#How Awful about Alan

[badmovieihave]

Bad movie I have Nightmare Worlds I have to break this set up so you well see this box 2 or 3 times it has Eternal Evil 1985, Evil Brain from Outer Space 1966, Frozen Alive 1964, Fury of the Wolf Man 1972, Good Against Evil 1977, House of the Living Dead 1974, How Awful about Alan 1970, Idaho Transter 1973, The Lost City part 1 (1935), The Lost City part 2 (1935), The Lost World 1925, Maciste in Hell 1925, The Manster 1959

[ljsarts]

'The Night opened up to welcome me, I walked into her arms. Roll credits'

Obsessed with the layers upon layers of doomed by the Narrative the fictional Alex Casey possesses so here he is as the hanged man Tarot card since his death posing is practically the exact pose already.

The Hanged Man is Associated with: trials, sacrifice, intuition with the 'halo' behind the figures head representing enlightenment.

[jinkamuraisqueen]

@karmablacks requested this but i figured some of you guys might want to see it too, that's why i'm posting this here! so here's alan, leo, and ren's casual / pajama fullbody!! ft. kaito.. in his boxer.. (under the cut)

it's actually so fun to play around with their expressions since the range of motions on their face are so many! i personally love to make them blush (by them i mean my husband, jin HAHAHA)

but moving their body parts?? that's pretty hard for me, at least manually (it looks awkward). praying that when i have the time, i can play around some more because currently i'm being beaten by life

[velvetjune]

“They are drawn to the mystery. Obsessed. You set it up, they put it together. Their interpretation. And there's only one, because you give them no choice. And they believe in it, because it's theirs now.” — Alan Wake (Control)

[uncleardyn]

man i love that character. you know, the deeply paranoid author who made a pact with a dark entity that ultimately ended with him stranded in another dimension separated from his loved ones for years at a time? takes place in the pacific northwest? has twin imagery associated with him and a reoccurring specific piece of symbology related to the unfortunate situation they're in? doesn't ever explain the reasoning behind his actions and instead just kinda goes "bro trust me"? yeah he also wears an outer layer of clothing with elbow pads on it, that one.

[i3utterflyeffect]

Oh yeah, maybe Nightshade doesn't get his memories back all at once from his initial amnesia,and is trying to piece together his past using fragments of what he can recall. Maybe he even asks victim for help with it. However, when he figures out that he was originally a human, he doesn't say anything to them because he knows they didn't have good experiences with humans in the past. Then he figures out that he wasn't just any human, he was that human.

god, a slow realization would REALLY suck.... just realizing that he was human and being terrified to tell Victim because he knows Vic hates humans (i mean he's not REALLY human. he's still a stick, he'd rather be a stick in any world. right? right. his life was probably miserable anyway) and like, surely he wouldn't be one of those humans, right? but as the memories keep coming back he slowly realizes that he wasn't only one of those humans, he was THE human who hurt vic--

[subjxctseventeen]

no spoilers i promise but quantum break fans how are we feeling about alan wake 2 because i am LIVING

[sollucets]

“why would you stay with someone who doesn’t love you anymore” because he couldn’t accept it was true!!! because thinking it was true meant there was something wrong with him, that he as a person just wasn’t good enough, that he’d put years and years of love into a person who didn’t want it anymore and nothing he’d done could have changed that

[aayakashii]

touch starved

Part two to this one right here.

Warning: just VERY SLIGHTLY suggestive, kinda angsty, Alan probably crumbling into dust at the faintest touch etc

“... this is stupid.”

Alan has been staring at the car’s engine for the past 15 minutes, without actually seeing what was in front of him. He doesn't really know what kind of anomaly was presenting itself in that entanglement of wires and metal (and blood red flesh).

He sighs, rubbing his face with his hands, smearing it with soot.

“... What kind of stupid reaction was that” he thinks to himself, eyebrows scrunched as he cringes painfully, remembering how he had made a fool of himself in front of the honor student.

His hand goes to rub the top of his own head, as if he could rub off the ghost of their touch. But if his previous attempts were anything to go by, he obviously could not. 

Alan isn’t a fool – of that, he was completely sure of. He may not be as bright as the other Captains, and he may be a disaster with technology, but he isn’t a fool and he prides himself on the fact that his self-awareness has constantly kept other people safe.

There is no room for longing and pining in his own life, no matter how much his brain tries to trick him into thinking about the honor student for longer than necessary.

He gulps harshly, mouth dry, still eyeing the engine that contorts itself as it swallows more and more bits and pieces of metal.

The honor student has been nothing but helpful towards Vagastrom and the other dorms, and incredibly patient and kind when the circumstances would probably justify their hatred towards ghouls, yet Alan couldn’t help but feel bitter at the thought of them.

It would be so much easier if they were scared of him, if they kept their distance, if they saw him as a threat much like the other humans – but they aren’t, not at all. And this bitterness coats his tongue heavily, like lead, whenever his awful hands touch the top of their head to compliment them for doing a good job, and they turn towards Alan, beaming with joy at his comment. 

Alan unconsciously finds any excuse to touch them and to have their attention, however briefly, and he deeply despises himself for it.

He revels in the brush of his fingers with theirs when he gives them coffee and on the feeling of their hair between his fingers.

More than that, he discovered he has found respite from himself in the way their eyes would light up once they found him in the crowd, and in the blind trust they have on him, even after he drenched himself in blood before their eyes.

Alan clenches his fists, and the anomaly keeps on eating and eating every bit of the metal right in front of him, the car becoming more blood red than gray.

He is ashamed of himself.

Alan knew there was nothing hidden in the way they smiled at him. Yet, in the quiet humming of the night, he remembers those lips saying his name over and over again during the day, and imagines how they would feel against his skin.

How would it feel if he made them say his name over and over again as a whisper, a scream, a moan, a sob – and then he gets dizzy, as the blood in his head goes to a part of his body he would rather not think about.

Not only was he a threat just by existing, but now he's also disgusting? What would Dante say if he knew of these thoughts? Maybe he would feel ashamed he died to someone so pathetic.

