#and that makes it all worthwhile somehow

[maze-of-my-design]

Y'know what? In a dying world so cruel and bleak, I think loving is the most powerful thing you can do. In a world where capitalism wants us to break our backs, where peace is scarce, and where some of our brains decide to say mean things to us. It's so important, actually, to be kind and share joy and take care each other, and ourselves, in spite of the way the world is. To love is one of the most rebellious acts one can do

[faunandfloraas]

Really love this thing where I post a not even particularly strong opinion only to get an ask acting like im stopping anyone from feeling differently. I didn't actually know I had all that power! kinda thought this was my blog and I was just chatting on my own personal post or something 🤔

[sufficientlylargen]

Also if putting things where you'll see them doesn't help, try putting them where you can't do things while ignoring them For example, tape your pill bottle to your computer monitor, so that you literally can't check tumblr without it being in the way, or if you always leave the house for work/school/whatever stick them to the door handle so that it's hard to open the door without moving them first.

extremely fucked up that one of the symptoms of adhd is forgetfulness and difficulty sticking to habits and schedules and one of the best ways to alleviate those symptoms is by remembering to take a pill every morning at the same time

[imstillalexcomic]

I was planning on writing a long post about all this, but even though coming out as trans has been a 24 year process and there's been ample time to work on what to say, I'm having trouble finding the right words.

While I knew there was something going on with me since I was about 12 or 13, it took time to realize what it was.

It then took more time to get over my denial.

Then even more time to come out to my best friend in 2017.

Then *even* more time to finally decide to start hormone replacement therapy this year.

Since starting HRT, I've been reaching out to folks from all stages in my life to tell them in person. It's been a lovely experience so far and everyone has been so kind and accepting and understanding and I'm truly fortunate and honored that I've somehow managed to have been surrounded by so many wonderful people.

There are many more that I wanted to reach out to, but I'm finally ready to come out publicly, so I'm ripping the bandaid off now.

Naturally, I'm going to be silly about it and do it with a comic.

I haven't really been drawing since Corpse Run ended, but I've had the itch to get back into it and now that I have a new topic to explore I think I finally have the passion to match the desire.

No set schedule like Corpse Run had, but there's going to be some trans comics from time to time, general life stuff... maybe some video games too because why not.

Given current events, I think visibility is more important than ever. Being seen and potentially giving other folks who might be closeted as I was an opportunity to explore their own relationship with themselves has value and I'm excited to make this next chapter of my life something worthwhile beyond my own happiness.

Being trans is ok. Not being trans is ok. Being whatever it is you were born as is ok.

The circumstances of your birth are nothing to be ashamed of, you are valid and always will be.

I guess I found some words after all. I hope they're the right ones.

[sodaneko]

it’s late when osamu slips under the covers with you. he told you not to wait for him while he closes up the store, told you to catch some sleep because by god you need it, told you a million times and each time you stubbornly refused. the soft light of the nightstand lamp dips your bedroom in golden hues, the book you were reading abandoned somewhere between your pillow and the plush he won for you at the arcade shortly after you started dating in high school. 

osamu doesn’t know how you do it night for night, but you somehow manage to occupy the entire bed in your sleep, laying there sprawled out in nothing but an old shirt of his and panties, tangled up in the blanket and leaving little to no room for him. he scoffs out a quiet laugh while the mattress dips under his weight, his hands gently maneuvering your form snug against him with one leg hooked over his and your head coming to rest on top his chest. he feels you stirring awake, always the light sleeper, and tries to coax you back to sleep with a few kisses on your forehead and hushed sweet nothings against the shell of your ear.

your hand dances across his torso with featherlight touches and he catches it, calloused fingers wrapping around yours, his thumb running soothingly over your knuckles. osamu feels your wedding band–a line of his vows engraved into it–sitting on your ring finger and his heart grows twice in size again, as if trying to make room for you to crawl into if you ever needed a place to hide from the world. some days it still feels surreal, all of it–to call you his, the matching rings, and the polaroids on the fridge from when you eloped a few months ago. someone who loves even the most flawed version of him like it’s easy. the mental image of you saying “i do” with a smile brighter than the sun is carrying him through his darkest days. 

he brings your hand to his lips, kissing the back of it and your fingertips before nuzzling his face into your palm and letting out a content sigh. no matter how weary his bones, holding you like this made it all worthwhile. osamu never took your love for granted; not when you blurted out your confession behind the gym after training, not when culinary school grinded him down and left you with nothing but a ghost of him, not when he proposed with a paper ring made from wrappers of your favorite candy. it’s as if you always see right through him, seeing him for the man that he is–one that’s hopelessly, deeply, endlessly in love with you, only you, forever you.

[spidercat2099]

Kento doesn't go out for drinks... usually.

Nanami hadn’t planned on going out for drinks that night. He never did. He’d perfected the art of declining invitations with a polite yet firm excuse—too much work, an early morning, simply not interested. It wasn’t that he disliked his coworkers, but the thought of spending his precious free time in a noisy bar, pretending to enjoy small talk, felt like a waste. Time was valuable, and he refused to spend it on anything he didn’t deem worthwhile.

But then there was you.

You hadn’t asked him outright, just offhandedly mentioned, “You never come out with us, huh? What, do you go home and stare at the ceiling after work?” The way you smirked, teasing but not unkind, had struck a nerve—because yes, sometimes he did exactly that.

And maybe it was the way you said it. Maybe it was the way you looked at him, expecting another dismissive answer. Maybe it was because, lately, he’d found himself lingering in conversations with you just a little too long, noticing the way you tilted your head when you listened, the way you lit up when you talked about something you cared about. Maybe it was because, when he really thought about it, the idea of spending an evening with you didn’t feel like a waste at all.

So he went. He arrived late, and the second he stepped inside, he regretted it—too loud, too many people, the kind of place he usually avoided. But then he saw you, sitting at a corner booth, laughing at something a coworker said, and somehow, it didn’t seem so unbearable.

You noticed him immediately, eyes widening in surprise before softening into something warmer. “Didn’t think you’d actually come,” you admitted as he slid into the seat next to you.

He sighed, loosening his tie a little more. “Neither did I.”

He didn’t engage much with the others, his responses polite but brief. Most of his attention was on you—not that he’d ever admit it. He watched the way your face lit up when you laughed, how effortlessly you fit into the energy of the group. He wasn’t particularly fond of loud, crowded places, but if it meant sitting beside you, watching your eyes crinkle when you smiled, he found that he didn’t mind it as much.

But you weren’t about to let him sit there like an observer. No, you were determined to make him enjoy himself, too. Your eyes flicked to the whiskey glass he had barely touched. "C'mon, that can't be the only thing you're drinking."

"I don’t drink much—" he began, but then the bartender placed a fresh round of shots in front of you.

"Just one?" You held up a glass, tilting your head slightly.

He should say no. He knows he should say no. But with the way you were looking at him, expectant and playful, how could he? With a quiet sigh, he picked up the shot, tapping it against yours before downing it.

"That’s… terrible," he muttered, setting the glass down with a slight grimace.

You laughed, nudging his shoulder. "It is, but it gets the job done!"

He pressed his lips together, but you swore you caught the ghost of a smile. Or maybe you were already tipsy and imagining things.

"One more!" You lifted a finger to the bartender, but before you could complete the order, Kento's hand was on your wrist, lowering it gently.

"Maybe you should slow down." His voice was steady, but there was something in his expression—concern, maybe.

You pouted, glancing at the fresh shot as the bartender slid it over. "But he already served it… I don’t wanna waste it."

He sighed, rubbing his temple. "Look, you won’t waste it. I’ll drink it, hm?" He extended his hand, waiting for you to pass it over.

You stared at him for a moment, then shook your head. Instead, you picked up the shot yourself. Without warning, you cupped his face.

His breath hitched. Your palms were warm against his skin, and suddenly, he was more aware of your presence than ever before. His pulse ticked in his throat as he met your gaze, trying to decipher your intentions. He could have stopped you—should have stopped you—but he didn’t.

You brought the glass to his lips, tilting it slightly. His jaw tensed for a brief second before he relented, parting his lips as he let you tip the shot into his mouth. The alcohol burned, but it wasn’t what made his chest feel tight. It was you. The way you were looking at him. The way your thumb lingered, brushing against the corner of his lips, wiping away a stray drop of liquor.

"Better?" His voice was lower, rougher.

"Better," you murmured, but your eyes weren’t on his anymore. They were on his lips.

You leaned in. Closer. Closer.

And Kento, despite every rational part of him telling him he shouldn’t, didn’t move away. Especially when your soft lips touched his. He let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. His hand came up to the back of your head, kissing you deeper.

With reluctance, he finally pulled back. He bit his bottom lip gently as he tasted the contrast of the liquor to your sweet coconut-flavored chapstick.

Your mouth stayed open as you caught your breath. "Tell me. Was it worth it to come out tonight?" you asked.

He nodded, moving his hand to caress your flushed skin tenderly. "Do I get a kiss every time I do?"

You let out a small laugh. "You don't have to go out just to get one. But if you want, I'll give you a kiss every time." You lean in again, kissing his lips gently as if savoring every second. He could get used to this.

[iamnotoriginalphil]

I Dwell in Possibility (Casey Novak x f!Reader)

Synopsis: Your aunt Liz warns you to stay away from her ADA. Too bad for her, you'd never been good at doing what you're told.

Words: 9.3k

Warnings: Forbidden romance, reciting poetry, oral (R giving), hickeys, swearing, possessiveness, alcohol consumption, secret relationship, strap (R receiving), dirty talk, angst, hurt/comfort

“You’re not my aunt.”

The woman looking up at you from the low sofa was not the one you were expecting. Strawberry blonde hair shining in the overhead light, fierce green eyes, full pink lips, she was the kind of woman that would devastate your heart with so little effort. Leaning your hip on the doorway, you checked the door again, certain you were in the right place. It was just like you remembered from all the hours you’d spent staying out of trouble under the watchful gaze of your aunt during your more rebellious years as a teenager.

“Not last time I checked,” the mystery woman said.

Her eyes swept over you, assessing in a way that made your nerves vibrate. Your teeth sunk into your lower lip, letting her look her fill, hoping you’d pass muster. You didn’t even know her name, and yet you wanted this woman’s approval.

“I didn’t realise Judge Donnelly had a niece,” she said, her voice a low timbre.

“I have two, and don’t even think about it.”

You whirled, finding your aunt standing behind you, the kind of look that once had you quaking in your boots on her face. Instead, your face split into a huge grin. Her face softened upon seeing you, not in a way most people would notice, but she’d been your favourite person by the time you’d graduated high school and moved away for college. She was the only reason you’d managed to get in somewhere decent. Somehow, despite all your raging against The Man, she’d kept you on track. Your sister had never understood your relationship with her, being one of the people who quaked under her gaze.

“Guess who’s back,” you said, giving her some nice jazz hands to drive your point home.

“No wonder the amount of the trouble in the city has increased,” she said.

“You missed me. Just admit it,” you said, knowing you were being the kind of cheeky that could get you told off.

She sighed but her embrace was tight. You closed your eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of her perfume. You’d missed it more than you could possibly put into words.

“So you finally finished grad school,” she said once you’d drawn away.

“I’m a bonafide doctor now. No way you can go around telling everyone I’m your wayward niece. You can just admit I’m your favourite without shame,” you said.

“And you’re a doctor in what?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Something very interesting and not at all practical, just like God intended,” you said.

She shook her head but you saw the way her lips curled up into a smile. She finally entered her office, you trailing after her. The woman, still an unknown, had been watching with a rapt attention that kept making your skin prickle. Your eyes darted down to her, teeth sinking into your lower lip again.

“Please tell me you haven’t returned to the city looking for a hand out,” your aunt said as she sat in her chair behind her imposing desk.

“I’ll have you know I have actual employment like a productive member of society,” you said.

She scoffed but it was the fond kind, not the kind that said you were in danger. You were achingly familiar with both.

“No, seriously. My supervisor knew a guy in the English department at NYU and put in a good word for me,” you said, “I’m teaching intro to the Romantics this year.”

“A worthwhile endeavour I’m sure,” she said.

“Hey, critical thinking is an important skill. Plus, reciting poetry always goes down well when trying to score a date,” you said, falling back on the couch. Only as your arm brushed hers did you remember someone was already occupying it.

“Tell me you didn’t spend all those years at college just to pick up women,” she said with an eye roll.

“That wasn’t the only reason. It was just an added benefit.” You winked at the woman sitting next to you, lips pulling up into a smirk.

“Get out,” your aunt said.

Your eyes shot back over to her but she was looking at the woman beside you.

“You asked me to come see you,” she said.

“Later,” she said.

She stared at your aunt for a moment before she collected up her papers back into the file they’d originally come from. You watched her leave, appreciating the pencil skirt she was in.

“Who was that?” you asked once the door was closed and you knew she wouldn’t hear you.

“ADA Casey Novak and if she knows what’s good for her she’ll stay away from you,” she replied.

“Aw, are you getting all protective, Aunty Liz? You’ll be putting Dad out of a job,” you said.

