#I think both can be true in their case but that’s for another post

[utilitycaster]

Daggerheart Death Moves in action

this is in reference to this post I made - now that we've seen a few more death moves, and much more combat, I want to talk through it a little bit more!

Skreev in this episode is a great example of "not wanting to say goodbye to the character yet," and specifically a great example of a player who is generally very open to PC death picking this option. I want to be clear that as someone who is very open about being pro-character death, wishes C3 had actually been deadly, greatly dislikes Vax being brought back, likes that Molly's death remained permanent, enjoyed Candela and Calamity's PC death ratios given the genres they're in, etc etc, I am staunchly against the idea that the Avoid Death option is an easy way out. It can be - any choice in a TTRPG can be, while we're at it; but no one is forcing a player to take it. The fact is Skreev has been around for barely a full episode at this point, and his death wouldn't be interesting nor hold much weight, so Liam picks it. Additionally, while Skreev is out for quite a while, he actually participates in the fight about as much as Snyx, who's conscious the whole time! By my count, in a fight with 7 PCs and 3 enemies, he is unconscious for 9 action rolls; this would not be unusual for D&D combat.

August rolls, which is the correct move as this is very much his fight - as Taliesin says, he can't be unconscious for this. It's all or nothing, and it works in his favor, with him coming back from the brink to face his greatest personal enemy, but if he died, it would be at the hands of his own backstory, which would, unlike with Skreev, be fitting. I think had this come later in the game, Blaze of Glory would have also worked (and Taliesin would be open to choosing it) but at this point in the game, in a miniseries, allowing the dice to decide if he dies here or continues feels better than a definitive end.

Misty goes unconscious both times. I don't think this is the only valid option, but I also don't think it's a problem. It's not her climactic fight, and it's in a campaign where her death would signal her being gone forever. I think if this came midway through a longer-term game, blaze of glory or rolling for it would have felt better given her connection to August, but I don't feel like her dying nor coming back from the brink dramatically is narratively necessary here. She also, as we learn in Cooldown (and which will be played out next episode - the cast forgot), obtains a scar, which does have mechnical and narrative significance. The scar mechanic is important; going unconscious is not something you can do indefinitely.

More generally: I think Daggerheart does an excellent job of eliminating some of the most bogged-down or narratively unsatisfying elements of D&D (another example is that you can do max four HP damage per attack, leading to tighter combat and fewer endless slogs of Number Go Down). The fact is, death itself can end up feeling cheap or narratively unsatisfying in D&D in a resurrection heavy campaign.

@essektheylyss mentioned in a reply on another post that Daggerheart combat doesn't force quite as rigid circumstances for players to react to given open initiative, with an example of the combat in 2x98 (Fjord's assassination) being driven by the circumstances of initiative order. I agree - I think there's plenty of cases where D&D mechanics led to a unique emergent narrative that would not occur in Daggerheart. However, I also believe the reverse is true: it's not absurd to consider that in D&D, August might have been healed a few HP, and fallen down again, and spent the entire fight in an unconscious-to-few HP cycle unable to do much else than drink healing potions. Skreev might have died first thing - or, given the increased urgency to heal multiple fallen party members, might have remained unconscious but stabilized thanks to a magic item or Spare the Dying. I think Daggerheart provides much more narrative control the players surrounding matters of character death, and I think that is a good thing. Players can make uninteresting choices (though I don't think this was the case in this episode); but that is true of any TTRPG.

[seleniclight]

[ALNST] Mizi and Luka Parallels

ok, as promised, here are the main parallels I noticed between mizi and luka.

other people's idolization of them.

through other people's eyes (mostly till and sua), mizi's often seen as some sort of saviour or salvation. to them, she represents everything that is good about the world.

on the other hand, luka kind of has the same thing going on for him. except, he represents the epitome of what is seen as a 'perfect' alnst participant to the humans and the aliens. the admiration held for him stems more from this image he (or rather heperu) crafted of himself rather than the genuineness (?) people see mizi with.

this is also what differs between mizi and luka. while people put mizi on a pedestal because of how seemingly 'good' and 'innocent' she is as a person, people put luka on a pedestal based off a false (but still kinda true ig cause of all his actual skill stemming from brutal training) image he created as this untouchable being.

the fate of their loved ones (sorry lol).

think about it though, what do these two have so painfully in common? the fact that both of them have genuinely no one left (ok technically mizi does have till at the end of karma but yk idk if mizi is even alive atp).

mizi - sua (dead in r1), till (it's complicated ig), ivan (dead in r6), hyuna (dead in wiege)

luka - hyunwoo (dead when they were kids), hyuna (dead in wiege)

like i mentioned in a previous post about 'karma', when mizi says not to act righteous cause neither of them deserve to live it's likely because in mizi's eyes, both of them are common factor/catalyst for their loved ones suffering/dying.

the ways they were raised.

this is one part where they distinctly contrast each other.

mizi was the case where shine loved her and cared for her, not actually wanting to have her participate in alnst.

while luka was the case where he was literally genetically engineered and trained to be the perfect alnst competitor (talk about the two extremes lol).

this also severely impacted the worldview that each of them held where mizi was a lot more sheltered (despite the new info we have on her backstory) while luka lacked the ability to communicate with others and see things beyond his gilded cage (and the siblings).

alright, there are probably more parallels but for now this is all i can think of. if i have more to add, i'll either edit this one or add another post. byeeeeee.

[unforgivable-thatswhatiam]

Thank you for your meta, @vidavalor! I really appreciate it, comme d'habitude 🙂‍↕️

So, I’d like to share a thought I have on every rewatch of GO — a sort of expansion on the first part of your post.

GO was written in English (both book and script), obviously. But Crowley and Aziraphale are characters deeply shaped by the Bible, Old Testament (e.g. Genesis, Book of Job, Book of Enoch...) and New Testament (Jesus etc.).

So, when the angel and the demon use the word "know" in their "ineffable language", as you said, it can mean simply "know", but also "have sex", in the euphemistic, biblical sense of the word.

But I think it goes even deeper than that.

In Hebrew (yada) and Greek (γινώσκω), and so in the Bible, “to know” is a polysemous verb; in other words, it carries multiple meanings across different domains.

So yes, you get the euphemistic meaning as a double entendre, for a comic purpose, when Crowley talks to Muriel before ascending to Heaven, and when Aziraphale says:

And I completely agree with you about the embarrassed Crowley replying to Maggie "He's just an angel I know".

But I also think the beautiful complexity of the original biblical verb can be even more meaningful in other cases.

In its most basic sense, "to know" refers to intellectual knowledge, what we learnt or assimilated with our eyes, memories, experience (i.e. "our" meaning).

But in the Bible, it often goes far beyond that: it can indicate a total experience, personal and intimate, a deep relational bond with someone or even with God. This kind of knowledge engages the intellect, the body and the spirit all at once, and implies understanding, trust, loyalty and ethical agreement.

This total experience arises from the wholeness and complexity of human beings: they think, feel, act. And so do Aziraphale and Crowley, who know each other not just in mind ("to know"), or body ("to have sex"), but completely... mind, heart, sense.

And we know how much their "knowing" is tied to sensory stirrings: Crowley's kink for Aziraphale eating, "I know what you smell like!", Aziraphale visibly turned on after the Wall scene and the Apology dance...

So, the original verb covers the rational, emotional, and pragmatic spheres. Hence the euphemistic meaning of "intimate knowledge" as "sexual knowledge": sex, when it comes from love as appreciation, passion and desire, becomes the true and full knowledge... that between two people who unite and "become one flesh". One flesh, one person in two bodies.

And there's more. This meaningful verb has another deep sense: "to choose", sometimes with the nuance of "having faith in". In Genesis, God himself says about Abraham "I've known (= chosen) him".

So when Crowley, before Satan's arrival, says "It was nice knowing you", those may be his final words to the love of his six-thousand-year life - the One. The moment is too emotionally charged - and the expression on Crowley's face (blessing DT) is too devastated to believe that he's just referring to "have sex together".

In my opinion, he's saying that it was nice (this four-letter-word...) to know Aziraphale in the "holistic" biblical sense of this wonderful word: to know everything he is, thinks and does — as his friend, his lover, his partner. To have been one with him (mind, heart and body, eventually). To have chosen him and to have been chosen by him.

And I think the same holds true - though with a more relaxed smirk for the double meaning 📌 - for what you called "Crowley's I love you" (💞).

📌 Done on purpose, if you consider that in the book we read a more clear but more neutral "just enough of a bastard to be worth liking".

Thanks for attending my TED Talk! 🫡🎟️

"He's Just An Angel... I Know"

"He's just an angel... I know" is not Crowley saying that he and Aziraphale are not romantically involved. It's actually saying the exact opposite of that and telling Nina that he and Aziraphale are lovers.

How so?

Crowley's significant beat in pause, followed by the verbal italics putting emphasis on the word know. Plenty of other scenes show that Crowley loves to use the verb to know in its Adam & Eve-rooted, Biblical meaning as an euphemism for sleeping with someone. As in...

Crowley's last words to Aziraphale when Satan was coming and he thought they were going to die: It was nice knowing you.

Crowley's "I love you" to Aziraphale at The Ritz at the end of 1.01: And if you weren't just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing.

Crowley laughing in 1601, amused at Aziraphale's euphemism-laden lies that he and Crowley didn't know each other...

Those are just a few of the instances of Crowley and Aziraphale using to know as a dry and comically Biblical euphemism for sleeping together-- the way that many humans have also done for a long time. Just made funnier by the fact that Crowley and Aziraphale themselves are of Heaven and Hell.

This very same scene between Crowley and Nina that many are using in support of the idea of 2.06 being Crowley confessing feelings and his and Aziraphale's first kiss is, amusingly, really a scene in which Crowley is actually saying that they're already lovers, which supports all of the many, other scenes suggesting that Crowley and Aziraphale have been sleeping together for a long time.

Like, for a very, very long time...

"He's just an angel... I know" really meant that they're lovers in love who are partners in every way there is to be but for openly. The tone showed how evident it is that Crowley longs to be able to offer Aziraphale more than that.

He'd love to make an honest frequently-man-shaped being out of that angel but he can't because he's been damned to spend eternity as a bride of Satan over here, remember?

So, at present, Aziraphale is just the angelic sweetheart he loves and knows. They are a couple in secret who are well-aware of how much they love and adore each other and who are each other's partners in every way anyone would define it but for openly. They know they are that and they also know that, by this point in their relationship, they have no desire to be with anybody else. They're well-aware that, for all intents and purposes, they are partners, and have been for ages.

So, why not just call it that? How are they flirting with words related to this-- king, queen, spouse, wife, etc..-- and plenty related to love and so admitting to one another that they are a couple but... also then, at the same time, not admitting that they are one?

Here is where in the Nina scene Crowley explained why he still refuses to acknowledge that Aziraphale is his partner when everyone in the known universe can tell that's the case:

[TW: Satan harming Crowley discussion.] Pure of heart means free from sin. Crowley and Aziraphale correctly see no sin in love or sex. Their relationship isn't a sin to them. They do not see their relationship as an affair, either, the way that some in Hell and Heaven would, because Crowley's abuser is owed exactly zero loyalty. Loving one another and sleeping with one another is not sinful and they don't see it that way. So, where does the sin that Crowley is bringing up with "pure of heart" come into this?

The reason why Crowley cannot bring himself to admit that Aziraphale is his partner is because the moment they go from being madly in love best friends who have great sex and support each other through life (you know... partners lol) to being admitted partners?

Then he's Aziraphale's partner and Crowley, madly in love with Aziraphale, would only think someone a partner worthy of Aziraphale who would be faithful to him. Assault is not infidelity by any stretch of the imagination but that doesn't stop plenty of survivors from equating the two. Crowley, in his mind, believes that he cannot promise Aziraphale fidelity because he cannot free himself of Satan.

It goes without saying that Aziraphale would not, in any way, shape or form, view Satan's abuse of Crowley as Crowley cheating on him-- but Crowley does.

It's not an uncommon response for people who have been raped by someone outside their partnership to feel like they've been unfaithful to their partners. Part of the violation of rape for people who have a partner is that the survivor has been robbed of choice when it comes to who to share their body with. It's especially difficult if the survivor's preference is to only do so within their closed partnership, which is what pretty much everything in the story says would be Crowley's preference. He would be perfectly content sleeping with only Aziraphale for the rest of eternity and he would want to be able to offer him a partnership where that was possible.

If they view their relationship as their own but unable to be a full, open partnership because Crowley isn't free to offer that-- as they have been viewing it-- then there is no sin to it to Crowley. It's two people in love and who gives a fuck about Satan because his abuse of Crowley negates any need for fidelity.

But if Crowley were to allow he and Aziraphale to admit that they are the partners they really are? Then, because of Satan, he'd never be able to see himself as a faithful partner to Aziraphale, and that's really all he wants to be.

Crowley feels like he wouldn't be able to offer Aziraphale a true partnership without first being free of Hell-- and the whole thing with damnation has been that he is supposed to never be free of Hell.

In Crowley's mind, how can he promise to be only Aziraphale's when, aside from when he's with Aziraphale, Crowley's body isn't even his own?

He can't.

So, they aren't partners.

Even if they also absolutely are.

Crowley would love to be free of his messy entanglement with this evil asshole enough to marry Aziraphale, even if he thinks that Aziraphale could do much better than him for a partner, and it sounds all a bit like the drama of a certain someone's novels 😂...

Nina didn't understand that, though, because she lacked the context we have for their relationship. Yet, she also kind of nailed the truth about their relationship, anyway: You've got a husband? Or a boyfriend? Is the bookseller your bit on the side?

We might think this is ridiculous-- of course, Crowley doesn't have a husband or a boyfriend, other than Aziraphale!-- except that, well... Satan and others in Heaven and Hell might view what Crowley has going on with Aziraphale as an affair. It isn't one-- Crowley owes his rapist nothing-- but how Crowley & Aziraphale's relationship would be viewed depends upon whose point of view we're talking about-- and this scene is also by far not the only mention of this during S2.

Nina's hair falls in the above scene in such a way as to cut off one side of her t-shirt and make only the word tings visible-- side ting is MLE slang for bit on the side. Lindsay's abuse of Nina is stirred up by the idea that Nina is having an affair with Maggie. By the time we're in The Final 15, Mr. Carpet is even walking around with a newspaper [new/knew/know] that has been bit on the side, as if underlining and highlighting in neon this phrase. (Aziraphale, earlier: "I'm what's known as a newspaperman.") Beez also used the word affair to Crowley earlier in the season when trying to get his help with the Gabriel disappearance.

Crowley is just one of several characters loving angels in secret in S2, with the paralleling Beez and Nina emphasizing this as an important aspect of the story. The story getting into the perspective Satan would have and having parallels (Lindsay) to him in S2 (where all the flashbacks also revolve around Hell) is the setup for his return, which some of us think has already happened in the end of S2 but which is definitely going to happen before the story is over.