Alan sighs deeply once again.

“Another sigh? That's another happiness that is leaving your body, you know?” a sarcastic voice comes from the entrance of the garage.

“Hello, Leo.”

Leo strolls his way towards Alan, looking everywhere but at the Captain.

“What's bothering the almighty Captain of Vagastrom, hm? You can count on your Vice-Captain for anything, you know? Open your little stone heart to me~” The gray-haired boy says, eager for the scoop on yet another possible gossip (or blackmail material. Who knows with Leo).

“... Nothing's wrong.”

Alan blinks owlishly, finally fully coming back from his thoughts, and stares at the anomaly in front of him.

“Shit!”

Before him, the unknown anomalous monster has eaten the entire engine of the car, leaving it devoid of any components, with ample space for it to squirm unnaturally inside – a pit of a blood red mess that seems about to either burst at any given moment or eat itself alive, hungry with nothing else to swallow.

“Uwaa… this looks like one of those gross Lovecraftian monsters… this is sooo disgusting.” Leo says as he snaps pictures of the monster on his phone from every angle possible.

“Why are you taking pictures, then.” Alan slams the car's hood down, placing a defensive spell on the opening, sealing the monster inside. He will send it to Mortkranken so they can do their weird experiments on it later. His mind isn't up for any problems at the moment.

“Uuhh, scary~ you're the one that failed to control it, though, so don't take it out on me” Leo sticks his tongue out. "Aaanyways, I saw that mission that the NPC brought us today, and it looks so easy! Can I do it?”

“No.” Alan retorts immediately, staring at Leo with cold eyes, and the gray-haired man immediately scowls, eyes clouding with anger.

“You never let me do anything I want, you're SO fucking annoying. And guess what? I bet it's just because you're in love with that annoying NPC and want to do the mission alone with them. It's ridiculous. AND disgusting. Are you a pervert? I guess you are. Who knew the big boss was just a pervert”

The younger man lets out a string of curses and shows him the middle finger as he walks away and towards his bedroom, without waiting for any answer “You're gonna regret pissing me off!” he finishes, slamming his bedroom door loudly, as if to make his point clearer.

“Okay.” Alan mutters, paying no mind to his endless daily threats, and looks at the entrance of the garage.

At least Leo managed to bring him back to reality, although it was already too late to keep the anomaly at bay.

The boy is right though. He is disgusting. 

Alan presses his palms into his eyes, breathing deeply, grounding himself. He needs to concentrate. To focus on his work, on helping the students. Living on the clouds just isn't an option for someone like him. Not after all he had done.

And as the lights blind him once he opens his eyes again, his gaze quickly focuses on the highest steel beam that stood above the garage's entrance.

There, two Like Doves stare at him, unblinking, unmoving.

[kikimurphys]

The Wrap Party (Part One)

Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Smut!!!

Sumary: A casual night with friends takes an unexpected turn when Y/N finds herself alone with Cillian Murphy.

Notes: Please let me know if you like it and if you want the second part.

The pub was buzzing with life when you walked in, the air thick with the scent of spilled beer and the hum of conversation. Dublin’s Friday night crowd was in full swing, with groups gathered at tables, laughter cutting through the noise of the city’s clinking glasses and background chatter. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear as your eyes scanned the room, searching for familiar faces among the sea of strangers.

At the far end, a large table was filled with your co-workers—some of the cast and crew from the film you had just wrapped. The mood was electric; after all, it had been a long, hard year of work, and tonight was about celebration. You could feel the excitement and relief in the air. You spotted Aria, one of the makeup artists, and made your way over to her.

“Aria, hi,” you greeted her with a kiss on the cheek, settling into the chair next to her. You slid off your coat, revealing your outfit—black shorts, boots, and a tight turtleneck. The outfit had been carefully chosen to walk the line between casual and striking.

“Hey, girl. You look hot!” Aria said, giving you an approving once-over.

“Thanks,” you said with a playful smirk. “Had to try, didn’t I?”

The night moved quickly. Drinks were poured, conversations flowed, and the laughter grew louder as more people joined the celebration. You were halfway through a story with Aria when you noticed Cillian walk into the pub, his presence impossible to ignore even in the crowded room. He exchanged greetings as he made his way to your table.

Cillian Murphy—the star of the movie, the Oscar-winning actor, and someone you’d exchanged polite hellos with on set but nothing more. Yet every time you saw him, something about him unnerved you, his quiet confidence and striking looks stirring a nervous energy within you.

���Hey there,” Cillian said with a soft smile as he reached your side. “Mind if I sit here?”

Your heart did a little flip at how casual he sounded, even though you could feel the heat creeping up your neck. “Not at all,” you replied, trying to sound breezy.

As he sat next to you, you exchanged wide-eyed glances with Aria. Sitting this close to him, your nerves buzzed under your skin. You’d always found him attractive in that quiet, brooding way, but now that he was sitting right next to you, his presence felt more tangible, more intense.

Alan, the co-producer, couldn’t resist teasing. “Why so late, Cillian? Too famous to have a drink with us?”

Cillian rolled his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching into a half-smile. “I was picking up Ian’s birthday gift. He’s turning 18 next week.”

“Eighteen already? Damn.” Alan said, blowing air out of his mouth in a shocked grimace. They had known each other for years, and Alan had seen them grow. You, of course, knew he had kids. To be honest, you were a huge fan of his, but you weren't going to make a fool of yourself in front of him, so you decided to make casual conversation with him.

You nodded, a little in awe of Cillian’s life outside of work. You knew he had kids, but hearing him talk about them made it all more real. Before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, “What did you get him?”

Cillian turned his gaze toward you, and for the first time, you felt the full intensity of his attention. His blue eyes met yours, and there was a spark of something like curiosity there. He didn’t recognize your voice, probably never really looked at you before, and now here you were, having a real conversation with him.

“A bass,” he replied, sipping his Guinness. “He’s been learning for a while now, so I thought I’d get him a nice one.”

“Nice. I bet he’ll love it,” you said with a smile as you lit a cigarette, feeling a little braver.