“Oh, I’m trying to protect her. You’re a hurricane of trouble,” she said.

“Maybe I’ve grown up. It has been a while since I’ve lived here,” you said.

“Stay away from my ADA,” she said, using her commanding voice.

She should have known better. You’d always wanted what you weren’t allowed. And you wanted Casey Novak.

Over the next few weeks you were around your aunt’s office a lot more, traversing the halls as you reacquainted yourself with the building. Keeping your eye out for a certain strawberry blonde, you’d wander around as you waited for your new job to start. Your aunt, doing her best to ignore what you were doing, put up with your impromptu visits with grace.

Sitting in on one of her trials, you found yourself coming face to face with Casey Novak again. Or rather, you could lean back and watch her dominate in the court room. It sent a flutter through your body and an itch in your fingers to sink into her. She was magnificent, a sight to behold, a lion taking down her prey with a precision that was breathtaking.

And from her pursed lips, your aunt was not happy about your presence there to see such a display.

“What are you doing here?” she asked after calling a five minute recess.

“I came to see you in action. I like watching you scare the little people,” you replied, “tell me, I’ve always wanted to know, do you practice that scowl in the mirror or does it come naturally to you?”

“You don’t care about my scowls. You couldn’t keep your eyes off a certain ADA I warned you to stay away from,” she replied.

“Aw, you do care,” you said, “you seriously think I’m going to ruin your ADA?”

Something interesting settled in her face, arms crossed over her chest. You sighed, looking away from her.

“If it means that much to you, Aunty Liz, I won’t do anything with her,” you said, knowing that giving up one gorgeous woman was the least you could do for the woman who kept you from making all the wrong decisions with your life.

She gave you a small smile, one of the fonds one that let you knew you’d made the right decision. It was the kind she gave you any time you came back with an A on a test she’d helped you study for. You sighed.

“But you owe me one. She is insanely hot,” you said, but you were smiling and the sting wasn’t so bad when it was your decision to follow the rules.

You left the courthouse, knowing you had prep work to do before the semester started. No more stalking the halls hoping to run into Casey Novak by “coincidence” and strike up a conversation that might end in her bed. She was just another gorgeous woman who would remain a ‘what if’.

It was easy to push thoughts of her to the side in the flurry of semester beginning. You couldn’t believe how much work went into teaching a college course, your sympathy going out to every professor you’d ever had. Especially those teaching your intro classes, when freshmen came in with all the confidence they hadn’t earned.

“When did becoming devil’s advocate become the cool thing for boys to do?” you asked.

Your aunt looked up at you from over the rim of her glasses, looking less than impressed with your question. You sighed, slumping back against her sofa. On one of the few days you weren’t teaching, you’d sought refuge in the only place you knew would offer you both a slap over the head and a warm hug. Using the pretence of lunch, you’d brought her food and your frustration.

“Okay, sure, they’ve always kind of been like that but now I have to hold my tongue and not go off on how stupid they are,” you complained.

“Yes, because now you’re the adult in the room,” she replied with all the judgement held in her body in her voice.

“How do you manage it?” you asked, looking at her again, “I’ve seen some of your cases. You’ve dealt with some real…”

You couldn’t find the right word.

“Assholes?”

You turned, finding the only woman in the city you were forbidden from even thinking about standing in the doorway. Your aunt’s eyes darted to yours then back to Casey Novak and you saw the warning there.

“You said it, not me,” you said with a small laugh.

The way she stepped into the room had you forcing yourself to look away. Her hips were swaying with a cockiness you’d attempted to pull off plenty of times and had never quite managed. If you kept staring you might never stop.

“Did you need something, Casey?” your aunt asked.

“The Jensen case,” she replied.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” you said, standing, collecting up your rubbish.

Your shoulder brushed Casey Novak’s as you passed her, a jolt of electricity going through you. Your gaze caught on hers as you passed and you felt your breath still.

It was a good thing you loved your aunt so much or else you’d be in trouble.

Taking yourself out for coffee was becoming one of your Saturday traditions. A worn paperback in your hands and a corner table with your caffeine fix and some kind of pastry was easily becoming your favourite part of your week. It was early enough in your weekend that you didn’t feel guilty for not having started on any of the work you still had to get done for Monday morning. You could relax, taking time for yourself.

“Is this seat taken?”

You glanced up, expecting someone looking to steal the other seat and take it to their table. Instead, green eyes were looking down at you, pretty pink lips curling up into a half smile. Casey Novak, in jeans and a t-shirt, hair pulled back, was standing before you in the morning light, looking like a dream come to life.

“Not at all,” you said.

She sat, legs spreading just enough to make you wonder if she was doing it on purpose. Leaning back in the chair, her eyes slid over you, leaving fire in their wake. You took a slow slip from your coffee, tongue dragging over your lower lip as you put the cup down.

“Is there something I can do for you, ADA Casey Novak?” you asked when her gaze darkened.

“You can start by just calling me Casey,” she said.

She thanked the waiter as he placed a coffee in front of her. You watched her take her first sip, her eyes closing in bliss. She placed the cup down again, turning that burning gaze on you.

“So what do you want, Casey?” you asked.

“Knowing your name would be a start,” she said.

The way it sounded on her lips as she repeated it made you shiver. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip again and you saw her focus on it, leaning forward slightly. The heat that went through you was searing and the throb was insistent, keeping time with your racing heart.

This was dangerous.

“Judge Donnelly is very determined to keep us from running into one another,” she said, a soft hum of a voice.

“So you thought you’d hunt me down to see what all the fuss is about?” you asked.

“Call it a happy coincidence. I was passing by, you happened to be here, no planning involved,” she said, “so your aunt can’t crucify me for taking the opportunity to say hello.”

“Do you always do what you’re told not to do?” you asked, tilting your head towards her.

“Not always. Only if it sounds fun,” she said, her smirk making your heart flutter. This felt too much like flirting.

“You’re going to get me in trouble, ADA Casey Novak,” you said, leaning away from her.

“Nothing wrong with a little trouble,” she said.

Certainly not when trouble looked like a smirking Casey Novak.

“And besides, who needs to know? I don’t see you ratting us out to Donnelly,” she said.

Her fingers brushed over the back of your hand, sending sparks up your arm. Your lips parted as your hand flipped, offering her your palm. They traced over it, the feeling of her touch burning through you. You weren’t proud of yourself for giving in so easily, but pretty women had always been your downfall.

“I promised her,” you whispered.

“We’re not doing anything. It’s just coffee,” she said, the definition of temptation.

“You’re used to getting your way, aren’t you?”

“I’m used to getting what I want,” she said and you found it intoxicating the way her eyes smouldered as they looked at you.

“I suppose she didn’t say anything about not having coffee together,” you said slowly.

Her satisfaction was obvious in the smug set of her shoulders. You laughed and something in her face brightened.

“What are you reading?” she asked, nodding down to your book as her finger continued to trace patterns into your palm.

“Frankenstein,” you said, nudging it closer to her, “I can’t read poetry every moment of every day.”

“Do you really recite it to pick up women?” she asked, picking up your old book, the spine cracked to the point it fell open in her hand.

“Thy soul was like a star and dwelt apart/thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea,” you recited to her.

You saw a flush bloom high on her cheeks, eyes sparkling as she seemed to lose whatever smart comeback she had. You grinned, hiding it behind your coffee cup, lowering your eyes in a show of false modesty. You liked seeing her a bit flustered, finding it enchanting.

“I suppose I can see the appeal,” she said eventually.

“Wordsworth has yet to fail me,” you said, fluttering your eyelashes at her.

She pushed your novel back across the table to you and then downed her coffee. Her fingers threaded through yours, palm to palm, making you feel like you were losing control of the situation already.

“Did your aunt happen to say anything about ice cream?” she asked.

You shook your head, teeth sinking into your lip again. She grinned, standing, pulling you with her.

“Then let me show you the best ice cream in the city,” she said.

Later, when she’d managed to convince you to return to her apartment with her, she tasted of danger. And trouble. And everything that could destroy you.

When you returned home early Monday morning you were buzzing. You could still feel her lips on your skin and her taste was burnt onto your tongue. Hickeys littered your body and you were deliciously sore. You still smelt like her and you wanted her perfume to linger on your skin for as long as possible.

Maybe Aunty Liz had been onto something about staying away from her.

When she called on Tuesday night you didn’t hesitate to pick up. Lying on your couch, drink in hand, you pressed the phone to your ear as her smokey voice whispered to you.

“Please tell me your day was better than mine,” she requested without even a hello.

“I suppose that depends on how your day was,” you said.

“My case got thrown out,” she said.

“That sucks. Sorry,” you said, “I had a student tell me that only men know how to write romantic poetry.”

“Do you write poetry?” she asked.

“Only of middling talent,” you replied, “nothing worth repeating.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. You are a doctor after all,” she said with a small laugh.

“That brag was for my aunt, not for you,” you replied but you were chuckling too.

“Lucky me for being in the room,” she said.

A knock sounded on your door.

“Hang on,” you said, standing up with a groan.

Pulling the door open you should have been expecting the woman on the other side of the door but you hadn’t been. Her lips pulled up into a smile and you held the door open wider for her. Her fingers brushed the back of your hand as she stepped inside.

“I’m going to have to call you back,” you said into the phone, “a devastatingly sexy woman just arrived.”

She tossed her cell phone on the couch with a laugh. Your hands landed on her hips, pushing her back until you had her pinned to the wall. Her hands cupping your cheeks dragged you up onto your toes to kiss her, long and slow and deep. She hummed into the kiss, the vibrations going through you.

“Make me forget my day,” she requested when you finally pulled away.

You dragged her to your room, more than happy to oblige. You lowered her onto the bed, crawling up her body. Your hands were seeking her skin, pushing up under the skintight turtleneck she had on. Just the sight of it was driving you crazy, remembering the feeling of her curves in her hands. You kissed her again, not able to stop yourself.

She sighed when you pulled her shirt over her head, your hands finding home on her skin. Your thumb brushed over her ribcage from your hand’s place on her waist. Your lips ghosted down her body, feeling her tremble.

“There witching beauty greets the ravished sight/more gentle than the arbitress night,” you whispered into her skin.

She made such a soft noise, one that suggested her chest was caving in. You brushed your lips over the curve of her breast, enjoying the way her breathy moan spurred you on. Wrapping your lips around one peaked nipple, you laved attention on her. She arched into your, fingers winding though your hair. As you sucked, your name fell like a curse from her lips.

Your fingers were quick as they unbuttoned her slacks. Slipping your hand into her panties, you stroked through her folds. Her hips pressed up against your hand, wordlessly begging for more. You kissed across to the other breast, finding the yellowing hickey you’d left only a few days ago. With your tongue, you circled her other hardening nipple, teeth grazing over it for a moment.

“You’re so good at that,” she groaned, fingers tightening in your hair.

You grinned against her as you finger found her clit. Her breathy sigh was gratifying in ways you couldn’t put into words. Slowly, you kissed down her chest, hand slipping from her panties as you grasped her hips. You dragged her slacks down long legs you still remembered curling around you on the weekend.

“You’re so beautiful,” you said, looking up her body.

Your mouth made contact with her throbbing cunt. Keeping a tight hold on her hips, you pressed closer, tongue sweeping through her folds. You moaned at her taste, still addicted to it, the novelty of having her like this not yet having worn off. Staring up your body, you watched as her eyes squeezed closed, fingers fisting in your comforter.

Your tongue dipped into her entrance and a shaky curse fell from her lips. She was so beautiful as her face contorted with pleasure. Wrapping your lips around her bundle of nerves, you suckled as she whimpered above you. You held her in place, refusing to let her use you the way she wanted. You were going to take care of her.

Lifting her legs over your shoulders, you pressed her into the mattress. You couldn’t get enough of her, wanting to spend hours with her doing this. When she came, it was with your name on her lips, the sound of it going right through you.

You were slow to kiss back up her body, finding her lips waiting for you. She kissed you with an enthusiasm that had you groaning. Flipping you, she gazed down at you, lips pulling up into a smirk that was growing familiar.

“You’re entirely too clothed,” she murmured.

“You’d better do something about that then,” you said.

The next morning you woke with her arm flung around your waist and her face buried in your neck. It wasn’t a conscious decision to begin running your fingers through her hair, but when she pressed closer with a soft sigh you didn’t feel the need to stop. You closed your eyes again, nose burying in her hair, breathing in the scent of her perfume again.

“I need to get up,” she mumbled, lips brushing your skin.

“Don’t,” you whispered, “stay.”

“I can’t,” she said, “I need to go fight for my case to be reinstated.”

“You can do that?” you asked.

“If the detectives have found new evidence,” she replied, slow to sit up.

Your eyes tracked over the swathes of skin on display, feeling your mouth water. Something about Casey was addictive to you, making you desperate for more even after hours spent indulging in her body the night before.

“So committed,” you murmured, fingers tracing down her spine, “that’s pretty fucking hot.”

She turned, looking over her shoulder at you. Dark eyes swept over your body, half exposed from where the covers had pooled around her hips. You arched your back, offering more to her gaze.