This is also then partially what leads to the confusion between Crowley and Aziraphale in The Final 15. Crowley proposing doesn't raise alarm bells to Aziraphale, though-- even after what we just looked at here-- because they had both just seen Gabriel and Beez try something different. Aziraphale thinks that maybe Crowley wants to follow suit, even if his situation is a bit different.

They don't have any space to talk alone, though, because they're being watched-- very likely by the very being at the heart of why this team, group, group of the two of them have been trying not to admit that they know they are the partners that they have been all along.

Bonus, related scene: that time that Crowley highlights the meaning of what he said to Nina to us by saying the same line-- without the emphasis implying innuendo at all whatsoever 😂-- to Muriel.

[naruto-reread-maxxing]

The blush??? The tenderness in the barely there touch with the sand that mimics gaara’s fingertips??? hello??? Naruto initiating the handshake but it’s gaara who encourages him to follow through bc he’s the only one who understands how hard it is for them to be vulnerable like that??? Because the fear of rejection is always lingering underneath it all??? Oh I’m gonna be sick

[gojoest]

curiosity — gojo satoru

MDNI, f! reader, childhood friends to lovers, satoru is painfully aware of his own feelings while reader is not, mention of past girlfriends (and how they all looked like you), handjob (m! receiving), cumming in pants (and in your hand), not proofread, wc: 2k, dividers by @/cafekitsune

synopsis: gojo satoru is your childhood best friend. you’ve been inseparable ever since you were little. spending day and night together, you’d often have sleepovers together — a tradition you both carried on throughout your college years. at least once a week you’d drop by his dorm room and stay the night, or vice versa. but compared to your childhood days, you no longer share one bed. that is, until . . .

part 2

a/n: this is a further (and very lousy) elaboration on this post of mine but hey, HAPPY BDAY TO MY ONE AND ONLY

“i think we should try sleeping together”, you suggest one night.

“wah—“, satoru gasps, a teasing glint in his eyes. “didn’t know you felt that way about me”, he smirks.

“just sleeping”, you quickly clarify. “whatever obscene thing you just thought of — it’s not that”, you add, giving him a roll of your eyes.

“you should pick your words more wisely”, he scoffs. “if you go around telling people you want to sleep with them, they will misunderstand”

“ugh”, you huff, “i obviously didn’t mean it like that, and you know it”

“yeah, i do”, he lets out a soft chuckle. he knew exactly what you meant, but still he disguised his wishful thinking behind a teasing remark. “why though? all of a sudden?”

“dunno”, you shrug. “just feeling bad that you always take the floor”

“if that’s the case we can just swap”

“no — i cherish my comfort. come on, we used to do this all the time”, you pout.

indeed you did. but you were kids back then, things were different.

his heartbeat would race and his face would get all hot and red, the heat would fester through his entire body. but when the lights were off it was easy to hide it, the signs that he liked you. after making sure you were fast asleep, he would hold your hand and childishly smile to himself, he would peck it softly, secretly. one time you woke up in the middle of the night and almost caught him but he, startled, kicked you off the bed. yelling at you, lying, how you pushed your finger in his nostril in your sleep… he was so embarrassed, but also relieved you believed what he said was true. his secret was safe.

but now?

when you stand too close to him his body starts acting up in more mature ways. while he is better at controlling his facial expressions now and hiding his nervous heartbeat behind a nonchalant attitude, he struggles with keeping his urges at bay. he’s no longer the boy that blushes while secretly holding your hand; he is a man who craves you.

even when he’s laid on the futon beside the bed you occupy, the sound of your breathing alone gets him hard. you lie there, sleeping innocently, unaware of how much of a pain in the crotch you are being to him. when you leave in the mornings, he climbs onto the bed that is soaked with your scent and shamelessly jerks off. he stands on his knees and sprays his load on the bedsheets. eyes shut close, he pictures you beneath him.

he sighs in defeat. “fine”

“the right side is mine — it’s only natural, because i am always right”, you snicker and quickly pad over to the bed, plopping your body down on the mattress. “sure”, he chuckles and follows after you, sinking himself right next to you.

it is a bit awkward, you must admit. you are laid on your sides facing each other, in silence.

it’s cramped indeed, your knees are brushing against his and the space in the middle separating your bodies from one another is very scarce. but that was to be expected, the beds in the dorm rooms were designed for one person after all.

“so”, you break the silence. “how’s your girlfriend doing?”

“she’s not my girlfriend, anymore”, he states dryly.

“but it’s been barely two weeks since you started dating”

“well, things didn’t work out i guess”

the girls he dated, all of them looked a bit like you. same height, same hair color and length. similar facial features… he never lasted long with any of them though. all of them, visibly bothered by your presence in his life, would too soon ask him to make a choice — either them or you. neither of them aware that he chose to be with them in the first place only because they reminded him of you, and that it was never the question itself that drove him away from them. it was bound to happen, sooner or later. they could never be you.

you hum. “i see”

as you shift to make yourself more comfortable, you feel the shirt he gave you to wear to bed roll up ever so slightly, revealing the bare of your belly. a bit self-conscious now that he’s next to you, you are immediately urged to cover yourself. you slide a hand under the blanket, rummaging around to get a hold of the hem, but oh...

…the back of your hand brushes against something stiff. the friction incurring a low pant from the man, your best friend, next to you.

“fuck”, satoru hisses. his hand clasps around your wrist, pushing it away, but along with the movement his knuckles graze the flesh of your stomach. “fuck”, he curses again.

“satoru”, you say his name, voice hushed and timid but there is a note of underlying curiosity he is way too familiar with.

this is exactly why he was avoiding the one bed scenario — his boners were too hard to hide at this age and this size of him.

“satoru”, you repeat. “are you hard?”

“i wish you didn’t ask the obvious”, he mumbles, embarrassed. warmth washing over his face uncontrollably, just like in the past. but there was a bigger problem now — down in his pants, and the fact he got caught.

“is it because of me?”

“no”, he clicks his tongue, his grip still tight around your wrist, keeping your hand at bay. “it’s because i didn’t jerk off tonight, you know — it’s a natural thing for us men to randomly pop a boner throughout the day”

…which was true. but it was not the case right now.

“can i play with it a little?”, you ask, sneakily twisting your wrist in an attempt to free your hand.

“oi!”, he yelps. “did you hit you head or what?”

“i am curious”, you blurt out. “just a little?”

“stop”, he warns. “it’s weird”

his resolve is hanging by a thread right now, you’re too cunning to tempt him like this. he knows things will get awfully messy between you if he lets you cross this line. but still, he can’t flat out deny you. deep down he wants you to persist, a little bit more… if you ask him one more time, maybe he’ll crumble. surely, he will.

“it’s not”, you reassure. “i won’t jerk you off, i’ll just touch it”, you explain. “please? just a little?”

well. fuck it.

“this is a bad idea”, he says, but loosens his grip around your wrist. “fine”, he mumbles. “but just a little”

you nod, pulling your hand away only to slide it down his body.

you’re not really sure why you were so happy to hear the news about his break-up, but you always felt more at ease when he belonged just to you. your best friend, and not someone else’s boyfriend. you don’t know why you were doing this right now, or why your heart was racing. maybe because it really was weird? or maybe you were just horny?

finding his cock wasn’t difficult, it sure stood out from the rest of his body.

“you really are hard”, you gasp, running your fingers across the bulge in his shorts, dragging out a throaty groan out of him.

“yeah”, he mumbles. “like i said, stop stating the obvious”

“it’s a bit wet here”, ignoring his words, you thumb the spot where his tip is, making him squirm. his body slightly jerks as you press your palm against it. cupping it inside your hand you squeezing it gently. “it’s warm too”, you keep exploring further. “it has a pulse”

satoru lets out a helpless whine. “you sound so dirty right now, it’s weird”

he’s longed for this type of intimacy with you for years. but in his head, he pictured it differently. it was him who was supposed to do things to you, not the other way around. he was supposed to be the confident one, delving into your layers, making you squirm and fall apart under his touch. not the other way around… but this was good too. too good for him to oppose it. you were his weakness, after all. you always have been. no matter how much he teased and picked on you, in the end he always let you do as you pleased. this was not an exception.

you giggle to yourself. “yeah? you like that new side of me, don’t you?”

“…maybe”

sneaking your hand through the front of his shorts and boxers, you feel the flesh of his cock directly. it was twitching, his tip slick with precum. you put the tip of your index finger on his slit and rub circles around it to smear the pre oozing out of it, getting another soft whimper out of him. the head of his cock all slippery now, urging you to rub it all over the rest of his length.

your fingers wrap around his cock as you start to move your hand up and down, slowly, smearing his own slick onto his own flesh.

he tries to swallow the moan stuck in his throat. “you said you were not going to jerk me off, but what now? you’re playing a bit too much, don’t you think?”

satoru can last long. under normal circumstances, that is. but having you — not just his hand, but you, his first ever love, his only love — touch him like that, he could barely hold back. the urge to bust has been there since the moment you put your hand on his cock.

“why? you gonna cum?”, you slip your hand lower, down to the base of his shaft — where his balls are. you caress them tenderly, incurring yet another soft groan from him, before you go back to stroking him again. with each drag you pick up the pace. the room is filled with the squelching sounds caused by your hand, at this point, confidently fisting his slick covered cock, and his heavy breathing. 

“hey”, he puts his hand on your cheek, softly pinching on it with his fingertips. an attempt to make you snap out of it, but alas — you don’t back away. “don’t regret this”, he whispers, almost beggingly. but his voice comes out too shallow for your ears to pick up on.

“are you close?”, you peek at him, watching his face with rapt fascination, grateful that you left the night lamp on.

never have you ever seen him like this. his cheeks so hot and flushed that his pale skin was lit completely red, up to his ears and his neck. beads of sweat across his forehead with strands of his hair stuck on it. mouth agape — huffing and puffing. his brows knitted, desperately. pleadingly. his mouth telling you to stop, yet his face told a different story. so did the part of him inside your palm. it made you throb, down there, and squeeze your thighs together. your own wetness spurting out from your slit, drenching the inside of your underwear”

“fuck—", he growls. “i am— c-close”, he stutters, struggling to control his breathing and the moans that roll out of his mouth.

you feel his cock twitch in your hand, differently. the pulse on it beating faster and more brashly, like it almost made his skin stretch and push against the flesh of your palm. and then, there was a delay. a few, very short seconds in which his cock stood still before violently exploding, pumping out a thick shot of cum. then some more, and more, and more — until the pouring turned into a light dribble toward the end.

“ugh”, he throatily groans, his body relaxing after oozing all the tension out. although slower now, you keep stroking him, running your fingers across his softening cock.

“oh wow”, you gasp, his cum sticky on your skin, drenching the space between your fingers. “what a mess”, you giggle.

“you’re trouble”, he sighs. “is your curiosity satisfied now?”

you nod.

“if you get curious about other things”, he pauses, scratching the back of his head, “come to me. don’t go to other men”

“i’ll think about it”, you smirk.

after that night, you stayed over for an entire week.

this little play time turned into routine, and you were no longer the only one playing.

[bbrattywise]

SEEKING VALIDATION FROM THE 3D IS SOOOOO LAST SEASON

HEAR YE! HEAR YE! ladies & gents, boys, gals & non-binary pals, i present to you another post brought by urs truly, @bbrattywise : this post was ib: this reddit story

anywho, intros done, let's cut straight to the chase, i think the reason why most ppl struggle with validating themselves from the imagination is we're scared its "lying to ourselves" & its "being delusional" *red buzzer to both answers because those are FAR from right!!*

1) the imagination is REAL, realer than this reality in a sense that whatever u persist in the imagination will quite litreally materialise into ur 3D (because thats litreally how the law of assumption works. You assume in ur imagination/4D and it materialises into the 3D, ya get me??) So no matter what, ur dominant thoughts/assumptions (a.k.a ur dominant thoughts u persisted in ur imagination whether thats being tiktok famous or having ur dream yacht) have no choice but the manifest into the 3D.

2) u not feeling happiness/any sort of positive emotions when visualising/imagining living in end w/ ur desire ≠ it being fake. Because obviously, u having something = u being quite used to it so ofc u are not gonna feel all giddy everytime u think about it. Thats totally normal!! that is the same principle for experiencing "negative emotions". You experiencing any sort of emotion doesn't change the fact that you ALREADY HAVE ur desires in ur imagination, so chillax buttercup! you are not doing anything 'wrong'.

3)"but how do i imagine having my desires?" pls dont overcomplicate yall, i swear its as easy to do as it is to say. Basically pick what u want & acknowledge it being in ur imagination. For example, whenever i be stressing about the 3D i be like "oh yea, i already have it in the imagination which is my true reality" and go about my day. Its as easy as thinking, think as u already have it (because that is quite litreally the case). As Neville Goddard says "creation is finished" which i love falling back to whenever i am in doubt because once you've imagined ur desire, thats it. Thats all you gotta do.

4) find ways to make ur imagination ur fun place. When i started utilising the imagination, i was like "huh, wdym i can litreally imagine WHATEVER?!!" lemme tell u, the imagination is limitless!! It's like playing sims 4 without the restrictions put in place by the developers. You make DA MF RULESSSSSS!! Wanna visualise owning a pet dragon?? the sky's the limit!! its so fun picking things & living out ur imagination knowing that it materialises into the 3D regardless <3

the law of assumption (though a mundane, universal law) is such a beautiful thing to be aware of so utilise this information. Don't dwell in old circumstance because you're scared of change. Trust me, take this leap of faith and really have fun with the law of assumption. After all, its practically a life cheatcode, might aswell use it, right?

divider creds:

[katyspersonal]

I also wanted to add a few things to this post!

For one, it is possible that Godrick at first was driven out of Leyendell, and then returned with the army to try to take back what was his!

Maybe people who held enough power to push out even a descendant of Golden Lineage, or even his more "liked" relatives kicked him out! Maybe Godefroy too? If he was seen as a disgrace to his great ancestors, I could imagine eventually his part of the family was betrayed it some way!

^^^ So, Godrick returned later, when he accumulated enough soldiers to do so! If he was able to disguise himself as a woman, it means he was not even doing the grafting yet, but it is implied that Godefroy did since he got imprisoned and is very much grafted (yeah he is reused asset but the implication is obvious)!