After a puff, you extended your hand to him. “I don’t think we’ve properly met. I’m Y/N.”

His hand enveloped yours warmly as he shook it. “Cillian,” he said, his tone light, though you could see the hint of shyness behind his easy smile.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the noise of the pub fading into the background as you took in the man sitting next to you. He was calm, yet there was something captivating about him—the way he observed the world around him without needing to dominate it.

“So, you’re in makeup?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, I worked on the supporting cast mostly,” you said, waving your hand nonchalantly. “This was actually my first big job, so I was just kind of trying not to mess it up.” You laughed, half-joking, but the nerves were still there, bubbling just beneath the surface.

Cillian smiled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Well, you did good work.”

The compliment made you feel oddly proud, your heart fluttering at the thought that he had noticed. “Thanks,” you said. “I mostly did personal makeup for red carpets and stuff before this, but film and TV are where I really want to be.”

“More freedom, I bet,” he said, nodding, his gaze softening. “More creative control.”

You laughed, grateful that the conversation was starting to flow easily now. “Exactly. I love being able to help create a character, to bring something to life through makeup. It’s like storytelling.”

As you both fell into an easy rhythm, talking about your love for your craft, something shifted between you. The initial nerves were fading, replaced by a genuine sense of connection. You found yourself drawn to Cillian’s quiet charm, the way he listened intently, his full focus on you. It was intoxicating.

The pub grew quieter as the night wore on, and you found yourself more and more lost in conversation with Cillian. The laughter from the rest of the crew became background noise, a distant hum as you and he leaned closer to each other. There was something magnetic about him—a pull that you couldn’t quite explain but couldn’t resist either.

“Oh, I think we're gonna have to leave,” Sarah said with a laugh after noticing that the waitresses were cleaning the floors and doing the inventories.

“Hey, let's go to mine. It's still early and I got plenty of wine there,” you proposed, drinking the last of your cocktail.

Everyone agreed; the party wasn’t over yet. “Well, I better get going,” Cillian said with a drunken expression.

“Noooo, come on, let’s go to Y/N's,” Nial, another crew member, insisted.

“It’s late,” Cillian protested.

“Are we boring you?” you pouted. “Come on, are you busy tomorrow?” You looked at him deeply, your eyes full of life and youthful playfulness.

He hesitated for a bit but after he looked in the magnetic pull in your eyes and the way you bit your lips he gave in. “Alright if you insist” he chuckled. Everyone cheered and got up to gather their coats and pay the checks.

Back at your duplex, the night stretched on as a small group of you lounged in the living room, sipping wine and playing music. The evening had settled into something more intimate, a warmth lingering between you and Cillian that had been brewing all night. The final guest was leaving, and as Aria pulled you into a tight hug at the door, she whispered mischievously in your ear.

“Are you getting lucky with him tonight? I heard he’s single now,” she teased, her eyes glinting with knowing mischief.

Your heart raced at the thought, even though you tried to play it cool. “Oh my God, really? That’s what I was dreading,” you confessed with a nervous laugh. “But he is really hot. I think he likes me.”

Cillian's recent divorce had made headlines a few years ago, and you'd heard whispers about brief relationships since then. But the confirmation that he was unattached now lifted a strange weight from your shoulders. Not that it would’ve stopped you—deep down, you were already willing to give in to the pull between you. You could tell yourself it was just a one-time thing, something casual. Even though a part of you secretly hoped it might be more than just sex.

“Believe me, he does like you,” Aria whispered, pulling away slightly to give you a look. “Everyone noticed.” She grinned and added with a wink, “Just give him your best ‘fuck me’ eyes, babe.”

You rolled your eyes as she walked away, though a smirk tugged at your lips. Shutting the door behind her, you took a deep breath, trying to shake off your swirling thoughts. Now, it was just you and him. Alone.

When you walked into the lounge, Cillian seemed more relaxed now, his posture loose as he sat back on your couch. The conversation was quieter, more personal, but the tension between you was unmistakable. He watched you as you kicked off your boots, settling more comfortably into the cushions. There was something about the way his eyes lingered on you that made your heart race.

You talked about music, a shared passion, and it seemed like every word from his lips was laced with something deeper. His voice was low and gravelly as he explained why rock was so freeing—no rules, no expectations. You found yourself captivated by the way he spoke, the way he looked at you.

“And no rules is the best way to live, right?” you teased, your voice a little softer now, a little slower. You could feel the wine coursing through your veins, warming your body.

Cillian’s gaze darkened just slightly, and he smiled. “It can be... liberating,” he said, his voice dropping as his eyes held yours. There was something in the way he said it, something that made your skin tingle, your breath hitch.

The air between you was charged now, thick with something unsaid. His knee brushed against yours as he shifted closer, his movements subtle but deliberate. You could feel the heat of him next to you, the slow rise and fall of his chest, and the way his hand rested just inches from your own. Every tiny touch felt electric, like the smallest spark could ignite something bigger.

“You’ve got a great place,” he said, though his voice was quieter now, almost distracted.

“Thanks,” you said, glancing around before returning your gaze to him. You could see the way he was looking at you, the way his eyes kept drifting to your legs, your lips, the curve of your neck. “I decorated it myself,” you added casually, trying to ease the tension even though your heart was pounding.

He raised an eyebrow, impressed. “And those paintings?”

You smiled, feeling a little self-conscious but proud. “Yeah, they’re mine.”

His expression softened, genuine admiration in his eyes. “You’re an artist, then?”

You shrugged, trying to downplay it. “I like to think so. Makeup, painting... it’s all about creating something from nothing, isn’t it?”

He nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on your lips again. “Yeah,” he murmured. “It is.”

The tension between you was almost unbearable now, every glance, every shift in your bodies drawing you closer together. You weren’t sure who moved first, but suddenly, you were leaning in, your faces inches apart. 

Your eyes locked with his, and your breath hitched as the proximity made your heart race. The warmth between you felt magnetic, pulling you closer. You let a small, teasing smile curl at the corner of your lips. 

“You know what?” you whispered, your voice soft but filled with playful confidence. “You’re not as intimidating as you look.”

