#gin and anguish

[ghaothbhean]

tag dump

[korosenaiishi]

tag dump

[kokyuchusei]

tag dump

[minhosimthings]

Epilogue || 18+

Synopsis: Sex had never felt so good, as it did now, with your new husband.

Pairings: husband!Jay × wife!reader

Warnings: smut minors Dni, thigh riding, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, p in v sex, penetration, degradation, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), rough sex, dom!Jay, sub!reader, breeding kink, mention of pregnancy, cumming inside, JayYn forever I love these idiots

A/N: and we come to an end with the Lucifer series! Thank you for all the support on this series, I truly loved writing it and I hope you all like this tiny bonus 😙🎀

Series Masterlist

The first time Jay ever saw you was in fourth grade. He remembered that story like the back of his hand. The first thing he recalled was the fact that you were so short you couldn't reach the coat hangers, so he had to help you hang your too big coat up. That was the first kindle that ignited the flames of your friendship.

The second kindle was when you were introduced to him as 'your new neighbour Y/N'. Your parents had recently moved to the town and bring the social butterfly she was, Jay's mother promptly marched him over to your new house with a jar of homemade cookies. Jay remembered how you and him had devoured all of the cookies without a thought, only to get stomach aches and scoldings from both your mothers.

Jay had introduced Heeseung to you at the start of fifth grade, having trusted you enough to welcome you into his own group of friends, of which Heeseung was his best. Jay's entire world for most of his cringey teenage and depressing young adult years were you and Heeseung. And he had been thankful for that.

Until he found himself falling in love with you.

Falling desperately, hopelessly, painfully in love with you. If anyone had asked him about what he loved about you, he would have had a seven verse poem written already. As if that was enough for him to express everything he held within his the deepest crevices of his heart for you. He loved you on purpose, truly and fully, as heartbreak loved a woman and as misfortune loved a daughter.

But as love always went, Jay was hesitant. He was scared. What if you didn't feel the same way? It would have ruined your friendship and the deep bond between you two if Jay ever told you what he truly felt, about the way his stomach would erupt in butterflies whenever you'd fix his hair and the way you made him weak in the knees everytime you laughed at one of his dad jokes.

Then came Seattle.

Jay's father has received a promotion and they were to move to The States. A new chance at at life, as his mother had enthusiastically put it. But there was no enthusiasm or happiness in it for Jay. Sure, he would be moving somewhere new, somewhere where dreams were supposed to be fulfilled, but what about his life until then? What about Heeseung and you? What about the life he wanted to have with you for the rest of eternity?

So came the waterworks. The final look of anguish on your face at the airport remained etched into Jay's memory forever, even from the distance he could clearly see the tear stains on your face, and Heeseung's arms pulling you into a hug with a final nod to Jay. It tore his heart apart, but he promised himself that he'll dig his way back to you if it was the last thing he'd do.

That is, until he moved back to Seoul, and found himself face to face with you and Heeseung. With matching rings on your fingers and a lovesick smile on your face. Or atleast that was how he imagined it. He didn't even take the time to glance at your longing expression, heavily disguised under the cheerful grin on your face.

You did love Heeseung, yes, but what good was that love when the man you've wanted since eight grade was right in front of you? Sitting in the same elegant position, holding his glass of gin in the same peculiar way that had always made you laugh, what good was any love when it was not the love you wanted?

Or perhaps the love you lusted after, the dangerous kind of love. The adventurous kind of love. The love that made your eyes linger over him whenever you'd pay Heeseung a visit at the police station, only to find Jay looking at you with pity as he glanced towards the empty desk labelled with your ex husband's name next to him.

The love that made you want to absolutely devour him as he sat leaning back in his armchair, legs spread dangerously wife apart, that caused warmth to spread between your thighs and saliva to accumulate in your mouth.

Jay looked at you with eyes full of lust, like he was a tiger on a hunt and you were his lamb, dolled up in a white dress with a glittering diamond ring on your finger. You had practically fought him not to buy you something so expensive, but Jake and Sunghoon had shrugged their shoulders with an 'i told you so' look when you walked in with a look of defeat.

"Come 'ere." Jay mumbled, tapping his index finger on his thigh, his own ring shone spectacularly against the golden shade of his skin. You promptly walked over, dragging your dress along with you. It was a pretty dress, you had to admit, you didn't think Jake and Sunghoon would have been such experts in suggesting wedding dresses, but you were proven wrong.

"Pretty little doll..." Jay's arms promptly went to your waist, as you say yourself down on his thigh, forearms resting on his shoulder. His right hand, crawled up your back, to where the zipper of your dress lay stagnant. You pressed your body closer to his, your clothed pussy practically grinding against the course material of his trousers. Jay's soft, cherry pink lips, touched your neck agressively, leaving hues of red behind for everyone in town to know whose you were.

Jay's fingers fiddled with the zipper for a minute before he pulled it down completely, to reveal the white lace of your bra. It barely hid anything, your perked up nipples were clearly visible and your cleavage was a valley Jay wanted to dive into and make a home out of.

Jay's hands palmed your bare back as he ripped your dress off of you, eliciting a moan out of your mouth as you saw his muscles flex ever so slightly, thought the fabric of his silk shirt. Your fingers also went to the buttons of his shirt, unbuttoning the first three before Jay perked his thigh up, the fabric now hitting your clothed cunt. You gasped at the sudden sensation.

"So impatient aren't you, love?" Jay connected his lips to yours in a short kiss, "Tell me what you want baby."

"You're allowing me that privilege?" You chuckled, trying hard not to stare down at his chiseled chest, "That's too kind of you Mr Park."

"Would you prefer if I was rougher, Mrs Park?" Jay wore a handsome smirk on his face, the hand which settled on your back, squeezed it ever so slightly, making you squirm. Jay's fingers danced up your legs, slowly making their way up your legs until he reached the waistband of your panties. His devilish smirk only grew in size as you lifted your hips just enough for him to slide the thin fabric down your milky thighs to expose your slick center.

"Needy little slut aren't you doll?" Jay whispered in your, sending shivers down your spine, "All wet for me, and I haven't even touched you."

"Maybe you're just that handsome." You responded with a cheeky smile. You started to slowly roll your hips into Jay's stomach, your soaked pussy rubbed harshly against his trousers. Jay could feel the spot on which you sat comfortably getting wetter by the second.

"Or maybe I'm just that pretty." You said again, adding fuel to the fire, "Well, a pretty girl like me shouldn't be with a man like you should she?"

As you went to pull away, he grabbed your arm gently, his grasp firm around your skin, before bringing you back down to his level and pressing his lips into your mouth, a searing hot kiss igniting you into a pile of flames, a mountain of ash at the feeling of his touch.

You kissed him back, eyes shutting tight like a stone door, your body leaning in to his as his tongue dragged across your own. That elicited a moan from the back of your throat, and without exactly meaning to, you felt yourself grinding against him.

"Pretty girl like you deserves to be fucked like the whore she is, doll." His fingernails drew marks over your skin, adding to your pleasure. The drag of your clit against his muscular thigh causes you to whimper, pressing yourself harder to his skin, as if trying to obliviate the mere atoms of space between the both of you. His large calloused hands guide your hips, moving you up and down his thigh.

Soon the throbbing in your cunt got stronger, your clit begging for more friction, something to relieve the pressure building up in your lower stomach. You give an experimental rock of your hips, freezing to wait for Jay's reaction. When he doesn't respond you do it again, setting a steady rhythm as you grind down on his lap.

The zipper on the front of his slacks rubs perfectly against your sensitive clit, the pleasure increasing with every roll of your hips, head burying further into the crook of Jay's neck, his masculine scent filling your nose. Your pussy is dripping now, your empty hole flutters and pulses as you continue grinding in Jay's lap, too lost in pleasure to register the tiny whimpers leaving your mouth.

Speeding up your movement, hips pressing down harder into his, a breathy moan of his name falls from your lips as you're about to reach your peak. Just as you feel yourself tumbling over the edge, two strong, cold hands firmly grab your hips, halting your movement completely.

You whine desperately at the loss of your orgasm, hips frantically chasing more of that delicious friction that would have your cunt gushing, but it's useless. Jay's vice-like grip prevents any of your movements, cold fingers bruising as they dig into the soft flesh of your hips.

"Not so soon, sweetheart." Jay smirked at your shocked expression, you looked adorable to him with widened eyes and an agape mouth, "My spoilt little princess."

"Jay please..." You whine out of annoyance, but his grip stayed strong on your body, practically leaving scars there from how strong it was.

"Poor baby, begging for me." Jay snickered, sending shivers down your spine, "Tell me what you want darling—tongue, fingers or cock?" One of his hands went down to your thigh, giving it a light squeeze, eliciting a moan out of you.

"T-Tongue." You spluttered out, as Jay kept groping your thigh. He snickered once more, his ego grew in size as he watched you sink into an abyss at his mere touch.

"Good girl." Jay simply replied, before tightly securing his hands round your hips. He lifted you up with ease, and places your feet on the ground, before getting up himself and picking you up again. One of his hands wound round your waist and one of them went to your ass, squeezing it mischievously. He meticulously carried you to the bed, which by the look of it, had new silken sheets, just waiting to be ruined.

The feeling of the soft fabric seduced you as you allowed your body to relax into the mattress. Your eyes flickered over to Jay, whose figure could be seen outlined by the faint golden light of the lamp placed on the bedside table. The carved muscles of his back enamoured you into a trance as you stared at your new husband take off his shirt. His hands went to his newly bought leather belt and he took it off in one swipe, loosening up his trousers which soon came off to reveal his hardened cock. Your mouth filled to the brim with saliva as you stared at it.

"It's not good to stare, sweetheart." Jay chuckled, turning to you, his gaze set fire to your skin, "Now—" his mouth morphs into a lopturned smirk, "—you said tongue didn't you?"

The only response he got was a weak whimper when his hands roamed over your thighs, spreading your legs apart. You gasped softly at the feeling of his breath hitting your skin.

Jay peeled open your pussy, revealing your glistening slit to his hungry eyes. He watched the way your arousal pooled at the tight hole of your cunt, the way your clit hardened at the feeling of the cold air. Your hands snaked down to his head, and you dragged your fingers through his hair, his name falling from your tongue like a melody.

"Jay—stop teasing." You whined, not having the patience anymore to wait for his heaven-trained tongue to get stuck inside your pussy.

His eyes find yours again, and he kept them there as he traced his lips north. He nosed the juncture of your cunt and inner thigh, running a tongue along your mound. You gasped and eyes narrowed, watching him with rapt attention. He pressed a kiss to the top of your slit and his hands come up to open you to him, pulling the lips apart and tonguing the collected moisture there. Your head fell back as your elbows gave way, falling flat against the blanket. 

"god, just like that," you groan as he brushes against your g-spot and circles his tongue around your clit.

Jay's tongue swirls in lazy circles against your clit, hands gripping your trembling thighs to anchor you to him. His mind is hazy with desire, lost in the taste and scent of you, the feel of your body under his touch. He can't get enough of you, craving more and more until he's completely satisfied, which he knows will take hours at the very least.

All you can hear are the brazen sounds of his slurps and sucking along with his ragged breathing and you scream and whine as your hands reach out weakly to push his shoulders away, the pleasure running through your nerves, strangling your throat in the process.

“Ahh-! Jay- wait..!” He doesn't listen to your pleads to get him to stop, the pleasure almost unbearably good. How could he stop? His sweet tooth craves for his sweetheart’s sloppy cunt almost all the time.

He’s enjoying every second of it, listening to how noisy you’re getting, the screeches and moans escaping your lips, barely managing to form words to escape those pretty lips he loves to shove his cock into.

Your moans were getting higher and higher as your back arched to feed more of yourself to him, desperately craving the feel of his touch, of his nose, of his beard against your thighs, of the lips he so devoutly was using to suck on your most sensitive spot.

As his tongue continues exploring your clit with need, you push against his shoulders but fail, his strong grip keeping you locked in position.

Nonetheless you keep trying, far too overstimulated for your own good. You try to get his hands to release their firm grip of holding your thighs up, but you fail again, then try pushing his head away, yet you fail again, your attempts futile.

"Fuck—oh Jay!” You wailed a wanton amount, enough for the whole neighbourhood to shake due to the sheer pleasure you’re feeling. The white pain mixing with adrenaline sends you right to the edge of teetering release.

“Can’t you please just— Ah! fuck me already!” There it was, the only permission he ever needed.

Jay was quick to pull his skilled tongue out and move his hands from your thighs to your hips, getting himself steady on top of you. The sudden movement caught you off guard, even more so, when his lips landed on yours. You tasted the faint bits of yourself on them and you relished it all, arching yourself further into him. He was your husband now, and you made sure that you took full advantage of that.