It means Godefroy must be older. Older brother? Father? Uncle? But basically, the idea of grafting to compensate for lacking physical strength was already a "tradition" in his part of the family, and Godrick inherited it! They had a trauma of being condemned and denied their rightful living place due to being "disgrace" as genetically weaker bloodline, so they made sure to "fix" it. Now, Godrick himself grafts himself the body parts of the strongest warriors he can get to, anticipating the time when he feels strong enough to attempt another attack on Leyendell. Perhaps, a day that will never come? @swallowtail-ageha once pointed out that maybe cut content "WE should be there, not rank and malformed twins of whatever" line was not Godrick's invention, but rather a sentiment passed down in his bloodline, and eventually reaching him! I honestly believe this idea.

Another thing: Godrick's Rune is soaked in acidic green glean! All things considered, I feel like it could reflect his stagnation!

For one, the Elder Lions, relatives of the Divine Beasts worshipped by Hornsent dancers, have similar yellowish glean in their eyes. They have been captured and humiliated, reduced to basically dogs, and going astray from their otherwise greatness might be reflected by that.

Then, we have Rakshasa! The "is eye clouding meant to create full eye color or is a lore hint" varies from case to case, but since she is from the Land of Reeds, the blue eyes are her real eye color and she is an albino Eastern Asian! Philosophy of Rakshasa is to never relent, similarly to how "a warrior should remain ever-drifting", yet she is dead. I feel like her being buried in the places where water always runs very wild is symbolic, to give her the 'drive' she had lost for one reason or another at least in death. It gave her eyes the 'stagnation' hue.

Stagnation of spirit and stagnation of water resulting in "human dregs" is one of the beloved metaphors and lore bits of Fromsoft, and I think it returned in Elden Ring as well! We have three cases of this same acidic green color, and all cases are thematically similar. So, Godrick's "stagnated", both spiritually and in terms of never taking action already, being all bark and no bite already, and this is why his Rune is so green.

At last, I love the environmental storytelling of how Stormveil, that is supposed to be way more of a functional fort, is now decorated all-over with gold that conflicts with its true intention and function. I am not opposed to the idea that Godrick himself decorated it so much, to surround himself with the gold he is not deserving of in the eyes of others (and maybe even his own, although he won't admit it)

Sympathy for the Grafted

I think, personally, that Godrick has one of the better “buildups” when it comes to his character — but I won’t really go into that. I also love him for what he represents: this kind of rot, or slow degradation, that once was the glory of his golden clan.

Godrick, as we know, is a member of the Golden Lineage — those born from and descended of Queen Marika and the Elden Lord Godfrey. Godrick’s generational distance is also quite notable, as he’s barely regarded as a demigod — a decrepit, old, ugly, and grotesque man.

A detail that isn’t often brought up about Godrick is that he was born a weakling child. That isn’t to say being born closer in stature to mortals makes someone weak, but rather, there was something inherently wrong with him — something that made him physically weaker than most others. Sickly born, I suppose.

Now, take into consideration the factors that culminated in Godrick as a person:

The citizens of Leyndell — members of the nobility, royalty, and their servants — are largely isolated. They lived in a small city that is twice fortified by near-impenetrable walls. This land is their right, as the grave-given denizens of the Erdtree. So naturally, not only is material wealth taken into consideration, but also physical traits. If you were graceless — some flavor of beast or demihuman, or both — you’d better be far away, enslaved, run through the machine of war, or killed. The world has no place for impurities.

This culminates in a genetic and spiritual enclave of highland supremacists who undermine anyone beyond their way of life or understanding. Godrick echoes this — a snobby, classist racist, naturally. He’s the byproduct of his circumstances. The chosen, worthy people — a golden people under the great tree.

Godrick’s clan is also one marked by bravery, heroism, and selflessness. Godfrey was a man known for his conquering reign and his ability to face down any challenge with either his axe or bare hands. Godwyn the Golden was a fearsome warrior who fought prehistoric dragons that conjured storms, and he was hailed as a beloved peacemaker.

Where does that leave Godrick? Physically, he is no more impressive than some commoners — not at all a tall, muscular man brandishing a weapon with cascading blond hair, but a sickly man brought up at the end of an era, when the glory of his people began to fade after the banishment of their clan’s forefather.

Godrick has a radically misunderstood image of Godfrey in his mind — mostly because Hoarah Loux’s identity as Godfrey is his legacy. The battle axe, the tree, the lion — these are symbols of Godfrey that Godrick dons. You may notice how neither Godfrey nor Godwyn dress at all like Godrick, his fellow weakling kin, or their banners or armies. Godfrey and Godwyn wear a lot of blue with floral-aquatic golden embroidery, generally adorned with silver or gold ornaments. Godrick and his affiliates wear orange and green, accented with yellow, with the symbols of Godfrey woven throughout — symbols of home, strength, and wisdom.

Godrick is a man who likes to wear, feature, and speak on ideals of strength and faith, but in no way could he actually be emblematic of them. He wasn’t Godfrey — not like that. He was the sickly-born child of a great legacy, whose forebears no longer preside over the continent. Godrick was a man who likely just wanted some small amount of notoriety as a golden clansman during the brief and tenuous period following Godwyn’s death and during Morgott’s fragile attempt at a peaceful coalition with his fellow Shardbearers. But Godrick the Golden was always the little one.

Not to mention, he’s a thieving coward — stealing family treasures, attempting a siege upon Leyndell (which, to be fair, was an understandable move when an Omen of all things claims he possesses more legitimacy than you), hiding himself among the womenfolk, hiding within Stormveil, insulting Malenia only to be defeated, wherein she spared him as he groveled to the ground to quite literally kiss her unalloyed feet. He’s so goddamn pathetic. Everything he’s ever had, he either stole from others or inherited because he’s all that’s left in any relevant capacity.

Even in Morgott’s coalition — imagine: you have the Carian royalty and the malformed twins, all children of the man who displaced your ancestor. The only apparent representative of your kin is a foolish Omen claiming kingship. Yet Godrick had no physical prowess, and so he survived by being a pathetic coward, slipping through the cracks whenever it suited him.

I can definitely see him as a self-loathing man. How unfair it must feel to be born in such a way, when you’re surrounded by grandeur. Sadly, he chose the villainous route — but then again, they’re all just warring aristocrats in the end. All the demigods.

[alchemistc]

Based on my own post from earlier this evening because I can't stop thinking about it.

vanilla

He doesn't mean to see it. He swears. It's just - Tommy's laptop is right there and Buck's is all the way in the office and if he doesn't look up the lifespan of a Cecropia moth right now he's going to forget about it for a month only to remember in the middle of something vitally more important than watching Planet Earth reruns.

So he twists the thing around from its spot on the side table, boots it back up, types in Tommy's password (pA$$word3, because no one would ever guess that he'd be both so lazy and so creative in his laziness), and watches Firefox boot itself up. It's an older laptop, and Tommy doesn't take great care of it - case and point, he didn't even close out of his tabs, they're all still there, and - well. Shit.

That's the most ridiculous dildo he's ever seen.

Biggest, too.

Jesus.

Buck immediately forgets 100% of what he was doing.

And - and looking up Tommy's history is absolutely a line crossed - there's no reason for him to fucking spiral just because there's a bright purple dragon something on the screen with a base as wide as Buck's thigh. There's no reason why he should -

He clicks the search history and regrets it pretty immediately.

That kills two hours.

He has three more until Tommy's off shift, and now everything is worse. Because.

Okay so.

Like.

They have a pretty healthy sex life, Buck thinks. A year into Tommy and Buck Part Two and they still can't keep their hands off each other. And - so, like, sue him for preferring all the boring stuff he never really got to enjoy long term - the way he knows Tommy goes a little crazy when they're lying on their sides and Buck can just slip right in and press his lips to Tommy's shoulder, tuck his hand under Tommy's where he's got it on his chest, curl their fingers together and just breath into each thrust. Sue him for liking it when they're face to face and Tommy's looking up at him with the pads of his fingers tracing the shell of Buck's ear and he can see the love love love in his eyes, see the way his tongue curls out Buck's name like a prayer. Sue him for his fantasies always drifting to that sunny afternoon in their bed, Buck on his belly and Tommy everywhere around him, over him, inside of him, humming useless nothings into Buck's ear while the sweat from their skin eased the chafe of being pressed together from pelvis to collarbone.

Buck picks up his phone. Watches the familiar name ring out one, two, three - answered on the fourth ring.

"Am I not kinky enough, do you think?" Buck asks, and gets a drawn out moment of silence.

"Nope," Ravi says, and the call drops.

And who else is he gonna call, really? Hen and Chim? (Hard no, they nipped that in the bud back when Buck and Tommy were still in Part One) Maddie? Another line too far, but this one he doesn't feel like crossing today. Eddie? If he'd even pick up?

Buck dials out again.

Ravi picks up on the second ring. "Buck, I love you man, but I get a front row seat to your little love fest at least once a week, four hours a night. I am not equipped or willing to help you with your sex life."

Fair. That's fair. Boundaries are important. Ravi does an excellent job of setting his up and announcing where they are.

"It's just I found something in Tommy's browser that -."

"Absolutely not. I'll block your number for twenty-four hours."

"Right. Cool. Sure thing." Buck breathes.

"Talk to Tommy, if you're freaking out about it." Ravi caves, just a bit. "Every time. I say this every time, and it always works, doesn't it?"

True. On both accounts. When did Ravi become his go to guy?

(When he started picking up the phone whenever Buck called. When he came to Buck with his own shit and didn't apologize for it.)

"Yeah. You're right. I'm gonna talk to him."

"We're still on for Friday, right?"

Buck has to search his memory to figure out what he's referencing. Tommy's taking Ravi to the farmers market over in Venice Beach that Buck refuses to go to on principle because Sherri's Treats aren't even homemade. She gets the baked goods from Costco and decorates them with store brand icing.

"Talk to Tommy," Buck throws back, just to be a brat, and Ravi sighs.

"Touche."

He's still freaking out when the call ends three minutes later, and he doesn't want to have to pull this trigger.

Except. Like. It's still there. Right on Tommy's screen. Watching him.

The phone rings six times.

He's contemplating how ridiculous it is to leave a voicemail when Lucy answers with a groggy "'lo?"

"Am I not kinky enough?" Buck asks, and gets the start of a cackle and then a long, slow pause.

She's gonna hang up on him. She's absolutely going to -

"It's ten-thirty in the morning on a Wednesday, Buckley."

And it sure is.

God, this would never have happened if he hadn't started an update on his phone mid-episode.

"Walk me through it," she continues, all business, all of a sudden, and so Buck tells her, grateful for her hums and uhuh's as she starts her day. Buck talks over the sound of her brushing her teeth, and pouring her coffee, and absolutely doesn't mention that he thinks she should probably have better sleeping patterns while he spirals about Tommy being unsatisfied with the sex they have.

"Gonna break bro code here a little to tell you you have literally nothing to worry about there. Seriously. You're getting gold stars every night, I promise you."

"He's been looking up gimp suits and gags, Lucy!"

She's quiet on the other end, for a moment.

Then she starts laughing.

Again.

Which is a great feeling for Buck. He loves it when Lucy laughs at him.

"Oh, Jesus, I'm sorry. Honey those aren't for you."

Well, now he's kinda mad at the implication that Tommy would -

"Not for Tommy, either," she interrupts, like she knows where that spiral leads. "I forgot what time of year it was. This is new for you."

"What's new for me?"

He can picture the sly grin on her face as she pours something into a bowl - milk maybe. Then cereal.

God, what a psycho.

"Tommy and an army buddy of his have had this escalating prank war going on for like...seven, eight years? I don't know, I wasn't here at the start of it, but I guess it started as the most heterosexual man you've ever met trying to be a good ally to his newly out buddy and sending a set of butt plugs to the only address of Tommy's he had available."

Weird. But not the weirdest thing he's ever heard. "Which was?"

"Oh, Harbor. Yeah. Got it his first week there. So now every year on the anniversary they try to send each other shit at work that should technically be grounds for a sexual harassment claim from their coworkers. Last year Tommy got a fully custom furry suit. Dude probably dropped thirty grand on that thing."

He shouldn't ask. He definitely shouldn't -

"It was a horse. Because of his big fat -."

"I get the picture, thanks."

"So yeah. It's coming up on time for them to push a boundary a little too far and actually have someone complain about it, this time. They won't stop until one of them gets a write up."

It's kinda funny. Kinda sweet, too, in that really weird way military men are with each other. Irrationally, Buck kinda wants to slew foot the guy for being an unintentionally massive flirt.

Straight dudes are the literal worst at allyship, in the weirdest ways possible.

"He's out of state, so don't go getting territorial, Buckley."

Never gonna live that down.

"But seriously though? Back to the original point. Which is you freaking out that Tommy is unsatisfied in your sex life. Number one: talk to him. You guys are the actual worst. Always gotta have a second opinion before you bite the bullet and do the normal thing. Number two: I know too much. And I know you have nothing to worry about. Number three: when he gets home I want you to record his reaction when you turn the laptop screen on him like a spurned wife and send it to me. I'm having a bad day. I could use the entertainment."

"You just woke up."

"And had to talk an old coworker down from a ledge about how satisfying his sex life is with a current coworker. Bareback, no lube, just wake up and go."

"I think this also counts as sexual harassment."

"You started this conversation with 'am I kinky enough' so I'm not super concerned."

By the time he gets off the phone with Lucy he's very firmly on solid ground. And also wondering exactly how much Tommy actually talks about their sex life when he's not around. Tommy keeps things pretty close to the vest. He can't imagine he's going around bragging about that time he started crying when Buck hit his prostate right as he licked into his mouth and slid a hand up his arm to link their fingers together.

Maybe in less detail.

Something about seeing God, maybe. That seems more like his style.

---

Tommy has a routine, when he gets home from work. Keys hung up, jacket on the coat rack, duffle tucked into one of the cubbies of his makeshift mud room. Shoes under the bench, two minutes of head scritches for Goose as she meows her way down the hall to greet the only man she'll ever love.

(Buck's super cool about the fact that Tommy's breakup cat hates him. Totally chill.)

When Goose has had her fill and darted off to go bounce off the walls of the office, Tommy likes to amble in to whatever room Buck is in and drape himself across Buck's back for a moment, mouth pressed to the knob of Buck's spine, hands roaming for a moment before he manages a greeting.

He's making risotto for dinner when he hears the lock click in the front door.

He's ignoring Lucy's text reminding him to get a reaction shot.

He listens to Tommy talk back to Goose like he understands every "mrow" listens for the shuffle of socked feet down the hall, listens to him pad across the kitchen tiles, braces himself for the dead weight of Tommy against his back.

Tommy's got a hand halfway up his shirt when he mumbles into Buck's ear. "So I hear we have something to talk about."

"Ravi snitched."

"Ravi still thinks I'm the sensible one, of the two of us."

Buck snorts. Tips his head back against Tommy's shoulder and basks in the moment while Tommy buries his nose behind Buck's ear.