For a moment, the words hung between you, and his lips parted slightly in surprise. His eyes flickered with amusement, the tension easing just a fraction. 

Cillian raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a smile as he leaned just a bit closer, his breath warm against your skin. “Is that so?” he murmured, his voice low, almost teasing.

You smiled seductively, your hand lightly grazing his thigh as your lips barely brushed his. “Mmm-hmm,” you hummed, your tone daring, the intimacy between you thickening with every second.

Cillian’s eyes darkened slightly as he felt the touch of your hand on his thigh, subtle but deliberate, sending a surge of heat through him. He swallowed, his playful exterior faltering for a second as desire flickered behind his gaze. 

“You’ve got this quiet thing going on,” you teased softly, your voice like silk, “but it doesn’t fool me.”

His lips twitched in a restrained smile, clearly enjoying the banter but also trying to keep his composure. You were younger, that much was clear, but the confidence you exuded—how you playfully teased and closed the gap between you—was almost intoxicating to him.

“Oh yeah?” he responded, his voice gravelly, thick with the weight of the moment. “What do you think you’ve figured out?”

You leaned in even closer, your faces nearly touching. The air between you was charged, almost electric. Your gaze darted briefly to his lips before meeting his eyes again. The chemistry was undeniable now, and you could feel the pull of it—like neither of you could resist what was happening.

“That you’re not as shy as you pretend to be,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his, teasing him with just enough contact to make his breath hitch. “You’re just waiting for the right moment, aren’t you?”

Cillian let out a soft, nervous chuckle, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief second as he absorbed your words, feeling the warmth of your breath against him. He didn’t reply right away, his mind clearly racing between keeping his cool and giving in to the pull you had on him. You were intoxicating—your wit, your confidence, the way you leaned into him without hesitation. It was throwing him off balance in the best way possible.

“I suppose you’re right,” he murmured, his voice rough now, thick with the tension he was clearly trying to manage. His hand, which had been resting near his own leg, now grazed your thigh, almost testing the waters. The touch sent a shiver through you, the warmth of his hand sparking something deep inside.

You closed the remaining distance between you with a boldness that took even you by surprise, your heart pounding in your chest. Your lips met his softly, tentative at first, as if you were both testing the waters. The kiss was slow, unhurried, as though you were savoring the taste of each other after all this time. There was a palpable tension in the air, like a string finally snapping after being stretched too tight for too long.

His response was immediate, his hand moving up to cradle your cheek with a warmth and gentleness that contrasted the intensity of the moment. His thumb brushed lightly against your skin, making your heart race even faster. What started as tentative quickly deepened, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that mirrored your own growing desire.

You leaned into him, your fingers reaching up to tangle in his hair, tugging gently as you allowed yourself to get lost in the sensation of him, the feel of his lips, the warmth of his touch.

His thumb brushed lightly over your lower lip, coaxing it open, and you parted your lips for him. The sensation of his tongue exploring yours was electrifying, deepening the kiss with an intensity that made your knees weak. You felt the heat rising between you as his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, leaving no space between your bodies.

The kiss sent waves of heat through you, and you melted into him, surrendering as your fingers tangled in his soft hair. His hand slid from your neck down to your hip, brushing against your clothed nipple in a way that made your breath hitch. A muffled, needy moan escaped your lips as you leaned in closer, craving more of his touch.

Without breaking the kiss, he effortlessly maneuvered you onto his lap, his hands gripping your waist as his lips moved down your neck and chest. He pushed the fabric of your top aside, exposing your skin to the cool air, and his mouth followed, leaving a trail of heated kisses across your bare chest. Your head fell back, mouth open, eyes closed in pure pleasure as he continued to explore.

You could feel his arousal pressing against you through your clothes, a steady reminder of the tension between you. The sensation of grinding against him sent sparks shooting through your body, and you gripped his shoulders tightly, anchoring yourself as the friction built between you. Every movement, every breath was filled with anticipation, and the room seemed to grow warmer with the undeniable heat shared between you.

The room filled with the sounds of your shared desire—ragged breaths, low groans, and soft moans that seemed to echo in the charged atmosphere between you. You grinded harder on his crotch, feeling his arousal grow beneath you as you grabbed the hem of his shirt and slowly lifted it over his head, revealing his toned chest. He groaned at the sight of you, a flushed, needy mess above him, his eyes dark with lust and affection.

Without wasting another moment, his hands moved to undress you with an urgency that matched the fire between you, though his touch was still careful, deliberate. Each motion was filled with unspoken want, yet tender and sensual, as if he were savoring every second. When you were down to your underwear, he leaned back in, pressing slow, burning kisses against your breasts. His hands guided your hips to rub against him, the friction driving you both closer to the edge.

Your breath hitched as the pressure built between your legs, the feeling of his lips on your skin making you press his face harder against your chest. Under any other circumstance, you might have felt embarrassed at how close you were getting by just dry humping him, but in that moment, nothing else mattered. The intensity, the anticipation, the heat of it all—it was exactly what you both needed.

He groaned your name against your skin, his hands gripping your hips tighter as you felt your release drawing near. Almost as if sensing how close you were, he palmed your arse, lifting you effortlessly off the couch. You let out a small gasp of surprise, but he didn't break the kiss, not for a second, as he carried you down the hall to your room. The way he held you, the intensity of his lips on yours—it was clear he wasn’t just lost in lust; he was lost in you.

tags:

@mamawiggers1980 @xsweetcatastrophe @galactict3a @thistheivyseason @cillianmurphyvevo @sweetcheesecakesblog

[potions-of-dark-devotion]

JKR can’t give a character the rockstar ‘bewitch the mind, ensnare the senses’ entrance AND reveal that said character is the one working behind the scenes despite appearances to keep the hero safe in the very first book and then claim he’s actually awful and then anyone who likes him is wrong. This is literature 101! Don’t write a character so seductively if we’re supposed to find everything about his personality repulsive!

