#you get what everyone else gets! you get a lifetime!

[nothingiswrongwithyourarmrests]

@prismatic-bell made a wonderful well thought-out post about cultural christianity.

I think the phrasing of cultural christianity is not ideal, but the concept it's imperfectly describing can probably not be described perfectly.

In my opinion it's more accurate to speak of christian hegemony or christian culture. I live in a christian culture. The christian culture around me affects me and everyone else in my country, because it is so hard to draw a line between culture and religion because Germany was Christian for a much longer time than it has been German.

Participating in german culture means participating in a christian culture, even if we have gotten more laicistic(in the sense of strict religious neutrality) and atheist in practice in the last 40 years. The effects of christian hegemony and christian culture will affect everyone and give everyone a degree of "cultural christianity". Yes, even the members of minority religions.

The prevalence of the USAmerican Film and Television industry is giving a lot of countries "cultural americanism". I am myself participating in cultural americanism at this moment because I am writing about a concept that has been mostly defined in the USAmerican cultural context in my second language.

The Atheist movement today is being dominated by USAmericans, so the Atheist movement defines itself against the cultural context of american majority culture, which is a christian culture. It is also dominated by people who escaped religious abuse and religious trauma, usually from USAmerican christianity. The reactivity of that trauma has become part of Atheist culture, even for those who did not experience religious trauma personally. It's a major problem for the movement that a lot of people counting themselves among it do so out of disgust for religion instead of taking joy in secular and atheist values, and a lot of people that are vocal have not finished truly excavating and examining their own (cultural) biases.

Seriously following a religion (including secular atheism as a set of beliefs) often involves analysing and understanding it and the culture you are practicing it in, but secularly/laxly/culturally following the religion you happen to be born into or ignoring it does not require the same level of thought and scrutiny and intellectual honesty.

Learning about the history of philosophy has helped me grasp the interconnectedness of culture and religion, and having mandatory religious education (education about religions, not religious indoctrination) in school was a major part of becoming more culturally literate. Whether someone has examined or corrected the biases they absorbed from christian culture /christian hegemony is not determined by their religious affiliation.

I do not want to be cultural christian and would put that label to people who do easter, christmas, confirmation and church weddings without belief. What I am is continuously affected by christian hegemony and living in a christian culture, and I won't be getting rid of all the biases and blind spots of that for a long time, possibly my lifetime.

#atheism

[hitlikehammers]

time for that age old question: is love enough to beat back the apocalypse?

Because Steve's right there to protect everybody like the self-sacrificing asshole he is help Eddie make the music he's not strong enough for yet help them all put Vecna in the ground for good this time, right?(!??!)

or: what's the song for your walkman, baby? does it even matter?

I Could Be Your Nurse (or something)

Or: Five Times Eddie Has To Ask For Help, Plus One Time He Doesn’t Need It Anymore (but asks anyway) ✨ for @penny00dreadful 💜

<<< three: sleep 🌗

🎧 🎹 four: play 🎶 🛡️

To tell the whole truth of it: it comes too quickly—Vecna’s last stand. Of course it does.

But probably, if he’s being fair: they’d never have been really ready. Not for this, and so maybe it’s best that they’re not fully healed, not at full strength when it all comes to a head, not least because that means Vecna and his petal-toothed brigade aren’t at full strength either. And that choice, for their side, is sloppy; the Party stands on the right-side-up against the attack because they have to. Vecna makes his move because—or else, Eddie’s fairly sure—because the sadistic ballsac is losing his fucking mind.

Which is terrifying, sure, but fuck if it doesn’t help their cause.

It’s actually over pretty quick, even compared to Spring Break which, while it felt like a lifetime for how much it changed Eddie’s own, it’s only been those handful of days—but it’s kinda like the grand finale at a fireworks show: everything all at once then, done. In the everything’s though: he might not like it, but Eddie’s not so foolish as to believe he’s not still too tender, still too deep in healing the finer points of being gnawed alive to be anything but a burden in the thick of it. He refuses to be sidelined, though, and he thinks it says a lot for the long-term health of this glorious impossible thing he’s…building? Yeah, he, umm, he, Eddie Munson, is building a real goddamn thing where he doesn’t even just let someone into his heart and treasures them there, no, he’s building a thing where he gives his heart and gets on new and soft and trembling in kind and they both get to work at the treasuring of something more precious than just their own vulnerable insides, but yeah, yeah:

Eddie thinks it bodes really fucking well for the hopes he has that lean hard toward forever, already, in Eddie’s chest at least when Steve looks his way as they’re planning the teams and he locks eyes with Eddie and Eddie doesn’t even get his mouth open to breathe, to plead don’t cut me out, don’t send me to Wayne to be ‘safe’ or ‘out of harm’s way’ or whatever, don’t leave me so fucking far from you my heart hurts just because it’s beating in the middle space unmoored and shaking around all bruised up with it for not knowing and I know I can’t do what everyone else can but it’ll be bad enough not being next to you please don’t push me far enough that I won’t know the moment you’re safe, just—

Steve meets his eyes, and Eddie’s breath catches before his heart trips, and then Steve speaks up—and he doesn’t, not all that often when the nerdiest among them are shoring up the battle plans—but he watches Eddie without blinking when he pipes up:

“Eddie’s on medical and audio, with Erica and Jon.”

And maybe it’s his tone—this almost wholly novel thing in Steve that’s steely and unquestionable but no one pushes, they nod and get back to work, totally seamless and, and…yeah. That’s all Eddie wanted. Best he could hope for. Just outside the gate they go through. Close enough to hold a hand on the way down, and reach for purchase on the journey back.

Steve swallows hard, and nods at Eddie before he looks away and starts gearing up, twirls his fucking nailbat so it catches the sunlight even thought the metal’s mostly rusted, now and just…Eddie hadn’t needed to say a word. And Steve wanted to send him to safety, the way his throat had bobbed made it real clear there was something heavy he’s held back but: he’d said what he said. He’d laid the line in Eddie’s favor. Eddie wants to hold him, wants to pull him close and feel him breathe, and—

Yeah. Eddie kinda feels like the way it goes is a really good sign for their future as a couple. A couple. Them. Together.

With an always on the other side of all of this that could be kinda fucking magnificent, maybe. Given the chance.

Point being: Eddie gets himself set up with at least a full ambulance’s supplies for first aid, definitely not acquired legally, and a stereo set up he really wishes someone had been kind enough to outfit him with in not-the-apocalypse, holy shit is it gorgeous, but since the strength in his hands is still a work-in-progress, he’s gotta be ready to crank up the noise as a distraction from arm’s-length. It’s actually driving him fucking crazy—or, was; it was, pre-active return to the regularly scheduled world ending—the whole not being able to make music, to translate the noise in his head into sounds on the strings but even that, even that’s been tolerable, survivable because of Steve—who he loves, he gets to love Steve Harrington holy fuck—but Steve’s not just there to be everything and more than the air Eddie goddamn breathes, to become the music just by existing, nope, he one ups that shit: he asked Eddie if it’d be enough to learn the chords he needs. So Eddie could match the words with the notes right, so Steve could be a—

“—kinda piss-poor substitute but,” Steve had shrugged for it with a crooked grin; “but even a bad translator gets a message across, and you’d know when it’s wrong so we can figure out how to fix it and—“

And Eddie’d grabbed Steve’s chin and yanked his mouth close to fucking consume that man like a soul goddamn starved.