"So fucking pretty." Jay whispered after pulling away. One of his hands cupped your cheek while the other remained on your hip. Jay was quick to withdraw his hand and trace it back to your hip.

“You ready?” he asked, licking his lips before pulling his cock out, already covered in pre-cum. He looked so beautiful above you, his hips so close to yours, his hair falling into his face and his chest raising as fast as yours. You looked a mess, but you were his mess and he wanted to devour you.

He was tender with you, his fingertips light across the length of your body as he felt you, his touch delicate- as though you were a statue that could break at any moment. He was going to take his time with you. He was going to devote himself to the religion that was your weeping cunt.

Yet, in a play of duality, the moans, the lewd moans that crawled up your throat were filthy, even filthier than the sound of how wet, how unbelievably drenched you were as he plunged into you over and over, as he literally used you as a fucktoy, filling you up more and more, until he was finally sat inside you to the very hilt, until his pubic hairs were grazing your skin and the tip of his cock was touching your cervix.

"Fucked out already, love?" Jay snickered at you, he knew his words always made you weak.

You managed a weak glare, but it melted into a moan as he pushed into you. The stretch was intense, making you claw at his shoulders for support. He kissed your neck, his lips and teeth leaving a trail of fire as he pulled out slowly before thrusting back in deeply. You moaned at the sensation, your body arching to meet his every movement.

You opened your eyes slowly, your vision filled with the sight of him. His beautiful, sweat-covered face was close to yours, the grey in his eyes adding to his rugged appeal. His aura burned with an intensity that made your heart race.

His pace quickened, his hips snapping against yours with a ferocity that left you breathless. The room was filled with the sounds of your combined moans, the slap of skin against skin, and the wet, obscene noises of your coupling. His free hand roamed over your body, caressing and squeezing, leaving trails of fire in its wake.

“Jay– more,” His eye flits up to your face, asking for silent reassurance that that is indeed what you want. “For god's sake Jay, move faster please I–” Not needing to be told twice, Jay picks up speed. Where his thrusts were slow and sensual, now they are fast and hard. He fucks you like a man starved, as if he was told this is the last woman he will ever lay with. Which in his case, was true, since you were married after all. 

It all feels so, so good. Your mind is a hazy mess with only thoughts of him and his fat fucking dick. Every time his tip meets that spongy spot inside of you, you feel like you're seeing stars as drool runs down your chin. When was the last time you ever got your guts rearranged like this? In fact, when was the last time you even felt the touch of a man? Heeseung surely had done it, but it was surely never as pleasurable as this.

Those questions were swept away in the flurry of pleasure brought by Jay's cock sliding in and out of your pussy with a wet squelch, your body rocking back and forth with the force. He relished the sight under him, your sweaty body splayed out so prettily for him as he brought you to new heights.

"Damn... You're so fucking tight—"He grinned as you responded with nothing but incoherent babbles, too dumbed down to even form a proper sentence. "—sucking in my cock like it never wants to let it go, honey..."

Jay brought one of his hands down to grab your breast, fondling the mound and squeezing before tweaking your nipple between the pads of his thumb and index. That action elicits a hiss out of him as he feels you clench down harder around him, making him let out a breathy chuckle

"Haah... You liked that, didn't you, doll?" His answer comes in the form of another pornographic moan, "...What if I gave you a child, huh? —Fuck—! You like the thought, love? Letting me fuck a baby into you?"

"Jay—ah shit!" You screamed, feeling your gummy cunt being attacked by his tip, "N-Need your cum—please!"

Jay would have been lying if he said the thought wasn't enticing, getting to raise a child with you that's his own. It was something he'd been dreaming of for the longest while. You weren't sure if you could have children, but Jay would at least attempt to make it happen. Even if it meant pumping you full of his cum till your belly bloats from the amount he's emptied into you. It drives him to go a bit faster, his cock reaching deep as your walls spasm around him.

You gasp out his name as your arms tighten around him. Hearing a chuckle, he did it again. "What happened baby?" He cooed, you could hear the smirk dripping from his voice. But you were too distracted making noises to complain.

“My dumb little girl, just love getting her needy cunt fucked hm? there sweetheart? yeah feels good doesn’t it?” He up his pace, even if you thought that was impossible. His cock continues to drill inside you with the tip expertly hitting your heavenly spot.

It doesn’t take long to feel the first flutterings of that eye-wateringly beautiful sensation between your legs. The force of his thrusts, and the friction against your clit cause you to see stars behind your eyes. With one last scream of his name, you cum around his cock. Your walls pulling him in, attempting to root him to you. Aemond however, does not let up, chasing afer his own release. You quickly stammer, “I’m cumming! Fuck!”

“Cum for me. Right now give it to me, baby, come on” Jay pistons his hips with slower pace but deeper, sliding himself unbelievably full to your cunt, with a prominent bulge on your lower tummy.

Jay’s legs nearly gave out underneath him, hearing your sweet words. As your pussy contracted in wet bursts around him again, Jay released every drop of cum inside of his body, deep into your walls so that you could feel yourself becoming full and it beginning to drip out as it became too much.

Jay didn’t move and kept his cock inside you, letting himself and you calm down and try to catch your breath. As you regain your composure, your head against Jay's chest, your mind almost exploded with the overwhelming thoughts.

You definitely were not on the pill.

You and Jay winced in union as he slowly pulled out, careful not to waste any of his seed, which stayed buried deep within you. You could see the shine of the thin line of sweat on Jay's body as he slumped down on the mattress next to you. He looked ethereal, like a God in his own kingdom.

"You ok, love?" Jay murmured in his deep voice, which sounded tired.

"You're asking me that now, asshole?" You chuckled breathlessly, your chest riding and falling according to your hasty breaths, "I'm not on the pill by the way." You added, with uncertainty coating your tone.

You felt Jay's arms quickly wrap around you, pulling your head into his chest. He smiled down at you, pressing a saccharine-sweet kiss to your sweaty forehead. You winced at the feeling of your sore legs moving slightly on the bed.

"Good." Jay said, "I wasn't planning on having any protection anyway."

"Jay!" You gasped playfully, softly hitting his chest, "Don't say that!"

"Or what?" He smirked.

"Or I'll make you a dad." You managed a cheeky smile, feeling drops of sleep drip onto your eyes.

"Gladly, my love."

Taglist: @diorsyun @jaeyunluvr @hoondrop @mxxninthesky @alvojake @wondipity @blurryriki @lilyuwon @heeliopheelia @pshazez @heeslomll @seunghancore @shiningnono @deobitifull @luvitria @nyfwyeonjun @hwa-0403 @bubblegyu00 @sunpov @heeheeswifey @chartrucewhore @slut4hee @heesangs-blog @rikiwaify-blog @hirablackcat @soobieboobiedoobiedaboobie @kirinaa08 @heeshlove @seokseokjinkim @brownsugarbaybee @yzzyhee @anittamaxwynnn @kgneptun @penny44224 @ribbioniki @strxwbloody @immelissaaa @nshmrarki @yawnzzhoon @sousydive @yunhoswrldddd

[alastorsfuckassbob]

Vulnerable

Alastor x Fem!Reader- Part 3

WELCOME TO THE LOWKEY FAN SERVICEY PORTION OF OUR BROADCAST🗣️! Sorry for the long wait..uh ANYWAY- Its just a silly little steamy make out session I felt like writing lowkey unnecessarily added into the plot. Its character development This is done mostly on the grounds of I felt bad for being slow with the plot and wanted to give you radio demon lovers out there some crumbs.<3

✨The plot✨(these are getting worse as we go)

Our depressed dear y/n self deprecates in front of a "hang in there" kitten poster. before bitching about the cold on her walk home.Oh shit her house is broken into. In this life its just you and your shitty pocket knife. Nvm its a cool dress! She then spends a good half hour thinking about their old relationship's spicy times.

⚠️WARNINGS⚠️

-Mentions of domestic violence

-Mentions of alcohol

-Fuckass Val

-A little make-out sesh (smut is scary so you can use your little imagination to figure out what happens after)

Mornings in hell were colder than one might expect, despite the nearly constant blaze of sinner set fire. At its heart, Hell was frigidly cold, especially at night. A part of you had gotten used to the way it clawed deeply against your skin. However, the other part of you secretly begged to some god somewhere you didn't quite believe in to make the sun rise a little faster. It wasn't necessary by any means, Hell wasn't anything more than a desert. All you had to do was wait. The crisp morning would lose its glacial influence as the sunlight reached out to touch it just as it always did. You just needed to be patient. You take in a deep breath, attempting to let go of your displeasure.The sharp frosty air pierced your lungs, unknitting the last strings of warmth from your skin on impact. Your teeth began to chatter. You curl into the softness of your wings, it wasn't much, but it helped.

From your recently awakened slumber, you had briefly forgotten the events of the night before. However, upon seeing angel slumped in bed beside from you, the realisation took root. The recollection flattened your heart like a careless truck running over a measly stray bit of garbage

Your performance last night was nothing more than a falsified forgery. It was adorned with the typical strokes and details found in your normal act, but it was so hopelessly fake. Valentino could always tell when you were phoning it in. Despite his fraudulent demeanour, he demanded authenticity from you. After your previous..altercation, you just didn't have it in you to thread your harsh edges in salacious intent. You were an excellent dancer, but you hated the prying eyes that glued themselves onto your figure. Val wouldn't be happy with that. You were already voiceless, he already owned your soul. He couldn't physically take much more, but he could still make your life a relentless nightmare. The punishments he so easily gave out always had a creatively cruel flair. The thoughts brought on a familiar uneasiness. You could take whatever he threw at you, you wouldn't like it but you would endure. You didn't have to like it. Your grounds were barren in the terms of genuine will. You didn't have a reason to keep living, you just refused to die. You would endure until the red toned city around you pathetically crumbled back into the ground. You would watch the world you lived in reflect the terms of your anguish in twisted perfection over and over again...All by the hands of Valentino. You couldn't do much else. Your dimly lit soul had grown more accustomed to calloused hands and absinthe than you wanted to admit..It was just the way of things.

Great now you were cold and stressed out.

Your mind drifted to Angel. His crumpled hair and soft arms outstretched in your direction. The night before, he had spilled a glass of gin soaked secrets, revealing more than you expected him to. His drunken tears leaked into the brimstone walls of your heart. You learned his name was Anthony in life among other things. He probably didn't remember opening up to you, you were surprised you did.

He had been in Hell much longer than you had been..he had been with Valentino much longer than you had..years longer. The thought held more pain than your sore bruise lined body could feel.

Valentino had the poor habit of misguiding his frustration. As much as you pissed him off, your groans of pain just weren't as satisfying as Angels. Even if Val dragged your limp body across the studio, his nails dug deeply into the flesh of your skull, he wouldn't be satisfied if he didn't hurt Angel too. You couldn't help but wonder how he put up with it all. He was a lot stronger than people give him credit for. How long had Angel been his favourite toy? How many other souls tied to Valentino fucked up as you so often did? How did he deal with the brunt of that frustration tipped in his direction? How many times was he hurt because you didn't give Val what he wanted?

He was an angry disagreeable man he would always find some excuse to take that out on others.You knew that, you just hadn't stopped to think how many times had you been the excuse he used to justify how he treated Angel. Your hand brushed a stray strand of hair from his peaceful face. You didn't want to cause him any more pain.

Angel at least looked warm. He still slept soundly curled up towards the edge of the bed. His legs were neatly cocooned into a pile of various blankets. You stretched, shaking the sleep from your eyes and the fog from your brain.

You stood up glancing back on his sleeping form. A part of you felt bad for leaving Angel wordlessly.. His night wasn't great either, even if it was your fault, you could still help make it better. You could also make it worse. You couldn't risk that. He would get over your sudden absence, but what if you said the wrong thing and he hated you for it. He should hate you, after all it was your fault the night went to shit.

I mean even if for some reason he didn't want you to leave, it would be easier if he didn't have to explain why you're here to the literal princess of hell. Its not like you could tell her yourself. You'd rather walk home a bit early and save him the trouble.

You glance at the digital clock stationed on his nightstand, It read 5am. Hopefully the other residents of the hotel weren't early risers. that would really be hard to explain.

You walked into his bathroom to at least attempt to make yourself a bit more presentable. You let out the breathy shell of a laugh; amused by the emotionally supportive posters and positive notes that adorn the wall around the sink. He was trying in some way, he was trying to make the best of things. He didn't have anyone to remind him it was going to be okay besides the small grey kitten saying "hang in there". on one of the larger posters. You pick up a note in Angel's swirled handwriting

"You're hot in more ways than just physically! Nice ass but nicer everything else"

It was a little silly, but it made you feel better for a second. Your eye gets caught on your hellish exterior in the mirror. God- you looked rough.