Yes! And not just that! She goes out of her way to say over and over how “ugly” Severus Snape is, then goes on and on about how nasty he is. Than she proceeds to make him sardonically hilarious in his wit and incredibly attractive in his looks to any alternative/goth person reading. Seriously I know the idea is for you to hate him until you don’t. From Harry’s perspective Snape is ugly, and then when Harry sees his beauty the reader is supposed to- but I just never DID dislike him lol. Alan Rickman only doubly reinforced this. Granted I am a Slytherin so perhaps I see myself in him. I just never bought into him being nasty or ugly. He was always cool to me as a kid and sexy to me as an adult.

[hero-israel]

I think there needs to be a reckoning about how so many white (passing) American secular/nonpracticing antiZionist Jews can say "Not in my name, Israel doesn't speak for us!" and then think they can speak for Israel. How so many of them can have a limited familial connection to Israel, have such a disdain for Israelis, Israeli culture and society, and Israel as a concept, and then have the gall to act like their opinions matter?

I see their attitudes be described as fear, but to me it strikes me as more than just fear. A lot of them, I suspect, have incorporated antiZionism as a fundamental part of their Jewish identity. It's not just a disagreement, they're not just saving face. Take away the Goyim and talk to them privately and they still believe what they believe, and express it in the same way. They hate Israeli Jews.

And Israel is only going to become less Ashkenazi (aka less "white") as time marches forward. The bad faith hysterical Israel bashing and condescension is only going to look more and more like Orientalism, and frankly, racism.

I think it's very possible that calling something antisemitic can't just be a catchall term when this chicken comes home to roost. I think if there aren't already, there will be distinct forms of antisemitism, some that only Diaspora Jews face and some that only Israeli Jews face. And if this is true or will end up being true, it's pretty important that we not speak over each other's experiences. To do that we have to recognize these experiences and respect them. Do some Israeli Jews disrespect the Diaspora experience? Yes, from what I've seen. Is it nearly as vitriolic and is it growing nearly as quickly as the disrespect for the Israeli experience among antiZionist American Jews? Not even close.

All this divisive language to say: sometimes when Israelis say "so and so is antisemitic!" in the context of antiZionism, they're talking about themselves, their experiences, the stakes for them, and not Americans. So maybe we should all learn to stay in our lanes sometimes.

A lot of Israeli Jews disrespect, or at least are unable to grasp, diaspora existence, particularly when it comes to Americans. I can't even count the number of times I read Israelis say "Why are you American Jews so upset about Trump? Don't you see how good he's been for Israel?" Which is the worst damn argument a person could possibly use - it feeds into both left-wing and right-wing antisemitism, while ignoring that American Jews live HERE and are at risk from Trump's fascist cult and general lawlessness. And it is bad FOR EVERYBODY to have "pro-Israel" become the position of stroke-babbling grotesque racist criminals, and also for America to be too focused on anarchic decomposition and Yugoslav-style street warfare to be able to support Israel like it traditionally has.

And because turds of a feather flush together, Netanyahu wants ALAN DERSHOWITZ to be Israel's advocate if the ICJ case proceeds. I knew Netanyahu was a senile failure undermining all the strengths he had ever built for the country and this is just the shit cherry on top of the shit sundae. Alan Dershowitz is the ultimate stereotype of a Boomer who was kind of useful in the 1980s-90s and became awful and embarrassing now, Trump is surrounded by them (i.e. Rudy Giuliani). Your grandma in Florida remembers Alan Dershowitz for writing "Chutzpah" and being tough and quick-witted, and everybody under 40 knows Dershowitz as a Trump cultist and Epstein fuckbuddy. Big "Vladek Spiegelman can only compare his artist son to Walt Disney" energy. There are surely thousands of lawyers better-suited for the role, just off the top of my head I'd prefer Eugene Kontorovich and so should anyone who is more aware of the world as it actually is than how it was in 1994.

I say all that to parallel your original point, not to contradict it. Yes, the American Jews who performatively loathe Israel are by and large just an Extremely Online phenomenon of the most college-town bubble-protected, least observant, least affiliated, and least aware of non-Ashkenazim. It is not so hard for American Ashkenazim to stay protected from antisemitism as long as they totally unplug from their Jewish identity and any public-facing aspects of it. Can't be killed in a synagogue or JCC or kosher store if you never go in, head tap.

[chenouttachen]

how alan spends the aftermath of… everything… speaks volumes about his relationship with jeff.

after losing a loved one and going through all that he did, it would be so easy for alan to throw himself into work at the garage. it’s always been his baby, his joy, and he’d be surrounded by reminders of way and the memories they shared. it would also be natural for him to surround himself with pack family, but he doesn’t do either of these things.

he stays at jeff’s house. they don’t stay at alan’s, which has always been the safe house for them all. no, they stay at jeff’s tiny condo. and he stays there for days, curled up in jeff’s bed, not seeking anything or anyone else.

not only is this a pretty apt portrayal of the emptiness and despair that often comes with grief, but also the desire to spend as much time with the people closest to you, while you can.

understandably, he wants to be close to the man he loves after going through something so awful. he wants to stay wrapped in a bubble where the two of them are safe and secure and untouchable. he loves jeff so much he can’t bear to be apart from him.

but what really gets me, is that alan and jeff have clearly reached a new level of intimacy in their relationship.

jeff is such a private person who has been so closed off for so long. he’s been hesitant to touch alan, to get too close, but now it’s different.

despite knowing all of jeff’s reservations, alan is unflinchingly comfortable in his lover’s space. he never once apologises for taking up jeff’s time or room or energy. not only does he love this man, but he believes in the love jeff has for him too. he doesn’t see himself as a burden to jeff, because he knows that the younger man wants to take care of him. he knows that jeff wants him to feel safe and warm and loved. and he does.