“And if I win and this rapist goes behind bars, I’ll come back to celebrate with you,” she said.

“Promise?” You tried to smoulder, the way she did that made you feel electric.

She smiled, leaning own to press her lips to yours.

“Promise,” she whispered against your mouth.

She called you by the end of the week. You dressed up all pretty, in a nice dress and a nice pair of heels, hoping to make her head spin the ways yours always did. Meeting her at the restaurant, your breath caught at the sight of the smile she gave you. Then it moved double time as an appreciative look came into her eye.

“If this is what I get for winning a case, I think my conviction rate will go up,” she said, gaze slow to move down your body and then up again before meeting your eye, “you look breathtaking.”

You took her in, the silk dress clinging to her curves, her hair swept up in an elegant undo. Green was certainly her colour. Reaching out, your finger ran along the chain of the necklace she was wearing, watching the way a flush rose to her cheeks.

“You shouldn’t be allowed out like this,” you murmured.

“You don’t like how I look tonight?” she asked.

“I like it entirely too much,” you said, finger stopping at the base of her throat, “the things I want to do to you…”

“There’ll be plenty of time for that later,” she chuckled, “patience, sweetheart.”

“I can be patient,” you replied.

“I suppose we’ll see, won’t we?”

Seated across from her, it was hard to look away. Her foot brushed your calf, sending a jolt through you. The way she was looking at you over her menu suggested you were what she was hoping to devour. You’d let her.

Placing your order, she took you through the trail, her voice soothing where the details were traumatic. Her foot kept bumping against yours under the table and each time her lips would quirk up. You found yourself leaning towards her, not able to stop yourself. Her gravity seemed only to affect you.

“But you didn’t ask for a blow by blow of the case,” she said, shaking her head after the food was placed down in front of you.

“I like listening to you,” you said.

“You do?” she asked, a surprise look crossing her face.

“Is that really so surprising?” Your fingertips brushed the back of her hand before retracting, “you have a way with words and the kind of voice I could listen to for hours.”

Something broke over her face, cracking open into a look of wonder. Your breath caught, not sure what to do with such a lovely expression on such a beautiful face. It was baffling that you could bring that out in someone like her.

“I’m beginning to see why your aunt wanted to keep us apart,” she said.

“What do you mean?” That was not what you were expecting to say.

“She knew I’d never let you go once I had you,” she said.

Your face softened into a smile. Reaching across the table, you threaded your fingers through hers, enjoying the feel of skin against skin. Her fingers tightened around yours, squeezing for a moment before she released you, beginning to eat.

“And here I was thinking the poetry was the way to seduce you, not the compliments,” you said, picking up your own fork, “might have to switch tracks if I want to keep you around.”

“I like the poetry,” she said, eyes darting up to you.

“And if I was reciting it to someone else…?” you prompted, wondering what was going through her head.

“Are you?” she asked, her gaze sharpening.

“Would it matter if I was?” you asked in response.

“I don’t like to share,” she said, her voice lowering, making you press your thighs together.

You took a slow sip from the wine she’d ordered. Her eyes darkened, lips pursing in a way that suggested you might be in trouble.

“So tell me, sweetheart, have you been reciting your poetry to someone else?” she asked.

“Not recently,” you said.

“How long?” she asked, and you were worried you were walking a razor edge with her.

“A few months,” you replied.

“What happened a few months ago?” she asked but you saw her lips begin to curl up into a small smile.

“I met a beautiful ADA and despite trying to be good, she was very convincing in tempting me to be naughty,” you replied.

She lent forward, her hand finding yours again. Tugging it up, her lips pressed a lingering kiss to your skin, making your breath catch. Your foot bumped hers under the table.

“Do you regret it?” she asked.

“I’m not sure I could ever regret you, Casey Novak,” you replied.

“So you don’t want to stop?” she asked.

“When Aunty Liz finds out, we’ll deal with the fallout then,” you said.

“When?” She raised an eyebrow at you.

“If you’re planning on never letting me go, it’ll have to come out eventually. We can’t keep it a secret forever,” you said.

“Eventually.” Her lips pressed to the back of your hand again, “but for now I want to keep you all to myself.”

The thought was pleasing. You held her gaze for a long moment, the weight of it all crashing into you. Your heart thumped in your chest, tripping over itself. You saw possibilities sparkling in her eyes, and the potential future you could build spiralling out before you.

“Who from the cup of amorous delight/dashes the sparkling draught of brilliant delight,” you murmured before taking a sip from your glass of wine. The way she looked at you was like you were something from out of space, beautiful and wonderful and completely unknowable. It was a heady mix.

She didn’t let you return home all weekend.

You slipped back into the monotony of your work come Monday, working through what you should have done on the weekend. It had been easy to forget the stack of papers you had to mark when her mouth was on you and you were gasping her name. It should have scared you, how easy it was to lose yourself in her, but you’d known the first time you’d seen her that she could render you into nothing. You welcomed it.

On Wednesday morning, when a note was sitting on your desk, you rolled your eyes. Curt, to the point, three words that gave you all you needed to know. You put it aside, booting up your computer.

Your aunt didn’t bother standing as you slid into the chair across from her. The food in front of you was what you’d always ordered, your favourite thing on the menu. Especially when she was buying.

“You summoned?” you said, raising an eyebrow at her.

“I haven’t heard from you in a while. I was worried you’d gotten yourself into trouble,” she said.

“I don’t remember you being my parol officer,” you said, taking a bite of your lunch.

“Nothing you feel the need to tell me?” she asked.

“How about you just tell me what’s on your mind and then I can tell you. Or not, depending what it is,” you said with a wicked grin and a small shrug.

“You always go to work with a hickey on your neck?” she asked.

“Only if I had fun the night before,” you said, which you had.

“Do I want to know?” she asked.

“Are you asking for details about my sex life, Aunty Liz?” you shot back.

“Please, I’m trying to eat,” she said, indicating her soup.

“Don’t ask if you don’t want to know,” you said, “so why did you really ask me for lunch?”

“It’s my duty to check in on you. If not, who knows what kind of trouble you’ll get into,” she said.

“Don’t pretend, I know you care. You worry about me.”

She didn’t answer but you knew the truth.

“Are you going to tell me about the girl who’s giving you fun nights?” she asked after a moment of silence.

“Eventually, I’m sure,” you said with a small shrug, knowing you couldn’t tell her, “all you need to know is right now I’m very happy.”

“Clearly.” Her gaze lingered on the hickey you hadn’t bothered covering up that morning, “you know, you’re not the only one who’s coming to work looking less than presentable.”

“You got something to tell me, Aunty Liz?” you poked, trying not to grin at her like a menace. Her beleaguered sigh only made your grin grow.

“ADA Novak has worn the same outfit twice in a row more than once over the last few weeks. Right around the time you stopped calling me incessantly,” she said.

“Lucky girl,” you said.

“And you know nothing about it?” she asked.

“I made you a promise,” you said.

“So it’s just a coincidence?” Her penetrating gaze made you shift in your seat. You’d never been good at lying to her.

“Seems like it.” You looked down at your food, “it’s not a shock two hot women happen to both be getting laid.”

“Okay, you can stop.”

“Good because neither of us is enjoying this,” you said.

She was more than happy to drop the topic. You moved on to much nicer things, like work and how your mother was repainting her kitchen much to your father’s annoyance. She had strong opinions on your sister’s latest boyfriend. You did too.

It was easier when you weren’t talking about Casey.

You started being more careful. You kept the hickeys to places you couldn’t see with your clothes on. She left early enough to get home or brought a change of clothes with her. And you made sure you were never seen anywhere your aunt might be.

Mostly, you spent time in her apartment, curled up in the bubble of the whole thing. You couldn’t understand why your aunt had been so against you seeing her. Everything about her was wonderful, and you’d never felt so sure about a decision before.

“Listen to this,” you said, looking over the top of one of the essays you were marking, “‘he made nature a woman because as everyone knows women are weak and they break under the passion of a man’s love.’ Can you believe that?”

“Yes,” she said, “you should hear some of the stuff men say to justify what they do.”

“I couldn’t do your job,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“That’s why I do it, and why you talk about poetry all day,” she said.

“Is that judgement I hear?”

You placed the essay down, crawling towards her on the couch on all fours. She lent back, watching you with the kind of look in her eye that made you want to submit to her. Her legs spread, offering you the perfect place to stop. Your hands on her knees helped you to push up, drawing closer to her.

“Do you think I don’t have a real job?” you asked, “that I’m just a silly artist who contributes nothing to society?”

“You contribute plenty,” she said, one hand gently cupping your jaw, forcing you to look up at her.

“Do I?” you asked.

“Keeping me happy makes me better at my job. You do your part in putting away all the bad guys,” she said, slow to lean towards you.

“Better make sure you’re on top form tomorrow then, hadn’t I?”

Your marking could wait.

Casey let you stay at her place when your heating went out in the middle of winter break. Curled up in her bed, book in hand, half sprawled against the headboard, you let the hours pass. The door opened and closed again. Looking up, your eyes itched and you realised it had gotten later than you’d expected.

“Hey,” you said when Casey appeared in the doorway.

She looked exhausted, the slope of her shoulders, her heavy footsteps. Your heart ached for her. Her fingers weren’t careful as she unbuttoned her blouse, dropping her slacks to the floor. You still stared every time you saw her naked body, not quite believing you were allowed to see it. She was so beautiful.

She wiggled under the covers, depositing herself on top of you. Her arms curled around your waist, cold hands pressing to your skin as the buried under your sweater. Her face was buried in your neck. With your free hand you stroked a long line down her spine before curling your arm around her waist, feeling her let out a long sigh.

“Long day?” you murmured, lips brushing against her temple.

“Don’t want to talk about it,” she replied, muffled against your neck, arms tightening around you.

“Okay,” you said

In a soft voice, you began reading your book out loud to her until her breathing began to even out. It took a while, her muscles slow to relax. You would read to her all night if it would help, whatever she needed. When she finally dropped off, you gazed down at her, finding yourself enraptured. This was the kind of moment you made sure was burned into your memory.

You ignored the way she made you feel. You pushed away the thought that you were falling for this woman. Even as you knew it was true.

The wolf whistle that passed through your lips was loud. You grinned when Casey’s steps faltered, her eyes seeking you out. She sauntered towards you, an extra swing to her hips when she found you. Leaning back against the pillar you’d been waiting against, you watched her, not even bothering to hide your appreciation.

“I thought I saw you earlier,” she said, coming to a stop in front of you.

“I had to drop something off with my aunt. Thought I’d sneak a glimpse when I got the chance,” you said.

“And?” Her head tilted to the side, crowding you against the pillar without touching you.

“And I think you’re something amazing,” you replied.

Her free hand reached out, fingers tangling with yours.

“Bit risky doing this when your aunt is just inside,” she said.

“She’s stuck in court for the next little while,” you said, “plus, it’s been months and she hasn’t brought it up again. I think we’re in the clear.”

“Lucky us,” she said.

“So can I take you to lunch?” you asked.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” she asked.

“I’m not sure I care,” you replied, then decided to pull out the big guns, “a poet could not but be gay/in such jocund company.”

Your fingertips brushed over her cheekbone.

“Fine, but you’re paying,” she said.

You took it as a win.

You gasped for breath, falling forward onto your elbows. The only sound was the slap of skin and your breathless moans. Casey’s hands were tight on your hips, leaving bruises on your skin. You pressed your hips back, your whines asking for more.

“You like that, sweetheart?” Casey asked, dragging her strap out of you.

“Uh huh,” was all you managed to say.

“Perfect little toy for my cock,” she said, slamming back into you.

You cried out as she hit that place inside of you that made you see heaven. Her name was nothing but a prayer on your lips.

“You were made for this, weren’t you?” she said, “God made you just for me to fuck.”

Her thrusts became rougher, harder, making you see stars. You were so close, feeling the wave about to crash into you. Your entire body was a live wire, every thrust making your head spin.

A loud banging on your door had Casey freezing.

“Ignore it. Whoever it is will go away,” you said, breathless and desperate.

She waited a moment for the knocking to stop before she slowly retracted from you before slowly pushing back in. Your whimper was pathetic, making her chuckle as she readjusted her hold on you.

The banging started on your door again.

Casey sighed, pulling full out of you. You growled, turning, the liquid heat in your veins calling out for more. The throbbing was unbearable. You’d been so close.

“Go handle that, sweetheart,” she said, running a hand through her hair, “then I’ll take care of you.”

You grumbled as you rose onto unsteady legs. Wrapping your robe around your naked body, you did your best to stride towards the door. Pulling it open, you were brought up short at the woman on the other side.

“Don’t tell me you were still in bed,” your aunt said.

“Okay. I won’t tell you,” you replied.

You glanced back over your shoulder, clutching your robe tighter around you.

“Are you going to invite me in?” she asked, her expectant look making you freeze.

“I wasn’t expecting you, Aunty Liz. I’m not exactly set up for company,” you replied.

“Or at least not company you have to be dressed for,” she said.