"Before I say anything else, I know you said I can use your laptop whenever I want but you should know I definitely snooped where I shouldn't and jumped to some wild conclusions. Which Lucy has already cleared up on your behalf, because apparently we're both too chicken shit to have a conversation without using a lifeline."

Tommy stills. "I didn't close out my browser session last time, did I?"

"You did not."

"And Lucy told you about the horse costume Dom sent me last year."

"She sure did. She very specifically called it a furry suit, though."

Tommy blows out an exasperated breath against his neck. "And you were freaking out because...?"

"I thought maybe you were bored with the sex we have."

That gets Tommy going. He pulls free just to get enough leverage to spin Buck to face him, hands on his hips and eyes catching Buck's like if he doesn't see Buck's eyes in the next five seconds he'll do something crazy, and Buck doesn't really know how he got so lucky but he's not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth. Even if it's a furry.

"Evan. Please understand when I say this I'm not exaggerating. Our sex is life altering. I want to have slow, quiet, vanilla sex with you until the day I die."

"Which won't be for like another fifty years."

Tommy hums. "I'm gonna be popping Blue Chew when I'm ninety-five and have two bum hips."

"Oh, so I have to do all the work?"

"Why do you think I dated younger?"

Buck has to kiss him about it. And then he has to pull back and duck his head to remind Tommy of the part he blazed right past. "Full disclosure, when I said I snooped I meant I went into your search history."

Tommy's chuckle shakes them both. "I figured. You go back far enough to find the single porn link in amidst all the shitty plastic used actuators for sale on eBay?"

"I'm not a masochist, Tommy." Figures he'd get so frustrated looking for a part to fix the rattling in the Jeeps dash he'd want to rub one out. Usually takes him more than a single video, though. Probably he'd decided he'd feel too guilty to actually get off until he had the part ordered.

Tommy shifts his weight a bit. Wedges a knee in between Buck's legs. His eyes get that sparkle to them that means he finds Buck to be an adorable menace. "How married to the risotto are you?" he asks, hands shifting from Buck's hips to behind his thighs.

"Not - not terribly." It had been a distraction from thinking about Tommy's army buddy, mostly. The recipe still isn't perfected and even though Tommy's complimented it every time, Buck can tell it's missing something and Tommy is just letting him figure it out on his own.

"Maybe we could order in and I can show you how satisfied I am with your service."

"We - that's definitely an option. On the table."

"How about this very sturdy counter, instead?"

They haven't done it somewhere not-the-bed in months.

Their knees aren't gonna thank them for it.

Buck has to attempt to ignore Tommy mouthing at his neck to remember if there are enough ice packs in the freezer for the both of them, right now.

"Yeah - yep, let's do that instead."

Tommy gets both hands under his ass and lifts.

He doesn't quite swoon over the move, anymore, but it still makes him more than a little giddy.

"Wait, did you decide on the dildo over the gimp suit, because if you're escalating at the same rate as your friend I think -."

"Can we talk about Dom after I get my satisfaction scores in, please?"

"Shutting up now."

"I don't believe that for a second," Tommy says, and then shuts him up with his mouth anyway, just for good measure.

[yourneighborlyweirdo]

The Easiest Way to Manifest/The Ultimate Beginner’s Guide to Manifesting! (My Personal Method)

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*

What if I told you there was a way to instantly manifest whatever you’ve ever wanted?

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*

I’m talking like, you think it and it appears minutes (or even seconds with practice) right before your eyes?

If you’re interested, this is how.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*

Introduction:

So, let’s get into it. Hey, if you don’t know me, I’m kinda new here on Tumblr—new like I just started posting today type shit. (I literally set up my account hours ago.) I’ve been scrolling on this app for atleast a month now and I’ve been seeing some posts that are pretty helpful, so I just want to give my personal advice to any of those who are struggling. (Because that used to be me.) I wanna start this off with a warning…

Warning: If this doesn’t resonate with you, take what you like and leave the rest. If my advice doesn’t help you out it doesn’t have to! And don’t force yourself to use my technique if it feels weird to do or something you aren’t comfortable with. But if my method doesn’t work for you, (which I highly doubt because this can work with anyone and everyone) then maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. And also, I am not a professional. I am merely a vessel trying to pass my knowledge on to others. But, I do consider myself a Master at Manifesting, only because I’ve Mastered it. And my only goal is to help you Master it too. If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to drop a comment or a DM. Thanks!

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*

The Law:

In this technique, I will be using the Law of Assumption. If you’re not sure what this is, let me explain…

The Law of Assumption is a universal Law for manifestation. As the name suggests, it means assuming. Everything you assume will become your reality. Practicing the Law of Assumption means realizing that the 4D (Your mental reality, your imagination) is the only thing that matters, not your 3D (Your physical reality, the thing you’re seeing right in front of your 2 eyes.)

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*

(Side Note: I use “LOA” to abbreviate/shorten “Law of Assumption.” Both of these terms will be highlighted in pink for your understanding. Also, the 4D is your imagination and the 3D is the physical world around you. I suggest you remember these terms.)

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*

An Example Scenario of Using The Law:

Example: Let’s say, I really want a soda. But I’m laying down in my bed, so obviously, I can’t see a soda in front of me. But, using the LOA, I can get my soda. Here’s how…

So, I’m sitting here in my bed really wishing I had a soda in my hands. To manifest a soda, I will use the LOA. To use the LOA, I will either think or speak out loud, whatever you want to do, to manifest. I will start thinking. “Damn. I really want a soda right now. I know I’ll get my soda. I want it so I can get it. I will have my soda, one way or another.” And a couple minutes later, I got a text from my parent saying they brought me a soda from the gas station. (Yes this example is a true story on how I started manifesting using the LOA for the first time.)

If you’re not picking up what I’m putting down, let me break it down. Here’s what just happened in that example:

1. I really wanted something (in this case the “something” was a soda)

2. I started to think about how I wanted it, then I assumed that I would get it, one way or another.

3. Boom! I got my desire. (Which was the soda in this case.)

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*

Breaking It Down:

See how easy that was? Within minutes I got my desire in only 3 easy steps. If you’re still confused, let me explain…

What happened there was I identified what I wanted (AKA: My desire being something I wanted.) Then, I used the LOA to manifest my desire to becoming my reality. Then naturally, the 3D followed what I thought in my 4D.

Literally the only thing I did was think what I wanted to happen and it happened in front of my eyes.

You: “But why? But how? How is that even possible—”

What happened was I thought something in my imagination (my 4D) and the physical world (the 3D) conformed because the 4D will always be in charge of the 3D.

Think of the 3D as a chief in a restaurant. The 4D is the waiter, and you are a customer in that restaurant. Let’s say you wanted to manifest a soda, so you’d say, “Waiter! I would like one soda please.” And the waiter, (The 4D) writes down in his notepad that you ordered a soda. The waiter would then go to the back and go tell the chief (The 3D) what you ordered, and then the chief would make it, and then you would get it.

That’s what the 3D and 4D are. You’d “tell the waiter what you want to order” (AKA: Think in your brain using your imagination/4D what you want to manifest) Then the “chief would cook up what you ordered and you’d get your order.” (AKA: The 3D will make what you manifested happen in your physical world and your manifestation would appear in front of your eyes.)

Hopefully now you understand what the LOA is, how to use it, and what happens when you do use it.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*

What Happens When I Manifest Something and The 3D doesn’t conform?

Let me say this now: That is impossible. It is impossible for your 3D to not conform to the 4D. The 3D only will NOT conform when you ASSUME it won’t.

Your assumptions will become your reality. To change your assumptions, use your thoughts and imagination, (AKA: the 4D) and your 4D will become your 3D.

Assumptions are thoughts. Thoughts are your reality.

Read those 2 sentences again until they are memorized.

Don’t you see? Do you understand how easy it is?

So let’s say, you manifested something, imagined it (using the 4D) and it didn’t appear right infront of your eyes. Don’t panic. It’s okay. Take a breather, and tell yourself that you will get your desire. You imagined it in the 4D, and after reading this post, you’re sure that the 3D will conform because it WILL. Just persist in the fact that you WILL get your desire.

(Do you get what I’m saying here? Assume, assume, assume. Assume you will get your desire. Assume it will come quickly. Assume that it’s easy because it is! When in doubt, assume, assume, assume.)

If you don’t get your desire, it’s because you’re assuming (AKA: Thinking) that it won’t. Assume that you can and will manifest, and it will.

The 3D DOES NOT MATTER. You know why? Because, I’ll repeat,

Assumptions are thoughts. Thoughts are your reality.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*

A Step By Step Tutorial:

1. Identify what you want to manifest.

2. Assume it will happen by thinking.

3. You get your desire.

You can assume things many ways. Here are my favorite ways in the form of sentences:

1. Assuming it will happen in the future. (Example: Using sentences containing “I Will.” Sentences in the future tense. “I know I will get desire one way or another.”)

2. Assuming it will happen in the present. (Example: You use sentences containing “I Am.”Sentences in the present tense. “I have my desire.”)

3. Assuming it already happened in the past. (Example: You use sentences containing “I Had.” Sentences in the past tense. This is also referred to as “Living in the End.” “I already have my desire.”)

Remember that all of these ways are ways to manifest. There is no better one than the other—use what works best for you! (I personally use all 3 ways all the time. They all work the same way and for me, not one is better then the other. They’re all great and they all work. Use what works best for you!!! Don’t let anyone tell you one works better then the other because that’s simply not true. I’ve manifested using all three and so can you!)

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*

Summary And Last Thoughts:

In order to manifest, you only need to figure out what you want to manifest, then think about it as an assumption, (one of the 3 ways I listed above, using a Past, Present, or Future sentence) and then just wait knowing you will get your desire.

Notice how in this post I never covered the “how” or the “when.” (The only “how” I covered was how manifestation works with the 4D and 3D, nothing beyond that.) Because you don’t need to focus on those things! Focus on manifesting, NOT how it happens or when. The only time you should be focusing on the when is when you are manifesting your desire to come quicker.

Also notice how in this post, it was a continuous cycle of…

Thoughts=Assumptions

Thoughts+Assumptions=Your Desired Reality

Anyone can manifest. And this isn’t the only way to manifest, this is one method of many. It’s easy when you assume it’s easy!

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*

I hope this post helped atleast someone. Have a good evening, morning, or afternoon. If you have a question or concern, feel free to drop a comment or send a DM.

The ultimate Law of Assumption song (You deserve your manifestation and that’s why you should get it!)

⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️

Sincerely,

Your Neighborly Werido

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

i cant really tell if yuu's involvement in ace's character is more for fanservice reasons or because they really did play a part in his character development.

like in nbc we have malleus choosing to focus on finishing the task at hand as quickly as possible so that they can then find the prefect rather than drop everything there at that moment and prioritizing finding yuu. (iirc) and compared to that we have ace who does put a lot of emphasis on finding yuu especially when no one seems to remember it during the halloween event it feels very traditionally fanservice-y ? and i cant really tell where the line is drawn for ace anymore. and you did mention a lot of other points in another post that you made esp with ace's dream recently dropping and the fact that hes the only guy whos dream yuu was actively involved in idk its a little confusing for me i hope im making sense TT no shade to the shippers im just a little slow in comprehending it all bvbvsjdj

your posts are always really neutral and accurate it just helps to clear up a lot of my confusions and questions i have when playing so thank you for your hard work!

[Referencing this post; you might also find this related post useful in the discussion of Ace and Yuu's relationship!]

DISCLAIMER: I do not mean to invalidate or detract from Ace x Yuu or Malleus x Yuu shippers or anyone who may interpret their relationship as romantic. You should ship what you like and have fun doing it. My reply aims to be more objective, but that should NOT impede on your enjoyment or whatever it is you choose to ship.

iufipaerasfeao Thank you for the feedback! I'm glad you find my posts helpful. I try my best to be objective when it comes to analyzing the story and characters, but there's no true way for someone to be completely neutral. There are definitely times when I have an aside to insert my two cents on a situation or I get super heated about a particular topic. Hopefully I still leave enough space for everyone to come to their own conclusions.

I think it's both fanservice and because Yuu actually plays a big part in Ace's character development? Like, it's technically fanservice but it does not feel egregious because it fits Ace’s teasing nature and Ace's bond with Yuu has been established from the start. He was the first student we met at NRC and we spend so much time with him since then; there's no way Yuu wouldn't have had an impact on him, especially when book 7 is now paralleling the two as people with insecurities about being weak/unable to do anything + not contributing enough and Yuu encouraging him when he finally gets his UM.

I commonly see people joking about Malleus having "missed the meeting about Twst not being a dating sim" and holding him up as "the main love interest". (And to be clear, Twst isn't a dating sim, nor do all Twst fans see the characters romantically; I am only speaking about this in a romantic lens in the context of this post.) However, I think there's a very strong case to be made for Ace as well. The thing is, I also feel that Malleus and Ace fundamentally appeal to two different groups of yumejoshi. Malleus is the tall, dark, and mysterious type you can "fix", the type of guy that would burn the world down for you. Ace is the teasing and approachable boy-next-door that has your back and supports you even when the entire world is against you. This is also evident in the ways they're set up in the main story; Malleus is introduced in a way that encourages much more "filling in of the gaps" due to how little he actually shows up in front of Yuu in the main story. It gives the player a lot of space to imagine what their relationship with him is like because there isn't a ton of interactions in canon to go off of. Meanwhile, Ace has many more canonized interactions with Yuu (eating lunch, doing homework, watching movies, playing video games, etc.), so the effort of thinking about what they actually do over the course of their relationship is already done for you. There is an established friendship and connection with Ace, but you barely see Malleus enough to truly have a strong impact on him or to change him. Does that make sense?

IADUPADF9A9FSBdb I do find it sort of funny that Malleus is basically like, "Oh, something unexpected happened (ie Yuu is missing). We'd better solve this." Not really showing much emotion about them being gone in Nightmare. (Malleus only gets annoyed when Leona begins to take charge; he is not mad at the fact that Yuu is gone.) Meanwhile Yuu is missing in Endless Halloween Night and Ace is the FIRST person to excuse himself to check Ramshackle for them.

If you consult the fandom and the fandom alone, you'd think the situation would be reversed. Edit: Malleus does have his moments of intimacy with Yuu (which I won’t be getting into here because then I fear this post would veer into shipping wars), but the English speaking Twst fandom has a VERY strong bias for Malleus x Yuu. Because of that, there is a tendency to misinterpret or misattribute every little thing that Malleus says and does to support the idea that "Yuu is his most important person". (For example, even though Malleus provides no reaction at all when Skully kisses the back of Yuu's hand, many Malleus fans claimed that he would be very jealous or would harm Skully for doing such a thing. In another Halloween event, Glorious Masquerade, people believed he was angry at Rollo for harming Yuu even though this was not the case; the event states that he was mad because the invitation he had been extended was a fake one.)