The mascara stains under your eyes did nothing but highlight the heavy bags that already resided there. Your hair had awkwardly shifted back into its natural texture in some places and erupted in frizz in others. You were still wearing that burlesque outfit Valentino had picked for you. Russet red dried blood and what you assumed to be half a fruity cocktail stained the front. You looked like an extra in a poorly funded zombie film.

Ironically the outfit had been one of your favorites before then. It reminded you of Alastor- big surprise there- almost everything does at this point.

The cut of the top and the off shoulder sleeves reminded you of the dress he had bought you to celebrate your new part time gig singing at that little bar downtown. The outfit's color reflected it marvelously as well- sadly the similarities seemed to end there. The outfit had numerous cut outs and a slit up each side. It didn't leave much to the imagination, but those subtle details kept it in your good graces. Not that it mattered, it was practically ruined now. Maybe you thought too deeply, but it started to feel painfully ironic.

You had sewn into the outfit memories of an ill-fated gentle romance and a shared cup of camomile tea, but ultimately it doesn't change what it really was, stained with the shadow of lust...Just as you had been.

The outfit would never truly resemble that dress. Even if you found an ounce of similarity. Even if you dragged it to the tailor and used its corroded bones to recreate the dress exactly.They weren't the same, they could never be.

You weren't the same.

You hadn't been for quite some time.

In the end, it wouldn't matter if he would ever consider accepting you in the condition you're in. Your skin will always sustain the weight of Valentino's hand. The vulnerability in your soul had been sparked by fear as opposed to love. Whats done is done. Even if you had been crafted with the object of love in mind your heart had been distorted beyond the point of recognition, it could never really be the same again.

With that, you didn't want him to find you anymore. It would be worse to watch him fall out of love with you as he realised you weren't the same. The love you had so protectively harboured in your heart for the devilish man was cut loose. It drifted away into the rotting sea of your soul surrounding it. You couldn't bring yourself to tear down the post you had previously tied it to. Even if you told yourself you couldn't love him any longer, the hole he left in your heart was too large for your will to cover.

You shrug on the coat you had slung on the floor before crashing last night and slide on your shoes.

You grab a pen from Angel's desk-if you could even call it that. It was nothing more than an old bar stool with a jar of pens and a pink glittery notepad. You scrawled a simplistic message. You didn't want him to worry about you. Even if he said he didn't care, he was sensitive. You didn't want to hurt him any more than you had already.

" Hey Angie! I went home- don't worry I wasn't kidnapped! Eat something for breakfast or I swear to god I'll make you eat an eyebrow pencil next time I see you..Love ya lots<3" Your handwriting was a bit messier than normal but it did the job okay.

You walked to the door, opening it it quietly, the lock behind you clicking as you shut the door to Angel Dust's room.

Finding your way out of the hotel was trickier than you expected but nothing you couldn't manage. Once outside you began to shiver. You tugged your coat tightly against your skin, not that it helped much. You refused to fly in such icy temperatures. The wind would be far less intrusive at a slower speed.

The walk from your apartment to the hotel was a little over an hour. Perhaps if you weren't so hung over it wouldn't have taken you as long.The sun just begun to peak out from the horizon, simultaneously allowing enough space for the nightly wind to have free passage, and the blinding light of the sun to assault your eyes; your own special little fuck you from the universe.

The steps up leading to your third floor flat were much steeper than you had previously recalled. Hauling your body up them took a lot more energy than you care to admit. Out of breath and slightly sweaty you were finally headed down towards your room.

Your steps creak in harmony with the ancient building's crumbling walls. You glance down the hallway at what you had hoped would be a chance to decompress.

You stop abruptly a few units from your own. The door was ajar. You pull a short pocket knife from the side of your shoe. The rusted knob looked no worse than it already did. The lock however, featured a few more scratches than you recalled.

You were too tired for this bullshit, You hadn't actually used a knife before. Stabbing people seemed like an intuitive thing to do, but your inexperience left you drenched in anxiety. Nothing within you wanted to go inside, but your legs begged for rest. There really wasn't any use in preventing the inevitable. Eventually you would go inside or whoever was inside would come out. Either way its stab or be stabbed. The door whines as you slide yourself inside. You knew the situation was dangerous, all you had was a shitty knife you mostly used to open packages. If someone was here to kill you..without your voice no one would even know. You pushed the thought aside. You could still run. You could still fly. You weren't hopeless.You crept throughout the apartment with the knife raised steadily in front of you- ready to fight whatever had arrived.. Nothing ever came. By the first two rooms you had lost your concern. It was just how you left it. You stepped into your bathroom, locking the door behind you. You must have just forgotten to close the door behind you the day before.

You glanced around the bathroom before you noticed it was not in the disrepair you'd left it in. A fresh bouquet of roses sat neatly in the vase, the old dried flowers tied and hung above them to use in your next bath. The radio you had so unfortunately melted been replaced by an antique model adorned in golden trim and a stained glass depiction of a small canary. Lastly, a neatly wrapped vermillion box sat on the opposite side of your vanity, a wax sealed envelope tucked between the box and the large velvety bow.

This was a bit ( really fucking) weird. Curiosity over took you as you reached for the dark inky envelope.

You trace the underside of the waxy seal with the edge of your knife, effectively tearing it from the envelopes dark paper. You unfolded the letter unsure where something like this would even come from. You had admirers, but anything they said or gifted to you went through Valentino first. He was the only one he deemed fit to give or take anything from you. He was greedy in the gifts he received and thoughtless in the gifts he gave. None of this felt thoughtless.

Dearest y/n,

I believe it is time you were compensated for all that I have put you through these past two days. I believe you would simply sparkle in this color. If it is to your liking, please wear it tonight. I hope to see you there.

With love,

-Yours truly

Val had gifted you dresses and other fashions in the past, more for his own satisfaction than as a reward. He rarely wrote the notes himself or even delivered the gift. He left it up to an unlucky assistant or just threw the garment in your face in passing.. Nothing about this felt like anything he would do. Perhaps one of his newer assistants didn't get the memo he is a massive piece of shit.

Regardless, you were curious to see what odd fantasy you were fulfilling tonight. You untied the ribbon. Upon lifting the lid, you realised today was going to end up much stranger than you'd hoped. Nothing about this made sense. The dress reminded you of something you might have worn out in your younger days..Was Val planning some weird 20s fetish night or just attempting to fuck with you? He knew the details of your past, with the exception of Alastor's involvement. Perhaps it was some form of psychological warfare you didn't understand.

Upon closer inspection , the dress was astoundingly quite tasteful. You pulled the item from the box pleased it kept going. Usually if the purchased dress was "too long" it would be cut short before it arrived in your hands, causing you a stressful few hours with your sewing machine fixing seams and hem lines.

You slid of the shell of your dirtied clothes and stepped into the dress. It fit you like a glove. The familiar 1920's silhouette and subtle inclusion of art deco threatened to pull you back into your old habits. It really was a gorgeous dress. The beaded scarlet fabric clung to your hips before slightly flaring at your knees. It sported a neckline adorned with crystals that dipped off of your shoulders and into the sleeves The back of the dress scooped down to your lower back a deeper toned train following it. Despite your otherwise disheveled appearance, you felt beautiful.

You look down at the red fabric pooling behind you, you don't want it to, but your mind begins to shift.

1929: New Orleans: The Bar

Your hands shake more than you wished they would, no matter how many times you sang here it always left you feeling anxious. The music sways in tandem with the bars patrons, mimicking the constant lull of conversation. You began to sing.Your voice cuts through the clinking of glasses and exhilarating cheers with a crystalline ring. You glance over to the bar in view of Alastor. His eyes trapped in a half lidded love led daze, filled with nothing but adoration for you.

You glance back down at your hands. They are covered in black velvet, contrasted by a simple pearl bracelet hanging loosely from your wrist. It was one of the many from Alastor on your birthday earlier that year. You had insisted it was far too much, and he insisted you were making far too big a deal of it. He wanted you to feel appreciated and loved, what better way to accomplish that than with a meaningful gift.

He wasn't fantastic with words when it came to you. His hands craved contact with your own. The sentiment he needed to convey didn't fully exist within the bounds of english, or french for that matter. You were worth more than any riches the world could offer you. He could spend his nights bottling starlight and collecting bits of moon and lay them at your feet, and he still wouldn't feel like it was enough. His mind drifted to your past. You were private with the majority of the details. He had collected the story over time from thoughtless anecdotes you mentioned in passing. He knew life before him hadn't been kind.Your mother had died during your birth, but her face stayed firmly in your grasp. Your father hated you for that reason, and he was not a pacifistic man. He felt you had taken the love of his life and left him alone with nothing more than a portrait you hadn't yet grown into. He had been sickly the majority of your life. The more you grew in likeness to your mother the less he fought to get better. He died when you were only 14, leaving you to fend for your siblings. You had raised them just as much as you raised yourself. If the world wasn't going to gift you a delicate existence. Alastor certainly would be. In that moment he vowed to make sure you never felt worried or lost ever again, he couldn't bare the thought of it.

He was shaken from his thoughts as the song climaxed into a loud jazzy finish. You glanced over at him again with a smile. You stepped down from the stage, the red fabric trailing behind you. You walked across the bar and into his arms. He instinctively wraps around your waist, his hand nestled into your own. The moment is pure ecstasy.

"If I could on pick one sound to hear for the rest of eternity it would be your darling voice mon cher" His honey toned voice whispered into your ear. You looked marvellous but the sound of your voice was entrancing.

Your eyes roll, a satirical air taking over your tone. "How many times did you rehearse that line Al?"

" Very evidently not enough. You've made i clear I needed a bit more rehearsal" His familiar sarcastic attitude evident in his tone. "For such a pretty face you have a hard time accepting a compliment"

You giggle into his chest.He placed a kiss against your forehead. Subconsciously you lean into his touch. You can't help but want to be closer to him. Your arms stretch around his neck effectively pulling him into a hug.

"My my, someones touchy this evening" his distinctive laugh following shortly after. It was the kind of laugh you could hear across a crowded room twenty years in the future and immediately know it was him. your hands travel to either side of his face, cupping it gently. Before you know it, your lips meet his. This kiss is slow and delicate at first. It is imbued with ever ounce of love you have ever felt for each other. His grasp on your waist tightens, pulling you in as close as humanly possible. The dark brown strands of his hair tangle into your hands. The kiss heats up faster than either of you care to admit before you finally register you're in public. He quickly composes himself, as do you. A sly smile stretches across his face. He glances down at your dress, his mind floating aimlessly searching for an excuse to be alone with you. Despite how deeply he loved you, he wasn't the type to display that in public. It felt a bit unsavoury. You were his and his alone.

"Darling, I think you may have torn your dress, during your wonderful performance. Would you allow me to help you fix it in a more, secluded location"

You looked down at your dress not entirely understanding what he meant. He always had your best interest in mind, perhaps he saw something you didn't. Besides, you didn't want to ruin the dress he bought you any further than you already had unknowingly.

"Oh I didn't realise it had torn. Of course, thank you love."

You take his hand in yours and lead him into the small dressing room. It was really just an extra office the owner had put a few mirrors, a changing screen, and vanity into. You stood in front of the taller of the two mirrors attempting to locate the tear.

"Alastor love, I don't see what you mean perhaps it was the ligh-"

Before you can finish your sentence his lips are pressed against your own. You lean into the kiss grasping onto his vest to steady yourself. You're caught in your own personal whirlwind. Your hands are glued against his sepia skin.

He breaks the kiss for a moment kissing the corner of your mouth trailing down your jaw and onto your neck. He sucks lightly against your skin

You're so precious to me y/n" his voice is deeper than it normally was. It held each desire he felt and simultaneously every ounce of adoration.

You let out a soft gasp as he lightly bites the side of your neck. He travels along it as your hands tangle themselves in his hair once more. God you didn't want this to end, but you wanted to feel closer to him. You drag him away from your neck placing your lips against his once more.Your hands trace the outline of his shoulders. His hands explore the curve of your spine and the softness of your waist. He lifts you up and sits you against the vanity. Subconsciously your legs wrap around his waist deepening the kiss. (scream)

"I have never loved someone the way I love you Alastor..thank you for letting me" You breathe out in between kisses.

He wasn't one to let people in. Not truly, he had a public persona and a private one. You were glad to get to know the esteemed radio host outside of the studio. You were so glad he let you seen him the way he was so afraid to be perceived as...Vulnerable.

A/N: LOL IM SORRY THAT ONE WAS KINDA SHORT. Also please let me know it the writing style and lengths are working. I've never really written before so Idk the right way to do this. Thanks for reading :) <3

-Also congrats to me for not using a song as the crutch to come up with a title.