“What are you doing here?”

She pushed past you into your apartment. You were slow to close the door, hoping she’d leave, still feeling the slickness between your thighs begging you to go back to Casey and finish what you’d started. Her eyes slowly took in your place, lingering on the two cups of coffee on your counter.

“Am I finally going to meet your mystery woman?” she asked, turning to look at you.

“No,” you said, “did you need something or were just hoping to cock block me?”

“You’ve been dodging your mother’s calls. Call her back so she stops bugging me,” she said.

“Sorry. She just won’t shut up about redoing the living room and there’s only so long I can discuss the merits of eggshell vs seashell,” you said, running your fingers through your messy hair.

“Just call her,” she said, “I’d like not to repeat this experience.”

“That makes two of us,” you muttered.

The bedroom door was pulled open and your heart stopped in your chest. Both you and your aunt were slow to turn to the figure that had frozen in the doorway. Casey, wrapped in a sheet, cheeks still flushed and eyes wide, was staring back.

“Uh… it’s not what it looks like?” you tried when you got your voice back.

The look she gave you was withering. You shrunk under it, knowing the game was up. There was no talking your way out of this. Her jaw clenched and the tension in her body was enough to snap.

“I believe you gave me a promise,” she said, voice cold enough to give you hypothermia.

“I’m sorry,” you said, voice shrinking under her glare, “it just kind of… happened.”

“And when I asked you about it, you lied right to my face,” she said.

“What was I meant to do? You were so determined I should have nothing to do with her. An opinion I don’t understand and certainly don’t share,” you said, knowing you were sounding like the petulant teenager who had been dumped on her all those years ago.

“You don’t have to share my opinion but you gave me your word,” she said.

“Don’t blame her,” Casey said, finally stepping into the room properly, “I started this.”

“You also gave me your word,” she said, turning on her, eyes flashing dangerously.

“That’d ridiculous. You can have a say in my personal life but one of your ADAs? Seriously, Aunt Liz?” you demanded, “that’s gotta be some kind of abuse of power.”

“Don’t start,” she snapped.

“It’s fine,” Casey said to you.

“No. It’s totally an infringement on your rights. She can’t ask that of you,” you said.

“Sweetheart, she didn’t ask me as my boss,” she said.

“Fine, then I’ll be angry about it on my behalf. You can ask me but not other people,” you said, rounding on your aunt.

“Did you ever think that maybe I had good reason for telling you to stay away from her?” your aunt asked.

“So why did you?” you asked.

Her eyes flicked to Casey who was looking between the two of you like she was desperate to leave this situation. You shook your head, turning away from her.

“It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done and unfortunately for you we’re happy together. I think it’s time for you to leave,” you said, gesturing back towards the door, “I’ll talk to Mom.”

You didn’t bother looking at her as she left your apartment, the door loud in the silence left in her wake. Your stomach was unsettled, a toxic mix of anxiety and anger, and all you could do was stare at Casey. The color had drained from her face and there was nothing you could do.

“Kind of a mood killer, huh?” you said, hoping to break the tension.

“I should probably go,” she said before disappearing back into your bedroom.

“What? No.” You followed her, “you don’t have to. We don’t have to let her ruin our weekend.”

She didn’t look at you as she dragged her clothes back onto her body. A chill went over you, leaving you off balance and unsure. All you could do was watch as she put herself back together.

“I’ll call you,” she said, hand gently cupping your chin as she kissed your cheek.

The door slammed shut behind her and you fell back onto your mattress, the first tear falling. You’d known it was going to be awful when Liz found out, but you hadn’t thought Casey would be sent running. You’d stupidly assumed her feelings were strong enough to take the hit of your aunt’s disappointment.

She never called.

You kept to yourself for a few weeks, waiting, hoping she’d come back. Any time you called her it went to voicemail and she never called back. You stayed home, ordering takeout you didn’t want and left mostly uneaten. You curled up on the couch, stumbling through the days, wondering what you’d done wrong. Because you must have done something wrong for her to disappear from your life like that.

It took a lot of pride for you to drag your overwrought body over to your aunt’s. It was late enough you thought she’d be at home, but your knocks went unanswered. Sinking down onto her front steps, you lent against the ice cold metal of the handrail debating letting yourself freeze to it. It would be easier than continuing on in the hole you’d found yourself in.

“You make a sad sight.”

You blinked up at the woman towering over you. With a sigh, you hauled yourself to your feet, using the handrail to hold yourself up. Your aunt considered you for a moment before pushing past you to unlock her front door.

“You’d better come in,” she said, “can’t have you freezing to death out here.”

You trudged after her, letting yourself be enveloped in the familiar home you’d spent so many hours in. Her steady hand on your shoulder pushed you down onto her couch, disappearing out the back into where you knew the kitchen was.

A warm mug was placed in you hands, painful against your frozen fingers. You sighed, staring down into the steaming tea, the same brand she’d been stocking for you since you started sleeping over when life got too much for you.

“I sense I’m going to regret this, but do you want to talk?” she asked, lowering into the leather armchair that felt synonymous with her.

“Why didn’t you want me to pursue Casey?” you asked.

You’d been wrong. Your aunt always had a reason for asking things of you and she’d yet to be wrong. This was all your fault by not listening to her. So you had to know why she’d been so adamant this time.

“What’s happened?” she asked in return.

“I haven’t heard from her since you found out. She won’t take my calls. She won’t come see me. So I guess it’s over. I should have listened to you,” you said, staring down into your mug of tea. You took a slow sip. It was the same thing that had been going through your head for days now.

“Yes, you should have.” Your head snapped up to her.

“You knew this would happen?” you asked.

“I knew Casey Novak is a heartbreaker. She’s beautiful and smart and passionate. Makes her a damn good ADA. But the moment I saw the way she was looking at you I knew she was interested. And the way you looked at her said you were too,” she said, “you’ve never been able to lie to me.”

“So why did you tell me to stay away from her?” you asked.

“I think you forget I know you. She’s the exact kind of woman you’d destroy yourself for. I didn’t want to see you get your heart broken,” she said and you were surprised by how soft she could make her voice.

“So it wasn’t because you didn’t want me to distract your best prosecutor?” you asked.

“Distract her. Break her heart. I don’t care. It’s your heart I was trying to protect,” she replied.

“So much for that.” You slumped back, staring into your mug like it held all the answers, “I really fell for her.”

“I know you did,” she said.

“When you brought her up over lunch all those months ago…?” you asked, finally looking up at her again, realising what she’d said about lying.

“I knew you were lying to me. Foolishly, I thought it would lose its charm if I stop telling you what to do. I should have known better,” she said.

“I really thought she was falling for me too.”

And then the tears came. Your Aunt Liz had never been a cuddler, but the squeeze of her arm around you and her steady shoulder beneath your head was exactly what you needed. She let you cry until there were no more tears and then sent you upstairs to bed.

By the morning you felt a smidge better. Less pathetic at least. You stayed the weekend with her, reverting back to your teenage self, letting someone else look after you for once. And so you called out sick on Monday and followed her to work.

Her sharp look was all the opinion she was going to give you. After you’d told her your plan the night before she’d made her disapproval clear. But you needed to do it. For your own peace of mind.

Slipping into Casey’s office, you shut the door with a quiet click. Your heart squeezed as she looked up at you. The expression that went over her face would be enough to bring the tears on again if you hadn’t done your best to harden yourself to her. But there were dark circles under her eyes and it looked like she hadn’t slept since you’d last seen her.

“Hi,” you said, leaning back against her door.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“You never called.”

Green eyes darted away from you, the hands clasped on her desk tightening. You’d grown used to reading her body language and this was not a good sign.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but if you wanted to end things I wish you’d just told me,” you said, leaving the safety of the door, “I mean, I got the message but it would have been nice if you could have just said something.”

“I’m sorry,” she said on a sigh.

You stared up at the ceiling, doing your best to keep from exploding your emotions all over her office. You heard the scrape of her chair pushing back. You focused on the light hanging above.

“Hope is a thing with feathers/that perches in the soul/and sings the tune without the words/and never stops at all,” you whispered.

A broken breath passed through parted lips. You inhaled sharply, turning your gaze back to her. Her eyes were swimming with an emotion you couldn’t name, tears welling, threatening to fall. You shook your head, looking down to your fingers, twisting together until you thought they might break under the strain.

“I really thought you liked me,” you said, “enough to handle my aunt’s disapproval. But I guess I was the idiot who fell for someone who didn’t feel the same.”

She stayed silent.

“She finally told me why she didn’t want us to get together. She knew you were going to break my heart. Next time I think about ignoring her advice I’ll come back to this moment,” you said.

She was still staring at you in silence. You shook your head looking away, disappointment welling in you again.

“That’s all I wanted you to know. I’ll leave you alone now.”

You turned to go, your sigh heavy. You should have expected this. She couldn’t even handle having a conversation to end things with you. As if she was going to say anything when you tried to have one. Still, at least you got it off your chest. That was really all you wanted to do. Your hand landed on the doorknob.

“Wait!”

You froze, not used to hearing such desperation in her voice. The ache in your chest only got worse. You didn’t turn around, but you didn’t turn the doorknob either, hung between one decision and the next.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, and you could just imagine the tear spilling down her cheek. You squeezed your eyes shut.

“I wanted to call. I did. But…” You heard her take a deep breath in, “I’m not good when it becomes real.”

“What does that mean?” You turned, surprised at the spike of anger you felt making your heart beat double time.

“It means the last time I let myself fall in love in went badly. He… It’s not important, but I haven’t been able to let myself get that vulnerable again,” she said, looking at you like that explained everything.

“So this was nothing but a bit of fun for you?” you asked, “you never cared about me?”

“No!” Her hands grasped your forearm, the first touch of bare skin you’d had from her in weeks making your head spin, “no. Maybe that’s how it started but no.”

“Then make it make sense, Casey. If it mattered to you then why did you disappear? Why did you do this?” you demanded.

“Because I cared.”

She thrust her fingers into the front of her hair, gripping at the roots. She turned away from you, the anguish clear on her face. It was like a punch to the gut, sending you reeling. Your shoulders slumped, staring at her as she paced. The impulse to reach out and comfort her was still strong. You hated yourself for it.

“Look, I could ignore the way I was falling for you when it was just us. I could lie to myself and say it was just sex. That I didn’t want more. But then Donnelly was there and you were trying to protect me and I knew. I knew I was in love with you,” she said and you felt your heart break right there in her office.

“You were a coward,” you said, and it wasn’t nice but it was true.

“I was,” she agreed, “I didn’t want to hurt you but I didn’t know how to handle it.”

“You said you’d never let me go,” you said.

“A good line I thought would make you smile,” she said, shaking her head, “I didn’t expect you to actually want it.”

“Do you still love me?” you asked.

“What?” Her brow furrowed.

“After all this, do you still love me?” you asked.

“Does it matter?” she asked in return.

“Just answer the damn question.” You hadn’t expected to get angry but she jumped as you raised your voice.

“Yes,” she said, her voice breathless.

“Good.”

Your hands landed on her hips, forcing her back against her desk. Her lips parted and a flush bloomed over her cheeks. Pushing up onto your toes, your lips ghosted over hers.

“That I did always love/I bring thee proof,” you murmured.

You kissed her then and her whimper was music to your ears. Her arms came up around you, hands pressing between your shoulder blades, keeping you pressed against her. Your tongue swept into her mouth, needing this more than you’d realised. You’d thought this was the end. Instead, warmth was blooming in your chest and you felt giddy as you kissed her deeper. You couldn’t get close enough to her.

She drew back, breath heaving, eyes still closed. You ran your fingertips along her lower lip. She pressed a kiss to them before her eyes slowly blinked open.

“I know you’re scared, and I know you think you’re not good at this, but I’m not letting you go without a fight. I love you, ADA Casey Novak,” you said.

“Just Casey,” she whispered, voice breaking, a tear slipping free.

You wiped it away, then the next and the one after that.

“I don’t deserve you,” she said.

“No, you don’t,” you said, sliding your fingers into her hair, “but lucky for you I’m pigheaded and I’m used to getting what I want. Sound familiar?”

Her chuckle was wet but she pinched your side until you laughed too. She lent forward, forehead pressing to yours. Your hands slid around to interlock at the small of her back.

“So will you pick up when I call you tonight?” you asked.

“I’ll do you one better.” She cupped both your cheeks, tipping your face up towards her, “I’ll give you my spare key and you can be waiting for me when I get home.”

You kissed her again, not able to help yourself. Possibilities tasted so much better when they were coming true.

[vigilskeep]

summary: viago finds out something terrible has happened to sol de riva. lucanis has a horrible day in a horrible week. emmrich and teia are once again somehow the normal ones by comparison. viago/teia and strongly implied non-binary crow rook/lucanis. mentions of crow-typical upbringing. i cannot be held responsible for viago’s inner narration being mean. 2.5kish words

*

The news lands like a bad joke.