It is because of thinking like this that a lot of English speakers genuinely believed Malleus would OB in book 7 in a desperate attempt to prevent Yuu from returning to their original world. Misinterpretations, headcanons, misattributions, and personal projections were conflated with canon, leading to many people to believe that Malleus was closer with Yuu than they actually are. Instead, Malleus ended up OBing because he feared Lilia leaving and he barely even considers Yuu after he OBs. And, ironically, Ace is the character whose dream prominently features Yuu and a scenario in which Yuu doesn't have to leave them forever. It was always Ace that we had a strong relationship with, not Malleus.

Ace is often overlooked even though he has far more canon interactions with Yuu in the main story. I think this could maybe to chalked up to a combination of him being "boring" compared to the literal DARK FAE OP CROWN PRINCE M. Draconia over there and the fact that so many of those "gaps" are already filled by the main story. There's less room for imagination because the game has already defined what Ace and Yuu's relationship entails. Malleus is just so much more appealing when it comes to intrigue and mysteriousness. When you look at it objectively though... Yuu only meets Malleus face-to-face like 5-6 times for brief conversations. (Edit: I’m not counting voice lines because those are arguably directed at the player, not Yuu, to endear the character to you and/or all characters get similar voice line fanservice. The canonicity is questionable since the same familiarity in voice lines is not carried over to the main story.) 5-6 times… That's not nearly long enough to make a huge impact or change in his life (unless you as the player extrapolate and imagine more Malleus and Yuu interactions outside of the ones we see in the main story). At best, I think you could say Malleus is glad he can have a special little friend who doesn't know of his name and status? He doesn't really change because of that relationship though. Malleus doesn't even show up until book 2. But Ace has literally been there since the beginning, canonically spends tons of his free time with Yuu, and has been through several near-life experiences with them (several OBs). He has the chance to bond with Yuu. Malleus does not. (He has given Yuu advice once, sent them a card once, and reassembled a stage for them once; all other interactions in the main story are short talks.)

It makes a lot of sense that Ace would be the one "touched" by Yuu's influence, whether you see it as romantic or platonic. Both he and Malleus (and all the other characters, really) get their moments of fanservice--but very few characters' development is directly impacted by Yuu's presence. Yuu might be there for most of the main story, but they actually get only a few moments to engage with the other boys in the cast to the point of actually changing them. It feels like the changes that occur are more often the result of the other boys (Trey standing up to Riddle and holding his hand afterwards, Epel and Deuce bonding on the beach, the twins telling Azul he's lame but also being the first to check up on him following the OB, Idia finalizing his farewells with Ortho, etc.) Ace just so happens to be an exception to that, as Yuu very clearly plays a big role in his development.

[rainbowbutterfrosting]

Anyway, I've broken down the video into more easily digestible clumps under the cut. Time stamps and me yelling at him included.

0:42 "There's been a lot of different clashing labels and opinions about me on the internet over the past year; the loudest of which (on both sides of the fence) have been quite unhealthy, stemming from accusations made about me from just over a year ago."

Really crazy how he says "accusations" like he didn't confirm it on Twitter when it initially happened.

It's also interesting how he says "unhealthy," it's almost like he's calling the people saying it unhealthy, rather than his own actions.

0:53 "I'm not here to drop any bombshells- I don't want to reopen any old discussions. I responded to the situation in February of last year and I still stand by everything I said in that statement."

So we've gone from "accusations" to standing by his own statement. Ah okay.

1:05 "I understand it was misinterpreted by some people, probably due to my wording."

Oh okay. "Accusations" -> standing by his own statement -> OTHER people misinterpreted (well then why couldn't he make a follow up post of some kind?)

1:09 "I know some people are still looking for clarity- especially nowadays, where personal transparency is more common amongst content creators than it's ever been before.

Don't be shy, just say you were held accountable!

Also why is he saying "more common" "than it's ever been before" like that sldfkjs. It sounds like he's talking about a disease rather than being a decent human being.

1:17 "However, this clarity (the clarity I've offered to my close friends and my family) would mean publicly sharing deeply personal parts of my private life and my relationships with the internet. I've never been comfortable doing that and I don't believe that should be the cost of being understood."

You'd almost imagine that after about a year and a half of being radio silent, that he might've been comfortable at this point? But yeah no worries, Wilbur, because you don't need to post publicly!!! You don't need to have a platform!!

But gosh, he's so concerned about the audience having clarity. I'm 1:30 into the 6 minute video, I sure do hope the majority of the video isn't promotion. (Subtle foreshadowing)

But anyway, back to the video

1:32 "All I can say is that the labels that have been attributed to me by social media are not true, and I don't accept them."

Don't be shy, explain which labels. Say them.

1:39 "I don't believe in this expectation that content creators should use their platforms to attack and defend."

I love how he's using "attack and defend" to better portray himself as a wounded victim, rather than DIRECTLY hurting people to make them victims.

It's also funny how he's implying that he naturally deserves the right to be a content creator, and thus he shouldn't have to justify any of his actions ever, even if they were (by definition) harmful to others.

1:46 "I definitely don't think [attacking and defending on social media is] how serious accusations should be handled."

Well no, you don't believe in handling serious "accusations" in general. Don't be shy, mention any details about what happened. Imply a LITTLE bit about what you're referring to.

It's interesting how he's using the word "accusation" to escape any responsibility. It's like he's trying to gaslight people into thinking it never happened/was all a lie??

1:50 "I felt this way for a really long time now, having seen other content creators go through similar situations."

Don't be shy, mention what other content creators or kinds of situations. Are you referring to ones that were able to prove that it was a lie? Or are you referring to ones that took advantage of vulnerable people and didn't respect their boundaries, then expected complete respect on their platform?

I also enjoy another use of "situation." Maybe he got tired of saying "accusation" 10 trillion times, but the word has the exact same meaning lmaoo.

And btw, in case anyone thinks I'm being too sensitive about the literal meanings of words he's saying, I think he knows full well what kind of language he's using. In case anyone forgot, he really enjoyed writing/things having deep, philosophical meanings (him writing that dsmp fanfic, his fake crash outs, general monologues, etc.) So in my opinion, it's incredibly unlikely he's using these words by accident.

1:55 "I know it's not a perspective that's going to satisfy everyone, but it's one I can get behind, and I hope that makes sense to you."

No yeah, it makes sense. You're using this as a justification of your own actions so you don't view yourself in the wrong!!

Also "I hope that makes sense to you" sounds really... pathetic. More subtle victim card imo. He gets to sound innocent if people don't get it.

2:01 "None of this is me trying to dig up or dwell on the past here."

Nono, this isn't about "dwelling on the past." This is about acknowledging the actions he decided to take that ended up with people being hurt.

This feels like explaining basic morality to a toddler.

2:04 "I would just feel very strange if I carried on without at least acknowledging the past year."

Nah, I think it's common knowledge that people would be ???!!!! to coming back after 2 years of no uploads and very limited communication (RIGHT after the Shelby situation happened).

He just wants to point to the video and be like, "Look, I handled it there!!" Where he only calls the abuse a "situation" or "accusation" which links back to his Twitter where he's vague and "misinterpreted."

2:10 "All I can do now is move forward, and I hope you enjoy what I've been working on-"

Not gonna put any more. He's promoting Lovejoy and his channels for the most part.

He won't do much Minecraft anymore.

And small correction to my meme, he did say sorry once!! Oh um- it was about not playing Minecraft, not a serious apology or anything like that :)

[hamilton-here]

Hiiii! Can you do a post-breakup fluff with Lewis? No heavy reason like cheating for the breakup. But then they end up in bed again (Idk how but maybe after getting their own things from their apartment or something). I thought this was pretty funny. Thanks a lot!

𝒲𝒽𝑜 𝒮𝒶𝒾𝒹 𝒢𝑜𝑜𝒹𝒷𝓎𝑒, 𝑅𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉?

Authors Note: Hi all! Here’s another request completed! Literally finished this while watching Monaco FP3. Enjoy! Lots of love xx

Summary: A quiet breakup leaves Lewis and the reader aching in silence, still deeply in love.

Warnings: sexual content, mild swearing

Taglist: @nebulastarr @hannibeeblog @cosmichughes

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

It wasn’t a dramatic ending.

No shouting. No slamming doors. No sharp words flung like knives across the room.

Just silence.

The kind that stretches and settles into your bones, like winter. The kind that feels like the aftermath of something you can’t name until it’s already broken.

You sat on the edge of the bed, legs tucked under you, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, fingers twisting the soft cotton. You couldn’t meet his eyes not yet. The weight of the moment pressed down on your chest like a stone, making it hard to breathe, to speak, to think clearly.

Across the room, Lewis stood with his back to you, posture tense, arms folded so tightly across his chest it was like he was trying to keep himself from splintering. He was staring out the window, but his eyes weren’t really seeing anything just the hazy, golden blur of city lights bleeding across the glass, blinking like faraway signals neither of you had time to answer.

“I’m not angry,” you said finally. Quiet. Barely audible.

The words felt raw, scraped from the bottom of your throat.

“I don’t think I even have the energy to be.”

He breathed out slowly, shoulders sinking an inch. It sounded like surrender. Like he’d been holding that air for far too long.

“I know,” he said, voice low and dull. “Me neither.”

That somehow hurt more.

Because anger could’ve meant there was something left to fight for. Something to throw your hearts against, something worth the storm. But this? This was just tiredness. Two people who were still in love, but too drained to keep going. Too burned out to find each other in the chaos.

You looked down at the small, half-hearted pile of clothes you’d folded more out of habit than intention. A pair of leggings. Two t-shirts. Your favourite hoodie, the one that always ended up on Lewis’s side of the bed when you weren’t home. You hadn’t even touched your skincare stuff in the bathroom. You couldn’t bear the image of wiping yourself completely out of the apartment, like you’d never existed here. Like you hadn’t once been part of everything.

It was all too fast and too slow, at the same time.

“I kept thinking things would calm down,” you murmured. “That we’d get a week or a weekend just something. But it never came.”

Lewis finally turned around. His eyes were darker than usual, ringed with exhaustion and sadness. His mouth opened, then closed again like there was too much to say and no good place to start.

“We just lost the rhythm,” he said eventually, voice thick.

Like that was enough of an explanation.

“I don’t know when it started. One missed call. One rescheduled dinner. Then it was all the time.”

You nodded; lips pressed into a thin line.

“We stopped showing up.”

It was true. He was always flying off to Bahrain, to Monaco, to press tours, to test tracks. And you were buried under case files, essays, deadlines, trying to meet expectations neither of you had set but both felt bound to. It got harder to find the space where just you two existed no cameras, no laptops, no flight itineraries.

There were no screaming matches. No dramatic accusations. Just long stretches of not talking, not touching, falling asleep with your backs to each other because exhaustion kept replacing intimacy.

“I’d wake up and the bed would already be cold,” you whispered. “And by the time I got home, you were on the other side of the world.”

Lewis looked down, jaw clenched.

“And when I’d finally land, I’d watch you sleeping on the couch in your work clothes, papers still in your lap,” he said. “I didn’t want to wake you. You looked so tired.”

You blinked, your eyes burning.

“I was. So were you.”

Neither of you said it, but the word hovered - breakup. It clung to the walls like dust. Not space. Not a pause. Not a trial.

This was the end of something you hadn’t wanted to end.

Just then, the soft clack of nails on the hardwood echoed in the room. Roscoe trotted in from the hallway, his tongue hanging out slightly, ears perked.

His gaze moved between the two of you, then landed on the bag.

He stopped.

He tilted his head, confused, like something was off but he couldn’t make sense of it.

Then he padded over to you and nudged his nose into your thigh.

You inhaled sharply, the ache in your chest tightening like a vice.

“Hey, Ros,” you said, voice cracking. You bent down, burying your hands in his fur, your face pressed into the warmth of his neck. “Oh, my sweet boy.”

He whined, low and distressed, and pawed gently at your leg, then sniffed your bag and let out another, longer whimper the kind he made when you left for too long.

He knew.

He didn’t understand why, but he knew this wasn’t just a weekend trip.

Lewis crouched beside you, one hand resting on Roscoe’s back, the other brushing yours for half a second before retreating like it had never happened.

You didn’t move away.

“I’ll take care of him,” he said softly, like a promise. “I’ll make sure he’s okay.”

You nodded, swallowing the sob rising in your throat. “Tell him I love him. That I’ll - I’ll see him again. One day.”

Lewis looked up at you. His eyes were glassy, his lips parted like he wanted to say something else, something big, something meaningful. But instead, he offered a small, broken smile.

“He’s going to wait by the door. Every night.”

Your face crumpled.

You imagined it too vividly of Roscoe sitting patiently by the door, tail wagging when keys jingled outside, only for them not to be yours. Curling up in your old spot on the couch. Sniffing around the apartment for your scent. Carrying your sock between his teeth because it still smelled like you.

That did what nothing else had managed to do.

It shattered you.

You pressed one final kiss to his head, murmured something just for him, and stood up on unsteady legs. Lewis rose too, walking you to the door, silent beside you. He didn’t touch your arm. Didn’t ask you to stay.

Because he knew, too.

It wasn’t about love. That was still there, raw and aching. But sometimes love wasn’t enough when time kept running out, over and over again.

You reached the door and hesitated, your hand on the knob. Every part of you screamed don’t go, but none of it was louder than the part that whispered this isn’t working anymore.

Behind you, Roscoe let out one final, low whine. The kind that sounded like goodbye.

You turned the knob. The door opened with a soft click.

And then you stepped through it.

The sound of it closing behind you was louder than anything.

You stood in the hallway, frozen. Pressed your forehead to the cool wood, let your eyes fall shut.

And for the first time in months after all the near-misses, all the half-finished conversations, all the long-distance ache - you cried.

Not the quiet, restrained kind.

You cried like you meant it. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

One Week Later

The apartment was too quiet.

Not the peaceful kind. Not the kind that meant rest or calm. No, this was the kind that hummed with absence. That settled into the floorboards and echoed in the walls, like a house holding its breath.

Lewis stood in the middle of the living room, barefoot, still in the same joggers and hoodie he’d worn to the gym hours ago. A mug of tea sat cooling in his hand, untouched. The steam had long since faded, leaving behind a bitter sip he wouldn’t drink but couldn’t throw away.

His eyes wandered to the couch.

The throw blanket was still there - the soft, knitted one you always stole from his side. It was folded, but unevenly, one corner tucked into the cushion like it had been caught mid-movement. It still smelled like your perfume. Subtle. Clean. Comforting. The way you used to smell when you curled up beside him after a long day, your limbs tangling into his like puzzle pieces that had always belonged together.

He hadn’t had the heart to move it.