“I’d be a shit teacher,” Eddie had mouthed against Steve’s lips after they were sucked well-swollen; “if I still can’t lift the fucking neck for more than a minute,” but Steve had heard none of it, just shot right back:

“You don’t think we’ve beat steeper odds than that?”

And in the face of that raised brow, those red lips parted, that pulse in that neck still a little bit visible like a tease: the fuck was Eddie supposed to do but dive back in and love on the man who’d somehow agreed to be his, and to claim Eddie of all people in turn?

Which is a whole other reason why everything’s gonna be fine: Steve’s gonna make music with him. Steve’s gonna be Eddie’s muse and the vessel for what he inspires. It’s gonna be like Greek fucking poetry, except it’s gonna be them.

So Eddie’s all stocked up, s’got everyone’s floaty-bone-breaky songs queued up on blast for immediate deployment as necessary, and Steve’s the last to go through—he always is, in Eddie’s experience, waits for everyone to be safely accounted for before he spares a thought for himself and it might kill Eddie one day but not fucking today, because it’s gonna be fine—

“Eddie.”

It feels a little like history repeating itself, the way Steve huddles him in a little. Henderson’s through, with Lucas and Hopper and the weird stray Russian, but it’s not like history repeating, because Eddie’s got different words to see him off with; so fucking different.

“Last time I didn’t have,” and Steve reaches, cups Eddie’s cheek, drags down to press on his chest as his voice strains hard: “and it almost killed me,” and Steve usually pinches between his eyes to keep his feelings in check but instead of using his free hand to hold back the tears he reaches for Eddie’s and laces their fingers as his voice cracks and he chokes out:

“Please,” and it’s for everything. For all the almosts from last time; for all the possibilities rife this time. For all the hopes Eddie thinks they share beyond how this shakes out.

“Exceptionally underqualified field med,” Eddie breathes, and squeezes Steve’s hand so, so hard like a promise, because it is; “exceptionally overqualified DJ,” and Steve chuckles, wet but real and it’s enough, because:

“I got it, Stevie,” Eddie bends his forehead to Steve’s to say better than with words that he’s not in this to be a hero, he’ll be right here the whole time, but that doesn’t mean he…that doesn’t mean he can help but to ask this time:

“Just,” and the breath in him punches out unexpectedly as he damn-near begs:

“Only bring me back the little things, yeah? That I know how to fix?”

And they both hear what’s said underneath it:

Don’t turn around and die down there, and kill me in kind..

And—if anyone’s keeping track—they turn out not to need it but: the way the kiss is a wholeass wartime farewell, man.

And then: Eddie waits, and fucks with the speakers for less than an hour before the earth shakes, and his heart drops, but then he hears it.

The fucking whooping of those shitheads echoing through the cracks.

And then he sees it, runs, grabs the first hand that’s clinging to the rope this time and pulls with strength he doesn’t have, is probably more a hindrance than a help but he steadies them each back on the ground and hugs them so tight, kisses more than one of them on the head or the cheek as he doesn’t pretend not to be sobbing through the laughter because they did it, they fucking did it, somehow it’s over and he loves these people and he’s so fucking happy they’re alive and safe and here and—

And the person he loves more, loves most, brings up the rear, a little bloodied, a little scratched up, dingy with the fucking air down there but smiling and Eddie…

Eddie falls into him so fucking hard they both hit the ground and just, just grab onto one another. Just hold and breathe and catch lips every few seconds like an afterthought because they feel each other’s heartbeat where their chests are pressed tight and it’s, they’re…

Steve’s got four broken fingers across both hands. None in a row. He’s basically giving a Vulcan salute by default for how they’re taped.

Eddie loves him so goddamn much it hurts.

And Eddie’d obviously known—once things start to settle in the days that’ve followed—that teaching Steve guitar with those Spock-y hands was on the back burner, but he does ask Steve to sit, and to rest, and to help hum back the tunes in Eddie’s head while Eddie jots lyrics with a hand that’s still shaky but steadying out more every day, and it’s kind of perfect, and Steve adds some things into the melodies either on purpose or by accident but they’re better for it every time and—

Muse and vessel, man. The light of Eddie’s whole goddamn life.

With fucking Vulcan hands still, though, so: excuse Eddie for being…bewildered when his boyfriend—boyfriend, that’s his boyfriend—but his taped-up-healing-Vulcan-handed boyfriend is propping the front door open and lugging in a long, not-recovery-friendly thing that looks close to dropping on his toes and—

“The fuck are you doing?” Eddie asks with a little more panic in his voice than he’d hoped for as he rushes as best he can to where Steve’s kicking the door shut behind him, fluttering his hands around uselessly as Steve maneuvers past him, leans across for a peck at the corner of Eddie’s mouth and calls—“It’s fine, it weighs, like, nothing”—over his shoulder as he settles the, the thing down on the coffee table in the living room they’ve started actually using for, y’know.

Living.

Eddie follows him in, though, because of course, he’s half-a-dog on that man’s heels, whole-caught-in-the-gravity-of-his-everything: but Eddie follows as Steve tosses himself backward with something in his hand, rolls and rucks up his fucking absurd Hawking Middle tee across the sweet curve of his hips, the way the soft give of skin tempts Eddie to run his tongue over the trail of almost-curls, like baby-curls where they lead under the waist of his jeans: Eddie would happily volunteer to survive on the taste of that musky-delicate space until the end of goddamn time—

But then Steve’s huffing a breathless ha from behind a chair where he’d been stretched to reach and a light catches Eddie’s eye from his periphery where he’d been staring unblinking just at Steve: the big long black thing on the coffee table. It takes a genuine concerted effort not to keep at the Steve-staring—not an uncommon state of Eddie’s existence, in all fairness—and check what’s glowing on the table: something turned on. Was plugged in, right, that’s what had Steve rolling on the floor without Eddie on top of or being deliciously pinned down by him.

The something being the big long black thing that Eddie takes in for the whole of it, now: a keyboard.

“Jon picked it up for me second-hand from the place next to Fox Photo when he drove down for his camera, and Rob vouched that it’s a good brand and like, really good condition,” Steve’s raised up on his knees, now with his hands braces on his thighs as Eddie studies the keys, fingers the ends of a every few of the naturals.

“Rob helped with those, too, so I’d know the right, like, chords,” and yeah: they’re stupa of masking tape stuck to the keys with letters in blue, black, and red pen, alternating so they don’t get mixed up, some with and arrow, Eddie assumes, to indicate a sharp.

“I only remember like half of one song from when my parents thought it would look good to have me take piano lessons,” Steve huffs in whole-ass judgment; “my mom wanted the endorsement of the guy who was stepping down from city council, and his wife taught private lessons, so, y’know,” Steve rolls his eyes; “super convenient leading up to the election.”

“What song?”

Steve blinks, tips his head in askance for what Eddie recognizes very clearly as something closer to a croak than a question, his throat all tight. He tries to cough, to clear it.

“What song do you remember?”

Steve snorts at that, leans back on his palms, and fuck is he beautiful.

“Clair de Lune,” Steve grins crooked; “the one song I was allowed to pick, instead of just being assigned.”