[seat-safety-switch]

Like it or not, we live in someone else's distant future. When our ancestors were stacking mud on top of mud, shitting in holes, and wondering why the sky was so scary all the time, they didn't expect that one day we'd be complaining about the poor quality of wi-fi reception. Lasers are right out, unless you're that one Aztec dude who got everything eerily correct before mysteriously disappearing.

You might think that this sort of thought is inspirational. We should simply be happy with what we have. I say no: we could have much cooler shit. Centuries from now is hoarding all the rad stuff. Imagine what incredible advance in technology the people of the future will be complaining about! We can't even fathom the kinds of annoying problems they'll have with holo-printers, much less the billions of new sorts of cables they need to purchase $10 adapters for because they brought the wrong kind to Mars and it's kind of a long trip to head back to your apartment to get the one you know you already have.

Someone with some better physics chops would be ginning up a time machine right around now. That way, anguished folks waiting in line at Geek Squad in the 2300s can angrily hurl their broken garbage back to our time. Then we can take it apart! Note that I didn't say "figure out how it works." Between you and me, I don't really care how it works. I just want to see what it looks like inside.

Wait, in the future they'll probably have new kinds of screwdrivers. I don't want any of that nonsense. If you are building a time machine at my say-so, fucking stop it. Unless it only goes in reverse, in which case I've got an old inkjet printer that I'm sure some dude in the 1530s would love to fix instead of me.

[rapha-reads]

IWTV rewatch

Season 1 episode 7 [The Thing Lay Still] - part 2/3

- AAAAAAH IT'S THE DANCE SCENE EXCUSE ME I'M NOT READY AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.

[Louis] "So much would be written about that grim night in New Orleans, but not a single mention of our last hour at Latrobe's, as if the only crime unfit to print took place on that dance floor." - and what do we say to homophobia, both "period-typical" and current? FUCK OFF.

It's the way they cannot… Aaah, need to say it in French, sorry. Use your translation tool. Ils ne peuvent pas se quitter des yeux un seul moment, même pas quand leurs pas de danse les forcent à se tourner le dos, Louis fermant les yeux jusqu'à ce qu'il soit de nouveau face à Lestat, ou qu'ils doivent se tenir l'un à côté de l'autre, leurs regards irrémédiablement attirés l'un par l'autre, comme deux aimants, magnétiques et plus fort que tout.

[Louis] "It was my sole duty to distract Lestat, but in his mirrored eyes, the distraction reflected back onto me. And in the dead center of the whispering gallery, I lost the thread to my plotting and fell once more into the well with no bottom. I was his, and he was mine."

I haven't said a word about Jacob's voice acting yet. But the way Louis' voice is so soft and slow. As if Louis is lost in his memories and back there, feeling all the love and the frenzy of that night, but also the pain and grief of the long decades since.

- Oof, I'm barely midway through the episode. I'm pausing it so much to not miss a single line that my player is starting to complain.

- "'Claudia, born 1903, I drank the water in 1917. I'm 36 years old.' 'Louis de Pointe du Lac. Born in 1878.i drank of the water in 1910. I am 61 years old now.' 'Lestat de Lioncourt, born 1760. I drank the waters in 1794. 180 years old… this coming November.'"

Ooooh, canon divergence! Not Louis and Claudia, them, we know, but Lestat. Born 1760 but turned in 1780 at 20 years old in the book. Interesting! I wonder why that change. There's another element given in s2, when Armand's writing his little Lesmand fanfic, but otherwise I guess s3 will give us an answer to why that tiny time change.

Meanwhile Tom fucking Anderson continues to be a nuisance.

- FINALLY. BYE TOM.

Love the music. Love the blood. Love the violence. Love the magnificent entrance of the three, in white and red. Vampires are freaking cool and the werewolf crowd can bite my a… Ahem, sorry, werewolf buddies. I got carried away.

- Aaaand goddamn Antoinette about to make her entrance. Aaaargh. But also I am very bi and she is very hot so I can't entirely hate her.

- [Lestat]"'Quite drunk this one. Rosemary… And something else. What is it, my love?' [Louis] 'I… I think it's gin.' [Lestat] 'I wasn't talking to you.'"

Bitch how dare you call someone else your love right in front of Louis, I'm offended.

Oh, wait, actually I can perfectly hate Antoinette, GET YOUR HANDS OFF CLAUDIA.

- [Claudia] "'Lestat… You must think me an idiot. 'She was at the ball tonight.' Not just the ball. You shoulda let that train go, Uncle Les.' [Lestat] 'How? Who?' [Claudia] 'He who called you him… Always the petty lights with you, Uncle Les.'"

Ah, I knew I hated Tom Anderson for more than his slimy, racist, homophobic ways. Nice planning, Claudia!

- Ooh, oh, no, baby, not the cane sword, no no no no. I hate (not) when the foreshadowing comes full circle.

- [Lestat] "Louis! We are joined by a cord, by a cord that you cannot see, but it is real. It is real. I have loved you… with all myself. I'm happy it was you… here with me… à la fin."

*cries*

No but can you imagine Lestat's anguish, the pure suffering and desperation he must have felt? Yes, yes, I know he's done plenty of wrongs, he's hurt Louis and Claudia a lot, he made mistakes after mistakes, he was prone to anger and abuse and violence.

But à la fin he's still a little boy who was neglected by his mother, abused by his father, hated by his first love, kidnapped and raped by his maker, hurt and threatened by the first vampires he's met, and was so lonely, afraid and hurt he didn't know how to love honestly even though he was deeply in love.

"Are we the sum of our worst moments", can we not feel pity and sadness for the monster in the woods? Can we not show kindness to the monster even after he's slapped our hand away, isn't kindness what could make the monster accept the hand?

I wrote a thesis about kindness being the true core of the story of Beauty and the Beast last year, about how it's true kindness and not love that Beast relearns how to be human and builds the self-esteem and self-respect needed to truly fall in love with Belle and have her fall in love with him in turn (there's more to my thesis, it's a 100 pages long, but that's the main point I wanted to make), and I can't help but draw parallels with Lestat.

Beauty and the Beast is French and it was first written in 1740, then rewritten and condensed (from 125 pages to barely 30) in 1756. Lestat definitely must have heard the tale, by the 1770s, 1780s, it was quite popular both in noble salons as in lowlier classes.

Do you think he ever fancied himself the Beast, and saw Louis as his Beauty? Do you think he ever thought he was cursed - despite claiming he never saw his condition as a vampire as a curse - and saw Louis as his salvation? Do you think he felt the fairy tale shatter irreparably around him when he realised that this time he could not keep Louis with him? Do you think in 1945 at the trial he saw himself as the Beast freed from his curse finally, heard and avenged, only to then realise that the curse was still there and stronger than ever because he had deeply misunderstood it? Do you think he spent 77 years living off rats in a dilapidated shack in the city that held his heart because his story went from Beauty and the Beast to the Ice Queen, or Koschei the Deathless, heartless and waiting for the one person that could unfroze or unbury his heart?

Ooooh, Lestat versus folktales. I think I can write a whole other thesis with just that idea. Or maybe a series of fics. Too many thoughts.

- [Louis] "The blood poured out of him as it might never pour from a human being… all the blood he had filled himself with. He lay now on his back, his eyes staring wildly at the ceiling, the irises dancing from side to side."

[Louis] "His irises rolled to the top of his head, the white went dim. This horror that had been Lestat… I stared helplessly at it. The thing lay still. There was no point in lingering."

No comment, just… Can you hear in Louis' voice the anguish, still, after so many decades…

- Huh. Bye Antoinette for real I guess, fire doesn't forgive. So no Antoinette at the Court.

- [Louis] "It was as if we'd expected Lestat to disappear in a puff of smoke or get sucked back into hell." - no but see, that's what I'm saying, the fairy tale ended and now you're left facing the very real consequences of the plot you thought you were living. Lestat ain't no fairy tale monster, just a regular (albeit vampiric) one, flesh and blood at the end. This ain't Buffy. Vampires are flesh here, animated flesh and when you kill them by any other means than fire or the sun, you are still left with the painfully visible reminder of the man that was the monster.

[I really like this part because I hadn't thought of the whole Lestat/folktale before and now I'm having a million of ideas knocking around my head.]

ep1 | ep2 | ep3 | ep4 | ep5 | ep6 | part 1 | part 3

[noacfapologyst]

birthday sleepover — matty healy

(the birthday party: day three)

summary: matty loses something very important in his first moments of officially coming of age. but, he discovers that sometimes losing means winning and he does, he gains something better and something more good for him.

warnings: suggestion of a fight, being drunk in the streets. touches in general. physical contact (anguished, affectionate and raised in tone). disappointment, anger, anguish.

wordcounter: 5,2k

a/n: I don't know if this counts as a sleepover because most of it happens before. but still, i hope you enjoy it!

"Ross!" You scream in the crowd hanging from his arm. "That's so bold!"

"I'm not lying, I'm sorry." He laughs rolling his eyes subtly. "It's more logical to say that you would spend your last day looting a food store on your own."

The dilemma they have while waiting for their drinks is simple. If it was the last day of your life or if you had all the time in the world, who you would be with, what you would do and where. Then his answer hesitates until he finds a girl who attracted him when he was younger, but she was older than him. Today everyone knows that she has a family and that in fact she holds a high office in the city council.

"Do you know what's wrong with that idiot of Matty?" He then inquires, returning to the serious tone of the conversation and looking at how the guy at the bar takes years to prepare five glasses.

"I don't know, he's just being a jerk." You shrug your shoulders and sigh. "I'm not going to withdraw my position because he knows I'm right, he's fooled by her and he knows it's wrong for him. But if he is happy…fine."

"Deceived or not, he is sad at the birthday celebration that he wanted to have and to which he invited us. Hit me if I ever turn into him." Ross comments quite harshly. Then they divide the glasses among the five and walk to the table in a silence of complicity.

You sit in front of him, although you keep your expression with some distance and caution. They argued before, but that doesn't mean you don't enjoy the night either with him doing it or not. Inevitably you know that they will make peace and everything will return to its cycle.

On your wrist dance a glass of Gin Tonic, drink that you have discovered recently but has really dazzled you.

"Look at you, a little girl drinking alcohol on a saturday at this time. You should be playing dolls." Hiss George, sitting on the tip. He smiles at you with expression of comical cruelty, you swallow.

"Courtesy of Matty, my dear." You answer with the same tone on your smile. The two then laugh.

In the meantime, you kick Matty to look up and look at you. His state is static, he is leaning on the palm of one of his hands with a tired and depressed expression. He gets sad, and all he does is change the position of his hand before he drinks his beer.

"This bar sucks. This birthday sucks. We should have stayed home." He says finally, after a while. His tone is heavy, controlled by blood alcohol but quite truthful in the firmness of his words.

"Slow down, dummy." You play with your hands when your glass is halfway. You don't want to beg him to just drop his posture and enjoy her birthday. Until you listen to Britney Spears through the speakers and jump into your little boots. "Oh god, let's go to dance!"

Everybody nods and gets up, it seems the part of good music has begun. Everybody but Matty.

"I pass, I don't want." He answers, and leans against the back of the sofa. You nod angry but you don't bow your head for him, you know that later he'll regret being away and isolated.

"Can you get your damn ass out of the chair and come? It's your birthday, man." Adam shows up from somewhere that nobody notices after moving away from the girl he's been talking to. He has the most marked expression with severity and punctuates the sentence to make it more direct.

In a bad way, but at least he's up.

"But if she comes, what?" It whispers almost inaudible, but chance or not, you hear it.

"For God's sake, Matty! Cathe it's not going to come, understand it for once!" You can't stand it anymore, because you can't stand to see him suffer for waiting for someone who really doesn't deserve to have your best friend. It pains you to see that he doesn't understand it, and he keeps waiting for her so much that it's agonizing and worrying how far apart he is from everyone and how embedded he is in running away with her to places. "And if it takes her breaking your heart for you to understand it, I hope she does. I don't mind."

Adam, Ross and George listen to the cheers of the conversation but don't get into it, because they know they'll make it worse. In that sense, you and Matty have defined characters, and you have opposing personalities, leading to frequent clashes.

You leave him with the words in his mouth, without the slightest attempt to let him speak, you have no interest in hearing reproaches and cheap excuses. You also run away from your friends' arms but they don't complain, they just don't let you out of their sight for anything.

You walk to the center of the track when the song hits the chorus getting a lot of glances in the middle, but you don't care about them at all. You need to disconnect for a while from the last few hours, you need to feel something else running through your body other than anger.