Roscoe lay curled up by the front door again, just like he had the night you left. His head was resting on his paws, ears twitching slightly at every footstep or rustle from the hallway. He no longer barked. Not even a whine. Just waited. Quiet. Still. Like he didn’t want to miss it, in case this time finally it was you coming home.

Lewis exhaled, slow and tired, sinking into the couch like it took effort just to sit. He rested his elbows on his knees, cradling the now-lukewarm mug between his hands. His fingers were shaking, but not from exhaustion. It was something heavier. Something that lived in his chest and pressed into his ribs every time he thought about you.

His phone lay face-down on the coffee table.

He hadn’t turned it off he wasn’t ready for that level of finalitybut he couldn’t bear to look at the screen anymore either. Every time it lit up, his heart jumped, only to crash when it wasn’t your name. Every hour he hadn’t heard from you stretched longer than the last. Each day felt like trying to breathe underwater.

You hadn’t texted.

He didn’t blame you. If he were being honest, he didn’t even know what he would say if you had. But that didn’t stop the aching hope that maybe you’d appear anyway. Just your name. One message. Something.

Anything.

You weren’t doing much better.

Your flat was a mess of half-unpacked boxes and untouched routines. There was a small pile of laundry you couldn’t bring yourself to fold. A half-eaten bowl of cereal on the kitchen table, soggy and forgotten. Mugs lined the counter, mostly filled with cold tea you never finished.

You hadn’t slept well in days. Not really.

The bed was too big without him. Too cold. You kept rolling over expecting to bump into the solid, familiar warmth of his body. His arm slung around your waist. The sound of his slow, steady breathing. But there was nothing. Just your own heartbeat and the hum of the fridge in the kitchen.

Your Spotify kept betraying you.

No matter how many times you tried to curate a new playlist, some old song always snuck through. The one he used to hum while brushing his teeth. The one that played the first night you danced in the living room barefoot, wine-drunk and laughing. The one that made him smile so softly you fell in love with him all over again.

You skipped it. Then the next. And the next.

Eventually, you turned the music off completely and sat in silence. But even that wasn’t safe.

Your silence had a shape now. And it looked like Lewis.

Lewis stared at the photo frame on the shelf the one he hadn’t been able to bring himself to move. It was a candid; one you didn’t even know he’d taken. You were sitting on the balcony, hair a mess, wearing his hoodie and squinting against the sun, a cup of coffee in your hands. You were laughing at something. Probably something dumb he’d said. But it was real. You looked happy.

You looked like home.

He reached for the frame, thumb brushing against the glass. He missed you in stupid, mundane ways. In the way you filled up space just by being in it. In the way his mornings felt brighter when he woke up beside you, even if he had to leave for a flight at 5 a.m. In the way the air in this place felt lighter when you were around.

Now it just felt heavy.

You missed him in fragments.

The way he would instinctively reach out for your hand whenever you crossed the street, even if it was empty. The quiet hum of his voice when he read your notes aloud to help you study. The smell of his cologne lingering in the hallway long after he left. The way he always knew when you needed space and when you needed him to pull you closer without asking.

You missed the man behind the headlines.

The one who carried your groceries when your back hurt. Who took Roscoe to the groomer because you couldn’t deal with the shedding. Who left notes in your textbooks during your exam season, each one sillier than the last.

You didn’t just miss being in love. You missed being known like that.

Neither of you had said the word breakup out loud. But the world had moved on like it had been decided. Like the silence between you had sealed it.

He gave a vague excuse about needing to stay close to London. They didn’t question him, but they noticed.

You hadn’t gone to the study group you organised. Just stared at your laptop screen, the words on the page swimming, meaningless. Every essay felt like it was asking the wrong question. Every sentence led back to him.

Time was supposed to make things clearer. To soften the edges.

But every passing day only made it more obvious this wasn’t the life either of you wanted. Not like this. Not without each other.

You were just tired people who let the exhaustion win. Who let silence do the talking because talking hurt too much. But the truth was simple:

You still loved him. He still loved you.

And in the stillness that followed everything else, you both began to understand:

Silence wasn’t healing.

It was punishment.

It was regret with a slow heartbeat.

Lewis turned his phone over.

His thumb hovered over your name in his favourites list. Not to call. Not yet. Just to look. To remind himself you were still out there. That maybe, in your own quiet corner of the world, you were thinking about him too.

You stared at your phone for the tenth time that hour. Your thumb moved to open a blank text.

Just a few words. Nothing huge. Just...

“Are you okay?”

Or maybe...

“I miss you.”

Or maybe just...

“Come home.”

You typed. Deleted. Typed again. Then stopped.

Somewhere, not far away, Lewis was doing the same thing.

Two people. Two screens. Two broken hearts still beating for each other.

Neither of you hit send.

But both of you were almost there.

And maybe tomorrow...one of you would. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The door to your former apartment groaned open, the familiar weight of it pushing against your hip as you stepped inside. Your keys clinked into the little bowl by the entrance like they always had even though this wasn’t your place anymore.

It still smelled like him.

That warm, signature blend of clean linen, bergamot, and whatever cologne Lewis always wore that made strangers lean in and ask, “What is that?” You used to tease him that it was somehow infused into the walls and now, standing here again after weeks apart, it hit you like a punch to the chest.

You paused, halfway out of your shoes, letting the silence wrap around you. The quiet wasn’t cold, it wasn’t empty, but it hummed with the weight of familiarity. The kind that settled into your bones. Your fingers hovered on the laces before you gave up and stepped out barefoot, the hardwood cool beneath your feet.

Muscle memory guided you even now. You dropped your tote bag by the arm of the couch, tugged your sleeves down past your palms like you always did when your hands itched with nerves, and padded toward the hallway.

And stopped dead.

He was here.

Lewis was in the bedroom, back slightly hunched as he bent over a cardboard box. His broad shoulders were bare because apparently heartbreak had robbed him of a shirt but not his dedication to early morning workouts. His curls were still damp, clinging to the nape of his neck like he’d just showered. He hadn’t heard you yet.

But someone else had.

A skitter of nails on hardwood echoed down the hall, and then Roscoe came flying around the corner, a streak of fur and sound. He barked a single, sharp cry before launching himself at you with a kind of desperate joy that cracked something inside your chest.

“Ros—” you barely managed before you were hit by sixty pounds of pure loyalty and emotion. He whined loudly, circling your legs, pawing at your knees, trying to climb up into your arms as if he could physically pull you back into his world.

You dropped down instantly, burying your face into the thick folds of his neck. The smell of dog shampoo and something distinctly him - Lewis, this home, this chapter of your life filled your senses.

“Oh, baby,” you whispered, voice breaking as your eyes stung. “I missed you so much.”

Roscoe whimpered in return, nudging your cheek with his snout like he was checking to see if you were real. Like he had been waiting every day for this moment just like you.

Your fingers curled into his fur as he pressed closer, his body trembling with excitement. You stayed there a moment longer than you should have, grounding yourself in the only thing that hadn’t changed.

And then Lewis turned around.

He was still holding the box, forgotten in his hands, his eyes fixed on you like he wasn’t quite sure if you were real either. His expression was unreadable for a second then it cracked, just a little, like something in him had softened the second you walked through the door.

“I didn’t think you’d come by today,” he said finally, voice rough, like it hadn’t been used in hours. Or maybe like he hadn’t said much since you left.

“I texted you,” you murmured, still on the floor, one hand buried in Roscoe’s fur. “You left your charger…and like, half your sunglasses in my car. And I forgot some of my necessities…”

“You’re right. Can’t leave without my personality.”

A huff escaped you startled and involuntary. Of course he was still funny. Of course, he still had that timing, still knew exactly how to slip past your defences like nothing had changed.

But everything had changed.

“I was packing up the rest of your stuff,” he added, gesturing toward the bed. “Didn’t want you to have to dig through everything.”

You glanced over. Inside the box were your favourite sweatpants, the tea you always kept hidden in the pantry behind the protein powder, your pillow the one he used to hug to his chest when you were out of town. The one he used to claim still smelled like you, even when you hadn’t stayed the night in weeks.

The care he’d taken with it all made your throat ache.

“Thanks,” you said softly, rising to your feet.

Roscoe stuck close as you moved, leaning into your leg like he was scared you’d disappear again. You absently ran your fingers through his fur, your gaze flitting back to Lewis. He crossed his arms over his chest, almost like he didn’t know what else to do with them.

Like if he didn’t hold himself together, he might fall apart.

“You want tea?” he asked suddenly, breaking the silence with something so simple, so him, it caught you off guard. “I, uh…I still have that depressing chamomile you like.”

Your brows lifted, just slightly. “You mean the one that’s calming and perfect?”

His smile was small but genuine, a hint of that dimple teasing at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. That one.”

And maybe you were still raw. Maybe it was the smell, or Roscoe, or just seeing him like this quiet, familiar, Lewis. But you nodded.

And stayed.

Five minutes later, you were both on the couch, mugs in hand, the distance between you carefully unmeasured. Roscoe had wedged himself between your feet like he used to, his heavy head resting on Lewis’s thigh, tail occasionally thumping in half-hearted approval. It was like he couldn’t decide who he was more loyal to or maybe he didn’t care, as long as you were both here.

You talked about nothing at first.

Monaco’s weird weather. His latest race how the wind had played tricks on turn eleven. How your friend Kayla had finally dumped the guy who made her do juice cleanses and talked about Bitcoin at parties. Lewis laughed at that in that deep, familiar way that made something flutter and ache all at once.

The kind of laugh that had once made you feel like the only person in the room.

Then a brush of knees. Bare skin grazing bare skin beneath the hem of his shorts and your cuffed joggers. Neither of you moved.

The silence that followed was different. Still warm. Still soft. But quieter. More fragile.

“I missed this,” he said quietly, almost like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to say it out loud.

Your fingers tightened around your mug. “Yeah,” you whispered. “Me too.”

And for a moment, the ache between you wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t something jagged or broken it was soft, lived in. Like an old favourite shirt. The kind you could still wear, even if it didn’t fit quite right anymore.

You looked over at him, really looked and his eyes were already on you.

And in them was something you recognised. Something like love, but older. Tired. Softer. But still there.

Still his.

“Roscoe’s not the only one who’s been waiting, you know,” he said, voice rough again, barely above a whisper.

And you couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe around the lump in your throat. So instead, you leaned your knee back into his. Let yourself tilt just a little closer.

Let yourself believe, just for tonight, that maybe not everything had to stay broken.

And then like gravity didn’t care about breakups, like time and pain and pride meant nothing you leaned in at the same time.

The kiss wasn’t soft.

It was desperate.

Clumsy.

Rough.

Like neither of you had eaten in weeks and had just remembered what hunger felt like.

His mouth crashed against yours, and the breath punched out of your lungs as months of unspoken words, unshed tears and late-night aching exploded between your lips. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t careful. It was needy his teeth catching your bottom lip, your nails digging into his shoulders, both of you breathing like you were trying to crawl inside each other.

Your fingers dove into his curls, yanking just enough to make him groan into your mouth a guttural, low sound that vibrated through you. His hands were already on you, sliding beneath your shirt like they were chasing something lost. He gripped your waist, rough and reverent all at once, like he didn’t know whether to hold you together or tear you apart.

He pressed you down into the couch, his body heavy and warm over yours. You didn’t care that the cushions bit into your spine, didn’t care that your knee hit the coffee table. All you cared about was the way his mouth dragged across your jaw, down the column of your neck not soft, but claiming. His stubble scraped along your skin, his lips biting and sucking like he was making up for every day you spent apart.

You gasped, back arching into him. “Lewis—”

“This—” he panted, mouth still on your throat, voice rough and full of something broken, “this is not what I planned.”

You blinked up at him, lips kiss-bruised, heart racing. “You want me to stop?”

His laugh was a rasp in the dark. “God, no. I want…I want you.”

That was all it took.

Your clothes came off in frantic, fumbled movements shirts tossed over shoulders, pants kicked away in the hallway, socks forgotten. His hands were everywhere, greedy and unforgiving, squeezing, stroking, tugging you flush against him as he stumbled you both toward the bedroom.

He pushed you back onto the mattress, hard enough to bounce, and then he was on you teeth on your collarbone, fingers digging into your thighs as he spread you open with zero hesitation.

“Missed this,” he muttered like a prayer as he kissed a trail down your stomach. “Missed you.”

When he sank to his knees and dragged his mouth up the inside of your thigh, your breath hitched so sharply it was almost painful. His grip was bruising, his tongue relentless licking, sucking, teasing until your hips were shaking and your hands were in his hair again, pulling without apology.

He didn’t stop. Not when you cried out. Not when your thighs threatened to close. He held you open, held you there, watched you fall apart on his tongue like he needed to ruin you, to prove you still belonged to him or maybe that he still belonged to you.

By the time he finally came up for air, your body was wrecked and trembling. And still, you reached for him.

He crawled over you slowly, eyes dark, jaw clenched like he was barely keeping it together. His hands framed your face, and his thumb brushed your cheek like he hadn’t just pulled you apart piece by piece. Like he was seeing you for the first time again.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, voice hoarse and raw.

You stared up at him, your chest rising and falling with sharp, shallow breaths. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

His mouth crashed into yours again, and this time when he pushed into you deep, hard, all at once you cried out against his lips, nails raking down his back. It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t soft.

It was rough.

It was real.

It was everything you’d been craving.

He fucked you like he missed you. Like he hated that he missed you. Like the only way to make sense of it was to bruise your hips with his grip and kiss you so hard it felt like penance.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, your body arching to meet every thrust, every grind of his hips. He buried his face in your neck, breathing harshly, voice cracked with emotion.

“I thought about this every night,” he gasped. “Every fucking night. Your voice. Your hands. The way you looked at me.”

You clung to him like you might fall apart. “I never stopped thinking about you.”

And that did something to him. He slammed into you harder, deeper, like he wanted to carve himself back into your skin, back into your life.

You didn’t stand a chance.

You came with a cry that punched from your lungs, shaking so hard you thought you might break. And when he followed moaning your name like a promise, his body trembling as he spilled into you it wasn’t just release. It was something bigger. Something heavier.

It was every unsent text. Every almost-call. Every time you’d gone to bed cold and alone.

And then silence.

The kind of silence that only happens when two people have been completely undone.

The sheets were a mess beneath you, twisted and damp with sweat. Your skin was flushed and marked with his lips, his hands, his teeth. He didn’t let you go. One arm locked tight around your waist, the other buried in your hair like a tether.

Your heart was still thudding. His was, too. You could feel it where your chests pressed together, still wild, still aching.

He kissed your forehead. Just once. Quiet. And you closed your eyes because if you looked at him now, you might shatter.

Because this wasn’t a mistake.

Wasn’t a relapse.

Wasn’t just about the sex.

It was grief.

It was love.

It was two people who hadn’t stopped needing each other even when they’d tried.

It was gravity.

It was inevitable.