“Why’d you pick it?” Not that Eddie doesn’t like it or anything. It’s more that…he knew Steve could more than just drum fingers on keys, if only just, and that a baby grand used to sit in the corner where there’s a stereo cabinet now, but.

But: see, there’s like a whole half of his heart that’s dedicated to collecting new knowledge about everything Steve: his favorite food when he was 12 versus the now. How his favorite color became his favorite color. The story behind all the polos. The nitty-gritties about why he’s in a big-ass house alone for approximately 360 days a year, and how long it’s been that way. Eddie’s whole heart is basically Steve’s but every day that half overflows a little, and Eddie’s only keeping it relegated to parts filled with Steve-lore so he can feel the collection break containment every other day, this grand and joyous bursting under his ribs as everything spills over again, and again, and again until it’s all just Steve, and his heart has to burst or stretch, or both.

Eddie thinks both will be amazing.

And right now, in the interest of building toward that amazing-both: he wants to know why Debussy.

Steve chuckles to himself—better music than any dead French guy by a country mile—and eyes Eddie almost slyly.

“Do you remember Claire Reynolds?”

Vaguely. Like, very vaguely. He remembers…uneven pigtails. Very actual-cult-like vibes about her family as a vague impression and now that he’s bringing it to mind he feels a new wave of indignation: those Children-of-the-Corn motherfuckers were just fine but Eddie liked a board game and he was probably a murderer.

“When we were in like, first grade,” Steve’s continuing on; “she asked me every, single, day, to come over and see her sheep.” Steve looks up at Eddie and bites his lower lip, lets his gaze dance and lets Eddie fall into it for a few dazed seconds before he spells it out.

“She had these crazy eyes about it, it was kinda unsettling,” Steve nudges, but Eddie’s doesn’t get it until:

“And it’s not like I do now, because obviously I don’t, but I definitely didn’t speak a lick of French when I was eight.”

It takes Eddie a hot second before he snorts hard enough to hurt:

Claire, da Loon.

“I was eight,” Steve protests Eddie’s laughter halfheartedly even as he joins in, reaches to slap at Eddie’s upper arm which honestly: just makes him laugh harder.

“Anyway,” Steve fights through the last of the chuckling as it peters out between them, drags himself to sitting next to the coffee table and taps his hand to the top of the keyboard.

“I know it’s not the same as learning guitar to help, and I can probably only get the top and bottom notes with these,” he lifts his Vulcan-fingers his a shrug; “but I was hoping that’d be better than nothing?”

And, like, how Eddie was talking about his heart having to swell, for all the things he gets to tuck inside of it that come with loving Steve Harrington?

He might crack a rib, just now, because—

“This is for me?”

Steve purses his lips, lifts a brow:

“Well, technically it’s for me,” steve singles his fingers, which looks absurd with the splints; “but yeah. To help you get the songs out. I mean, once these are free again, you can help me with the guitar like we talked about, until you’re—“

And Eddie cannot be blamed, see: he cannot be fucking blamed for tackling Steve to the floor and kissing him hard enough to bruise because…

“You got hurt,” Eddie half-breathes between kisses; “you got hurt and I was so afraid I was gonna lose you,” and Eddie reaches for those taped fingers and kisses them, too: so gentle and Steve’s expression softens so quick:

“I was scared, too,” he whispers between them, cups Eddie’s face with his unloaded hand; “you were as safe as I could make you within the fucking city limits but I was still so goddamn scared.”

Cue more rib-cracking for the heart-swelling, because Jesus fucking Christ.

“And you,” Eddie exhales, slow and shaky; “you’re hurt, but you went and got,” he nods to the keyboard;

“I know it’s not ideal,” Steve’s quick to, to what, apologize? For being insane and perfect and—

“Shut up,” Eddie says, voice low and watery and he’s still kissing at Steve’s fingers, holding his wrist delicate but also like a lifeline.

“You’re hurt,” Eddie maybe kinda moans it because he hates it, as much as he’s so fucking grateful that’s it’s just this, no worse than this; “and you still—”

“I promised, didn’t I?”

And that…that’s one thing Eddie’s learned beyond reproach; that even to his detriment, Steve keeps his goddamn promises.

And he’d promised to help Eddie get his words out, to place the lyrics to the notes and help unclutter his brain so he didn’t lose his mind.

Holy fucking hell.

“Steve,” Eddie starts, shakes his head, needs to find the right words. “You’re alive,” the most important thing. “You are healing,” another most important thing, for Eddie to oversee and make sure of, even as Steve keeps an eye on the last lingering threads of the long haul on Eddie’s road to recovery in kind, his beloved mother hen.

“This is,” and he runs his fingers too light to draw sounds across the keys, hopes he sounds as awed and grateful as he feels; “but you, you’ve gotta test, you have to,” and Eddie shakes his head and lifts his eyes to just fucking ask it:

“Why?”

And Steve: Steve just studies his face for a few seconds, reads what he needs before he smiles kinda exasperated, mostly fond and answers so simply, while also breaking a few more of Eddie’s ribs when he just says:

“Because I love you.”

And Eddie’s heart’s not so overfull yet of all of Steve, it’s not fair that it just bursts right then and there, Eddie propelled into Steve’s arms to kiss him deep this time, like he’s searching out Steve’s soul to taste and maybe he is, save that he needs his heart to not have exploded for feeling if he’s going to keep the memory of it safe in his chest for always, he needs to patch his heart back up first but he’s too distracted, too drowned in the way love actually fucking feels, fucking shifts his cells around and makes a new version of him, lets his heart grow bigger except it went and blasted apart with the unprecedented immensity of loving and—

And then Eddie’s got Steve’s taped up hands on both his cheeks, and he remembers that night, in the shower, where Steve ripped the seams from his shirt so taking it off wouldn’t hurt him; notices how Steve is wearing that same fucking shirt in this very moment, all in one piece, like it never split apart in the first place.

Master seamstress, tried and tested and true; truer than anything.

So Eddie just dives back in and kisses with everything in him, thinks maybe when Steve tastes the pieces of Eddie’s blowout heart under his tongue while Eddie goes diving for the sweet lick of Steve’s soul:

Eddie thinks Steve’s mouth might know how to stitch up torn things, too. Especially the kinds that are ripped at their seams wholly for the sake of loving that fucking hard.

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson

divider credits here & here

👾 title credit here

💫 ao3 link here

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #hurt/comfort #whump #fluff #happy ending #angst with a happy ending #soft #pining #slow burn #(ish) #steddie fic #deep devoted caretaker steve #smitten recovering post S4 eddie #sharing a bed #sleeping together #not like THAT #HE'S RECOVERING OKAY #nightmares #though maybe it IS time to address the...crush-confession-dick-grazing-shower-thing #like: just MAYBE #love confessions #domestic fluff #5+1 things #stranger things #gift fic #penny00dreadful

[anincompletelist]

fic pride friday! :D

thank you @kiwiana-writes for the tag! this is by far my favorite tag game, not only to get to see everyone else's bits that they're most proud of but also to check in with my own writing versus the LAST time I did this challenge and what's changed. thank you thank you! it's always a pleasure to read your words <3

Rules: Post your favourite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too.