When you're completely lost, you lose track of who you're dancing with. There are hands running through your body, coming and going, but you don't pay attention to them because that's when the alcohol starts to short-circuit your head. He's a boy who's about your height, has brown hair, and you can't tell the color of his eyes. He seems friendly. You don't stop dancing there because you really need to get too much dopamine out of your body because of how loaded you feel. You really don't stop dancing because you feel good, but even when this guy tries to take you away for something else, remember that it would be embarrassing for you tomorrow in front of your friends. And you don't want to give that memory to Matty when he's having such a hard time.

So you don't, you just give him your number and try to get back to your desk.

At that moment Matty does something he's never done before: he looks at you for the first time. He looks at you beyond his friendship. There's a feeling he has running through his veins the moment he finds you receiving someone else's hands inside of you that makes him want to blow up and take him off of you. He doesn't understand it, for him it's inexplicable. But then when you show up back with him, he understands.

Sure, he's known you since you wore loose shirts and sweatpants when you went to your sports classes. You grew up with them sharing their jokes and their way of life, so she considers you a sister in that sense. But he hasn't seen, so far, how much you've grown.

Genetics have had an effect on you, given you incredible proportions, and you've obviously grown in every way. When he sees you arrive on something as simple as a low shot and a muscular black, he feels like he could die the second he sees the skin reaction translucent from your stomach.

No, Matty can't be stuck with you. There's no way he fell for you. He can't, you're his best friend. He can't have feelings for the person that it would hurt him most to lose in your life. It must be the booze, it has to be. But Matty needs a change of air.

The change of air doesn't get him the best way. At the front door he sees the girl he's supposed to be celebrating her birthday with. In a fluffy leopard cover and a denim miniskirt is like Cathe walks into the bar, but without the slightest face of looking for Matty. She's there for something else, or someone else.

"Mattttttttty." You sit next to him with agility after a while. Alcohol has gone to your head after the completely psychedelic time you've been through, and now you're not angry. You just want to apologize for being so hard on me before the five of you go back to sleep at Matty's.

Exit to the disco and then sleepovers. It was amazing to you, you always had very funny pictures of your newly awakened friends leaving for a hangover. And even though you weren't left behind, you made sure everyone always had a cup of tea before sharing whatever happened last night.

"I just..i apologize for the fight." The tone of your voice takes him out of his trance of confusion. You're too drunk, and even if he's in a mess, he'll just take care of you until he knows you're safe. He always will, but more so when you're in this state. "Listen, I got you. No but...i really do. It's okay if you're sad because she didn't come, it's not the last birthday you'll have to celebrate." You drag the words from the tip of your tongue. You talk too fast and Matty laughs. "Hey! Don't you make fun of me, i'm apologizing." You push him a little with your hands.

"We weren't going to fight about this. You don't have to apologize." He pulls you forward when your body threatens to fall off the chair. Your colony floods their nostrils when the head of you is almost under his nose. You don't stop laughing even if you try. "Cathe is there."

Matty regrets talking almost instantly because he sees your face get serious, and you stop talking with that spark you had until just now. You don't keep laughing and just frown at the first expression your face may proceed.

Shit, he shouldn't have said that.

You focus it in the crowd and suppress a sigh of pure envy. You've never turned down the looks and you've never needed them, but you don't mind receiving them anyway. You know you're pretty, but when Cathe comes in, that whole mechanism falls at your feet.

Her legs so fine, her stature so perfect, her physiognomy and her whole body seems to be in the right place all the time. It's really impressive the figure he has and what he generates when he goes into places. You see how the miniskirt fits in her and you want to run to take off your pants and put on your pajamas. Well, you really understand why Matty's so after her and why he can't stop thinking about her. She's hypnotic, her waist, her hips, her breasts, her legs. And then there's you, arms crossed about to cry because the adrenaline rush just went down and you feel like you're thirteen and you're in front of a mirror for the first time.

You really wish she had a different way of showing herself, not because of the exhibition or anything like that, but you just wish her personality wasn't so sour and didn't generate so much rejection. Maybe in another universe she would fit in well with your group and they could be friends. But she just lets Matty down over and over and calls him when he gets bored and needs something else. Maybe that's what bothers you the most, knowing that he deserves something beyond her. She deserves better, maybe something like you.

No, you have to get that out of your head. Either way he'll end up marking his jaw on her in the nearest bathroom he finds to the round. Who could resist good legs and a short skirt?

"Say hello to her for me when you leave with her. Or not, better not do it." You laugh again, but now you do it with irony. "Come back to the table at four for when we leave, that's all. Go with her." You pat him on the back and swallow telling him that leaving with her is practically deadly, because it's a vice that Matty accepts to stay connected to the world. Maybe you just have to accept it.

"I won't go with her."

"Yeah, definitely not Matty."

Snort in a classic silence, which becomes awkward. Matty feels at an understand because now he can't figure out what's going on in his heart, let alone what he should do. Either option has its impact, and both are double-edged.

As a miracle or as punishment, the boys reappear in your field of vision with a bottle of champagne and a smile between their lips.

"They look perfect for each other, both damn broke." He ironizes George by moving his curly blonde hair in the air. His cheeks are hollowed out. "You know, classic." Aim at the bottle with your eyes.

"This is yours." Ross appears from your free side and stretches a vodka and coke into a small glass. His expression reflects something like, "Get drunk so you can't stand Matty, and thank him with a smile."

"How thoughtful, thanks Ross. You are so sweet." You throw him a kiss as a joke. In fact, you've always been like that with them because they usually make those kinds of jokes, but when you see Matty, he twists awkwardly, and you look at him with little understanding.

"However, you're officially eighteen Matty. I hope the next champagne we open is in a caravan going to play in some cheap pub in questionable condition." Breaks the silence Adam, uncorking the drink. "For what is coming."

Each makes a shot of the drink repeating the legend of what Adam previously said. You, even if you're away from the band, can't wish your lifelong friends the best. You expect them to succeed, and you expect them to go far. They all have enough personality to be a leading rock band, only that leap is missing, but it will inevitably come.

"When you become famous, please don't forget me." You mock but behind it there is a stop of sadness in your voice. You just know that they could be caught at any time and they'll have to leave, but maybe you'll have to stay.

"Hey, don't you dare say that." Matty automatically breaks your thoughts because he knows what you're getting into. His hand glides over yours, and without hesitation squeezes. "You are literally our little girl, we couldn't forget you."

So now vodka feels like tears. And then they get worse when the four of them are hugging you with you sitting in a chair. Their company is the most honest thing you've ever had, their friendship is the best thing that's ever happened to you.

When they split up and you're about to tell them how much you appreciate they, they all see the same scene from the same angle.

"Is that..?" Adam whispers to you from underneath. You look at it quickly and nod.

"Yes, is she."

Cathe, with the coat half-falling over her shoulders and a sweeping red top, kissing someone else who isn't exactly your best friend.

You focus the situation right next to you, not knowing if you want to test whether or not Matty is aware of the image in front of you, and then you discover that the person you're kissing is exactly the man you've been dancing before. It's definitely your lucky day.

"For God's sake." When Matty talks, the four of them turn to see him. No one can deny the widespread expression of concern. You're the one who's got Matty next to you after the hug, but he's got the look lost in betrayal.

You see everything on camera a little more scattered, but your head works more clearly when you see Matty staring at his knuckles, squeezing them until his skin turns white.

"Matty, don't." With a cold, worried look at your friends, you make them stand on the other side. Just for prevention. "Go back home."

"Yes, but not now." He speaks, completely possessed by the tone of anger and fury in him. "I might say only a word to this man." He defies when a sadistic smile appears on him.

Your head doesn't work fast enough or clear enough again, so you have to look for some quick fix before it all ends up in a bloodstain you don't want to have to heal. You just slide your right hand over it and with a kick you make it sit on the red chair. You have the solution, or so you think, and even if you'd rather not resort to punishment, maybe it'll placate this.

You look over and you don't actually see either of them around. It's the perfect time to leave.

"Do you really want me to have to see you dripping blood on your birthday?" Questions with the most influential tone you've ever used. You feel it's too condescending and you hate having to resort to the power of swaying such a marked outcome, but there's so much more at stake than that. "She is a stupid, let her go."

Your hand finds his again. The difference in temperature between the two causes the friction to generate sparks. Matty, with completely warm hands and you with your moderately cold ones. That shock makes him reconnect in a sense when he sighs.

George's murmur upsets everyone a bit, but, as Matty's best friend, he knows Matty probably doesn't expect everyone to hear him lament and feel he's being dragged. Anyway, he'll have this conversation with the four of them, but behind closed doors and when he's better. "We'll give you a moment, but please don't delay. It's four o'clock anyway, time to go."

You nod and give the three of them your best confident look, as they disappear into the crowd. Adam kisses your head as a sign of support.

"Matty, honey, breathe." You ask, speaking quietly. A tone that gives him inner peace. "It's a shit, I know. But doesn't worth it. I don't want to see you suffer anymore because of her."

The look you see below shatters you to the depths of your soul. Next time you see her, you'll kick her head in a toilet. "I'm tired of this. She just keeps hurting me over and over again even though she promises she won't do it again." His eyes made of glass are something you think you won't forget and will in fact be the cause of nightmares. You can't protect him from everything, but you hate to see him this bad.

"So maybe there's no point in continuing to fight for her." You lift the body off the seat and kiss its head with your eyes closed. "Do you want to home? We have a sleepover yet."

"You're coming with me?" He asks a moment later, putting on his blended jacket.

"Of course. I am your heavy weight." He smiles reluctantly but nods with gratitude.

They go outside and the breeze that draws the night makes them shiver. They find the boys without too much inconvenience. They look at Matty's face and then at you, but as you turn your head they understand that all is well and tranquility radiates through the bodies of the five in the cold London dawn.

"Well, it will be the most unbearably cold ten minutes." Murmurs George when he lights a cigarette. The golden chain he has around his neck rings every time he moves for how heavy it is. "I ask for the mattress on the wall."

"No way, George." Ross shoots when he hears the most comfortable mattress being stolen. "Not again."

"First-come, first-served." Adam punctuates the words making a play on them. "And if not I'll have to give everyone a pillow."

"In my own house?" Matty raises his voice pretending to hold his hand to his chest with an expression of pain. "That's not friendly."

"I'm so tired of all of you." Roll your eyes waving a smile as you look for a cigarette in your wallet. Your hands glide quickly on the bag and lighter.

They haven't started walking yet, they're just pretending to fight in the driveway while you're sitting on the street curb with the cigarette between your black nails. In a puddle of water you see your reflection and you're scared how much the black shadow has run out of your eyelid.

"Hey, can we share?" Matty's hand extends almost to your neck to help you get up once they stop arguing about who gets the best bed.

"You are incredibly insufferable, friend of mine." You take their hand and the rubbing of both of them leaves you goosebumps but for the moment you don't separate your hand, so there you are, clutching your best friend's hand. "You owe me a lot of cigarettes."

"Guys, when is the kiss?" George approaches you and you both look at him with a fixed, uncomfortable expression. "Yes, of course." He seems to come to a conclusion by the click he makes. "We're leaving. It's starting to get more cold."

"Tell it to me" For the first time, everyone realizes that you haven't worn any coats and notices how your skin stiffens on contact with the air. No, it really has nothing to do with the black hair next to you.

"On the way, guys. That bed won't win itself." George gives the order to leave somehow, and everybody starts walking.

You and Matty don't let go, and that makes eyes fly to you every once in a while.

"Do you want the jacket?" Matty whispers as he stretches out his free hand and takes the cigarette out of your mouth.

"Dude!" You complain by sharpening your voice. "No, i'm fine, really." You answer the question and even though he doesn't agree, he doesn't ask any more.

There's a time when the street gets narrower and you have to be closer together. It's also the moment when sleep leaves Matty down and ends up leaning on the curve of your neck almost without even being able to control it. Follow the impulse of needing to close his eyes.

When he realizes it, he looks at you like you're a little kid caught in a prank. "Lie down, I'll let you know when we arrive."

He nods and returns to that space again. The hands are loosened for convenience, but your right hand then meets the other hand and hooks again.

Then George looks at you and raises his eyebrows with too much interest in you. You look at him with a confused expression and do not stop moving your head to deny any sentence that applies to you.

The next five blocks are not silent, because the jokes decorate the atmosphere and now the discussion lies on which is the best drink for each occasion. They always have these kinds of debates when they leave the clubs. You feel Matty's heart rate drop to a completely different one, you know he's falling asleep, and as much as you hate having to wake him up, you do when they get home.

Leaning on the porch of the house of the lowest of the four, they all begin to yawn one after the other as they wait for the door to open. The moment the lock clicks, there is a tumult and bustle followed by the sound of footsteps running from the door to the living room.

When you find yourself the only one left outside, you go in and lock it. The cozy home envelops you and little by little the cold begins to cease. You're home in many ways.

"George! I thought you want the one at the end!" When you step foot in the living room, George is on top of Matty fighting for the biggest mattress, which is actually the only one placed horizontally unlike the others, placed vertically.