And it wasn’t over.

It was quiet for a long time after.

The kind of quiet that doesn’t need to be filled. Not with words. Not with apologies. Just the sound of your breaths beginning to slow, your hearts trying to catch up with everything your bodies had already admitted.

You were still wrapped around him, limbs tangled beneath the sheets, the room dim with late-night shadows. The only light came from the hallway soft and golden, casting just enough glow to catch the sweat still clinging to his temple, the rise and fall of his chest.

Lewis had shifted onto his side, propped up on one elbow, just watching you. Like if he blinked, you’d disappear again.

You stared up at the ceiling, your body still warm from the aftershocks. The air smelled like lavender, like skin, like him. But your heart - your heart was louder than anything.

Eventually, your voice broke through the silence, small and uncertain. “This doesn’t mean anything, right?”

You hadn’t meant it to sound like a challenge. But it did. Defensive, like you were already bracing for impact. Like if you said it first, maybe it wouldn’t hurt when he agreed.

He turned to look at you, brow furrowed. “It means I’m an idiot.”

You blinked. “…What?”

“I thought we needed space,” he said quietly, eyes steady on yours. “That maybe we were better off focusing on work. That maybe time apart would fix something. But every time I walked past your mug or looked at your empty side of the bed, it just felt wrong.”

His voice cracked, just slightly. Not enough to fall apart but enough that you heard the truth in it.

“I don’t think I ever stopped loving you,” he admitted. “I just got too tired to show it right.”

Your throat tightened.

You’d spent weeks pretending not to care. Ignoring the ache. Filling your schedule. Telling Kayla you were fine even when she saw right through it. But hearing him say it hearing that he hadn’t let go either made something collapse inside you.

“Lewis…”

He shifted closer, brushing his knuckles gently along your wrist like he was grounding himself. Like the touch was the only thing keeping him real.

“I’m not saying we figure everything out tonight,” he said. “I know it wasn’t perfect. I know I wasn’t perfect. But maybe we try again. Slower. Smarter. With better tea and more time for each other.”

You looked at him really looked. Not the world’s version of Lewis Hamilton. Not the champion. Just him. The man who used to sneak chocolate biscuits into the grocery cart when you weren’t looking. Who always fell asleep five minutes into a movie but insisted he didn’t. Who kissed your temple before every flight like it was a ritual.

There was a softness in his eyes now fragile and hopeful. Like he wasn’t asking you to fix everything. Just to let him try.

“Do I still get the good tea mug?” you asked after a beat, your voice a little thick.

His smile returned, tugging at the corners of his mouth smaller than the ones he gave cameras, but more real than any you’d seen in months.

“Only if you promise not to ruin the vibe.”

You huffed a laugh, your chest loosening for the first time in what felt like forever. “No promises.”

He rolled onto his back, arm looping around your waist and pulling you in without another word. You went willingly, your head tucking beneath his chin, your fingers tracing idle patterns on the bare skin of his chest.

The duvet rustled as he pulled it higher around you both. The room was warm now, full of shared breath and the slow return of comfort. Not perfect. Not yet, but honest.

And for the first time in weeks, the apartment felt like home again.

Not just because the lights were dim or the sheets smelled like him or because you were wrapped in his arms. But because he was there. Because despite the space and the silence and the break-up that had kept you apart, you’d still found your way back to each other like magnets, like muscle memory.

Like gravity.

“I kept your book on the nightstand,” he murmured suddenly. “The one with the dog-eared pages and the underlines. I didn’t, I couldn’t move it.”

You smiled against his skin, something warm blooming in your chest. “I kept your hoodie. The grey one you always said was cursed.”

“Because I crashed the car twice wearing it.”

You both laughed, soft and sleepy, and the sound felt like an exhale.

It hit you then not all at once, but in slow, quiet waves: this wasn’t a fluke. It wasn’t about sex or timing or a moment of weakness. It was deeper than that. Older.

No matter how far apart you drifted, no matter how stubborn or tired or lost you both got, something in you would always pull you back to him.

And something in him would always wait for you.

It didn’t happen all at once.

You didn’t wake up the next morning with everything magically healed, with every crack smoothed over by the soft press of his lips on your shoulder. But you did wake up wrapped in him in the warmth of his body, in the steady rhythm of his breathing, in the quiet certainty that you were both still there. Still choosing this. Choosing each other, even through the mess. Even through the past.

And that was more than enough to start.

The first week back together felt like something between a honeymoon and a soft, cautious reboot. Like trying on your favourite sweater after weeks in storage familiar and warm, even if it still smelled faintly of distance. You kept bumping into the old rhythms, finding traces of the life you used to share, but everything felt sweeter now. More intentional.

Lewis cooked breakfast on the second morning or tried to, anyway.

You padded into the kitchen barefoot, your oversized hoodie hanging off one shoulder, only to find him shirtless in a cloud of smoke. The toast was blackened to a crisp, Roscoe was licking pancake batter off the floor and the smoke alarm blared above his head like it was auditioning for an action movie.

He was waving a dish towel wildly at the ceiling, his curls frizzing at the edges from the heat. “This was supposed to be romantic,” he croaked through a coughing fit, eyes wide and sheepish.

You leaned against the counter and laughed a real, belly-deep laugh that echoed off the cabinets. “Is this the part where I swoon?”

“Please don’t,” he grumbled, voice muffled by a tea towel. “We might both die in here.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth anyway, soft and grateful and pulled out your phone to order pancakes from your favourite brunch place. As you placed the order, he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind and rested his chin on your shoulder, whispering against your skin, “I swear, I’m gonna learn how to poach an egg if it kills me.”

You tilted your head toward him, smiling. “Please don’t die over eggs.”

“I would for you,” he whispered dramatically, and you laughed again, leaning into him.

That afternoon, you made a list together.

Literally.

He pulled out his Notes app while you were curled up on the couch with a blanket wrapped around both your legs, Roscoe sprawled across your feet and titled it: Operation: Don’t Mess This Up.

“I’m being serious,” he said, his voice lower now, thumb moving steadily across the screen. “We’re not going back to what broke us. We’re going to build better. Starting with time. And space not that kind of space, I mean like…room to breathe. To show up for each other without sacrificing the stuff that makes us, us.”

So, you carved it out for real, this time.

You blocked off days on your shared calendar. Colour-coded them. Tuesdays - Us. No interviews. No calls. No late-night scripts or early meetings. Just wine, or tea, or matching face masks if the mood struck. If he was home, you cooked together or at least, you tried. He got better at the eggs. You taught him to dice onions without crying. He taught you how to make his nan’s ginger tea.

When he was traveling, you FaceTimed from hotel beds and airport lounges, the screen lighting up with sleepy smiles and “I miss yous” whispered between yawns. You watched him eat room service pasta in Rome while you folded laundry in London. You watched Love Island together, muting the audio and providing your own commentary.

And you laughed. God, you laughed so much.

He started leaving you notes.

On the bathroom mirror:

You looked too good this morning. Kind of rude, honestly.

Tucked into your tote bag before a long day of classes:

Don’t forget to breathe. You’re brilliant, even when you doubt it.

And once scribbled on a napkin and left on your pillow after a long week —

I missed your laugh. Please don’t ever take it away from me again.

That one made you cry. The kind of tears that come when you feel safe enough to let it all out. He found you curled up on the bed, napkin still in your hands, and he just held you. No questions. Just his arms, steady and sure, wrapped around your ribs like he was holding your heart in place.

You started showing up more, too.

Before, you'd always told yourself you didn’t want to get in the way of his schedule, his team, the media, the noise. But now you knew better. Now you knew that love doesn’t take up space. It makes it.

So, you surprised him at the garage before a race in Spa. You wore one of his old hoodies, your hair tucked under a cap, a shy grin playing on your lips.

His eyes found you instantly, even through the crowd.

He crossed the paddock in four long strides and tugged you into his arms like he was afraid you might vanish if he waited a second longer. “You’re here,” he murmured into your hair, arms wrapped tight around your back. “Feels like I can breathe again.”

And when he stepped into the car, helmet tucked under one arm, he kissed your forehead through the visor and said, “Don’t go anywhere. You’re my good luck charm.”

You didn’t go anywhere.

You stayed. You cheered. And when he crossed the finish line in second not first, he still smiled like he’d won everything, because you were there. You were always going to be there.

You bought matching mugs for the apartment. One said Let’s Stay In, the other said Let’s Go Racing. You fought over who got which depending on the day.

You reorganised your shared calendar with stickers and colour codes and a little smiley face next to every Us Day.

You signed up for a pottery class together. You were both terrible at it. You made lumpy bowls and weird, tilting cups, and your hands were always covered in clay. But it didn’t matter because every class ended with your fingers tangled together, laughing over your disasters, stealing kisses behind the spinning wheel.

One night, lying on your backs in the living room with Roscoe curled between you and dried clay smudged across your cheeks, Lewis turned to you and whispered, “This feels like us.”

You turned your head; cheek pressed into the rug. “Yeah?”

He nodded slowly. “Like the real us. Not perfect. Just good. Just right.”

And there was so much love.

In the way he pulled you into his hoodie when you got cold, whispering, Come here, sweetheart. You’re freezing.

In the way you always reached for his hand, under restaurant tables, in elevators, a silent signal: I’m here.

In the way you both said I love you like it meant something brand new every time.

“I love you,” he’d murmur when you got overwhelmed by exams, pressing a kiss behind your ear.

“I love you,” you’d whisper into his shoulder after long flights, when his body ached and his eyes barely stayed open.

And once during a completely normal trip to the grocery store, he looked at you in the cereal aisle, cereal in one hand and your fingers in the other, and said with quiet awe, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

You laughed so hard you nearly dropped the oat milk.

But it was true.

You weren’t perfect. You still bickered about directions. He still left his chargers everywhere. You still forgot to take your vitamins unless he reminded you in that tone. But now? Now, you forgave faster. Loved louder. Paused longer. You knew how to hold space for each other how to say what you needed before it broke you both.

One night, wrapped up together on the couch, rain whispering against the windows, his voice broke through the stillness.

“Thank you,” he said softly, thumb brushing the back of your hand. “For coming back.”

You pressed a kiss to his collarbone. “Thank you for waiting.”

He pulled the blanket higher, tucked you under his arm, and held you like a promise warm, steady, whole. And in that golden quiet, with Roscoe snoring at your feet and the scent of tea lingering in the air, you realised something:

You weren’t just healing.

You were home.

Still, you and him.

Still in love.

And this time? This time forever meant something different not a promise without flaws, but one you’d keep choosing, again and again.

Slower. Smarter. With better tea.

And love - the kind that stays.

[kenwio]

Joker's kid! reader: kids of villains: meeting Cass and Stephanie

Route: recovered dove

Warnings: bad writing, bad English, attempt at fluff?

Authors note: I know Im late. Its far past midnight where I am, and only now i found time to post. I am currently not able to post regulary, but I will post when i can. I will answer on all coments I haven`t yet after some sleep

They say, when you see something one time you cannot unseen it. In your case it was, when you heard something, you cannot stop hearing it. Well, since you become a real member of batfamily, free to hang out with everyone and almost everywhere in a manor, you were fee to converse and to hear the conversations of others. And while doing it, you started notice how everyone were bringing up two names. Cassandra and Stephanie.

One time it was when you came down to the batcave to bring Tim yet another cup of coffee. Dodging consequences of Damian's and Dick's training, you carefully completed your task and started watching the two of them

- Hey, Dams, is that a new move? - Dick commented, dodging the blow in his dramatically graceful manner

-  Cassandra have showed it to me

- Cass? Wait, why she has name privileges and I don't?

.... Cass?

Or another day, or rather night, where you were woken up by the sudden thunder, and decided to watch few documentaries in the living room to distract yourself. On your way Chlory, who was on your shoulder pulled you, so you've look in the library and low and behold, Tim was doing something on the laptop sitting near the couch on the floor while Jason was on the couch reading. You walked over, sitting next to Jason, Chlory creaked happily to greet both of them.

- How was patrol? - you asked them

- good - Jay answered calmly, giving you a head pat

- yeah, aside from Jason acting not according to the plan - Tim grumbled

- hey, I couldn't possibly ignore the tip Steph gave me, could I?

.... Steph?

It led you to conclusion: they existed, well obviously, and they were part of batfamily, meaning your family. You had two more siblings, and you didn't know about them. You didn't really know why. Maybe Bruce have told you, because now thinking about that, you remember him mentioning you haven't met all of your family, but he didn't really talk in long about them with you. Maybe that was caused by the fact that he was busy, maybe by the fact that your adjusting to the family took longer than he thought.  You couldn't know the real reason, that's why you were left theorizing. All you could say for sure, is that you wanted to meet them.  You wanted to know Cass and Steph

Maybe, this wish was heard by stars or wind, like in fairytales you read to Chlory in order to practice your read and speech, but really soon after you met them, and, well, it all happened in true batfamily fashion

You Firstly met Steph. It happened one particularly noisy afternoon, when it seemed everyone who was in manor, that left you with Jason and Damian ... and some other voice. You've considering to stay in your room, but your hunger decided for you. So, you made your way to the kitchen.... and saw her, as your latter found out. She was emptying the fridge from every food option possible, with intention to make it her meal. As you stared at her, trying to analyze her opinion on you, she started back, slightly startled and surprised

- wow, this is awkward.... - she said, soon after, her eyes traveled between you and her food collection- wanna sandwich?

You nodded.

Soon you found out, Stephanie was a ... rather talkative person, a yapper as she called herself. And maybe it was overwhelming at times, because she talked even more than your biological father, you liked the way Steph talked. She talked with you as if your past didn't exist, as if she didn't care about your blood relations, and soon you found out she indeed did not

- Pfft, my father was a bad guy too. Am I a villain to ya? - she said one time you brought it up.

In Steph's eyes you were adorable! A little cutie, who looked a bit too lost, sure, but aside from that, you were cute as hell. So, she wanted to hang out with you. She told you funny stories about her school life and her patrols. Sometimes she joined you and Tim in your game nights. And she also helped you to color your hair.

As for Cass, you met her later. It wasn't something awkward, at least on her part. You just noticed that dancing room (yes you were surprised that it was in manor) which was usually empty and that's why closed, was open. You couldn't help but get curious and take a look. What you saw was really beautiful. You saw dancing only on TV, when Jason showed you ballet adaptation of Romeo and Juliette. But the moment was short lived, Cass noticed you right away, turning to look at you, and after few moments she softly smiled at you, giving you a little greeting wave.

Cas knew body language like no one else, she was professional in reading it, and she saw your hesitance, she noticed presence of small fear, but that was to be expected, judging by the what Bruce have talked about you. And she, for sure never noticed anything malicious in you. You were a kid, who was traumatized beyond measure. She could relate. She, just like you, weren’t given a choice, but now in the Wayne manor everything is better. You safe now. You have control of what you do and who you are.

