#ok… so maybe I can articulate it a little

[stars-in-our-skies]

im just thinking about boys’ hands. that’s all

[master-dellamorte]

Guys...did I miss something? Why Is Ashton saying he Is going to be anti-gods now? I love his character so much but I can't for the life of me make sense of his logic. If he doesn't like them bc they are The Authority ok legit but then why did he not hate them since the start of the campaign? Why now? Is It Just because of the new info on his nature?

More confusion under cut (I don't want to spread negativity I just don't get It)

Edit: I got Amazing answers in the comments! If you are curious I suggest you take a look. Now everything is more clear for me. This post was about Ep 72, (before the shard explosion).

Were they not "lowkey-waiting-to-be-picked" neutral? Why does he think the Dawnfather hates him specifically? Like, Bro, an Angel of the Dawnfather (not he himself) saw you attacking his fucking temple, what were they supposed to do, fucking hug you? And he also assumes That bc Dawnfather (notorious bitch) supposedly hates him, then all of the gods don't like him??? What the fuck Is up with That?

[birdricks]

they rlly r being super heavy handed w the messages this season huh 😭

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

Alr hear me out, the service top lucifer with a very insecure reading. (Fem or GN) like he has to coax the reader to like open up (God damn I'm blushing thinking abt it-). Maybe even having to like talk them into even taking thier clothes off. Just a little idea stuck in my head.

Thank you very muchly.