One of the Diamond’s private booths has been converted piecemeal into something like a study. Viago had needed to work, and a table was a table, so he defiles Teia’s temple to indulgence with paperwork. Maps and notes are pinned to the ebony panelling on the walls. Among his stacks of notes and contract dossiers, Viago sits on luxurious black velvet as he waits, expectantly, for the punchline.

Lucanis Dellamorte just stares at the ash stains on the table, the low lighting putting the Void itself in his hollow dark eyes. Next to him, the necromancer, Volkarin, has the nerve to look sympathetic.

‘What exactly do you mean,’ says Teia, beside him, ‘by trapped?’

‘We gather that Solas planned this from the beginning,’ says Volkarin. He is quick to abandon fact for theory. ‘He exchanged places with Rook. Capitalising on the weakness of the Veil after Ghilan’nain’s demise, and perhaps even more so, the emotional duress that Rook—’ He catches sight of Viago’s expression, and whatever he sees there brings that sentence to a merciful death. ‘Suffice it to say that Solas walks free, and in his place, Rook has been imprisoned in the Fade.’

Lucanis says, ‘They’re gone.’

‘So why,’ asks Viago, ‘are you here?’

The question startles Lucanis, enough so that he looks him in the face for the first time since he stepped out of the eluvian today. Volkarin looks politely baffled. Viago wants to pour acid over something and watch it bubble into nothingness.

‘You have lost Rook,’ he says, and the words are a poison that threatens to close his throat. He forces past, makes no allowance for the weakness. ‘And now you are at my door. You have your pack of experts. Your contacts. Your gateways across the north. Surely there is nothing more that the Crows can give you. Go and get them back.’

Lucanis covers his face with his hands.

Viago does not know what to make of the Demon he sees before him. In the months since his rescue from the Ossuary, he had looked every bit the part of a man returning, piece by piece, from death into life. Viago had marked his improvement as he would mark the progress of any antidote. Each time Sol’s people visited Treviso, they had returned Lucanis a little stronger. More wholeness to his body, more colour to his skin. The shadows under his eyes had never vanished but they had softened, and Viago had seen him smile more easily at Teia’s teasing or Sol’s jokes than he had thought the heir to House Dellamorte would ever be capable.

Today it was all undone. After nearly a week of silence from the Crossroads, no way to know what at Tearstone had gone awry, Lucanis had come through the eluvian as unkempt and ragged as the near-corpse that Sol had first pulled from the sea.

Viago’s first thought had been that the man was ill, even blighted. Then he had asked for a quiet word in a private room in the same broken tone that others have asked Viago for a final poisoned cup. As he explained what had happened on the island, words had often failed him, sentences withering into choked silence, leaving Volkarin to conclude them. He flinched and startled at nothing as Volkarin spoke, turning to face interruptions only he could hear. Now he hides his face.

Volkarin casts him a worried look and once again attempts to intervene. ‘Please understand, we are pursuing every avenue. I am not without hope.’

Viago had considered the necromancer a tolerable acquaintance, with indisputable knowledge and the ability to hold a worthwhile conversation on Blessed Age sculpture. The standards Viago has come to expect from friends of Sol’s are not high; Volkarin exceeds them all. Still: his intrusion in this room now is as unbearable as an intrusion under the skin. He is an interloper here among their business. He cannot understand what is at stake, or he would not be sat there on Teia’s velvet in his ridiculous coat, posture perfect and prim.

Teia puts a hand on Viago’s arm, probably because his lack of answer is uncivil. He can’t decide whether reproach or sympathy would be worse to see in her eyes, so he doesn’t look at her.

To Volkarin, she replies pleasantly, ‘That’s good to hear.’

‘Incidentally,’ says Volkarin, encouraged, ‘may I ask after Rook’s surviving blood relations?’

Viago nearly chokes on more disbelief than fury. As soon as he can get out the words, he snaps, ‘Already planning the funeral, Watcher?’ His tone is not under his own control, but Teia’s fingers tightening on his arm give him an idea what he sounds like.

‘Oh!’ says Volkarin, surprised. ‘Oh, no, dear me. It could not be further from my thoughts, I assure you. I was considering… avenues.’

He glances sidelong at Lucanis. Lucanis does not look up.

‘My colleagues and I,’ he continues, ‘have been pursuing what it would take to locate Rook within the Fade. It seems the natural first step. And if you’ll forgive the notion, it may be a matter of, ah, blood. Blood matching theirs would be ideal, truly. If anything could speed our progress…’

Teia leans forward into Viago’s field of vision. Her face is perfectly calm, taking as well as ever to the role of mediator, but forcing him to wonder what she’s thinking. She and Sol are friendly, but not close. Teia arrived in his life just as they were beginning to spiral out of it. ‘Please, speak freely,’ she says to Volkarin. ‘You’ll find the Crows very open-minded.’

The line of Lucanis’ shoulders tenses like he disagrees, but at least he stops hiding, if only to turn and speak to Volkarin. ‘Rook was not born into the Crows as I was,’ he says. ‘Their family exchanged them for safe passage into Antiva. Refugees, from the Fifth Blight. They will be long out of reach.’

The words are a cold sting of unwelcome surprise. Sol has trusted this man even with that.

‘Ah,’ says Volkarin, sounding disappointed and a little saddened, as though he knows what family is to Sol, or what ranks first among the hardships they have faced. ‘Well. No matter, merely a thought. There are other approaches.’

‘You have tried them,’ says Lucanis. ‘Tried them, and failed.’

It sounds very final.

For the first time, Volkarin’s professional veneer slips, and he is the one to look tired. How many attempts has he made? How desperate did they become before turning to Treviso? ‘My dear man,’ he says. ‘Please don’t give up hope. There is so much we don’t know.’

‘Which is why we are failing. Why we cannot get them back. Isn’t it?’

Volkarin has no answer. His mouth thins into a grim line.

Lucanis drags his fingers through his hair, the style more of a mess than ever. His hand trembles like an addict’s. It’s impossible to tell what state his demon is in. Sol’s quiet updates had petered into silence, which Viago had taken to mean the thing was dormant. Is it what’s dragging him into this stubborn despair?

‘Rook is—’ Lucanis permits himself to choke on the words where Viago had not. ‘Rook is gone. Rook has been gone for days. And all the while, everything they have fought for, everything we lost them and Harding and Bellara for… We have sat and watched as it slipped between our fingers. Solas is free. The Venatori triumph. Elgar’nan has taken the heart of the Imperium while we hide and pretend there is hope. That is why I am here.’

‘You want us to fight,’ surmises Teia.

Lucanis spreads his empty hands, gesturing helplessness. ‘I have no magic. I cannot waste time playing at rituals and guesswork; I cannot even try. I only have the Crows. The least I can do—all that I can do—’

Save the world, even if Sol is no longer in it. Give them up for dead, and finish their work.

‘House de Riva refuses,’ says Viago.

Lucanis stares at him.

Teia’s fingers tighten once again on his arm. He doesn’t have to look at her to know that this time, it is a wordless warning. This is the First Talon, she reminds him. You are speaking to the First Talon’s face.

Viago cannot bring himself to care. He ought to think this through, to weigh the pros and cons, but in his head there is only one cold answer. ‘Your contract,’ he says, ‘is with Sol. Your business is with Sol. If you want my knives in Minrathous, you will find Sol and bring them here to tell me so. Until then, whistle for another dog. Our house is not at your beck and call.’

Lucanis shakes his head like he cannot believe it. Viago has feared and respected the man by turns. Recently he has even had occasion to like him. Now he would pity him if he were not so disgusted.

Viago is not being sentimental. He does not work from wishes. When he slips poison into a drink, he doesn’t hope it will stop a heart; he knows it will. Evidence and experiment has already proved the unassailable truth. He does not hope that wherever Sol is, they are alive, and fighting to win. He knows it. He has been the one to send them into impossible odds, time and time again. They always come back with laughter still in their throat. They always think of something.

If Lucanis lacks faith, he does not know Sol at all, and he certainly does not deserve them.

The man turns to Teia next, with nothing more than pleading eyes. That is his trouble, Viago thinks. Lucanis is not his grandmother; he is not even his cousin. He does not terrify or flatter or cajole. He is First Talon, and he still looks to them for help, as if they are his friends.

Admittedly, it is an approach that may work on Teia. Even her immaculate mask has fallen away; the slightest of furrows has formed between her brows, and her nails tap, distracted and discordant, on the table. She’s fond of Lucanis. Fonder still of Caterina, the spectre looming behind him. To dismiss Lucanis at his first command will be costly in every imaginable way. He would not ask her to do it.

‘Ay,’ she mutters. ‘What a mess.’

‘Teia, please,’ says Lucanis.

She grimaces. ‘House Cantori,’ she says, both sorry and unflinching, ‘stands with House de Riva, in this matter.’

The conversation is over very quickly after that.

The First Talon says little more. He recoils into himself like a wounded thing into its den, dead-eyed and quiet. Volkarin fills the silence. They are planning another attempt later today, he says. They are consulting Dalish allies for whom crossing the Veil is a regular professional hazard. They are reaching out to Kal-Sharok about pure lyrium. He is not without hope.

Viago waits until Lucanis is gone—a shadow crossing the rooftops, headed to the Dellamortes’ lair—and stops Volkarin before he can go for the eluvian. The necromancer looks at him, curious, politely bemused.

This is a terrible idea. ‘Rook was exposed to countless toxins, for immunisation,’ he says. ‘All through their training. I cannot get you their family, but I can get you blood that runs with all the same poison. Exactly the same. Would that be useful?’

Volkarin tilts his head thoughtfully, as if to look at the idea at a better angle. Viago is almost certain he is not just humouring him. ‘A fascinating proposition,’ he says. ‘It is rather pushing the bounds of the theory, but on occasion, the Fade quite takes to such bending of the rules… How many Crows would have been treated with precisely the same combination?’

Treated is a kind word. There is no place in it for coaxing Sol, a child then, to drink even when they were sobbing. There is no place in it for the long nights when he thought they might die before dawn. What Viago did to them was not medicine. It was necessary. Before he was Talon, he was a threat to a Talon, liable at any moment to be struck down. Sol had thrown their lot in with him from the start, and he had safeguarded them both by all the methods he knew.

He smiles, humourless, and admits, ‘Only one.’

‘Only—? Ah.’ It passes over Volkarin’s face clearly: the realisation, then the understanding, then the concern. ‘It shouldn’t be a life-threatening exchange, merely to locate them. It would, however, be arduous.’

‘We Crows tend towards arduous pursuits.’

Volkarin shakes his head, though it’s thoughtful, not a refusal. ‘I would commend you for it,’ he says. ‘I would ask you to come with us to the Lighthouse, to begin as soon as possible.’ His mouth twists with rueful humour. ‘And I would request that you explain the matter of my spilling your blood to our friend, upon their return.’

He agrees to those terms.

Whether it is optimism or pessimism, Viago decides that Sol’s mages at the Lighthouse will spend enough time mired in indecision about method for him to get some work done while he waits. He returns to the private booth to gather the most urgent papers. A few contract reports, too. They’re predictable—failures don’t come back to make reports—but he could stand to see some good news.

Teia’s still in the room. She’s sprawled inelegantly along the seating, one leg drawn up, a hand over her eyes as if to shade them from the dim, sultry casino lights. She lifts the hand a little to look at what he’s doing, then sits up, brows raised, and says, ‘Going somewhere?’

He explains about the blood.

When he’s finished, she reaches for his splayed collar and pulls him down to bring his lips to hers. He has to bend nearly double. After the kiss ends, she does not let him go. She presses her forehead to his and they breathe together.

‘I wish I could at least go with you, Vi,’ she says, sounding miserable.

A year ago, faced with such earnestness from her, he would not have had the heart to believe it. Five years ago, he would have been too busy flushing and stammering just to have her beneath him like this. Her tight-fitting combat leathers would have driven him to distraction. Now they only fail to hide how thin she’s become, and remind him how long it’s been since her last chance to drop the armour. He still remembers the delight on her face when she showed off new dresses, a transformation every day, each more unbelievable than the last. Will that come back, when these days are over? He wants to see her wear colours again.

Uselessly, he says, ‘Someone has to hold the fort.’

‘I know,’ she grumbles. With a sigh, she lets him go.

He stands straight, feeling bereft.

‘Gods in Minrathous,’ she mutters. The idea of the gods never sits easy with Teia. She says she has settled it in her mind, and then picks at it, like a scab. ‘Well, it would have been a sight to see.’

‘We’ll see it,’ he tells her. ‘Keep both our houses ready to move.’

Teia smiles. ‘Of course. We’ll go to war once our Sol is safe and sound, and you’ve finished shouting at them for all this trouble.’

Viago smiles back, just a little. He’s sure.