Tags: I CANNOT STRESS HOW !OPEN TAG! THIS IS BUT ALSO: @wordsofhoneydew @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @msmarvelouswinchester @nocoastposts

@firenati0n @daisymae-12 @read-and-write- @magicandarchery

@affectionatelyrs @happiness-of-the-pursuit @inexplicablymine @heysweetheart-writes

@littlemisskittentoes @sparklepocalypse @getmehighonmagic @firstsprinces

@priincebutt @cricketnationrise @eusuntgratie @bigassbowlingballhead

@whimsymanaged @anchoredarchangel @captainjunglegym @thinkof-england

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from How To Get Blood Stains Out of Your Linen (And Other Ways To Fall in Love):

Henry doesn’t wonder. He mourns. He grieves for things that haven’t even happened yet, for the happiness that he assumes he might’ve had if he’d been brave enough to reach out and grab it with his shaking, stained hands.

+

from somehow I'd get by:

They start with dinner. Watching Alex cook for him has always been somewhat of a spiritual experience but tonight, perched on the countertop with Alex between his legs, feeding him a taste of each and every ingredient, like he’s hardwired to want Henry to be a part of his routines and his hobbies and his life, it feels like even more.   The first few buttons of Henry’s shirt have been undone, the heat from the stove beside them making his skin pleasantly warm. Alex’s own sleeves have been rolled up to his forearms, his tie long gone somewhere by the front door, both of their shoes with it. Henry tucks a socked foot around his calf and draws him in even closer, stealing a kiss that tastes like Saffron and the wine from the Spanish market downtown, the wooden spoon forgotten between them.  It’s curious how the day just seems to tumble on, the eve ning elongated as if the minutes have doubled themselves. Somehow it still isn’t enough time with Alex, and Henry finds himself surprised once more at how he physically misses him, even when he’s close enough to reach out and touch. He’s oddly aware of the space between his rib cage, the gaps and vessels surrounding the marrow, an emptiness he’d never cared to notice before. Behind them though, his heart is wonderfully full.  As if he knows the feeling, Alex never strays too far from him. Not when they finish up the food and move to the dining table to eat, not when he tugs Henry so close he’s practically on his lap, feeding him by hand and then with his own set of cutlery, sharing the same plate. The vacancies fill up with the food, wine, and Alex’s sweet words, piece by piece, a lifetime of inadequacy replaced with love instead.

+

from Something Borrowed, Something Blue:

(I had to try to find a non-spoilery one jsdhkjhfk)

“It’s the southern charm,” Alex argues, still a bit in shock. “It’s irresistible.”  “It’s you,” Henry corrects him softly. “And I wouldn’t trade out a single thing about you. Your honesty or your energy or your words.”  “But your words are important. You always think through everything you say before you say it. And mine just— just come out like David’s vomit.” Henry laughs quietly beside him. “And sometimes I can tell that I should stop but I just keep going.”   “That doesn’t make your words any less important,” Henry says. “You know how to speak your mind. There’s a lot of people that don’t. It doesn’t make you too much or annoying. If anything, it means that you’re brave.”  Alex snorts lightly. “If I’m brave, then what are you?” He glances sideways at Henry. “Untouchable?”  “Terrified.”  The breath Alex had been halfway through taking halts in his lungs. Henry’s eyes are wide and so blue underneath the moonlight, a shade Alex hasn’t seen them yet before. He rushes to take it all in, committing the look to memory— Henry here, in his space, trying to speak a language Alex understands. 

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from treading water in the deep, just waiting for the tides to meet:

Alex writes about forgiveness a lot, especially on the days when he mourns for the once clean, normal mark he used to have. Sometimes he thinks about how simple things could have been. The fairytale story that he’d wanted so badly as a kid, had prayed for beside his bed at night and wished for with every shooting star that passed overhead.  But with every stroke of the pencil on the page his eyes fall to the skin just above where he’s holding it, the intricate pattern of the scarring tha t Alex knows he could draw accurately even in his sleep. He’s memorized it with his fingertips, with his eyes, with his lips. It’s a part of his person, so it’s a part of him, too.  And Alex has never been particularly good at self love, always moving too quickly and trying to make his family and friends proud, thoughtlessly making sacrifices at his own expense if it meant that some of the burden was taken off of someone else. By the same token, he’s always given love freely.  It comes as no surprise to him when he first says it, whispered against the gap in the line, right next to the jagged edge of where one end of the line has broken through his skin. He writes it in the notebooks, thinks it in his head: I love you.  Two years passes and with every day, Alex realizes he loves himself a little more too. 

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from there were pages turned with the bridges burned (everything you lose is a step you take):

Back in his room, he locks the door behind him and walks over to his desk, everything mostly left untouched from before he’d gone to the hospital. He hasn’t been able to go through it yet, to see the evidence that he was healthy and capable of excelling at things that, at least right now, he couldn’t dream of doing. Not at the same level, anyway.  Blinking harshly, he takes his lower lip into his mouth and finds the list of resolutions he’d pinned to his corkboard above it, not one of them marked off yet. There’s no way he could have predicted what this year would have brought.  Gently, he takes the thumbtacks out of their spots at the corners and folds up the paper, slipping it into a drawer. Then he retrieves the packet of skittles and pins them up in its place.  One day at a time, Alex thinks. 

+

from I want you to have me like I've never been had, you get all my wild parts:

Gently, Henry presses forward into him again, lets himself appreciate the way it feels when he’s not busy chasing his own release. Alex sighs sweetly and widens his legs a bit, his fingers still achingly soft, dancing across Henry’s shoulder blade.  It really, really shouldn’t be this easy. Not the dynamic, but— Alex.   Henry stares at him, most likely cross-eyed for how close he is but uncaring at the moment, tracing a fingertip through Alex’s drying curls, down the slope of his nose, his top lip, the smile line carved into his cheek. Marvels at the way Alex lets him.  He wants to bathe in it. Wants to keep it locked up just as much as he wants to show it off. Wants to care for it—care for him, wants to round up anyone who’s ever had the pleasure of seeing Alex this way and rip the memory from their greedy, ungrateful, undeserving hands.  Keep it for himself instead, where it’s beginning to feel like it belongs. 

+

from avalanche:

“Love is patient, love is kind,” Alex murmurs, the scripture replaying clearly in his head— el amor es paciente, es bondadoso. His grandmother's words, then his father’s, now his own, translating them from the way he learned them so that Henry can understand. He presses his lips to Henry’s jaw, solidifies them there. “It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.” El amor no es envidioso ni presumido ni orgulloso. He slides a hand over the little scar on Henry’s shoulder, touches it tenderly with his fingertips, only a fraction of the pain he’s endured. “It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.” Henry’s tears wet his cheek when he emphasizes them here; no se comporta con rudeza, no es egoísta, no se enoja fácilmente, no guarda rencor. “Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.” El amor no se deleita en la maldad, sino que se regocija con la verdad. “It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.” Todo lo disculpa, todo lo cree, todo lo espera, todo lo soporta. Reaching down to fill in the gaps between Henry’s fingers with his own, Alex pulls back enough to look at him properly. Henry’s always kind of taken his breath away, but Alex can see the shift happening in real time— how every word, each passing minute that he spends here, finally where he wants to be, is recharging him. And how much of a marvel is it that where he wants to be is with Alex?  Henry leaving had felt like an ending at first. The conclusion of a year long fever dream in which all of his own fears and desires had been finally recognized and tested to their limits. No matter what Henry had chosen to do in the end, he’d changed Alex for the better. The proof was all there, written in fine print for the world to see. Alex would have been okay, eventually, just knowing that.  But now he can see that it hadn’t been an ending at all. All of the cracks in Henry’s shiny, practiced, impenetrable exterior are crumbling; shattered first with Henry’s valiant initial swing, the excess gently peeled away with Alex’s fingertips. It’s visible now, everywhere that he’d left his mark on Henry. Everywhere that he’d poured just as much into him as Henry had into Alex.  He’s always been capable. But Alex knows, just as much as Henry hopefully does now, that sometimes it’s difficult to get past the litany of weaknesses until someone finally comes along and recognizes them for strengths instead.  “El amor jamás se extingue,” he whispers against Henry’s knuckles, his own eyes blurry. “I forgave you a long time ago, amor.”  