[velvetjune]

“The story needed many beginnings. Many springs. Streams that turned into a river, a flood, and then, an ocean.” — Alan Wake (Control)

[these-written-reveries]

I have a special request

may we have a fluffy platonic oneshot for hawks w/ a reader with four angel wings where they’re a third year at UA but never got a date to prom, so he decides they deserve at least one dance and shows up as their date?

please and thank you 🪽

You absolutely may! I hope I did your request justice! You didn't specify, so I made Reader a hero course student. I know this is a platonic fic, but I can totally see the potential for a friends to lovers story here (don't mind me, I'm just a huge sucker for that trope lol). Thanks for the request! ❤️

Birds of a Feather

‣ Pairing: Keigo Takami/Hawks x GN!Reader (Platonic)

‣ Summary: Your good friend Hawks finds out you don't have a date to prom and decides to fix that problem himself!

‣ Genre: Fluff (angst, if you squint)

‣ Warnings: none

‣ Word Count: 2,042

‣ A/N: UA is considered a university in my fics. I know that universities generally don’t have proms, but this is fiction, so we can pretend whatever we want! Cue: UA third-year prom, feat. Hawks as a surprise guest! Let's go! (P.S. - I was listening to Words by Gregory Alan Isakov as I wrote this. I think it's a very nice song for slow dancing ♡)

➼ Main Masterlist ➼Keigo/Hawks Masterlist

If anyone were to tell you before that you’d end up becoming such close friends with the number two hero, Hawks, you’d never believe them.

To your past self’s shock, it had really happened. How exactly? You weren’t quite sure. Maybe it started on the first day of your internship? He immediately complimented your beautiful set of white tandem wings, asking you questions about them with pure awe and fascination in his eyes. You found it quite endearing of him.

Or maybe it was when you took down your first villain together and realized you made a kick-ass team? After that day, he immediately offered you a permanent position at his agency, once you graduated UA. You couldn’t have been more thrilled to receive this news from someone you had always admired and looked up to.

Perhaps it was after that, when you both bonded over your shared experiences related to having big wings in a mostly-wingless world? That day was one you would always think back on with fondness.

You told him a story about how, one time, you crashed mid-flight into a huge mud pit. You and your friend spent hours removing all the dried clumps between your feathers. He one-upped your story with one of his own, telling you about the time that he came home after fighting a villain with a petroleum oil quirk that had managed to coat his wings with the gooey substance, which made it nearly impossible to fly. After struggling for hours to remove it himself, with little success, he had to embarrassingly enlist the help of his assistant.

“I hope you have her a raise, after that,” you chuckled.

He joined you in your laughter. “Oh, I did. A very generous one, at that. She was a real trooper that day."

The two of you laughed a lot over your shared stories. Both of you were grateful to have a friend that understood the parts of yourselves that most others didn’t, especially Keigo, who barely had anyone he could call a true friend for almost his entire life. It was refreshing, being friends with you.

Because of this, he quickly grew to be extra protective of you, from the moment he took you under his wing. He kept close tabs on you and checked in on you whenever he had the time. It was always so nice getting to hear how things were going for you, how your grades were, and what the newest gossip was at UA. He’d always say, half-jokingly, that if anyone gave you trouble, he'd fly over and put an end to it immediately, which always got a laugh out of you. He just really enjoyed having "normal" conversations with someone about "normal" things, for once—especially since he never got to experience a lot of these things, such as public school or prom. It was fun getting to vicariously live through you, in this way.

Towards the end of his parole shift, he thought about you, wondering if you were having a good time at your prom that night. You had been looking forward to it for a while, telling him about what you planned to wear and who you secretly hoped would be your date. Last he spoke to you, you had yet to confirm an official date to the dance, but he was almost certain that problem was resolved by now. You were a wonderful person with gorgeous looks and an amazing personality, he had no doubt in your ability to acquire many “promposals”, or whatever the kids called it these days.

It wasn’t until he checked the recent post on your social media account that he realized you, in fact, did not have a date.

At first, he was utterly confused.

Why hadn’t you told him? He would’ve gone with you in a heartbeat.

Then, he remembered just how considerate of a person you were. He told you he’d be working late shifts all week and you likely didn’t bother to ask because of that reason.

He looked at the picture of you in your stunning prom outfit before checking the time. A sigh pushed past his lips as he took off into the sky, flying home as fast as he could.

Worst prom ever.

You felt like a total outsider at this place, despite being surrounded by familiar faces and music. Your friends all had dates and were busy having fun with them. Meanwhile, you busied yourself at the punch table, sighing as you poured yourself another cup. Some of the others without dates lingered in this corner of the large room, but none of them seemed all that keen on striking up a conversation with you. They all seemed to be too busy drowning in their own pools of boredom, longing, and self-pity.

You began to wonder why you even came to this event when you knew you didn’t have a date and your friends would all be too preoccupied with their own to entertain you. Well, you knew why, and it started and ended with a giant birdman by the name of Hawks. He had gifted you with a generous sum of money to buy yourself a nice outfit for prom after you had casually brought up in conversation that you were trying to save money for it. He refused to take it back, so you really didn’t have a choice but to use it. You ended up buying a gorgeous outfit that really complimented your wings. In the words of Hawks, you looked like an “ethereal angel”.

After buying the outfit and looking forward to the event for weeks, you couldn’t not go. Not without disappointing yourself, and probably Hawks too. He was always the one telling you that you needed to live life to the fullest and enjoy your experience at UA, while it lasted.

What you weren’t expecting was to feel so down and dejected, lingering by the punch table as you wistfully observed everyone else having fun like a lonely wallflower. You wanted to take Hawk’s advice and try to enjoy the moment anyway, but you found it too awkward to go out onto the dance floor without someone to dance with, and you weren’t too keen on asking someone you weren’t well-acquainted with to dance.

Still, you stole a glance at the other wallflowers in the corner, almost considering the idea.

You didn’t have a chance to, though, because you were distracted by the gasps and squeals of people all across the room. Following their eyes, you found the target of their attention to be a familiar red-winged man, in an unfamiliar looking outfit. An expensive-looking suit with a boutonniere pinned to the left lapel of his suit jacket. He flashed a charming smile and gave everyone a quick wave as his eyes scanned the room, finally landing on you.

You stared in shock as he walked over to you.

“Why, hello there, angel. Fancy meeting you here,” he said, smirking at your shocked expression.

“Hawks! What are you doing here?” you asked him with wide eyes.