He has to be.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

hey boss, got a sex ed question: is there any evidence that using a vibrator on a clitoris/vagina makes it harder to get off or be pleasured by manual/oral stimulation? I’ve tried researching on my own but it’s been tricky to find sources that aren’t trying to sell me something (product or ideology lol). and my own experience is that it’s easier to get off with a vibrator than with a partner, but there’s a laundry list of reasons why that could be and I just want to know if the vibrator is making my partnered sex life more complicated. I also don’t really masturbate/fuck often enough to have solid data points.

anyway if you don’t know that’s totally ok 🫡 it’s kind of a weird and subjective question, so I just thought I’d see if you had any better info. hope your day is great either way

hi anon,

okay. so. we're gonna do nuance here.

right out of the gate, I'm going to say this: the common misconception that using a vibrator or another kind of sex toy will somehow deaden your clitoral nerves is just that - a misconception.

as you already noted, there are a LOT of reasons why someone might consistently have an easier time getting off with a vibrator than they do with another person. for most people, the biggest reason is the intensity and consistency. the fact of the matter is that sex toys can provide the exact same feeling indefinitely (or at least until the battery dies), which isn't something most human partners can match. for people who take a long time to get off (which is fine!), a vibrator can be the MUCH more reliable way to orgasm.

it's also worthwhile to remember that, in many cases, getting off can be a matter of practice. orgasms are a series of muscle movements in response to stimuli, and it can become much easier to get off with a particular behavior the twentieth time than it was the first time.

I think of it as being sort of like cooking. if you've spent all your time really perfecting a recipe for, I don't know, a grilled cheese, you might get really, REALLY good at making a grilled cheese, such that you could practically make it in your sleep and without needing to consult any notes or recipe because you have the recipe completely memorized. (let us assume this is an extremely fancy grille cheese.) this culinary dedication doesn't mean that it will be IMPOSSIBLE for you to cook, say, a lovely pasta dish, but if you've sunk all of your kitchen practice time into making grilled cheeses, it is going to take you longer to make the pasta! it won't feel as easy or intuitive the first few times, and the results might not be as lovely as you would like. it'll take more practice before the pasta comes as naturally as the grilled cheese!

you know what I mean? the grilled cheese is the vibrator, btw.

the point being: everything is easier with practice and variety is not only good for you, but delicious.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Keep You Company

steddie x fem!reader

Your best friends Steve and Eddie decide to make your night worthwhile when they see that you seem lonely at a party

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex (wrap before you tap it) fingering, oral (m receiving) choking, spanking

word count: 5,003

This idea was brought you by the lovely @n0t-even-try1ng-2 who was a winner of the 5k word fic contest! This one was so much fun to write and I really hope you enjoy it!

The party isn’t exactly what you’re expecting as you sit alone on the couch in the dingy basement. Everyone around you seems to be coupled up while you’re by yourself. You sip from the solo cup of the screwdriver Eddie made for you before leaving to make a deal. Now you have no idea where he is nor Steve. This is the first party you’ve been to as a newly single woman and now you’re debating on going home because this isn’t nearly as fun as you were promised that it would be. 

You’ve come to realize that you don’t really know anyone at this party besides Steve and Eddie. And you’re not exactly looking to meet anyone new even though that was the whole reason why you even came tonight. The whole idea intimidates you. And even though you told yourself you were going to move on from Steve and Eddie, you somehow can’t seem to get yourself to. 

Ever since your breakup with your boyfriend, you’ve felt isolated from your friends. They all took his side and when Steve and Eddie assured that they were going to be there for you, you knew you made the right choice in being friends with them. They’ve been there for you through all the tears and they both held you in your bed while the three of you watched your comfort movies. You’ve felt bad for hogging them the past few weeks so you demanded that they hang out with their other friends tonight. As you sit here alone, you’re starting to regret it. 

That is, when Steve drops onto the cushion to your left, Eddie to your right. Their thighs are pressed to yours and you can feel the heat emanating off their bodies. There’s something about this that feels so right but you’re too embarrassed to tell them that you’ve been feeling attraction for weeks. You’re sure it’s just you anyway. 

You have no idea that they know exactly how you feel. It’s obvious with the way you look at them, like they hung the moon. It’s sweet actually. You constantly bring them gifts and baked goods. Sure, you are just that sweet, but there’s clearly something romantic behind the whole thing.

You just can’t understand how either of them are single. It just doesn’t make any sense to you. Steve used to be “King Steve” who had all the women wanting him and you don’t know when it stopped, but now you never see him with anyone on his arm anymore. He’s so sweet and kind and you wonder when everyone stopped fawning all over him. And Eddie..that’s the biggest mystery of all. He’s such a sweetheart and you know people only dislike because he’s nerdy. And because he plays D&D, of course he’s the devil incarnate. But you guess that means there’s more for you, not that they’d be interested in you like that. You’re all just friends…right? 

You have no idea how badly they want you and they think it’s cute. They’ve talked about it on multiple occasions and decided that tonight is going to be the night where everything gets laid on the table. They know how badly you want them-it’s obvious. And they want to show you how much they like you. They want to make you feel special. They want to show you that you can be appreciated and that sex is supposed to feel good. You told them all about how your ex wasn’t able to please you in the bedroom and they fully intend on showing you how it’s done. 

Steve sees how you’re looking at the couple who’s at the fireplace. They’re making out and you’re looking at them longingly, like that’s what you want. He scoots close to you, his lips right by your ear as his arm rests on top of the back of the couch. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” He asks, his voice nothing but seductive so there’s not room for confusion. When he pulls back, you’re biting your bottom lip, nodding furiously. 

“Please,” you whine and he swears he feels himself getting hard at that. He takes your hand and helps you up from the couch while you grab hold of Eddie’s hand. The three of you make a beeline for the stairs, giggling as you head to Eddie’s van. 

You have an idea of where this is headed and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t nervous. You’ve had a few sexual partners, but never two at the same time. It’s intimidating for sure, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t excited about the whole thing. 

You’re just glad you’re wearing the lacy set you just bought just in case you decided to take someone home. You’re not usually like this, but tonight, you want to do something impulsive. And you think that maybe fucking your two best friends is exactly what you need in order to finally get over your ex. And maybe you want to see if what the three of you have is more than just physical attraction. 

You all squeeze into the bench and the drive to your apartment seems like the longest ride of your life even though it’s only ten minutes. You can’t believe this is happening. After wanting both of them for so long, you finally get to have them. And they seem to really want you too. 

Steve has to admit that he’s a little nervous. He’s never had a threesome before and he’s about to have one with his best friends. It feels sort of weird but his excitement outweighs that. He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t been crushing on both of you for a while now. He’s only recently come out as bisexual so this whole thing is so new to him. 

Eddie, though, he’s been out for a while. He’s made his attraction to you very clear, but he reeled it in with Steve because he didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. When Steve came out a few months ago, he wanted to be honest with him, but decided he’d wait until he felt like the time was right. He’s thinking that maybe he should say something tonight.

He can’t stop thinking about the things he wants to do to the both of you. He’d never tell either of you that he’s gotten off to the idea more than once. It’s always the same with Steve fucking you while Eddie’s cock is in your mouth. And then they swap places and both have their way with you until you get tired and insist that they have some fun with each other. And he always comes just as the imaginary version of him gets on his knees for Steve. 

God, what he would give to be able to suck Steve’s cock. He can practically hear the whines that would fall from his lips. He can feel Steve’s hands in his hair, tugging on it as the breathiest moans leave his mouth. It would be so sloppy and needy and he can’t help but imagine what you’d do as you watched. 

He’s trying really hard to act normal, like he’s not about to cream his pants right now. He’s trying to think of something, anything to make him not think of those panties he got a glimpse of as he followed you up the stairs. 

Steve’s fantasies haven’t been hesy as filthy, but they’re still dirty enough for him to not want to tell either of you what they are. He imagines himself and Eddie on either side of you, both kissing your neck as they make a mess of your cunt. 

He can practically hear your moans as the fantasy plays in your head and he tries so hard not to let out a moan of his own. He doesn’t know if he really needs you that bad or if he just hasn’t been with anyone in a while. He’s pretty sure it’s the first one. 

You’re also doing your own fantasizing. But yours is probably the dirtiest of them all. You imagine them both hovering over you as they both fuck into you side by side, rough and hard. You can hear them calling you filthiest things. You want them to go so hard that you can’t walk for a week. 

Tension is high as the three of you walk up to your apartment. Steve is in front, you’re in the middle, and Eddie is behind. And he’s got a great view of your ass that he just wants to get his hands on. He’d spank you again and again as he pounded into you over and over, telling you just how much of a whore you are. 

If he wasn’t so scared of disrespecting you, he’d give your ass a hard slap just to see how you’d react. He wants to hear your little squeal and ask him to spank you again and again until your ass is numb. 

You turn to see him staring at your ass as you give it a little shake to tease him as you make your way down the hall. He stands behind you as you reach for your keys and gives your ass a little slap, unable to hold himself back anymore. You let out a little squeal like he expected and you turn around, your eyes lighting up with lut-almost if you want him to do it again. 

The three of you crowd around the door as you unlock it.

Well, try. It’s like everything is moving much slower as you unlock the door. You’re all just eager to get inside and have your way with each other. But the door lock seems to be stuck and you can’t seem to get it to unlock. 

Eddie has you step aside and you do so as he works on it, moving the key this way and that, doing things you wouldn’t even think of. It makes sense with his history of breaking in to places and hot wiring cars like his dad taught him. 

The lock finally clicks and you pull them both inside by their shirts as soon as it's open. You’re so nonchalant about the whole thing while they’re both nervous. You toss your purse onto the island in the kitchen as you kick off the shoes you’ve wanted to take off the whole night. 

Your feet are hurting and now you’re more desperate to get out of your clothes just because of how uncomfortable your bra and panties are. They look hot but that doesn’t make up for the fact that they’re both super itchy. The lace rubs you in all the wrong places and you’re just eager to get out of it for more reasons than one. 

You stand in front of them, letting them decide who makes the first move, but they just stare at you, eyes wide, like neither of them can believe what’s happening. Because they can’t. After waiting for what you think is too long, you move to stand in front of Eddie. You turn your back to him and make sure he’s able to see the zippedr of your dress. 

“Unzip me?” You ask, unable to see the blush creeping up on Eddie’s cheeks as he reaches up to grab hold of the zipper. He doesn’t know why doing this always makes him feel like a shy, awkward teenager again. He pulls it all the way down and pushes the press off your shoulders before pressing a kiss to one of them as your dress pools at your feet. 

You stand there, giving them a good look at your ass before you turn around to face Steve and Eddie and you can see lust filling their eyes as they take in your bra and panties. They’re thin and lacy, almost like you expected to get laid tonight. Well, your wish is their command. 

The three of you stand there awkwardly, waiting for something to happen. The three of you are entering uncharted territory and none of you are quite sure how to approach this next step. You’re all friends, but this is different. After tonight, you can never go back to the way you were. 

They wait for you to make the first move, not wanting to cross any boundaries. You make your way over to Steve, grabbing his face in your hands and pressing your lips to his. It starts out slow but quickly progresses to messy and sloppy, moans falling from both of your mouths. 

Eddie watches the whole thing without a single ounce of jealousy. In fact, he’s actually more turned on than he thought he’d be by watching his best friends make out. When your tongue slides into Steve’s mouth and you both moan again, Eddie feels himself getting hard just by seeing it. 

You break away when Steve’s really getting into it before heading over to Eddie, feeling bad for leaving him out. You’re more rough with him, knowing that he can take it. It’s much more heated than the one with Steve and he groans into your mouth as you palm him through his jeans. He’s straining, desperate for something. 

He backs you up to your couch, pieces of clothing dropping to the floor as they’re discarded. You’re pushed down onto the couch and Eddie drops to his knees in front of you as he pulls Steve down with him. 

“Let us worship you,” he says, more like a command and who are you to say no? This is everything you’ve wanted, right? The kind of thing you’d never admit you fantasized about even when your ex was inside you. It was the only thing that would get you through it and even then, you’d only be able to come when you imagined that he was either Steve or Eddie doing the work. 

“Please,” Steve begs and you nod as you watch Eddie pull down your panties. Once they’re off, he stuffs them into Steve’s pocket as they both spread your legs wide. 

You’re wet beyond belief, dripping onto the couch and even though they’re both eager to dig in, they decide to take their time. Whispering the most sweet words against your skin as they kiss up your legs and you suddenly feel like the luckiest woman in the world. 

Then it’s not so sweet as they absolutely devour you. Eddie goes for your clit while Steve is at your slit, both of them working you with their mouths as fingers slide inside. They’re curved and you already feel close to exploding as they hit just the right spot. You’re holding onto the couch cushion beneath you for dear life as they make an absolute feast out of you. 

When they start to bite down, your swear you see stars. You feel like you’re going to come any second by the sheer pleasure that’s coursing through you. People have eaten you out before, but never like this. This is greedy as they take and take, but you don’t mind. This is easily the best head you’ve ever received. 

When they swap places, your heels dig into their backs as you feel an orgasm approaching. They’re biting down harder as they get you there, fingers pumping harder, faster. You moan so loudly and they both swear it feels like a cry. 

As your orgasm courses through you, you think they’re done, but they don’t let up, Eddie’s tongue plunging deep inside you as he tries to get one last taste. It’s pushing in and out and you mewl again and again, another orgasm on the way as they both finally pull away from you. 