+

from it's so hard to get to heaven with my head in my hands:

Henry leans forward to set it aside before he seals himself further into George’s side, an arm propped behind his back as he strokes his knuckles over Alex’s cheek. George turns away to allow them a moment to themselves, but it doesn’t rid him of the intimacy of it all from his position right in the center of it, especially as Alex moves closer, his own fingers dropping to move some of the hair from George’s forehead where it’d fallen haphazardly into his eyes.  It takes George even longer to find his voice again, nothing but a rasp when he summons the courage to insert himself into their familiar back and forth.  “Why are you doing this?”  Henry halts whatever he’d been about to say, dropping his gaze down to George in between them. “We take care of each other,” he says.  “Hen has a lot of days like this too,” Alex adds from his other side, his thumb stroking soothingly over George’s brow. “We’re glad you came, George.”  His mother would have a fit if she could see him now, taking comfort he isn’t owed from men he shouldn’t want it from. But Henry wipes his tears with the back of his hand and Alex begins singing the dulcet tune of a Spanish lullaby and George feels, perhaps for the first time in his life, like he belongs. 

+

xx

#my fic #tag games

[mingisaddctn]

ateez as reverse tropes

based on this post

too much communication

definitely giving this one to wooyoung. this b doesn't know when to shut up and the story would go something like meeting him every so often and being interrupted each second that passes. he will keep on blabbering, yapping, chit chatting without taking a breath and the only way to shut his trap would be with your lips — ooh so unpredictable.

strangers to enemies

captain. hongjoong. he own this one. i can totally see you meeting at a coffee shop, the hot guy next in line with his phone in hand, too distracted to see you passing by hurried and bumping onto his shoulder, spilling your drink on his well fit clothes. starting of a new hateful relationship <3

academic rivals except it's two teachers who compete to have the best class

let me lay this on you; college is hard, but it's even harder when you're one of the professors trying to get the good class, while having another very competitive one — park seonghwa — stealing them from you. sexual tension up in the air, can't you feel it?

accidentally kidnapping the mafia boss

SAN. SAN. bonus if woo was your partner. imagine that you are broke as shit and get the opportunity of a lifetime to just grab some random guy out of the street one day, and offered a bunch of money for that. easy right? WRONG. it's actually the mafia boss that you never expected. hot.

everyone is convinced you aren't actually dating

yeosang. he can be a very oblivious boy but imagine if the cards were reversed and everyone else was like him and didn't believe that you two have a relationship. you could beg, kiss, fuck in front of them and they would dismiss you like haha yea sure you guys are dating. totally belieavable.

himbo ceo who runs the company into the ground

at first look, song mingi can be very intimidating. he exhales that air of superiority and you almost feel like you should bow in his presence. but actually, his mind is actually very silent and his only worries are whether he had breakfast or not. such a dumb boy, at least he's hot. and he has no idea of what he's doing either.

too many beds

jongho knew that the business trip you two had to take over the weekend was going to be awkward... every since he learned about your feelings and when you two arrived at the hotel your heart sank to the ground after hearing from the receptionist that the room he booked had only one... bunk bed. and he already claimed the top one.

too hot to cuddle

yunho can be such a teddy bear, you wished nothing more than to hold him tight and never let go — except that his body felt like a fucking furnace. how could you lay in his arms when you were sweating buckets?

#ateez #mingi #yunho #yeosang #jongho #seongwha #hongjoong #san #wooyoung

[hysel-e]

Year 1: Spring | Orter Mádl x Reader

Orter's eyes narrowed as soon as you appeared before him in the hallway of the Police Academy.

"I can see that you're ecstatic to see me. I'm delighted to see you too," you greeted him with unmatched enthusiasm.

The only response he could provide was a sigh of vexation.

Beside him stood Alex Elliot, known for his strong sense of justice and someone you had grown quite close to.

"Y/N, how do you always manage to appear around the hall at just the right time with lunch for Orter?" Alex questioned.

"If you weren't aware, teleportation magic exists."

"But that's an advanced spell... and you're a first-year."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Let me offer you some words of wisdom, Alex." You pointed a finger at his face, "For the pursuit of love, no spell is too complex."

"Did you learn that spell just to pop over to the Police Academy every day?"

"Of course. How else would I be able to travel wherever I need to? I'll have you know that I'm currently in the process of learning a healing spell as well in the event he gets injured. Look at how caring and thoughtful I am," you said, swelled with a sense of pride.

"That aside... did you also prepare lunch for me this time?" Alex asked eagerly, his mouth already watering at the thought of your cooking.

You feigned a thoughtful look. "Hmm, let's see... is your name Orter Mádl?"

"That's playing favorites!" he protested.

"I'm kidding. Here's your share as well. Knowing your appetite, I made sure to make your portion bigger," you said, handing him a generously filled lunchbox.

"If it weren't clear as day to everyone that you were pursuing Orter, I would definitely ask for your hand in marriage," he declared, half-joking.

"See how he's much more honest than you, Orter? You should take notes," you said, turning to Orter with a smug smile.

"Taking notes would suggest a level of interest that doesn't exist," he retorted, adjusting his glasses.

"Well then, let's not keep the food waiting," you said, unfazed by his blunt comment.

The three of you made your way to the cafeteria and sat at an empty table.

"Mmmmmm! Good eats!!" Alex exclaimed as he began devouring the lunch you made.

"I'm glad at least one person appreciates my cooking," you said, glancing at Orter. "A word of acknowledgement would be nice."

"The meal is edible," he responded impassively.

"Is that what you would considered praise? You could stand to improve."

He took a deep breath before replying. "It's more than merely edible - it's acceptable."

"I knew it was delicious! After all, I made it," you beamed, choosing to take his words as a compliment.

How you always managed to misconstrue his words, he would never know.

"I'll let you in on a little secret since I like you so much. There's a secret ingredient in there that makes the food so delicious."

"Curious to know what it is? I don't mind telling you~" you teased, leaning in closer.

"I don't care," he replied flatly, his gaze fixed on his meal.

"The secret ingredient is love!"

"Stop disrupting my lunch," he said, his patience wearing thin.

His words fell on deaf ears as you ignored him and continued, "They say that love is the hardest ingredient of all to add, so now you know how much effort I put into making these delicious lunches for you everyday."

"Your efforts were unsolicited."