Cass took you after her wing in some sense. She showed you that with her you were safe. She also did not pressure you it any point in expression yourself though words, she could understand you without them. You both formed almost telepathic bound, understanding each other without words. And it was nice. Sometimes you both just hang out with each other, while being busy with your own activities: she could dance and you could draw, and sometimes (oftentimes) during those sessions you draw her. You both also started practicing reading and speaking together. Sure, it surprised her that you already had a deep knowledge about since language (thanks to Tim), but it made her proud of you. She was proud to be your older sister

And sometimes the three of you hang out together. Steph called three of you (and sometimes she forced squad Damian to join in) the villain's kids, and we'll name was suiting. Steph was talking about how three of you are trauma bounding while you and Cass were sitting down, chewing on snacks or choosing movies to watch, because those hang outs usually happened after patrols, and it was more reasonable to relax. That was just good. Yes, Steph and Cass sometimes fall asleep to your favorite documentaries (Though, Damian who usually was around when you chose the film watched it with you) but it was so domestic and comforting.

All in all, you love your family even more

-------------------- ♤ ♡ ◇ ◇ ♧ ---------------------

Thank you for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think about my work! Hope you have a good day

-------------------- ♤ ♡ ◇ ◇ ♧ ---------------------

♡ Tag list ♡

if i forgot someone or anyone want to be added please let me know

@dearlawdimasimp , @shirp-collector-of-fixations , @socially-embarrassing , @leovergurl , @deathbynarcisstick , @cryptic-arr0w , @lynns-cornerr , @cxcilla ,  @charlotteking23 , @ninihrtss , @lillycore , @pix-stuff , @tfamidoingwithmylife , @linoalwaysknows , @00hellohello00 , @lilithskywalker , @bagofrice , @lenaisaloser , @devilslittlehelper , @camilo-uwu , @l3v1us , @eyeless-kun , @stargazingbutgayer, @wpdarlingpan , @weirdothatreads , @maybea1 @mel-viper-wayne @amber-content @lizzyzzn @animadi888  @coldnightshark @anamiranda7383

[efy727]

So, before the show's season finale, I was thinking of posting new designs for Dev, hopping he will get to keep Peri and redeem himself. I'm not very knowledgeable in fashion, but I just love coming up with new outfits for characters, especially when there's story significance.

In this case, Dev's current design is very similar to his awful dad, so of course him wearing something else is to distance himself. An as you can see, I also adopted the theory of his hair being naturally curly, though I admit I don't have much experience drawing different hair textures.

Ramble below.

I also made a few references to other media I like. The Red Son one was a no-brainer, they are both voiced by Kyle McCarley. They are also looking for parental approval, are good handling technology (not to the same degree) and are red heads. I wasn't sure if adding the ponytail or not.

The Asriel one is actually inspired by a piece of fanart someone else made, where Dev was dressed as Chara instead. Why? I kind of have been drawing comparisons Ariel/Flowey's fate in the True Pacifist ending and Dev in the end of the first season. Both did awful things (not to the same degree), but then undid it knowing they will end up alone due to someone else showing they care for them.

No one knows what Flowey/Asriel did but him, Frisk and the player; while everyone that saw it knows what Dev did but himself (or so it seems) and his dad.

For the serious designs, I wanted the outfits to convey Dev's affinity for technology, but without the sanitized look of his first season appearance, aka less white. I also wanted to do something different from Hazel, Winn and Jasmine. I wasn't sure if just changing the color of the hoodie, but I thought of the turtleneck shirt he wears.

I also removed the boots, for obvious reasons. I'm not good at keeping characters height consistent, so I'm not sure how tall he'll stand next to the others.

I emphasized yellow as his color in a good deal of the fits. I essentially just changed the amount of color his design has. I think yellow could go well, it's complementary with Peri's purples. Is close but different from white. I saw the swap AU where he and Hazel where fairies and I liked the designs.

And there's certain character significance, I want to explain with another comic. I just like this electric lemon hue

I also put an edgier design in the corner for a potential scenario and added an "Assistant" Peri design that I mentioned in my previous post.

[concretejunglefm]

in reference to this post. ignore my technically difficulty and answering this ask privately and prematurely (not unlike virgin!noah) for you 💕

CW: smut including unprotected sex (p in v), size kink, spit kink, slight dirty talk, pinned wrists, slight choking, Noah has a big dick.

Smut below the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

Noah is big. Much bigger than you had imagined. The kind of big that would make smut writers exaggerate when they describe it as being ‘too big to fit both hands around’, except in your case, that was true—in terms of length. The girth, your fingertips barely touched together, and to be honest, that only made you feel a bit intimidated.

This is your first time witnessing him in all his glory. Your hands trace the intricate tattoos along his chest, your fingertips barely brushing against his stomach before descending lower and grazing along his shaft.

To your surprise, it’s Noah who positions a pillow beneath your lower back, having learned about this technique from reading various articles about sex and female pleasure. You might have assumed he spent his free time watching porn, but no, your nerdy little virgin spent his time watching unrealistic hentai and reading articles about enhancing your pleasure.

He sits up on his knees between your spread thighs, watching your touch along his shaft before leaning in to kiss your exposed skin. His head dips down towards your chest and your fingers tighten around his shaft, squeezing him with each deliberate stroke. Your back arches towards him as his mouth reaches your breast, feeling his mouth and tongue tease over the hardened peaks of your nipples, eliciting a moan from you.

Your body pulses with pleasure, the anticipation growing as your arousal spreads between your thighs and his fingers descend, teasing over your folds, eliciting another moan from you. “I think you need to be wetter,” you hear his voice, pulling you back from the haze of lust you’ve fallen into. However, any response you make is silenced when, from beneath hooded eyes, you see him dipping down to spit against your cunt. Your thighs tremble, and your hand tightens around his cock as you clench around nothing, yearning and craving it to be him.

“Stop teasing me,” you murmur, expressing your irritation at him making you wait. You understand his reasons; Noah is more concerned with your pleasure than his own. He wants to prolong the experience and take his time. However, your impatience is getting the better of you, and finally, he succumbs to both yours and his own desires.

“Oh god, you’re so big!” You arch your hips, gasping with every inch that slides into you, the stretch of him being nothing short of delicious. Even though the slight discomfort is something you know will eventually subside, it’s a delightful kind of pain in the meantime, one that sends pleasure rippling through you, and your walls tightening, trying to pull him deeper.

You notice the pride in Noah as he acknowledges your comment, a shy look on his face as if he never believed it about himself. He’s bigger than you’ve ever experienced, and when you feel how deep he’s sunk, there’s only confirmation in that. You feel fuller than ever, certain you’d see him bulging in your stomach if you looked down, but you don’t because you can’t take your eyes off him.

Your hands cradle his face as you pull him to look down at you and focus. “Look at me,” you softly coo, your hips raising as you try to urge him to move inside you. “Fuck me, baby please?”

“You feel so tight, and I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice trembles, a mix of nerves and arousal, and you can’t quite tell which. The way his cock throbs inside you, however, makes you think it’s the latter.

“And it feels so good. Please?” You bat your lashes, your voice dropping to a soft plea as your fingers glide through his long hair, trying to coax him. “You can start slow.”

He does, his hips drawing back and pushing forward in a gentle rolling motion as he listens to the rhythm of your breathing, a moan escaping your lips each time he buries himself deep enough to meet your hips.

“That’s it, just like that,” you whisper, your eyes rolling back in your head as you feel his attempts to find his rhythm.

His head comes down and buries against the side of your neck, peppering your skin with kisses. It makes you weak, causing goosebumps to rise across your skin as you shiver beneath him, his larger frame firmly pinning you beneath him.

Grunts of his own start to follow, blending with your moans and filling the room as his hips slowly snap and you feel him pursuing his own pleasure as you squeeze around him.

Your fingers curl into his hair, tugging and pulling while you softly praise him beneath your breath and you hear his own faint whispered, needy sounds as he descends deeper into pleasure.

Your impatience has paid off.

Suddenly, his hips snap forcefully, causing you to bounce slightly up the bed. His tattooed hand swiftly grasps your wrists, pinning them both above your head as he holds you firmly in place and he presses his forehead to yours, his hair cascading around you, curtaining you in with him. It feels as if the rest of the world has vanished, leaving only the two of you in this room, consumed by your pleasure. The heat in your stomach grows as he drives himself deeply into you, his thick cock easily filling you. With each thrust, he knocks the breath out of you, almost unapologetically, and your moans transform into cries of pleasure, unable to contain yourself.

“Fuck you feel so good,” he whimpers, and you realize he’s actually whimpering because of you. It makes you shiver and squeeze tighter around him, his hips bucking more erratically, pushing you into the pillows that are holding you up, perfectly positioned just for him. “So fucking tight, so fucking pretty for me, you’re all for me. All mine.” There’s a growl in his voice that sounds possessive, and you feel it between your thighs, making your clit throb.

“All yours…” you repeat back with a softer tone, while he tightens his grip around your wrists.

“You like how it feels being fucked by my big cock?”

If your eyes weren’t already in the back of your head from the overwhelming pleasure, they would be now, because the way he sounds, the way he’s letting himself go, is driving you closer to the edge.

“Y—Yes…” you stutter out between moans, feeling his mouth on yours, feeding the sound into his before experiencing the sharp bite of his teeth against your lower lip and him tugging.

“Open your mouth,” he commands, and you relish the way he asserts his dominance in this moment, finding his confidence in doing so.

Naturally, you comply, and your eyes flutter open as you gaze up at him before he locks his gaze with yours. With a swift motion, he spits directly into your mouth, sending a moan escaping your lips.

Before you can swallow, he captures your mouth once more in a passionate kiss. This time, his tongue gently caresses yours, spreading his saliva throughout your mouth, both sharing it, his groans intensifying with his pleasure.

Beneath him, you tremble on the edge of your climax. Suddenly, the release of your wrists is met with a grip around your throat, sending you into a vision of stars. You swear you cum around him on the spot the moment he tightens his grip, his long, slender fingers closing around the column of your neck, resulting in a head rush that intensifies your pleasure.

As soon as you feel the sensation, it’s abruptly taken away, accompanied by the feeling of his thrusts coming to a sudden halt. When you open your eyes, you find yourself gazing up at a concerned Noah, your own eyes widening in pleading. “Please, don’t stop.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice suddenly softens and warms, and you can’t help but feel your heart flutter with how caring and concerned he is.

“Noah, please, you’re not just… keep going, please? It feels so good. I’m about to cum.” Were you about to cum? Are you still? You feel it teetering close, and your walls continuously squeeze around him, trying to keep him buried deep and hold him there, savoring the way he twitches and throbs with his own impending release.

“Please…” you practically whimper, and you notice a flickering of something dark in his eyes.

“Yeah? Are you going to cum for me? Are you going to cum all over my cock?”

And God yes, you are, you think, especially as his hand is once again around your throat, applying enough pressure to have you teetering in that heightened sense of pleasure as his hips snap back against yours, thrusting into you with such force that you swear you feel him against your cervix.

When you do cum, it’s accompanied by an intense, blinding heat that engulfs every inch of your body, causing you to tighten around him and arch your back as he thrusts himself deeply into you. The warmth spreads throughout you as he spills into you with his own loud moans. Your bodies tremble together, clinging to each other in any way possible, holding one another through the comedown.

Despite the already spreading soreness and knowing how it’ll be come the morning time, you can’t help but want to do it all over again.

tagged: @fadingangelwisp @deathblacksmoke  @geminigirlfromfinland @fuck1ng-queen @xxkittenkissesxx @lacy1986 @ami--gami @floodflameschosen @dominuslunae @tosoundlessdarkistare @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @lonelydragonlady @th4t-em0-k1d @amelia-acero @dollieomens @i-love-the-smell-of-you-blood @sitkowski @athenexe @trvshdxddy @collapsedglasshouses @overmydeadbodysblog @xmads-omensx @ajordan2020 @astronoids @courta13 @oobleoob @bluehairpunklol @concretenoah @death-ofpeace-ofmind @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @blade-dressed-in-red @bloody-spades 

[ilovedthestars]

A thought I’ve been having: While it's important to recognize the long history of many current queer identities (and the even longer history of people who lived outside of the straight, cis, allo “norm”) I think it's also important to remember that a label or identity doesn't have to be old to be, for lack of a better word, real.

This post that i reblogged a little while ago about asexuality and its history in the LGBTQ+ rights movement and before is really good and really important. As i've thought about it more, though, it makes me wonder why we need to prove that our labels have "always existed." In the case of asexuality, that post is pushing back against exclusionists who say that asexuality was “made up on the internet” and is therefore invalid. The post proves that untrue, which is important, because it takes away a tool for exclusionists.

But aromanticism, a label & community with a lot of overlap & solidarity with asexuality, was not a label that existed during Stonewall and the subsequent movement. It was coined a couple decades ago, on internet forums. While the phrasing is dismissive, it would be technically accurate to say that it was “made up on the internet.” To be very clear, I’m not agreeing with the exclusionists here—I’m aromantic myself. What I’m asking is, why does being a relatively recently coined label make it any less real or valid for people to identify with?

I think this emphasis on historical precedent is what leads to some of the attempts to label historical figures with modern terminology. If we can say someone who lived 100 or 1000 years ago was gay, or nonbinary, or asexual, or whatever, then that grants the identity legitimacy. but that's not the terminology they would have used then, and we have no way of knowing how, or if, any historical person's experiences would fit into modern terminology.

There's an element of "the map is not the territory" here, you know? Like this really good post says, labels are social technologies. There's a tendency in the modern Western queer community to act like in the last few decades the "truth" about how genders and orientations work has become more widespread and accepted. But that leaves out all the cultures, both historical and modern, that use a model of gender and sexuality that doesn't map neatly to LGBTQ+ identities but is nonetheless far more nuanced than "there are two genders, man and woman, and everyone is allo and straight." Those systems aren’t any more or less “true” than the system of gay/bi/pan/etc and straight, cis and trans, aro/ace and allo.

I guess what I’m saying is, and please bear with me here, “gay” people have not always existed. “Nonbinary” people have not always existed. “Asexual” people have not always existed. But people who fell in love with and had sex with others of the same gender have always existed. People who would not have identified themselves as either men or women have always existed. People who didn’t prioritize sex (and/or romance) as important parts of their lives have always existed. In the grand scheme of human existence, all our labels are new, and that’s okay. In another hundred or thousand years we’ll have completely different ways of thinking about gender and sexuality, and that’ll be okay too. Our labels can still be meaningful to us and our experiences right now, and that makes them real and important no matter how new they are.

We have a history, and we should not let it be erased. But we don’t need a history for our experiences and ways of describing ourselves to be real, right now.