He shrugged. “You know the saying, ‘birds of a feather flock together’? I heard my little chickadee was in need of a prom date, so naturally, I flew right over.”

You were aware of everyone’s eyes on you—something you had grown pretty used to after being with Hawks in public a good handful of times—but you were far too surprised to care as you looked him up and down.

“Your outfit. The colors match mine…”

“Of course they do. What kind of prom date do you think I am? I think what you mean to say is, I look handsome, right?” he teased.

You giggled at this. He always found a way to get you laughing with his witty remarks.

Nodding, you smiled up at him. “You do. Thank you for coming. You really didn’t have to do this.”

He gave you a small eye roll. “I wouldn’t be here unless I wanted to. And you deserve a proper prom experience. That said…”

Your eyes grew wide as he pulled out a beautiful corsage from behind his back. The flowers matched your outfit and his boutonniere perfectly.

"Hawks..." You couldn’t help the tears that began to build in your eyes.

"Oh, don't cry, angel! Your eyes will get all red and puffy! That's no good for prom pictures!" he said, brow scrunched in concern as he looked at you, partially wondering if he’d done something wrong, until you spoke.

"Sorry, it's just...nobody has ever done anything like this for me before. I was really thinking I'd be ending tonight on a bad note, until you showed,” you confessed, carefully wiping the underside of your eyes.

Keigo offered you a sympathetic smile as he stepped forward, holding out his hand, palm up. You held your left hand out to him and watched as he slipped the corsage onto your wrist.

"Well, let's make the most out of the time we have left. I know I kinda arrived last minute, but I also managed to make some arrangements for us that I think you’ll enjoy,” he said.

You looked at him, curious and confused. “What do you mean? Are we leaving?”

“Nope! We’re staying right here! Just us, the photographer, and the DJ,” he smiled, turning to look at the room, which was now completely empty, save for the two people he had mentioned.

How had you missed that?

“H-How?” was all that you could get out, as you looked around the room.

“The dance is technically over now, so I just extended our time a bit. Made a couple calls on my way here, bribed a few people, and here we are!” he explained, cheerfully.

You tried not to let your emotions get the better of you as you looked at him in astonishment.

“Hawks…I don’t even know what to say.”

He chuckled. “Well, I hope you’ll know what to say in response to my next question. There is only one right answer, so that narrows things down for ya’.”

You looked at him curiously, feeling a small pang of nervousness in your stomach as you awaited his question.

He bent forward into a bow, his eyes remaining locked with yours as he extended his right hand to you, his lips curved into a playful smile.

“May I have this dance?”

All nervousness instantly vanished and was replaced by pure giddiness as a bright smile overtook your face.

“Yes, you may,” you said, giggling as you placed your left hand in his.

He led you out to the middle of the dance floor and gave a nod to the DJ, who began playing a slow song through the surrounding speakers.

Turning to face you, Keigo gently grasped your right hand with his left, holding it near his chest. You smiled a bit sheepishly as you placed your free hand on his left bicep, just as he placed his right hand onto your middle back.

The two of you began to sway to the music. After a moment, you felt more at ease, finding that you seemed to move more naturally with each slow beat of the music.

You smiled at him. “I can’t thank you enough for doing all of this for me.”

Keigo earnestly returned your expression. “This is the least I can do for my special, feathered friend. I’m only sorry I couldn’t make it sooner.”

You scoffed. “Please. This is more than enough.”

“I’m glad you’re happy, angel.”

“I really am. Best prom ever,” you beamed at him.

Your contagious smile elicited a happy chuckle from him as he spun you around, being careful of your wings as he did so.

He pulled you back towards him and the two of you continued to dance together, laughing when you bumped him with your wings or when he accidentally stepped on your foot a little. You couldn’t have been happier, nor more grateful. Not only did you get the most perfect prom experience, but you got to spend it with your favorite red-feathered friend.

Like true birds of a feather, you knew you’d be flying together for a long time to come.

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‣ Have an idea for a fic you’d like me to write? Send me a request here. But first, make sure to read my Request Info!

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‣ Taglist: @jslittlebirdie @xkatsukizukux @itsjudymoody @fandomenbylover

[lovebugism]

I know this is early, but fights on Christmas for the prompts thingy. Maybe with Punchy x Eddie? Or with Steve?

ty for requesting angel! hope u like it :D — eddie tells you that his dad is coming to hawkins for christmas and an argument ensues (peach x eddie, angst, hurt/comfort tw for toxic parents, 1.5k)

blurbcember ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

The smell of a homecooked dinner lingers in the air, warm and nostalgic. You spoon the leftovers into plastic containers for when Wayne gets home from the graveyard shift. Eddie’s laughter sounds from the distance, where he takes a phone call in the living room. The sound is warmer. More nostalgic.

He hangs up and walks back to you, wearing a bright pink grin that shows all his teeth.

“Who was that?” you ask, smiling because he is.

Eddie shrugs, trying to be nonchalant despite his beaming. He crosses his arms and leans against the counter across from you. “That was— That was my dad, actually,” he tells you, still a bit dazed about the whole thing. He’d almost forgotten what his father’s voice sounded like before now.

Your grin fades. “…What?”

He nods with his brows raised behind his fluffy bangs. “Yeah. He’s, uh— He wants to come to Hawkins for Christmas, apparently. Said he’s finally got some time off work, so he’s gonna drive up here in a few days and stay for a while.”

Work doesn’t mean work — not with Alan, anyway. You know this, so you’re not entirely sure why Eddie doesn’t. If you had to guess, the asshole got up to too much trouble and needs a place to lay low until it all dies down.

You try to be supportive of your smiling boy, but your concern is evident, practically dripping from your features. “Oh. That’s… That’s… Does Wayne know?”

“Um, I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

“Don’t you know why that is?” you ask him, trying to laugh. It comes out much more bitter than you intended it to.

“Uh… No?”

You drop the wooden spoon into the bowl and face him entirely. Your hip digs into the counter’s edge — a distant pain that doesn’t rival your burning anger. “He’s not telling Wayne because he knows Wayne won’t let him stay.”