"But you still enjoy them, right? Then that's all that matters."

"Where did you get the impression that I find them enjoyable? My only concern is that they're nourishing and edible."

"If you date me, I'll cook nourishing and edible meals like this for you everyday~"

"Consider that fantasy dispelled. Such a thing won't occur in this lifetime."

Your smile widened. "So there's a chance in another life? If that's the case, then I'll traverse the realm to find you again."

The furrow in Orter's brow deepened, and he closed his eyes with a sigh before continuing, "Allow me to rephrase since it appears you don’t understand. There is no chance of it happening."

But your grin remained, as bright as ever. "Well, I'm an optimist at heart, so I have hope."

True to routine, the back-and-forth between you two continued on until the lunch break was nearing its end.

"Thanks for the grub today," Alex said.

"No problem. I'm considering trying out some new recipes. Maybe I'll slip a few Cupid gummies into Orter's lunchbox next time," you mused.

If Orter weren't an emotionless machine, you'd figure you would see a vein appearing on his face right now.

"Penal code, Article 33290 - Tampering with another's food, carries a fine of 10,000 lond or a maximum sentence of 15 years!" Alex recited with a hint of mock severity.

"Wait, wait, wait! It was only a joke, I swear!" you quickly said, raising both hands in defense. "I can't afford the fine or imprisonment! How will I prepare your meals everyday if I'm stuck behind bars?"

"As courtesy for today, I'll overlook it just this once," Alex replied, the corners of his mouth curving into a smile.

"Perhaps I'll sneak chocolate cavities or a fight candy in yours," you muttered under your breath, loud enough for him to hear.

The bell's chime echoed through the halls, signaling the end of the lunch break.

As you prepared to return to the main building of Easton Academy, there was one last thing you needed to do.

"Before I leave, I have something special for you," you announced, turning towards Orter.

Orter braced himself, for experience had taught him to expect nothing good from you.

Rummaging through your robes, you appeared to struggle to find what you were looking for.

Finally, with a triumph smile, you pulled out...

A finger heart.

"See ya!" With a wave, you disappeared in a flash of green flames.

Watching you vanish, Alex turned to Orter with a raised eyebrow. "Orter, did you cast some kind of charm spell? Y/N is quite taken with you."

He didn't know how to cast one, nor did he recall ever doing so, but now he was starting to wonder.

And so began the series of exchanges that would gradually kindle Orter's affection for a certain mage.

.

.

.

Alone in his dorm room after school, Orter couldn't help but replay the scene of you making the finger heart. Despite his attempts to dismiss it, the image stubbornly stuck in his head. He begrudgingly acknowledged the cuteness of the gesture, though he'd never confess it aloud - it would be as likely as hell freezing over.

#mashle #mashle orter #mashle orter x reader #mádl orter x reader #orter madl #orter madl x reader #orter madl x y/n #orter madl x you #orter mádl #orter mádl x reader #mashle orter x you #orter mádl x y/n

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

there are a lot of reasons i think pericles is really slept on as one of the most tragic characters in sdmi, and they start with how easy it is to connect the dots that he took a mind-destroying curse full to the face as an infant. one that breaks adult humans and renders them unrecognizable, when pericles was not only a baby but is from a species that is explicitly much more vulnerable to it. right from the beginning of his life the entity obliterated his sense of self so thoroughly that there's not even a version of him who shows up in the Sitting Room.

fuck, man.

#sdmi #scooby doo mystery incorporated #professor pericles #sdmi is fundamentally a show about the cycle of trauma and abuse--about breaking a very literal generational curse #and i think it does a real disservice to both that theme #and pericles' narrative specifically #that he gets painted as That One Guy Who's Just Evil and Abusive for No Reason #when everyone else gets the benefit of 'even thoroughly horrible people are still people' #'and that doesn't mean they didn't hurt you; or that you have to let them keep hurting you' #'or that you're obliged to proceed in a way allowing for the possibility they'll decide to stop. that's on them to do. and they might not.' #even w/o the systemic oppression or decades of torture and psychiatric abuse #pericles was a victim of the entity in genuinely and quite possibly the most thorough way of them all. and yet he made a lifetime worth of #choices and many many many of them were to harm people in horrific ways; to his own ends and for his own satisfaction #and like. what do you do with that. #it is difficult and uncomfortable to sit with that and draw conclusions from it that are neither 'his trauma means none of that counts' #nor 'okay yeah well he's a victim BUT HE DID BAD THINGS SO THAT DOESN'T MATTER FUCK HIM' #if there's any show that invites you to do that it's sdmi; i love that about it. but you can't leave pericles out w/o defeating the purpose #especially when the nature of his being a link in the cycle of abuse is critical context for exploring the trauma of his victims #the vast majority of what he does to ricky is very clearly projecting and reenacting his own trauma onto a vulnerable target #and just. aaaaahhhhhh i have so many feelings about it god #abuse cw #grooming cw #SDMItag

[azurdlywisterious]

The amount of songs that have dead money vibes to me that are emo rock songs i listened to in high school is a staggering amount

#FOR WHAT YOU DID TO ME AND WHAT ILL DO TO YOU YOU GET WHAT EVERYONE ELSE GETS YOU GET A LIFETIME!!!!! #EVER SINCE WE MET IVE GOT JUST ONE REGRET TO LIVE THROUGH AND I REGRET NEVER LETTING YOU GO!!! #AND WHEN I THINK IM RIGHT YOU STRIP AWAY MY PRIDE YOU CAST IT ALL ASIDE #IM LIVING DEAD DEAD DEAD ONLY ALIVE LIVE LIVE LIVE WHEN I PRETEND TEND TEND TEND THAT I HAVE DIED DIED DIED DIED #WHATS THE WORST THING I COULD SAY THINGS ARE BETTER IF I STAY SO LONG AND GOOD NIGHT SO LONG AND GOOD NIGHT #if you know all of these ur probably cool #fallout new vegas #dead money #left my <3 in the sierra madre

[aropride]

GO HERE

#text #FOR WHAT YOU DID TO ME. OR WHAT ILL DO TO YOU. YOU GET WHAT EVERYONE ELSE GETS. #YOU GET A LIFETIME!!!!!!!!!!!! #Spotify

[tearlessrain]

it's such a weird time to be alive because the world won't end in sixty years and the world won't be healed in sixty years I'm just going to live and die in a state of perpetual uncertainty and instability and frankly that's fucked up

#my blood's probably full of toxic forever chemicals but so is everyone else's #the rain's poisonous but we might have found a way to make it not poisonous again #the weather gets worse every year and every day I see news articles about ways we're making it better #none of those things will happen in my lifetime #I'm sitting here like 'why do I have such bad commitment issues and memory problems and aimlessness' #and then I remember what planet I'm living on and it's like oh yeah no that's pretty reasonable actually #I have nothing to do but sit at home thinking about this shit because none of you fuckers are even trying to not spread the plague anymore #I mean I go walk on the trails nearby but still

[mantisgodsdomain]

Also have realized that we may have worded things oddly to exaggerate the amount of the Wasp Kingdom that is actually in active conflict but in our defence the power structures we currently have there have it so that whenever there aren't things to fight something like 40-80% of the Wasp Kingdom military gets re-allocated to Basically Whatever The Wasp Kingdom Needs At That Moment since they're, like, the Designated Supply Of Able-Bodied Wasps That The Queen Uses To Do Shit.