"I changed my taste." Matty has his head literally buried in the mattress, and George has half of his body suspended in the air as his shoes gravitationally swing. The best part is that both hairs are so similar that the only thing that distinguishes them is color, but now they seem to be joined.

You take advantage then that no one sees you to portray the moment with a quick photo on your phone.

"Do you want this? "I'm going to the couch." Adam looks at you and silently points to the sofa, and then to the mattress he's on.

"No, I like the sofa." You sneak out while the other two keep fighting, and you get close to Adam and Ross, who are actually already asleep. "Oh, he's a sweetie."

Ross's body goes up and down quietly when he's fully asleep, and it's really fast how soon it takes to get there. You sit at the feet of that mattress and watch the fight laughing with Adam, until he is overcome by sleep with a final yawn.

"Good night." You smile at him tenderly as he repeats the action.

"Hey, guys. Can you make less noise if you will continue fighting? These two have fallen asleep." You ask in a soft murmur. Both stop automatically, but neither gives way off the mattress.

"I'll go take off my makeup, when I get back I want to sleep in peace. Stop fighting over a bed, God." You get up gently trying not to wake Ross and walk out the door.

Obviously you don't have enough to remove make-up, but soapy water always saves you in cases like this. So you're ready when you see Matty's black glasses on the bathroom shelf. He's stopped using them lately because they make him insecure, but you think they look great.

When you come back, they both play "rock, paper or scissors" to define who will go to the free mattress, next to the sofa. Unfortunately for Matty's ego, he's the loser.

"Good night, George." You greet him from the door frame and he returns it with a smile. Even though he's the best at being annoying and making a joke out of everything, they both love each other and it's not something you need to prove to know it's true.

"Bye honey." While he's taking off his shoes, you do the same with your shoes and then you fall right on the couch. You've slept there a thousand times.

"You, here. Me, sofa." Verbalizes Matty as he can when he sits next to you, only with the difference in height between the two resting methods.

"Stop talking Matty. Sleep, there." Your head touches the pillow and the whole day falls on you. Your voice is completely tamed by sleep.

There's a few minutes of total silence where everybody seems to be asleep, but neither Matty or you are really doing it. Maybe you two need to talk about everything that happened in this night, but you don't know if it matters that much.

"Are you awake?" Whispers Matty, turning half a body to you.

"I am." You answer without moving. "Do you need something?"

"Can we talk about the night? I feel i got a lot to say." Your eyes open and you want to hold a sigh before time. "Come here."

You slide down, wrapped in your blanket so you don't lose heat, and sit in the free space you get.

"I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to deal with me when i get dumb like this." The hair falls off his forehead and there are strands hanging on him, it's a complete mess. "It was a bucket of cold water, but I guess I should have seen it coming."

"Are you okay? I know i was being rude all the night but i guess this is hurting you." You drag your body until your hips are level with their face, and they can look at each other while they have this conversation.

"It does, it's a awful feeling." You smile sadly and he trivializes it. "It would happen anyways, My fatal flaw is falling in love with people who will break my heart. But it's okay, it always comes back to be."

"Matty, that's really sad." He nods, but back, it makes it less important. "What?"

"It's just that even when it's this bad, you're always there. So it could never be wrong." His fingers slide down to take your wrist and wrap it around. "Thanks for taking care of myself. You know i appreciate you a lot, right?"

"I know. I do it too." The yolk of his thumb caresses your skin. "It's nothing, I'm here for that. Can I sleep here? I'm literally frozen."

"Yes yes, of course." He moves his body back a few inches until he considers your body to fit in well. "It's enough space?"

"Yes, sweetie." You slide your knees down on the mattress and your head bounces off the mattress. "Oh, I didn't tell you. The boy she was kissing tried to kiss me before."

"What, really?" Matty asks restless but in his eyes you can see that he is outraged. "He's a fool too for letting you go."

"Lately the people is being really dumb, but not us." Now you don't control your words because your thoughts open up ahead of him. Then you don't stop talking when a completely erratic idea crosses your mind. "If we are both single and reach forty, we should get into a couple. It would be funny."

Matty is getting a little closer to leaving the astral plane every minute. And that offer gives him a minimal hope to hold on to as he continues to discover that maybe if he omits his public crush on you he can enjoy you just as much. He can't lie to himself and he knows it, but in fact now that he has you closer than ever he has all the impulses running through his head. The urge to plant you a kiss, or to just lure you to it and make you sleep hugged by it, but it's content to have your forehead on his chest.

"Do you think it would work?" He asks repressing hope in him. Everything has now been painted a new color.

"Yeah, it's about us." You arrange the blanket in the best way so that it will shelter both of you and you close your eyes. "We'll be alright.

- - -

When Matty wakes up a few hours later, it's the lack of you against him that makes him rise abruptly to look for you for fear that something's happened and you've had to leave.

He calms down when he sees you sitting on the step to the yard, which continues past the kitchen and lets the smell of freshly brewed coffee flood her nostrils. He admires you from afar, as he always has, hoping one day to have coffee with you and hug you whenever you're cold. And then he just realizes something that maybe he should have known a long time ago. He looks at you with the purest love possible, and he knows he's never loved anyone like that. He knows it's true and it's healthy.

He goes back to the living room when he finds George awake. He looks at him without saying anything, but knowing that Matty has something to tell him. With them it's always that, words aren't always necessary.

"I think I'm in love with her."

"Yes, you sure are." George waved a smile that looked more like a sigh. "Go back to sleep, hysterical."

george could be me when he wants a comfortable mattress.

oh, i had a lot of fun writing these three parts of matty's birthday. def i would do it again.

let me know what you think about it, see you soon <333

my taglist is open so if you wanna be add just let me know!!

[aloysiavirgata]

Title: Fern Hill

Rating: NC-17

Timeline: pre-series

Category: XF/The Fall crossover

Summary: For everyone who asked for a Stella/Mulder prequel from my little prompt ficlet

Author’s Note:

Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,

Time held me green and dying

Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

The blonde two stools down is eyeing him unashamedly. She’s got on tight jeans and a white cable knit sweater, summer-wheat hair straight out of a Ralph Lauren ad. Eyes like Lake Tashmoo before a storm.

“You’re Phoebe Green’s American,” she observes. It isn’t a question. Her voice is buttery, a burnt-velvet purr that makes the back of his neck tingle. She sips at a rock glass full of something tawny in the subfusc gloom of the pub.

Mulder, intrigued, moves next to her. “What the fuck?”

She blinks, the barest hint of a smirk tightening her lips. “I’m not wrong.”

“I’m not Phoebe’s anything,” he replies. “She stole my Pink Floyd sweatshirt and burned my Knicks hat. She fucked a vegetarian trumpet player.”

The blonde smiles fully now. “You’re marked forever, I’m afraid. You’ve some kind of animal name, haven’t you? Bear, was it?”

He knows she knows his name, this unsettling girl. Somehow, he knows she does. “Bear,” he agrees.

“Stella,” she says, holding out a slim, white hand. “You’re Fox.”

It’s a warm plum in her mouth. Delicious, desirable, something to be proud of. Belongs in the Ralph Lauren ad with her pre-Raphaelite face and flag of golden hair.

“Mulder,” he says, shaking the proffered hand.

“Mulder.” She squeezes his fingers, then withdraws.

Mulder sips his gin and tonic, pondering. “So you know Phoebe socially,” he says. “That must be a hell of a thing. As a woman.”

Stella considers him down the length of her nose. She has the androgynous beauty of a Greek youth. A Roman statue of Minerva.

“Where do you think she got the idea for Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s grave,” Stella asks.

He almost chokes on an ice cube.

“If you’re coughing you’re breathing,” she observes, dispassionate, as he nearly hacks up a lung.

Mulder’s heart rate settles back to normal after a moment. He looks at Stella, the hard lines of her cheekbones, her incongruously cute freckles.

He thinks of Stella and Phoebe together. Wonders if he could make that happen, their peony mouths and fine-boned faces. He would be willing to temporarily make up with Phoebe for it. Phoebe would love the theater of a dramatic apology and a threesome.

“Was the grave a hot tip or a shared experience?”

Stella only smiles, sphinx-link. Taps her glass in the bartender’s direction.

“Does it matter,” she asks, watching as her drink is refilled.

Tremendously.

“No. Do people do a lot of Brando impressions?” He clutches his t-shirt with an anguished expression.

She chuckles a bit at that and Mulder feels like the cleverest man in England. In the Northern Hemisphere.

“Plenty,” she says. “Which I like, because it creates a self-selecting population of people to avoid.”

People, he notes. Not men. He thinks of Phoebe again, her dark hair against Stella’s blonde, imagines ringing her up and what he’d say and-

Stella’s hand on his thigh. “Where do you live?” she asks. Her voice is obscene, her high breasts soft against the sweater, slender neck and perfume rich with amber and honey and musk.

He gulps at his drink. “Uni flat. You?”

“Summertown,” she murmurs. “It’ll be nicer than your place.”

Mulder blinks, impressed. His parents give him money but not Summertown money.

“Are you inviting me home with you, Stella?” he asks, low.

She considers him, swirling her glass. “I’m inviting you to my bed. I don’t need you lingering in my home.”

He laughs aloud while wondering if he is capable of falling for a woman who doesn’t have substantial emotional damage. “So you don’t want me to show up with two dozen roses and a box from Charbonnet et Walker?”

Stella sniffs disdainfully. “I’m not interested in the girlfriend role as a concept. I plan to finish school and be a detective.”

He perks up. “I’m planning on the FBI when I wrap up the DPhil. Don’t know that I’m interested in the girlfriend thing as a concept either at his point,” he says, knowing it savors strongly of bitterness.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Stella says. “I think you’d make someone a very nice girlfriend.”

Storm-goddess eyes wicked over her glass.

He pays both tabs and watches her finish the Scotch.

***

Her flat is full of solid wood furniture and good upholstery. Some of the framed artwork appears original, and there’s Cross Townsend pen on her walnut secretary. A stack of leather notebooks that look like Smythsons or Conway Stewarts.

He wishes he could stop this, the eternal analysis.

Her bedroom smells of lemon wood polish and clean cotton and expensive unguents. The queen bed is made, an ivory silk robe draped at the foot of it. There’s no girlish clutter on her shelves, no stuffed bear on the pillow.

There’s a copy of Where the Wild Things Are on the mantel. “Seems a little below your reading level,” Mulder observes.

“It was my favorite book when I was little.” She touches the cover. “Well, one of my favorites at least. I rather wanted to be King of All Wild Things.”

He grins at her. “You wouldn’t have even needed the wolf suit I bet. You’re a bit scary, Stella.”

She snaps her teeth.

Mulder sees the two of them in her gilt-framed mirror, Stella fierce and delicate as a faerie out of Perrault. Her pale throat, her bright eyes. In the moment he wants a cantrip that will bind her.

Her face is serious again. She unbuttons his shirt with focused dexterity, her brows furrowed, her lips pursed. Dior Poison, he sees on the vanity, and gives a name to her scent.

Stella planes her hands over his chest. “Very nice,” she says, peering up through dusky lashes. She pulls her sweater over her head, drops it to the floor. Wriggles out of her jeans and kicks them aside.

He is hard as a fifteen year old.

“I try.” He hasn’t kissed her yet, even though her mouth reminds him of a little Parisian pastry and he wants to nibble at it. Apropos of which, Mulder had expected plain cotton lingerie but it’s all frou-frou lace confectionery trimmed with rosettes and ribbons. Feminine. Delightful. Flawless.

“God, you’re so-“

“Shhh,” she says, pushing him down onto her bed with a single, imperious finger. “I know all that.”

Stella straddles his lap and he’s somehow surprised that such a large presence should weigh almost nothing.

She leans into his grasping fingers, rolls against his tensed thighs. Sighs when he thumbs the front of her panties.

“Stella….”

She leans forward to kiss him, her hard belly against his own. Her clever hands at his fly.

“Let’s see how badly Phoebe fucked up, hmmm?”

***

They had wine from a Thermos and went to bed. She’s lithe and breathless in his arms, spine like worry beads against his palms.

He’d spoken to his father who helpfully reminded him that Samantha had gone missing around this time and shouldn’t he come home to see his mother?

Stella’s fully nude, hair a long braid over her shoulder, and he tugs it experimentally.

Stella makes a liquid noise in her throat, tightens around him.

He unwinds the elastic band and works the plait loose with his fingers. Spools her hair around his hand and pulls down hard until their lips are brushing.

“Fuck,” she hisses into his mouth, and it’s what he needs somehow, the grinding pain of her little teeth and he comes and comes and comes.

***

He’s headed home in six weeks with a DPhil and an acceptance to the FBI Academy and vague praise from his parents.