Eddie’s chin jerks back like he’s flinching. “I don’t know what you mean,” he says with a forced chuckle.

You sigh. You don’t want to be insensitive, but his obliviousness makes you impatient. 

“Eddie… He’s… Your dad…” You try to explain it all to him, but you can’t find the words to. There are far too many ways to describe his father, and you come up short in the end. “I mean— you’re not letting him come, right?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he laughs.

“Because he doesn’t deserve to see you, Eddie. Or Wayne— He doesn’t care about either of you, you know that.”

Eddie goes agape with shock. You’re not usually so confrontational. You’re unusually argumentative, and it surprises him — offends him. “You say that like you know anything about him,” he argues with a scoff. He’s still smiling but there’s little warmth behind it.

“You don’t know anything about him!” you retort, a little harsher than you mean to. Your hands flail as you gesture wildly. “He doesn’t know anything about you, either, Eddie. He’s an addict. He chose thatover you a long time ago.”

Eddie clenches his teeth. You can see it in the way his temples shift. “I told you that because I trusted you,” he says with a tight jaw, trying not to show you how angry he is. “Not for you to use against me—”

“I’m not using it against you, Eddie. I’m trying to protect you!”

He scoffs a cynical laugh. “Well, you’re doing an awful good job of that, aren’t you, Peach?”

His unusual bitterness stings somewhere deep in your chest. 

You don’t know why he’s being so blind. 

Except, you sorta do. You’re the resident expert of letting assholes into your life over and over and over again — like a kicked puppy that doesn’t know when to stop coming back.

That’s the root of your frustration, you think. You know a lot more than he’s giving you credit for, and it’s infuriating to be written off so easily.

You huff and turn away from him again. You pop the lids onto the tupperware containers to busy your trembling hands. “Fine. Let him come. I don’t care. I’m not the one that’s gonna get my heart broken after all this.”

“Wow,” Eddie muses, dragging the vowel for effect. “That’s real sweet, babe— what would I do without you?”

You leave the bowls to cool on the container and disappear down the hallway. You go to his bedroom for your bag, and he doesn’t follow behind you — you’re not sure you want him to. After nearly a week in the trailer, you figure you’ve spent entirely too much time together. 

And as much as it hurts, you know it’s not the end of the world.

If you and Eddie — the neurotic type A and the laid-back-to-a-fault type B — can survive hanging up  Christmas decorations together, you’re pretty sure your relationship can survive just about anything.

He’s still lingering at the counter when you get back, idling like he’s been waiting for your return. He sees your bag slung over your shoulder and deflates like a popped balloon. “Where are you going?” he wonders despite his ebbing anger.

“Home. It’s getting late.”

“It’s barely nine o’clock.”

“Exactly,” you hum, stilling when you reach his side. You press a chaste kiss to the apple of his cheek and walk towards the door without looking back. “Call me when you tell Wayne.”

“C’mon, Peach. You don’t have to go.”

You turn back with your hand on the rusted brass door knob. “I’m mad at you,” you say with a soft smile on your lips.

Eddie grins back at you but doesn’t press it any further. You’re allowed to be angry. Hell, he’s still a little angry, too. And if you wanna be alone, then so be it — as long as you’re back in his bed when all the bullshit’s over with.

‘Cause he’s mature and everything like that now.

That’s why he just smiles as he tells you, “Call me when you get home.”

—————

You call him when you get home that night.

He calls you the next morning when Wayne gets home, all worked up because his uncle took the news about as well as you did. 

You’re not a total asshole, so you don’t rub it in his face. When he comes to you after a few more days have passed — fighting back tears because his dad ditched him all over again — there are no I told you so’s. No bitterness or stupid comebacks. 

You just hold him and love on him like you always do. He needs that now more than ever, you figure.

You sit with him on your couch while he hides his tears in your lap. His dirty sneakers scuff the cushions that you’re usually a stickler about keeping clean. You quickly find that you don’t care as much as you thought you did, because you’ve never seen your boy so sad. 

It makes your chest ache. Like his heartache is your own in some way.

“I’m an idiot,” Eddie grouses, muffled into the pillow in your lap. He feels like one, anyway. He’s spending the week before Christmas crying his eyes out because he was too stubborn to listen to you. 

He’s a total dumbass. 

The dumbest of dumbasses.

Your fingers dance through the soft strands of his chestnut hair, scratching gently at his scalp to keep him grounded. “No, you’re not, Eds. Your dad’s just an asshole.”

He scoffs, managing a small laugh despite his tear-stained face. “Yeah. That too.”

“And that’s not your fault, either. You know that.”

“No, I know,” he insists, sniffling as he turns onto his back. His chocolate eyes are rimmed red and slightly glassy. His cheeks are softly flushed, speckled with a rosy heat. Strands of hair stick to his wet jaw. You smooth them away with the palm of your hand while he wipes at his reddened nose with the back of his.

“I just… I guess I just thought he’d changed, you know?” he confesses, voice wet with emotion.

You nod sympathetically. “I know. It’s the worst feeling in the fucking world.”

You have a different kind of experience in that department — the skeleton in your closet that always comes back to haunt you department. For you, it’s Billy. For Eddie, it’s Alan. The sting is a different one, but it still hurts in the same place.

“I should’ve listened to you, huh?” Eddie asks, the corner of his lips curled into a sad smile.

“I know why you didn’t want to,” you assure, smoothing your palm over the top of his wild head. You hope the warmth of your touch will aid his inevitable post-cry headache. “But I didn’t say it to hurt your feelings, you know that, right?”

“I know. I knew it then, too, I just… didn’t want to believe it, I guess.”

“I know what it’s like,” you promise. And then, when you see his mouth twist into an apology, you cut him off as gently as you can. “And don’t apologize for it, either. It’s okay, Eds. I promise.”

He grins at you, still a bit weighed down with leftover emotion. 

His eyes squeeze shut when you swipe tears from beneath them, the edges of them crinkling ever so slightly. And when he opens them again, they glimmer with a newfound life. 

No one on earth is as resilient as your boy.