Marble is also banned from the non-combat parts of that setup, btw. Their particular tendency towards volatile-yet-effective is not something that ANYONE wants designing things that will be used in day-to-day civilian things just Around The Wasp Kingdom because generally you don't want your heavy-use architecture to Fucking Explode if you don't read and religiously adhere to the 120-page manual.

#we speak #marble #ocs #the wasp kingdom's hive tends to get significantly damaged or destroyed a few times a decade thanks to. The Deadland Border Thing #and when that happens instead of shrinking their military they just start making their footsoldiers learn construction instead #pretty much everyone has to be at least competent in combat because if they Aren't then people Fucking Die #for related reasons they tend to have surprisingly decent attitudes about shit like disability #because injury in the field is something that around 60-70% of wasps will experience in their lifetimes #and that's a VERY LARGE part of the population that they Really can't just leave out of work or anything #because they need all the damn hands that they can get most of the time #which results in things like WMS having a truly ridiculous number of variant signs for amputees or people with limited range of motion #its uhh. plus side: wasp kingdom is insanely ahead in disability accommodations and such compared to Everyone Else #minus side: it's because any member of the wasp kingdom is fully expected to become disabled in some way during their lifetime #plus side: they will accept anything and everything into the kingdom up to and including parasites and criminals #minus side: it's because they live in one of the single most deadly inhabited areas in bugaria and you will be drafted into the military #also there are Quite A Few Things that make socialization cross-kingdom Difficult #and if youre a mimic fly coming in especially you Really have no indication as to what is friendly and what is Not #and you Know when youre being mocked but youre also not gonna be capable of viewing Friendly Interaction as Nonhostile #because everyone here grew up getting at least mild battle training more or less from splitting the cocoon and expects you to play rough #and you are a fly that is not going to interpret someone biting and shaking you in a non-aggressive manner #even if it's a deliberate play-shake that doesnt actually Hurt or break shell #worldbuilding #they only actually need the kaiju squad like once or twice a year but uhh. yknow. The Beasts

[brightokyolights]

Absolutely nothing else like seeing someone else actually agree and validate your feelings about a popular book/character 🙏🙏🙏🙏😭😭😭😭

#genuinely felt like i was maybe mental and had read something completely different from everyone else #this is about the m*llion kisses in your lifetime book #before anyone screams. i read it without knowing anything about it and because it was in the library. which. mortified. #anyways dhsbdjsgfjd #ignoring all the s*xual *ssault :) and bullying :) and general shitness. the book was just fucking borimg as hell #the most bland characters and storyline ive ever encountered #but its so popular!! not to mention it has a whole fucking series for each of the dudes DOUBLY boring and underwheing brothers. its sickeni #but yeah i watched a vid where someone basically just said that the dude was weird and boring too and it made my heart sing like Thank You #le text post #second book that i wasnt going to mentiom because i think this one is definitely more popular and generally accepted #like it isnt just the romance book community if you get me #but while im here i might as fucking well #anyways. uprooted. was so looking forward to it. again not knowing anything going in #and it was decent but the romance?? was so unnecessary and honestly sort of ruined the book for me? also the plot of the book felt #So stretched out and then in the LAST chapter you get all this info dumped like what the hell #it just had so much potential #anyways yet again i watched a vid and the person basically said the same thing and again i was like. Thank You #thanks for coming to my TED talk

[afieldinengland]

.

#thinking about ‘outsider artists’ whose work gets discovered after they die— and what others do with it at that point #it’s an ‘is nothing sacred’ thing for me. if someone made art for their eyes only— and/or for a god’s eyes— it does upset me a little to see #the way that ‘discovery’ confiscates ownership. others laying their hands on a lifetime of private work and pulling it this way and that. #a hundred pairs of eyes rather than one. it’s bizarre #and it’s natural i know that. what else do humans do. what are they supposed to do i guess. and any protection of it is a sacred thing #of course. but everyone always has to have a say. nothing can be kept private #‘it is not known why he did this’ ‘the purpose of this is unknown’ ‘the imagery / language is indecipherable’ they didn’t make it for you!!! #they didn’t make it for any of us. make your own strange images if it concerns you that much #and people don’t listen. they always want to see and think and put their own ideas where they shouldn’t be #it’s different to a public work ​that wanted to be seen. another’s interpretation smothers the private. a little #maybe i’m just stubborn. i think we should smash the looms #you die and your art is someone else’s. it’s chilling. everything must be burnt before you go— so you always know where it is #artists and writers who burn their unfinished works i love you i love you i love you. dignity is so frail and frantic #so little is private. one person’s intensely private world cheapened. i don’t know. it’s just #it’s often the case that people never wanted these things to be discovered. it was for them. #‘i didn’t make him FOR YOU!!!!’

[byronicbi]

........... Watcher. I mean. I get it. But what the hell. I love you guys but I can't do it. I can't pay for another subscription. ):

Like I get it, youtube as a platform doesn't lend itself well to this kind of media but damn. Damn.

#texts. #even if i wanted to support a 'small' creator i just can't afford it. I'm broke as shit bro. #the only streaming site i pay for is spotify bcs i need it for work. everything else i just use my friends'. #again. I understand but i am EXTREMELY disappointed. #I hate the whole 'we have something good going on but we have to make more money because????' #Like youtubers who've been HUGE for 10+ years who are gonna be swinning in it for three lifetimes #yet still freak out when vids get demonatized. #Like okay. It's a job. I get it. You wanna get paid for your work and you're correct for demanding so. #But idk i just woke up from a horrible nightmare and logged onto tumblr and saw this smsjshwbsjsdje #I'm so used to just scraping by and doing what I love on the side because I HAVE to create otherwise I'll go insane #and I do. I DO live in fear that if success ever comes to me that'll I'll also take a turn into going where money takes me. #I don't want that. I want to be able to live comfortably yes. But I want my art to be accessible to everyone yknow??? #I know 5 bucks a month ain't much but there are smaller creators on patreon that also deserve those $5 #so many in fact. #I'm going back to sleep.

[bl00dw1tch]

depression will literally have you googling "i need something to hope for rn" 💀

#horse.txt #vent // #it was a week ago that i did that but im feeling it again. i feel so helpless. it feels like theres no point in doing anything #the existential and immediate global climate threat being exponentially Worsened by all the fucking Bombs #and everyone still walks around like 'well its not going to happen in our lifetimes' like 1. you are clearly Not fucking paying attention #and 2. what if i wanted to have kids. what about all the people who DO have kids and grandkids. what life do we have to hope for anymore #our country is full of genocidal racist maniacs that are jackhammering the foundations of our world to rubble #and im still supposed to just. take care of myself. to get a fucking job and keep going anyway. its fucking miserable. its fucking MISERABLE #if Avatar gets ruined for me before its completed i dont know if ill be able to muster up anything else to keep going #thats all ive got to motivate me personally right now. the fact that all the movies are supposed to be out before the end of the decade #before the temperatures get so bad it gets dangerous to go outside or whatever in the 2030s #i dont know. i try to stay optimistic and some days its really easy. there is progess being made. new oil is being rolled back and deflected #maybe it wont be too bad #but other days im just too scared to do anything. it really starts to feel like theres no point