“Fox,” she groans against his temple. “Fucking hell.”

Mulder nips at her throat, her hair spread behind her like the tail of a comet. “Why did you call me Fox?”

“Why did your mother call you Fox?” she asks.

“She is a very sick woman,” he says into Stella’s patrician ear.

She laughs and bites his lower lip. “Me too,” she mumbles, and her heels dig into his kidneys.

***

They never said goodbye, not really, and he meant to let her go like the tide.

His flight home is in thirty six hours.

“I thought I was ready but I- a pregnant woman,” she says flatly into the phone. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

He lets her use him, her lean swimmer’s legs against his own and her skirt rucked up at her waist and her tailored Met jacket and blouse fallen open along her breasts, lacy cobweb of a bra fighting for its life.

He gazes up at her, pink and silken as rose petals.

White and distant as the moon.

“Hurt me,” she gasps. “Mulder, please, I want-”

He hurts them both.

***

He leads her into the hotel room shower, washes her princess hair while she stands still, staring at nothing.

***

He left bruises along the softest parts of her. The hidden parts, where she asked. The palimpsest of her skin will be flawless again in a few days, and he tries not to think about how else the dark things in her might like to play. He absorbed her pain like charcoal absorbs poison.

“I truly don’t know if I can do this,” she remarks to the ceiling, palms against her eyes.

He tastes her on his lips, oysters and Sauternes. He wants to nudge his face back between her thighs in the way we are called by water. She is primordial and essential and delicate and terrifying. He has an Ivy League degree in psychology, even if it’s only from Pennsylvania, and he still can’t figure her out.

“You can,” he promises, like a faithful acolyte.

“And what does it mean if I can,” she asks and he wonders the same thing about himself.

***

He fucks her against an alley wall, thick with refuse and ennui. She’s gorgeous the way that supernovas and jaguars are gorgeous.

“Stella,” he groans. “Jesus.”

“You’ll miss your flight,” she mumbles, then laughs at the idea that they care.

“You going to see me off?” he pants into her neck. “Kiss me goodbye at the gate?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I told you I have a meeting in 45 minutes.” She hitches a knee up higher. “Oh, god, like that.”

Mulder grinds into her until she cries out, nipping at his chin, his earlobes.

He follows her into the starburst haze of an orgasm, his back shuddering, and Stella hot and twitchy against his chest.

They breathe together for a moment, riding out the wave.

“We both have to go,” Stella reminds him. “A parting of the ways this time, I think.”

Mulder lowers her to the ground. He ties off the condom and shoves it into a garbage can.

He zips his jeans up, watches Stella smooth her uniform, her hair.

“Here’s lookin’ at you kid,” he says, rather lamely.

But Stella smiles one of her rare, full smiles. “One day when you’re a world famous profiler and I’m Commissioner we’ll team up,” she says.

He brushes brick dust from her shoulder. “Why are you running the Met and I’m a lowly Special Agent still?”

She looks confused. “Because I like to be in charge and you don’t. You didn’t want to be King of All Wild Things.”

He palms her jaw, thumbs her cheekbone. He smiles fondly down at her.

“Don’t,” Stella warns.

Mulder shakes his head. “No. Go, run the Met and remember the little people when you ascend the throne.”

She covers her hand with hers for a moment. “Phoebe fucked up badly,” she says. “Now go back to the colonies and teach them how to make a proper cup of tea.”

“We just throw it in the Harbor.”

Stella squeezes his hand before taking it from her face. She walks briskly out of the alley without ever looking back.

***

He makes the plane, though barely. He falls asleep over Dublin. He dreams of sailboats and lonely islands and even in dreaming he knows Stella is right. He wants to be where someone loves him best of all.

[frenchgremlim1808]

WHAT YOUR FAVORITE CHARACTERS SAYS ABOUT YOU: YTTD EDITION

PART 1) THE PARTICIPANTS

SARA CHIDOUIN:

You can’t stop praising her about how amazing of a protagonist she is compared to other protags in similar games such as danganronpa. You would and WILL fight anyone that says anything bad about your homegirl an you DEFINITELY need therapy

JOE TAZUNA:

You have the terrible habit of falling immediately in love with the best friend archetype that we met in the beginning who’s clearly gonna die. When they die you keep telling yourself you won’t be fooled again and then you do. Anyway you are in denial

KEIJI SHINOGI:

You keep justifying you love for him by using the “he’s a complex character, he’s deep and shit” but that’s just an excuse to not say “i want him to carnally fuck me and treat my little bitch with his huge arms and tits”. Whatever sexuality you were before, his deep look probably turned you gay. Anyhow you are horny as fuck and you definitely need therapy, you little whor-

REKO YABUSAME:

Either you are the the most gay motherfucker on the planet or you’re veeeeeeeeeeery straight.  you’re favorite ship is naoreko. NEVERTHELESS you want her to step on you. 

Q-TARO BURGERBERG: 

there is exactly two type of q-taro fans, The meme lord or the 20 page Reddit post defending his character from any criticism. We allllll know which ever type of fan you are, you cried like a baby in his final moments.

 KAZUMI MISHIMA:

You definitely made every possible outcome in ytts, an replayed it multiple times. You probably follow  “ mishima-in-places-he-shouldnt-be” and is still sad that this gentle loving dude had to die first why it is. always. the. cool. dudes. who. dies. first., WHY, WHY NANKIDAI ?

KANNA KIZUCHI: 

You are awesome, smart, and just the perfect person to be around, you’re aura smells pure awesomeness, no, NO i am not biased.at.all it’s not like  she’s my profile picture. 

In all seriousness, you probably crave any green bling content and also loves shin too but kanna passion and pure kindness made you make the choice to kill shin. It seemed to difficult to vote for a kid so you voted shin. You relate to kanna struggles And ADORES her character development in 3b. Also you definitely need many therapy session (not projecting at all) .

NAO EGOKORO: 

If being a joe fan is sadness, a greenbling fan depression, well being a nao fan is literal despair and anger with anguish. Bro what the fuck did she do to have such an horrible end like that, her entire experience in the death game was  a pure nightmare. Homegirl did nothing wrong, she shouldn’t literally even be here dude😭😭. You have only one consolation is that now she’s in heaven with her girlfriend, also obviously you ship naoreko

GIN IBUSHI:

You are right in fact you are 99.99 percent of the fandom. And i know that if one day you see anyone put gin below S tier or say anything relatively negative about him, you WILL find them, you WILL track them , and you’re gonna BOIL THEM ALIVE. And i will probably cheer you so go on, pop off, girlboss or mansplain bestie !  

KAI SATOU:

You are mesmerized by his beautiful aura and luscious long mane. Every time the characters talk about him you feel so much happiness that his sacrifice was in the end really worth it, but still you cry that the cutest malewife had to go first.

ALICE YABUSAME:

His atrocious hair made you burn your eyes, his cringe fail personality made you laugh but his death destroyed you entirely. In the end you fell for this transmasc king. If you played logic rote you probably died a second time lol.

S H I N  T S U K I M I:

Shin tsukimi, oh, Shin Tsukimi the character of all time. So from what i understand he’s your favorite character. Were you the weird kid in your class when you were in high school or that one queer kid that tried to hide your identity but everyone knew just by a single look? Just by looking at you i can see a lot of self loathing and unaddressed personal issues that you try hiding under a rug instead of actually addressing them. Do you take time to eat, to drink, don’t forget to take a break from negativity when you are at your lowest, okay ? Diagnosing you is pretty hard you probably have a thousand problems but at least, i hope, not as much as this little dumbass.                                           There is two type of shin fans:

-the one who want to punch him, shove him into a locker and bully him 

-the one who want to give him a warm hug, a nice soup and a good night of sleep.                                                                                                                    In both cases, you are exactly like him and projecting so hard onto him. Also you are supeeeeeer gay like extra gay. Like your aura smells GAY you know. No cis het allo kinnie of shins exist actually, it’s as possible as dividing 0 by 0.  

So conclusion go to therapy

KUGIE KIZUCHI:

Ao3 is your god, your lord and everything that you need to live. Every time ao3 get down you die inside. You crave any content of her and wish that we can know more in the future about her (i do too) and you probably feel in love with her trough fanfic.

MEGUMI SASAHARA:

You guys exists? Well you like evil boss woman, i guess.

This shit full of errors and mistakes also this is a joke don’t get offended, remember as a greenbling fan i am probably the least respected type of yttd fan, well above the keiji simps you guys are wild. 

[imogenleewriter]

Hi! I'm reading your PA fic and it's amazing, I was wondering if you had some other famous/non famous AU that you love?

Hey, I'm so glad you like it!! I can definitely rec some - most are pretty well-known but hopefully, there is something you haven't read. I've recced some of these ones before when I did a favourites post. Ordered from longest to shortest. (All the below summaries are ones I have written, and I promise the fics are much better written than my summaries)

Empty Skies (WC: 134k)- by green_feelings (@greenfeelings) Famous Louis/Non-Famous Harry. Louis Tomlinson is 1/3 of the biggest boyband in the World, and all he had to do to get in there was go against everything he believed in. Harry Styles dreams of being a Musician, and after three years of putting it off while he deals with his own anguish, he is determined to give it a shot. Not only are their futures intertwined, so are their pasts.

got the sunshine on my shoulders (WC 124k)- by hattalove (@hattalove) Famous Harry/Non-Famous Louis. Exes-to-Lovers. Harry left his small hometown to become a recording artist. He is rich, famous, and when his boyfriend proposes, he knows he has everything he has ever wanted. Plus one thing he doesn't want - a husband who keeps returning unsigned divorce papers.

California Sold (WC:123k)- by isthatyoularry (@isthatyoularry). Famous Harry Styles/Non-Famous Louis Tomlinson. Friends to lovers. Fake Dating. Harry Styles is at risk of being outed. So, as we've come to expect, management is struck with an ingenious plan; Stunting! With! A! Female! Which makes sense because history shows it always works out so well. Anyway, shocker: it doesn't. Harry's best friend, Louis, has to intervene and get's papped with Harry. So, maybe it works out well, after all.

Our Lives, Non-Fiction (WC 113k)- by indiaalphawhiskey (@indiaalphawhiskey) Famous Louis/Less Famous* Harry Marcel Styles. Enemies to lovers. Marcel Styles' is a newly published fanfiction** writer (love that for him) who finds out Louis Tomlinson is joining him for his UK book The Louis Tomlinson. The one that Marcel had spent the same amount of time reading and re-reading his debut novel as he did staring at Louis' photo on the cover***. His fantasies about meeting and touring with his idol come crumbling down after their first encounter when Louis proves himself to be an arsehole. Marcel concedes that the entire tour is going to be a nightmare... until Louis proves that writing isn't the only thing he is a master at. *It's arguable that Harry is less-famous, just different kinds of fame. **Technically original online fiction - but he also wrote fanfiction, so it counts. *** I may have taken some creative liberties with that one.

Tired Tired Sea (WC:113k) - by MediaWhore (@mediawhorefics) Famous Harry/Non-Famous Louis. Strangers to lovers. Harry needs some solitude... so much solitude that he finds one of the most remote seaside villages he can find. He wanted to go somewhere where no one would know his name, and he got that wish. Turns out that maybe he should have been wishing for the owner of the BNB and his dog, Clifford, instead.

My English Love Affair (WC: 19k) - by isthatyoularry (@isthatyoularry). (This is the stupidest summary ever and only like 3 people will get it, and I'm not going to explain it any further. I apologise). Famous Harry/Non-Famous Louis. Out Of All the Gin Joints In All The World Louis and Harry met at the same one. The Only Reason they Ended Up Here was because they Wasted The Night Danceing Dance, and Stayin' Out All Night. After A Little Less Sixteen Candles, (and) A Little More "Touch Me", Louis became Harry's My English Love Affair. Louis thinks that he I Slept with Someone in Fall Out Boy Famous, and All I He got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me Him. It was definitely not his Favourite Record because Harry has No Shame and his My Songs Knows What You He Did In The Dark. Even though Harry isn't American Made he acts like Mrs All America and has mastered the Art Of Keeping Up Disappearances. Louis expects their romance to be Short, Fast and Loud but His My Heart Is The Worst Kind Of Weapon. It's not his fault that Harry is Irresistible and She Looks So Perfect. It's Easier to say " Kiss Me, Kiss Me" and "I Don't Care" than Everything He I Didn't Say. After spending a Golden two weeks Alone Together, Louis thought they were So Good Right Now, not know it was the Calm Before The Storm. Harry decided to Fly Away on a Permanent Vacation leading to The Mighty Fall without even saying 'Thnks Fr Th Mmrs". Louis realised that Harry was The Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes and became a Complete Mess. He wished he had Novacaine or Amnesia and questioned The Pros and Cons of Breathing. Harry had to accept that The Worlds Not Waiting and even though he was Miss Miss Missing You Harry, he chose to ignore Bad Omens. In the end there was Heartache On The Big Screen, and they both said "I Want You Back, so Take My Hand". XO

This is a Rainbow War (WC: 15k) - by Lululawrence (@lululawrence) Famous Harry/Non-Famous Louis. Strangers to lovers. When Louis is hired as part of Harry Styles' road crew, Harry gives him what seems like a very simple project. Louis, never one to do things by half-measures, turns it into a war. He didn't realise he'd end up fighting for Harry's heart.

