao. I think Moon was prob my favorite out of the 3 but that's more because of my love for the creative team behind it! Really hoping Lemire gets to go as long as he wants with Minor Arcana too

Giantkiller is another entry in my desperate search to feel the high I got from reading Simon Dark a few years ago (which so far has lead me to finding really great gems like Hourman/Scare Tactics/Chronos/New Super-Man) and yeah I think it's going to do the trick. My partner said the monster design felt like american cartoons and they were right 1000% as always. There's this weird element of playfullness to them I can't quite describe. I also like that the main duo is called Jack and Jill lmao Bags really feels like it shares a creator with Over the Garden Wall. I won't spoil it but there's a reveal later on the book that absolutely gave me flashbacks to the show. Might re-read it sometime with the soundtrack the original book got! Judge Bao was kinda goofy but in a funny way. Just real dudes just being guys literature right here. Sad the other volumes didn't get translated but I imagine a french comic about a historical figure in china going around solving cases with his team that also doesn't fit on your shelf was probably a hard sell. The Name of the Game was fantastic man. Eisner makes the heavy topics he deals with in the book feel so light that it made me kept reading and reading and reading every time I'd tell myself that's enough for now. He really was a master of the craft man