You’re a sweaty mess as they look at you, seeing how blissed out you already look and neither of them have even gotten inside you. They remove your legs from their shoulders and Eddie heads to the bathroom to retrieve a washcloth to clean up the mess as Steve is nothing but encouraging. 

“Did so good, honey,” he says, giving your thigh a squeeze as he speaks softly. You see that his free hand it’s still covered in your mess and now you’re wondering what it tastes like. Your mouth is watering as you begin to crave it, feeling his fingers in your mouth. 

Steve seems to sense what you’re wanting because he’s leaning up now, fully between your knees as he leans over you. His wet fingers hover over your mouth and there’s a drop that lands on your bottom lip. You’re quick to swipe your tongue slowly over your lip then part both of them as he slides his fingers inside. 

You watch him as you lick and suck, purposely making the most filthy sounds as you do so. Steve watches, lips parted as he watches you, knowing that this exact scene will replay in his head constantly for the rest of his life. 

“Fuck, you’re so hot.” 

Your cheeks heat at the compliment. At the way you’ve got this man literally on his knees for you. You’re convinced he’d do whatever you asked without question and he’d do it with that adorable, dopey grin on his face. 

Eddie comes back from the bathroom just as you release Steve’s fingers with a loud pop. Eddie cleans you up despite knowing that they’re just going to make more of a mess of you as the night goes on. 

You stand from the couch and Steve moves out of the way as you make a beeline for Eddie. You drop to your knees in front of him and he’s sure that this is the prettiest you’ve ever looked. You’re quick to unbuckle his belt, and before he knows it, you’re pulling his jeans down, his boxers quick to follow. 

He’s already hard beyond belief and you spit into your hand before grabbing him at the base. He knows this night was supposed to be about you, but he feels like it would be wrong of him to deny you the opportunity to return him the favor. 

You’re pumping hard and fast and he’s losing his mind as he watches you work. He’s been given many handjobs, but not like this. It always seems like they’re doing it because they feel like they have to. But you? You definitely want this. He can see it in your lust-filled eyes. 

You take the tip into your mouth and run your tongue over the slit before giving him a hard suck. He whines as his hands wind into your hair as Steve ties it back for you. You take Eddie deeper, inch by inch until your nose is pressed to his bush. 

Your tongue flattens against the underside stroking it as you get him fully into your mouth. You feel it hitting the back of your throat and gag, but you keep going, still determined to make him come. He’s so close you can feel it. 

“Just like that,” Steve encourages. “Look at how crazy you’re making him.” 

You look up and his head is thrown back, his eyes shut tight as he lets out moan after delicious moan. This might be the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. You give him a few more sucks and peek up at him through your lashes. Watching him come, feeling him leak out into your mouth feels so rewarding because you were the one to do it. 

You stand to your feet and force him to look you in the eye so he can watch you swallow. His eyes darken as he sees your throat bob, pushing your mouth open to see that you really did swallow. 

“So fucking hot,” he rasps as his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you in for another heated kiss. It’s just as hot and messy as the other one and his tongue slides into your mouth. You moan as it roams your mouth, his rock hard, wet cock pressing against your stomach, showing you just how badly he wants you. 

“Please let me fuck you,” he whines and it’s the most pathetic you’ve ever seen anyone. You feel bad for letting Eddie have all the fun but you swear that you’ll make it up to Steve after. 

You pull both of them into your room and push Eddie down onto your bed. Watching him sprawled out like that, begging for you to use him in any way you want-you don’t think you’ve ever been more turned on in your life. 

Steve helps you take off your bra and you both join Eddie on the bed. Steve is quickly stripping down as you straddle Eddie’s waist, taking no time to top him. You don’t move yet, leaning down and kissing him first, wanting to warm him up before you completely ruin him. 

Your fingers tangle in his hair and he has no idea how he’s going to move on from him-from tonight. He doesn’t think he ever will. This is going to replace the scenario he’s cooked up in his mind. Seeing you here and now, straddling him as you kiss him as your life depends on currently tops the fake version of you he sees every night. 

Not only are you real, but you actually respond to him. You make him feel good. You make him feel alive. You pull away and rest your hands on his shoulders as you begin to ride him. It’s fast and hard and you’re both moaning loudly as you work together, his hips bucking against yours. 

Steve thought he would feel left out, but he doesn’t at all. He knows he’ll get his turn and there’s just something about watching his best friends fuck that makes him feel something. The way you’re both moving, the delicious sounds falling from each of your mouths. It’s all just so hot. 

He’s fisting his cock as he gets even harder, needing some release. He pumps and pumps, trying to match the pace that you’re going, imagining it’s your hand that’s doing all the work. 

The bed starts to shake and squeak underneath Eddie as you’re both moving fast and hard. So loud that you’re sure that the police will be knocking on your door with a noise complaint at any second. 

“Fuck,” is all he’s able to say, so fucked out already even though you’ve barely done anything. His nails scratch down your back and the way you moan only makes him and Steve need you even more. Eddie’s close, you can feel and Steve’s not that far behind. But you’re far from done. 

Your hand grabs hold of Eddie’s neck, unsure of what you’re doing, but it just feels right. You’ve never choked anyone, especially not in a sexual context, but Eddie seems very into it. So you squeeze and squeeze, watching his eyes widen. You continue to fuck him senseless as you squeeze harder and harder until he can’t even speak. Even then, it’s almost like he wants more. 

But as his face turns bright red, you decide to let up, but still keep your hand on his neck. He’s close and you watch him cum and you still continue to ride him, trying to reach your own orgasm. He’s still thrusting as he leaks inside of you, trying his best to get you there. 

“Shit, sweetheart,” he breathes as he lies back on the bed, watching you come not long after he does. His name falls from your lips and he’s sure that it’s the prettiest sound you’ve ever made. 

You climb off him and collapse onto the bed next to him as Steve reaches his own climax, leaking out all over himself and the bed before hurrying to the bathroom to clean himself up. 

You feel bad that he’s been pushed to the side and are not determined to make this the best fuck of his life. It’s what he deserves for being such a good boy. For being so patient. 

Steve takes a little longer in the bathroom, fixing his hair as well as cleaning himself up. He doesn’t know why he’s so focused on his hair when you’re just going to mess it up. Truthfully, he’s just nervous. More so that he thought he’d be. You’re his best friend so this feels weird for him even though he’s dreamed about this very thing for so long. He’s just worried he’s going to screw it up. 

He opens the bathroom door and steps out into the room, his eyes widening as he sees you on your knees at the end of the bed. You’re moaning loudly as you play with your nipples and god, does he want that to be him. 

You reach out for his hand and he lets you pull him forward. You guide it your chest and he hesitantly lets his hand rest on your tit. He seems nervous and you want to do what you can to help make him feel more comfortable. 

“You can touch me, Stevie,” you whisper and look around the room before spotting Eddie smoking a joint. He offers it to you before taking a drag and you take it from him. 

“Open your mouth,” you tell him and you take a drag from the joint before pressing your lips to his, blowing the smoke into his mouth. You pull away far too soon but he chases your lips, capturing them between his. It’s slow and sloppy and he seems to be much more confident. 

He licks into your mouth as his fingers tweak your nipples, turning them this way and that and you whine into his mouth in response. He leans you back, kissing his way down to your neck, giving it a suck. You’re so overstimulated but you don’t dare ask him to stop because it just feels so good. 

He bites down on your neck and you gasp, feeling even more wet, more needy for him. He bites again and again, making you moan even louder. He kisses his way down your body as he lays you down on your bed. 

He’s hovering over you with the joint in his mouth and Eddie is quick to take it from him, giving it one more drag before stubbing it out. He’s at your side just like Steve was, just in time to watch Steve pound into you again and again. 

His hands grab yours as he watches you come undone underneath him. The bed is squeaking once again and all that can be heard besides the sounds you’re both making is the sounds of slapping skin. He’s fucking you so hard, so deep inside you that you can practically feel him in your stomach. 

He’s moving fast and hard, which is so unlike him but he’s so eager to please that he’ll do whatever he thinks you want. This isn’t about him anyway. He just wants to make you feel good. 

“Fuck, this is so good,” Eddie whines. “So hot. Harder, Steve. I want to see her come undone.” Steve listens, somehow going even harder and you’re struggling to keep up, clenching around him as you cry on his cock. 

You never imagined sex with Steve to be like this. You always pictured soft and sweet but you’re definitely not hating this. He’s just so good at it, always somehow knowing exactly what you want without even having to ask. But you’re pretty sure that’s only because you’ve been friends for so long. 

His hands tighten their grip on yours as he fucks into you even faster, seeing that you’re starting to slur, your hips slowing their pace. But you snap yourself out of it, trying to keep up with him despite being so tired. Your hips buck against his over and over until you feel another orgasm rising. 

This is the biggest one yet and Steve’s not that far after you, still fucking into you to see if he can get one more out of you, but he can tell that you don’t have any more left in you. So he pulls out once he comes down and the three of you lie there on the bed, all thinking about what’s just happened. 

You can’t believe you just fucked both of your best friends and are already craving more. You even sucked one of them off and let them both eat you out. You know that this is just going to be a one-time thing but now you’re craving more. You want this to be a regular thing even though you’re terrified to ask. You know they were just doing it to be nice and you’re just willing to take whatever you can get. 

Steve can’t believe he just did that. He’s never fucked anyone in that way before. It’s always so gentle but he felt like trying something different. And he liked it. So much so that he almost wants to ask if you want to go for another round. But when he turns to his right, he sees that you’re fast asleep. 

Eddie and Steve watch you in admiration, both still wondering how they should approach telling you that they want you. Even after tonight, they’re sure that they could do this every night for the rest of their lives and be happy. 

Eddie watches your lips part and still thinks about how good that blow job was. Definitely the best he’s ever had and how is he supposed to let anyone else suck him off knowing that none of them will ever compare to you? 

In fact, he’s not sure he wants to have a sexual partner that’s not you nor Steve but that seems to be a conversation for another day. You’re all clearly fucked out and just need some sleep. 

So Eddie and Steve pull the covers over you before climbing into bed on either side. They both drape an arm over you before you all drift into the best sleep you’ve ever had.  

[the-autistic-vulcan]

The Freedom to Love (Thunderbolts x GN!Reader Headcanons)

Description: The Thunderbolts at a Pride Parade

a/n: supportive fluff, reader can be read as any sexuality or gender identity in this, aroace yelena, bisexual bucky, lesbian ava

gif credit: @dailymarvelstudios, @blank-potato, @prideflagstim

Valentina saw this as a PR stunt, really - a chance to advertise and 'market' the team effectively - you guys were going to be the faces of it, essentially, Valentina made it your whole personality

But, let's face it, neither of you guys wanted that - so, the three of you took it upon yourselves to round up the team and go to a different pride parade, free from the constraints of advertisement, and simply have it all to yourselves

Yelena has her aroace flag wrapped like a cape on her back, Bucky has a mini bisexual flag to wave around, and Ava has a t-shirt with 'certified girl kisser' on the front

Whatever you personally identify as, you best believe the team has your back

You and Ava dance around and heckle at anti-LGBTQ+ protesters, giving them the middle finger and just berating them

Alexei definitely has a 'Proud Dad Hugs' shirt lying around in his room just for this occasion

He goes to hug the people whose parents probably didn't accept them when they came out, giving them a little hope - and to redeem his fatherly side

John canonically grew up in the deep south, so he isn't really aware of Pride Parade etiquette - you gave him a rundown of the whole thing

He ends up enjoying himself, and he was quite popular with the hypermasculine queer crowd - a few guys definitely fancied him too

Bob is Bob - he's a little awkward but does end up making friends wherever he goes, so somehow, he's separated from the group and found with drag kings and queens

You and Yelena definitely go to join him - even learning a few dances from the performers

And once the parade starts, Bucky is in tears - not fully sobbing - but shedding tears of freedom

He couldn't be open in the '40s, and seeing how open people were now in the modern day was such a welcomed change of pace

You hold his hand through the whole thing

You all fully took advantage of the day - facepaint, mardi-gras level theatrics, the works

This may have been a marketing scheme - but it was one that was worthwhile when on your accord

Happy Pride!

[solitairedeere]

i was never as optimistic about the ending of bnha as some villain stans were, but i never thought it'd end so badly it left me wondering why horikoshi ever bothered to humanize the villains or make them complex characters at all.

like-- i expected that at least 1-2 of the 3 villains who were heavily foreshadowed and outlined by the narrative as people to be saved would be, you know, actually saved. i didn't think that was a high bar. i've been let down before in fandoms where everyone was certain a character would live and then they didn't, so i tried to keep my hopes low. AND YET.

what happened to tomura was upsetting, but i wasn't that shocked after how disinterested the manga has seemed to be in him for like, the past 100 or so chapters. a bit surprised, because you'd think if anyone would succeed in the 'saving' mission it would be the MC, but whatever. dabi, well, they've spent a lot of time showing the way his quirk destroys his body even before this arc, so that also sucked but at least it didn't feel completely out of left field.