(okay, that one was cheesy, I apologise)

Feel Your Way (WC: 3k) - by kingsofeverything (@kingsofeverything). Famous Harry/Non-Famous Louis. Strangers to lovers. Louis doesn't care much for or about celebrities, and for the longest time, Harry Styles was just a name he heard from time to time. That was until he stumbled across a photo of Harry that caused him to moan Harry's name every night. One night, he doesn't need to rely on his hand and Harry's photo to help him come because Harry's there to do it for him, bearing Louis' favourite assets.

(So this one snuck its way here because it's so good... but the Famous/Non-Famous trope isn't the main focus of it. Hiddies are)

[rkthot00]

can i get 33 with gin ichimaru from bleach?

WOW, it's literally been years but on the off chance you see this, I hope you enjoy! Thanks for the request, I'm obsessed with Gin so never hesitate to request him lol

{{ TW: canon typical violence, cursing, and blood}}

[ reader is written with she/her pronouns, takes place during the end of soul society arc when Gin is leaving with Aizen, reader is the adopted daughter of (guess who hehe)]

33. "Don't leave me behind."

“ICHIMARU!” 

Gin barely had time to be surprised at the voice barreling towards him before he was deflecting her sword from his throat. 

“y/n…recovered already?” 

She looked up at him with a fiery rage he hadn’t seen before, her teeth tightly grit as another yell of anguish escaped her. Her sword lifted again and they began to clash. Gin was faster and stronger, but he humored her. They exchanged familiar blows, dancing around each other. He could feel the strength she was putting into each thrust of her sword. This was not a game, this was pure unbridled emotion. 

She jumped high in the air, flipping over him with a tight grip on his collar as she brought her sword down at his back. He was quick to dodge her blow, their swords clanging loudly as they met. 

She was weaker than normal. Gin may have been a bit more on guard if she had not been injured. She was strong in her own right and coupled with the raw passion and anger she was feeling, it would be a dangerous combination. She swung again, stumbling slightly on her weakened leg--and there was his opening. 

He caught her wrist in a vice grip, her sword clambering to the ground. He twisted just enough to hurt but not enough to injure. She cried in anger and frustration, struggling vehemently in his hold. He only just noticed the tears streaming down her face.

“What the fuck are you doing?! Do you think you can just up and leave after all this? I’ll kill you before you get the chance!” Her words were deadly serious despite her red face and teary eyes. Her chest heaved and her hair was flailing wildly behind her with every word she screamed. Gin had never in their hundred-something years together, seen her so upset. 

Gin didn’t let a single emotion betray him. His usual grin was in place. He sighed, shaking his head as he gripped her wrist tighter and pulled her into his chest. He could feel the stares from everyone around them and he faintly heard her adopted father attempting to intervene, Shunsui’s stern hand on his shoulder being the only thing holding him back. She continued to struggle in his unwavering embrace but her head was buried in his chest and he could feel her warm, wet, tears seeping into the front of his uniform. 

“Take me with you.” Her plea was small, quiet, pitiful and for Gin’s ears only. 

Oh. That was not an option he had accounted for. 

His mind began to race through dozens of scenarios at that moment. The best for him, the best for her, the best for Rangiku, the best for them all… 

The outcome of each was…uncertain, and Gin was an incredibly selfish man. 

He tightened his grip, her struggle dying down to a mere shaking of her shoulders as she sobbed into his chest. 

“Take me with you…” she repeated, choking the words out through a sob. 

He chanced a glance at Aizen, the man’s eyes giving him a warning in return. Time was almost up. 

Gin smoothed a gentle hand through her hair, leaning down to speak where only she could hear. 

“You don’t even know what-”

Her eyes met his, cutting him off effectively with the intensity of her stare. 

“If it’s you, it’s something worthwhile. I won’t be left behind.” 

Gin could have kissed her then and there. She made choices so easy for him. 

The air around them began to crackle with warmth and power. 

“Shoot to kill…” he had never so gently uttered those words. 

In a split second, his sword pierced through her middle and a cry of anguish that could only come from a panicked father filled the air. An inescapable yellow light descended upon them, stopping all who rushed to her aid. She looked at him wide-eyed, shocked but not betrayed as she lost consciousness. He caught her gently, holding her in his arms like a prize he’d won as they slowly descended upwards. 

Someone was screaming below them, his sword slashing manically but unsuccessfully at the shining barrier. Warm blood dripped down Gin’s arms and covered his front. He gripped her tighter to shield his shaking hands, his smile never faltering.

[backgroundcharacterno15]

LIGHT MODE JUMPSCARE but um for the 'send me a character and i'll list:' how about sara from yttd ?

DHJGIFHFHDHDHDUCJF MY FAV GINGER <3

favorite thing about them: I love how the killing game actually affected her in ways you don't usually see in horror. How she genuinely rises to a challenge but still suffers consequences in the most human way possible. I'm a big fan of this genre but I've never seen a protagonist so relatable before in how she deals with things and ajsnsksvskskgsjb you need to play this game people

least favorite thing about them: the fact that there are so many adults in this godforsaken killing game and yet Sara, a 17 year old, is forced to lead them all to avoid being murdered. Then there's Keiji's scheming ass who knows damn well this is a child yet is still acting like putting her through the anguish of responsibility for so many people is something to be proud of. Also you're a police officer?????? Shouldn't you be leading things if you insist on talking about it so much?????? I'm sorry I hate cops and Keiji is NOT an exception

favorite line:

"Joe... Please... respond... Open your eyes... Ryoko... your parents... You need to go home to them, don't you...? Let's go... to school together... with Ryoko..."

Haha pain 😀😀😀😀 Seriously though this hurt like nothing else in the world. I asked for more platonic guy and girl bffs in media and got the most heart wrenching conversation of my life. Especially after she tried saving him with the clicker...... I couldn't pick up the game for a month after that

brOTP: Joe or Ranmaru for sure. In my mind Sara is aroace bc I said so.

OTP: again, Sara is aroace to me so no one

nOTP: once again, probably everyone

random headcanon: she's got quite the knack for drawing but really doesn't see it herself. She thinks people are just being nice to her when they compliment her drawings and it drives Joe and Ryoko mad

unpopular opinion: I've had some people really not like the fact I don't ship Joe and Sara. I think Joe telling Sara he loves her on his deathbed meant quite a lot through a platonic lens. As Joe said, it's difficult for a guy and girl to say things like that without people thinking certain things. Which makes it even more of a tender moment as he realised it was literally do die.

song i associate with them: Our Word from 36 Questions. How Sara's view of her family is ultimately torn apart and if my theory of her Dad being involved in the killing games is true it would be even deeper.

favorite picture of them:

Ik this is more of a Gin pic than a Sara pic but THIS MADE ME SOB UNCONTROLLABLY THE FIRST TIME I PLAYED THEIR SO GOOD TO EACH OTHER HE'S SUCH A GOOD BOY

tysm for this ask mate!!! I always love an opportunity to rant about how much I love this game lol. Feel free to send more and have a good day <3

[troius]

I don’t believe most of what Aizen says and this is no different...but I do think he legitimately believes this, he’s just gotten so high on his own power that he’s now deluding himself.

Aizen might say that he kept Gin around as a sort of sword of Damocles, reminding him to stay on his toes, but I have a very hard time believing that Aizen actually feared Gin at any point before Gin finally turned on him. He kept Gin around because Gin was really very useful for achieving his goals, and also, I think, because he took a certain joy in Gin’s inner anguish. Afraid of him? I don’t think so, because I genuinely don’t think Aizen saw Gin’s secret technique coming! And in that moment, he finally did know fear, momentarily. But never before that.

Similarly, I’m gonna doubt that he’s transcended both Soul Reapers and Hollows...he hasn’t shown me anything yet that isn’t just a more powerful version of some that Ulquiorra or Yamamoto has done.

[dokuhai]

@keikakudori // continued from here.

RANGIKU WAS HAVING AN INCREDIBLY HARD TIME HOLDING HERSELF BACK. Just the sound of Aizen Sōsuke's voice was setting her on edge —--- a nails on chalkboard, grating sort of thing it was. His reply to her mention of poisoned tea came across as snide, and thus, forced her eyebrows to knit together as she regarded him. A romantic cliché, he had said... and while he seemed so sure that such methods weren't his style, Rangiku wasn't convinced. For how many times had his words been laced with venom? The confessions shared by her comrades used against them when the moment had been just right... not to mention the way he had poisoned Hinamori Momo; a romantic cliché all on its own, though perhaps not quite as literal as a lethal drop mixed into a cup of hot liquid.

The blonde had been there to pick up the pieces of the gobantai fukutaichō, even as her own heart was left broken in the aftermath of their betrayal. Momo had worn her heart on her sleeve... RANGIKU KNEW EVERYTHING THAT AIZEN HAD SAID TO HER, HAD DONE TO HER —--- was this man even remotely self-aware?

❝ You know what, you're right —--- you'd much rather do the stabbing yourself. Twisting the knife and making sure they hurt in all the worst ways... nothing impolite about that, right? ❞ Rangiku couldn't control the way she spat out such hostility; seeing him again had truly brought out the worst in her. A raging sun, she was —--- her heat blazing and oppressive as it worked to snuff out everything in its path.

There would be no shadows, here. No secrets, or doubts... not anymore. Not if she could help it.

Rangiku took a moment to steady herself. She would never learn the truth if she kept villainizing him... after all, a cornered animal was never quite eager to place it's trust in the one hunting it. With a slow, deep breath, Rangiku prepared herself for the more difficult aspects of this conversation. The topic of Gin had never been an easy one for her to discuss, much less openly to the one who had attempted to kill him. So much of their affair had been private... words left unsaid, unspoken, as they had poured their trust in one another. A trust that was left utterly broken, now, but that was beside the point.

She did not miss the way Aizen flinched at her mere mention of Gin's name. It almost seemed like the man had grown hesitant in response —--- his confidence waning as he stumbled over his words. It was so unlike him, Rangiku thought to herself... and upsetting, at the same time.

Gin had meant something to him, hadn't he? He was more than just a blade at his side, ready to kill for him...

Rangiku suddenly felt sick. Anguish churned in her belly, alongside the scorching heat of her anger, making its way up her throat like bile. She pushed it down as best she could, and worked tirelessly to slacken the balled up fists at her side.

She had avoided these truths for so long. She had known something was off, from the very beginning... and yet she never asked Gin what was wrong, or what he was hiding from her. She was too afraid of what he might say. Even now, as she stood upon the precipice of the answers she sought, she was absolutely terrified of what she might hear. But these answers weren't just for her own sake... they were demanded by Central 46, and the sōtaichō himself.

Rangiku sank to the ground, knowing fully well that she needed to be seated in order to carry on with this conversation. She crisscrossed her legs and grasped her knees as her gaze fell from the crucified man, only to seek out imperfections within the floor. Rangiku listened intently to the words he spoke, and noticed the way pain bled into each one —--- Aizen's tone utterly wrought with grief. Perhaps he had been tormenting himself, all this time... though Rangiku was hard pressed to feel any sympathy towards him.

'Will you believe me?' he had asked. 'You must be willing to accept what you will hear.'

❝ I'm not willing to accept anything but the truth, ❞ she replied quietly, though still unable to meet his gaze. What she hadn't anticipated, however, was Aizen's version of the truth... and how corrupted it seemed to be. His claim that he was not himself when he struck Gin down made her want to burst out laughing. Who else was there to blame for all of this? Did it make him feel better, to blame it on the corrupt power of the Hōgyoku? The one he alone had chosen to merge with? This was a self-inflicted fate; one Aizen could have avoided entirely, had he not been so hungry for power. At least, as far as Rangiku was concerned.

❝ —---You're still not telling me why. What caused you to turn on him? You say you weren't yourself, but how am I supposed to know what that means when I don't trust that I EVER actually knew who you were? ❞

[salteytakesonmanga]

There are a lot of possible reasons Gin could be crying here. Moved by the memory of Sanji’s kindness? Anguished over having to attack his benefactor? Sadness at what his life has come to? Regret at seeing what may have been if only people had been kind to him? Oda’s art is really good at twisting faces so you could read anything into his expression.