[ink-asunder]

Okay against my own vows, I'm rereading my dragon age fanfic and I wanna bite people!! This shit is so riveting

#the dynamic between solas (fen harel) and the arisen (the senschel) AND her main pawn is SO! FASCINATING!! #the way the arisen and pawns can Sense that hes an elven god and that the pawns are wary of him #but they all need to keep each others secrets so everyone else is like “why are you guys so bitchy all the time? why dont you like each #other? youre like exactly alike with a lot of commonality #what gives?“ #the way solas slowly starts luring the main pawn away from the arisen to compromise them so they wont be able to interfere with him 👀 #and obvs cant forget cole. how his very existence parallels the pawns to a T and how the arisen would know how to handle him due to #lifetimes of raising and training pawns. #i swore i wouldnt touch this series again but if i could actually break it up into novellas so i can wrote EVERYTHING i want to #i probs wouldnt mind getting into it again. its just so interesting to me

[lina-lovebug]

I'd Fight The Devil

Alastor x fem! reader

Background: (Y/N) is the elder Morningstar, and wants to fix her relationship with her dad. But her dad hates her boyfriend.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 - Finale

Allusions to sex, actual sex, angel being angel, and cannibalism

_____

Angel spit out his drink, "You're with Alastor?!"

"Yeah, thoughts?"

"And prayers, girl," Angel could never imagine a sweet girl like (Y/N) getting it on with the Radio Demon himself.

But everyone has their kinks, he supposed.

Alastor manifested behind her, and she immediately felt his presence. Pressing herself against him, he leaned into her warmth and kept his arms around her shoulders.

"How was your day, mon amour?"

"It'll be even better," She trailed off, turning around to face him, "when we meet my dad for dinner."

Silence.

And not even radio silence.

"Not to be rash, but I'm sure your father would sooner see my head on a pike than on my body," Alastor adored the fact that she was mending their bond, even more so when Lucifer makes the effort.

But announcing their relationship to him?

He could see it ending in flames.

"I know you two don't get along, but I thought a nice dinner might smooth things over."

"And if he disapproves of us?" He lifted her head upwards with his finger, bemused as to what her answer may be.

"Then he'll have to get used to it," (Y/N) replied, sending a shiver of excitement up his spine.

Only a feeling that the she-devil he was utterly obsessed with could provide.

"Ugh, can you guys go fuck somewhere else?" Angel said, "or at all? I can't imagine going a lifetime without dick."

Alastors eye twitch, "now that's our business, isn't it?"

"Okay, okay," Charlie spoke up, "you guys go get ready."

Charlie couldn't help but notice the change in Alastor. It had only been a few months, but being in her sisters presence alone has made him kind. Sure, the both of them would skin someone alive over an insult, but Alastor would rip out his own eyes if (Y/N) asked.

A perfect match.

(Y/N) dawned a black dress with a pearl necklace that Alastor bought for her. Well, she thinks he bought it but he actually stole it off of a fresh kill.

How sweet.

"Pumpkin! Oh look at you! You're as radiant as ever!" Lucifer fawned over his daughter as they made it to the restaurant, making it a point to ignore the red demon behind her.

"Catching strays?" Lucifer gestured to him.

"Lovely to see you again," Alastor retorted.

"Dad, why don't we go inside? And Alastor will be joining us," now, Lucifer didn't forget what he said. He recognized that the fearsome deer demon had the intention of claiming Princess (Y/N) as his own, but did his daughter return such feelings?

Honestly, Lucifer feared that.

Not it being Alastor persay, but his little girls being hurt.

He knew how awful it felt to go through the divorce with Lilith, and then her disappearance.

He didn't ever want his daughters to feel that way.

"So, Alastor, what do you do again?"

"I have a radio broadcast. Your daughter has actually helped me repair the studio after the attack," He laid his land on hers.

And Lucifer picked up Alastors hand.

And placed it away from hers.

"Uh, dad-"

"Look, if you two are fucking, don't tell me."

"Dad!" Her face burned red, "we aren't-that's not. . .I love Alastor, and he loves me. I want you to accept us both."

"Love? Whoa, whoa, whoa! Pumpkin, I don't think-"

"I'm not a little kid," She interrupted, "I'm a grown woman, and I'm able to make my own decisions. I want to be with Alastor because I love him. You may not think I know what love is, but I know it's what I feel with Alastor."

That's when he saw it.

That look.

Whilst (Y/N) was defending herself, defending their love, Alastor looked at her. Only her. And it was like he was staring at the nebula itself, seeing all its beauty in the Heir of Hell. His smile faltered, closing his mouth, and his eyes softened.

It's the same look that he used to give Lilith.

"If I ever hear that you've made her cry, or even laid a single hand upon her," Lucifer stared him down, "I'll make you disappear."

"A man true to his word. Looks like we have something in common," Alastor agreed, his hand back on hers. She gave him a smile, one that reminded him of Lilith.

The rest of dinner went off without any incidents. The small jab here and there, but no one died, and no one was stabbed. Lucifer learned more about his daughters business and how she lit up talking about it.

"You hardly ate, Alastor. Is something wrong?" (Y/N) asked when her father went to the restroom.

"Oh no, my dear. Just hungry for something else, is all," His eyes raked up her form, earning a cough from the she-devil.

Honestly, she didn't know where he was on his spectrum. She was fine never even being intimate, so long as he was happy, but this spark in his eyes lit a fire within her.

"O-oh. . .are you sure?" Believe it or not, (Y/N) had only had sex twice and both times she'd call it lackluster.

"I don't want you to force yourself if you don't want to," oh how innocent she was. Honestly, Alastor assumed he was aroace before he met the she-devil. Her ferocity - her chaos in fights, her genuine kindness, and her soul - itself brought out that spark.

There are moments where the carnal desire needs to be satisfied.

"Mon cher, I'd never ask if I didn't mean it."

That look, it made her softly gasp.

"Alast-"

"Ew."

Right.

Lucifer.

He showed up from his restroom break and found the pair giving eachother "fuck me" eyes.

"Could I eat my dinner without you groping my child?" Lucifer hissed, despite Alastor only touching her hand.

He blinked, thinking how he's never even groped a woman.

"Maybe."

Sick bastard.

_ _ _ ☆ _ _ _

"Fuck! Alastor!"

(Y/N) had never cum before, so Alastor being her first to ever do so and smiling away at her quivering legs made it so much better.

"Oh fuck. . ." She moaned weakly, his tongue slithering in and out of her to lick up every last drop.

"Al. . ." She was breathless, staring at his strained member. Reaching up to unzip his pants, he tutted as he grabbed her wrist.

"Al?"

"It's about you. Don't worry about me, amour," He purred, kissing the bite marks on her thighs.

"But you-"

Before she could detest further, wishing to satisfy him, the door opened.

"Oh my God, they were right! Alastor, you sly dog," Angel Dust was at the door, and Alastor quickly covered his beloveds' body with the covers before his horns started to grow and his back stretched.

"I'm going to kill you."

"Not before you make love to me, you're not," still in his demonic form, (Y/N) blew a gust of wind to slam the door shut.

Her body displayed on the bed, Alastor agreed.

"And stay in that form. It suits you."

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