........but they're not even letting toga live???

i just-- what have we even been doing here? when zero out of the 3 characters that were marked out for saving were actually saved, you have to acknowledge that something has gone seriously fucking wrong with the storytelling. not even just from the perspective of a villain fan but from the perspective of someone who likes stories to be thematically consistent or satisfying in any way.

you can set up an expectation of these characters being saved and then subvert that and turn it into a tragedy- if done well that could even be worthwhile and interesting. but you can't turn it into a tragedy and then just... keep trucking along with the happy ending messaging and act like anything in the manga has been resolved and that the characters have somehow successfully completed their heroic origin stories.

like, maybe i shouldn't have expected this much from a shounen- at the end of the day it is still a shounen so i didn't expect to feel that it truly satisfactorily wrapped up all the themes it brought up around societal ills. but i expected it to at least resolve those things in a shounen-y way where they punch the problems and help these specific people and then you can feel good assuming that the state of things will continue to improve in the post-canon world of the manga.

instead we got... uh, none of that. the story refused to answer a single one of the larger questions it's been outlining for the past 400+ chapters. in the end, it was all flash and no substance, which again could've been fine, if it weren't for the way the story seemed to spend significant chunks of time trying to delude you into thinking it had substance.

truly makes me wonder what horikoshi thought he was doing the entire time. can it really all be blamed on burnout? the most that can be said for this ending is that it is, well, an ending. fuck dude, it is that.

and that's just... such a sad way to end a project that took up 10 years of your life.

[sporesgalaxy]

I HEARD WE WERE SHARING DANNY PHANTOM OCS FOR @dpocparadeevent AND I CAME RUNNING AS FAST AS I COULD!!!!!! BEHOLD, FAN FAVORITE CANON CHARACTER (lying),

SILENCE ALEXANDER

Silence is a ghost librarian who roams the Ghost Zone and the living world in order to learn everything there is to know about ghosts!

Age: ~150yrs

Height: short

Sexuality: Bisexual

Gender: Bisexual*

Powers: pyromancy, smoke-mancy, book summoning, encyclopedic knowledge of ectobiology and ghost history, and also literally possesses multiple encyclopedias about those things. She wrote most of them.

Weaknesses: water, her own hubris, emotional constipation, Vlad Masters who said that? must've been the wind...

•••

Silence keeps a massive hoarde of unique books and strange artifacts in her library inside the Ghost Zone. She will even lend these books and artifacts...in exchange for information of equal value! Plus, whatever info you offer isn't safe from being traded with others just as readily, should someone have a worthwhile offer for it! If someone uses that information to hurt you, then that isn't Silence's problem.

She uses one such artifact to disguise herself and traverse the human world. She is completely unable to use any ghost powers while disguised, but she doesn't seem to mind. In fact, she can almost forget she's a ghost at all...except that she can't taste or feel things the same way a human could.

She's very knowledgeable, but sometimes her pessemistic biases lead her to draw questionable conclusions. She assumes that all ghosts are fundamentally self-serving-- which means there's nothing wrong with her being selfish too!

PLOT INVOLVEMENT:

Silence met Vlad in the 90s, and was beyond thrilled that an unprecedented creature like a Halfa could exist. They got along like a house on fire and made it everyone else's problem for a year or so.

Then Silence suddenly disappeared, leaving Vlad with unfettered access to her many, many resources. How strange...

Silence reappeared 10 years later (during the events of the show) and wasted no time getting petty revenge by setting Vlad's mansion on fire.

She's not satisfied with just destroying his belongings, though. Silence also makes a point to befriend the Fenton family in disguise, using them to catch up on the years of research she missed.

Danny catches on almost immediately, but Silence is able to win him over with promises of Ghost Zone knowledge and dirt on Vlad. She seems to know a little more about Vlad than a "former business partner" should, but hey, the enemy of my enemy is my friend, right? And Danny doesn't have a lot of friends in the Ghost Zone.

Unfortunately, Danny will go on to learn that Silence is actually friends with most of his OTHER enemies, because Silence firmly believes that the ends justify the means when it comes to getting her hands on valuable information.

Even her and Vlad's mutual hatred seems a little, um...layered. Not that either of them will ever admit it.

Silence does not consider herself evil or underhanded, just...driven to succeed. She firmly believes that everything she does is necessary, and serves the greater good of scientific advancement.

Silence lived a very lonely human life and died feeling irrelevant and replaceable. She sees a kindred spirit in Vlad, which is both attractive and infuriating. She was deeply in love with Vlad during their time together in the 90s, but she refused to tell him and he was blinded by his focus on Maddie as usual. Vlad's betrayal reinforced Silence's pessemistic worldview and her unwillingness to be honest or vulnerable with others. Somehow, though, it didn't completely get rid of her crush on him...much to her continued chagrin.

---

BET YOU FORGOT ABOUT THAT ASTERISK. BUT I DIDN'T.

*Gender: Bisexual -- Antiquated version of the term that she still likes & identifies as. Similar to being bigender or genderfluid. Most people default to she/her and Silence doesn't really care.

---

Blorbo!

[eiralunaire]

Headcanons of Damian Wayne. Part Two.

12. His Confusion About Love (But He Feels It Intensely).

Damian never understood how others could talk about love so easily. In his world, love wasn't a priority: it had always been training, fighting, and controlling. But with his girlfriend, things were different. Sometimes, in the midst of his emotional intensity, he didn't know how to handle his feelings. While he remained stoic on the outside, inside his head kept spinning: *“Is this love? Is it normal to want to be with someone all the time? It shouldn't be so complicated...”* However, what he did know, for sure, was that he had never felt something so strong for another person.

13. The Typical, but Different.

Although Damian is a reserved guy and doesn't usually make the typical romantic gestures, when he's with her, he feels weird, but happy to try. For example, one day, without warning, he takes her to an art exhibition that he knows she's interested in, or invites her to a park to see the stars, even if to him it all sounds a bit cheesy. He does it because he knows she likes it, and if it's something that makes her smile, then it's a worthwhile effort. Sometimes he catches himself thinking that, somehow, those little moments can be more important than a fight or a mission.

14. The Warrior Prince's Insecurity.

Even though Damian never says it out loud, there are times when he feels like he's not enough for his girlfriend. It's not because she's done anything to provoke him, but because, deep down, he can't help but compare himself to the perfection of what he thinks he should be. The son of Batman. The leader of the League of Assassins. The best fighter. And yet, sometimes, he feels out of place when he's by her side, because she has that ability to be light, cheerful, and genuine. He, on the other hand, is so used to carrying the weight of the world that it's hard for him to open up completely. But as she accepts him for who he is, he begins to learn that he doesn't need to be perfect to be enough for her.

15. Simple Details (That He Would Never Forget).

Damien is great at noticing details, and it's not just because he learned it as part of his training. In the case of his girlfriend, he pays attention to the little things that, to her, might seem insignificant: the brand of her perfume, the way she strokes her hair when she's nervous, or how she always has a habit of putting her coffee cup in an exact position on the table. While he won't say it out loud, Damian likes to know that, in those moments, he has a kind of silent power. Not just because he protects her, but because he understands what makes her who she is.

16. Escaping the Darkness Together.

Deep down, Damian is aware of the shadows that haunt him. The darkness of his family, of his training, of everything that comes with being the son of Bruce Wayne and Ra’s al Ghul. But in his girlfriend, he finds something that has nothing to do with that. With her, he can just be Damian: a boy who is falling in love, a boy who feels… good, without having to be the assassin or the leader of the League of Assassins. He likes how she gives him space to be himself, how she is able to bring something as essential as fresh air to his life, even when everything he knows is shrouded in layers of gray and complexity. With her, he feels less trapped in his destiny.

17. Any Excuse is Good to Be Near.

Damian is not the type to go out of his way for texts or calls, but when he is on a mission or out, he always finds the perfect excuse to send a message, even if it is just to say *"I'm here, everything is okay."* It is hard for him to admit it, but he needs to know that she is okay, that she is not alone. If she ever mentions something that's bothering her, he'll think about it for hours, searching for a way to fix it, even if it's something as small as the fact that she's out of his favorite marshmallows.

18. "Don't Let Me Go"

Sometimes, when the situation gets more tense or they're on a mission, Damian has moments where he unintentionally shows a more vulnerable side. "Don't let me go alone," he tells her quietly. He doesn't do it to sound weak, but because he doesn't want to face danger without her nearby. The funny thing is that, despite his image of a strong man, those moments serve to remind him that he doesn't always have to carry all the weight of the world. With her, he has an ally, and that's more than he ever thought he could have.

20. His Way of Saying "I Love You".

Damian would never say those two words in a conventional way. For him, love is not expressed with phrases. It is expressed with actions. It may be that, at the end of a long day, he surprises her with a cup of her favorite tea, or that he defends her from anything that bothers her without her asking. And when he finally says it, if the time comes, it will be something like, "I don't care what happens, but I will never let you get hurt." Because, in a way, that is his way of being vulnerable, of saying what he feels without saying it directly.

21. Being Together Is The Only Thing That Matters.

In moments of calm, when they are at home, everything else disappears. It doesn't matter what happened during the day, or the battles that Damian has faced. The only thing that matters is being near her. Whether it's watching a movie, having a coffee in silence or just talking about any nonsense, he values ​​those moments of simplicity. And although he never says it, in his mind, those are the moments that really make it all worth it. Being with her is his way of escaping, and despite all the chaos that surrounds him, he knows that, finally, he has something that truly belongs to him.

[rederiswrites]

You can train your tastes. You can choose what you see beauty in.

Lemme go further, actually. You are constantly doing so--or letting others do it for you.

Nearly two decades ago, when we were planning our wedding, I made a very firm decision not to look at any wedding planning magazines or anything with marketing material for wedding products. I wanted our wedding to be uniquely us, and I also wanted not to be bombarded by product advertisement and beautiful photo shoots of very expensive weddings. Consequently, maybe we wasted a little bit of time reinventing the wheel, but we had a wedding we were very happy with that only cost perhaps four thousand dollars at most, probably not that much, spread out over our finances and those of both our families. Our guests went home with live potted plants that we'd paid pennies for at end of season, our florist had a great time getting to design a bouquet that tested her skills because I didn't have any preconceived ideas, my dress was utterly unique--and I really do feel that those magazines would have had a corrosive effect on all that.

When we moved to this property three years ago, I spent a LOT of time looking at images online, trying to form a coherent vision for a property that was at the time a fairly blank slate. I found myself scrolling through a lot of Russian dacha Instagrams, of all things, and they unlocked something for me. Seeing the same homey make-do decorations and techniques I grew up around a continent away, the same plywood cutout old ladies and tractor tire flower planters, somehow chewed through that last binding cord of classism, and suddenly I saw the art in it. The expression of a desire to embellish and beautify, even when you have very little, even when all you can afford is things the more well-to-do consider trash. I saw the exuberance of human love for beauty in a brilliant flower bed planted next to a collapsing shed--it didn't need to be perfect to be worthwhile. They didn't wait til everything was pristine to start enjoying things. And now I earnestly and unironically covet my own version of the tractor-tire Christmas tree at the farm down the road.

We've spent centuries now idolizing the manicured estates and quaint country retreats of the European wealthy elites. We've turned thousands of miles of living ecosystem into grass deserts in service of this vision. We need to start deliberately retraining our tastes. Seek out images of a different idea of beauty and peace. I'm not telling you what it'll be. I'm telling you this is not involuntary. You can participate. You can look at the many beautiful examples of native xeriscaping for arid climates, or photos of chaotic tangles of wildflowers, tamed by narrow paths, a bench under an arbor overwhelmed with wisteria. Maybe instead of trying to get lawn to grown under your mature trees, you'd actually get far more joy out of a patch of dirt. A hammock. A firepit ringed with log sections for seats.

You can free yourself from harmful conventions of taste and beauty, and you do it through imagining something better.

[inamindfarfaraway]

I would find Blondie Lockes very annoying in real life, but I love her in fiction. She's a genuinely good journalist in terms of both skill and ethical integrity, who only occasionally forgets to check the facts because she's fifteen and holds herself accountable when she does. She has incredibly high standards for everything and believes herself to be the ultimate authority on quality. She has magical lockpicking powers because her fairytale is about Goldilocks breaking into a house. She somehow completely ignores the story's moral that Goldilocks was wrong to break into the house, feels entitled to go wherever and help herself to whatever she's able to and cannot comprehend why people dislike this. She's been terrorizing an anthropomorphic bear family with her cheerful disrespect for privacy and is convinced that they love her. She has a non-anthropomorphic pet baby bear. Her motivation is dependence on external approval rooted in deeply internalized classism. She's desperate to be useful and important to those with higher social status and feels the need to lie that her family is technically royalty to fit in with her royal friends, even though they treat commoners like equals all the time. She positions herself as a conduit of true greatness; closer to it than the masses, but never the hero, always reporting on other people and evaluating what they've done. Because what she's done isn't enough to be worthwhile. What she is isn't enough. But this performative lifestyle makes her anxious about being judged as a fraud and an interloper, and ashamed of selfishly transgressing against social norms. Her microphone head looks like an adorable little bear head. That's one hex of a character alright.