Ooooooohh you’re giving me IDEAS (tbh I’d be the same boat)

~~~~

✨Opening Up✨

Lucifer x f!reader

Warnings: 18+, smut, nipple play, pet names, oral (m & f receiving), p in v, service top!Lucifer

It has become evident that I am unable to write anything concise 😅

I’M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I MEANT TO POST THIS DAYS AGO 😭😭

Tag list: @trashbin-nie

@yellowsubiesdance

@j-jinxee

@stevensdickrider

@airwolf92

@mrssabinecallas

@myhornybrainonlyknowsthis

@bee-sinner

@thesoccerenthusiast

@katshyperfixations

@logybearsblog

@bigfatbimbo

You sat upright on Lucifer’s king sized bed, the King of Hell straddling your lap. You don't know how you even ended up in this position, not on this bed necessarily, but how you ended up as Lucifer's beloved. You believed in your heart that you did not deserve him, but time and time again Lucifer has showered you with praise and adoration like no one ever had before. He was perfect. And you were...you. It didn't make sense.

Regardless, that didn't stop him from holding your face tenderly in his hands while he kissed you with a fiery passion. You were self conscious about being so vocal around him during intimacy, but he made it his mission to elicit as many moans and whines from you as possible. Slowly, he reached down to the hem of your sleep shirt, grabbing a fistful of fabric. Your eyes popped open, your mind racing. You pulled away from his lips and went to grab his wrist that held your clothing.

"I-I'm sorry, love," he apologized, releasing your shirt immediately. You sighed and let go of the grip you had on his hand. "I didn't mean to scare you, I should have asked. Please forgive me."

"No, no," you breathed, "it's alright. I'm not upset, I just panicked. I'm sorry."

Lucifer pressed his lips to your forehead and planted a small kiss. "Please don't ever think you need to apologize to me for how you feel, sweetheart."

"O-Ok," you stuttered.

"Do you want to stop?," Lucifer asked. You could hear the genuine concern in his voice. Hard as it was to believe, he cared about you more than anything.

You shook your head. "No."

"You're sure?," Lucifer questioned further, "because if you're uncomfortable, we can-"

You cut him of mid-sentence with a quick peck to his lips. He smiled bashfully, a cute blush spreading across his face. "Believe me, Luci, I want this. I mean I really want this, but..." you found it difficult to articulate what you wanted to say.

"Well, if that's the case darling, what if I go first then?," Lucifer proposed. You cocked your head, unsure of what he was talking about. He reached up and began to unbutton his shirt, starting from the top and working his way down. Oh...OH.

Your face instantly feels hotter and your breathing becomes staggered. You tried to say something, but the words caught in your throat. Your mouth had never felt drier. He finally reached the last button of his shirt and you finally see some of his chest. You could almost feel your brain short circuiting.

"Do you wanna do the honors, my dear?," he asked playfully. You gulped as your hands reached towards his shoulders. Gingerly, you slid his sleeves down each arm, slowly revealing more and more skin to you. Once his shirt was completely removed, you couldn’t help but stare. His chest was so smooth and toned, almost like it had been sculpted. “Like what you see?” Lucifer questioned coyly, noticing your unwavering expression of awe.

"W-Well that's hardly fair," you whispered, finally finding your voice, "you're an actual angel. Of course you're going to be gorgeous, I-" you slapped your hand over your mouth once you realized what you had said. "Please pretend you didn't hear that!," you begged through your hand.

Lucifer's face was flushed pink, he could help but smile. He chuckled as he went to remove your hand from your face. "Is that what you really think about me, sweetheart? I'm truly flattered to hear that coming from someone as exquisite as you."

"You...You really think..." you started to say but couldn't finish. Tears began to well up in your eyes, you tried to rub them away before Lucifer could see but it was too late. Lucifer cupped your face and ran his thumbs under your eyes to clear away the tears that had fallen. Your breath hitched, you tried to take in deep heavy breaths so you wouldn't start sobbing.

“Hey, hey, hey, shhhhh,” he spoke with a soothing tone. He removed himself from your lap and sat down next to you, embracing you in his arms. “It’s okay, angel, it’s ok. I upset you and I’m sorry, I never want to be the reason you cry.” He rested his head on top of yours while you clung to his chest. The scent of him hit your nostrils, it was like breathing in a warm spring day. Purely intoxicating. It calmed you down, you started to breathe normally again. You felt safe in his arms, you could have stayed there for the rest of your life.

You wrapped your arms around his torso, your tears finally drying. “Thank you, Lucifer,” you murmured. He gave you a tight squeeze before you lifted yourself back up, sitting at his hip and leaving your head on his shoulder. “You weren’t the reason I was sad, you know? You never have been.”

Lucifer turned his head to you, “Really? Then why-?”

“Because I’m afraid,” you quickly responded. “I’m afraid that I’m not good enough for you. That I never will be. You’re the all mighty Lucifer, King of Hell. You have so much strength and power and respect. And I’m…I’m just me.” You sighed and pulled your legs up to your chest to rest your head on your knees. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“Darling?,” Lucifer spoke at last. He brought himself in front of you on all fours and placed his hand under your chin, forcing you to look at him in his scarlet eyes. “ “Just you” is perfect. You don’t need to be anything but yourself! I understand what you’re feeling, and it’s okay to express that. But please know that I love you just the way you are. You are my true strength.”

You chuckled softly, leaning into his hand that was now pressed against your cheek. You took his words to heart; he loved you. He loved you so much. You had to show him that you felt the same way. You drew in a few quick and deep breaths before reaching for the hem of your sleep shirt.

“Wait, wait, what are you-” Lucifer tried to say, but you were too fast. Your shirt disappeared from your body and was tossed across the room. Silence filled the space, the only thing you could hear was your heart threatening to burst through your chest.

It was at that moment you noticed you couldn’t see Lucifer’s face. His hands had flown up to block his view of you.

“Lucifer?” you called to him.

“Y-You didn’t have to do that, love,” he stuttered. “I never wanted you to feel that you had to-”

“Please look at me, Luci,” you pleaded. “I love you. And I trust you. Let me show you. Please.”

You saw Lucifer’s hands slowly fall away from his hands, his eyes still screwed shut. “Are you sure?” he asked softly.

You leaned in to plant a kiss on his soft lip. Lucifer’s eyes shot open in surprise, you pulled away before he had a chance to react. Blood rushed to your cheeks when you saw him staring at you. Your first instinct was to cover yourself and shy away, but you pushed those feelings deep down. You were going to be vulnerable, you needed to be brave. Not just for him, but for yourself. You gripped the bed sheets so hard that you felt your nails digging into your skin through the silk.

After what seemed like an eternity, Lucifer had snapped out of his trance. He started to crawl towards you on his hands and knees, only stopping when his lips were inches away from your own. You felt his hot breath on you, you were finding it more and more difficult to keep your composure.

“You…are breathtaking,” he cooed, crashing his lips into yours hungrily. His tongue begged for entrance to your mouth, and you happily allowed it. You felt yourself slowly drifting down onto your back as you and Lucifer desperately devoured each other. He pulled away from your lips, trying to catch his breath, but you noticed he wasn’t looking into your eyes. His attention had drifted a little further down. He swallowed hard.

“May I?,” Lucifer asked breathlessly. Your face felt extremely hot and you couldn’t find the power to speak, so instead you nodded your head vigorously. He gave you a cheeky grin before lowering his mouth down onto one of your nipples. The noise you made sounded more high pitched than you meant it, but God, did it feel amazing! His tongue worked one nipple as his hand played with the other. You loved the sensation of him sucking and licking at your sensitive skin, the tiny bites from his teeth driving you insane. He rolled your other nipple between his two fingers, the pinches he gave sent your brain into overdrive. You never knew how sensitive you were, but Lucifer was more than happy to service you.

All of a sudden you noticed a different sensation, you felt something press against your inner thigh, dangerously close to your clothed pussy. It took your brain a few seconds to realize what was happening.

“Uhh, Lucifer, a-are you…”, you mumbled. Lucifer looked up from your chest with a puzzled face. “I can feel umm, I-I can feel your uhh…”, you didn’t know why you couldn’t say it. Maybe you were too embarrassed, which seemed silly considering what position you found yourself in. You pointed down towards your pants where Lucifer was wedged.

“Oh…OH,” Lucifer exclaimed pushing himself from you and onto his knees. “Oh my gosh, I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize you could uhh, feel that…please forgive me!”

Seeing him so flustered somehow calmed some of the nerves you had before. It was cute, really. Demon overlord Lucifer getting embarrassed about unintentionally pushing his hard on against your thigh. You let out a small giggle.

"It's alright, Luci," you chuckled. "I'm flattered, really!"

Lucifer smiled, placing his hand behind him to rub the back of his neck. "I'm still sorry about that, love. I'm a little embarrassed."

“Well,” you breathed, “I guess it’s only fair that I embarrass myself too then, right?” Without warning, you grabbed the waistband of your pants and ripped them off along with your panties in one fell swoop. You laid naked in front of Lucifer, whose whole face had turned a shade of red you’ve never seen before.

“Ffffuck,” was all Lucifer could muster. You watched his Adam’s apple rise and fall, attempting to regain his thoughts. Looking at you, it was plain to see how soaked you were.

“Like what you see?,” you teased. Lucifer nodded his head eagerly, still at a loss for words. You lifted your hand and curled your finger, beckoning him to you. Obediently, Lucifer crawled on the bed towards you with no reservations. “You’re not the only one that’s worked up here. Now we’re even.”

“My love, please…” Lucifer whined, “please let me taste you.”

"Don't you...wanna get more comfortable first?," you asked him, knowing the problem in his pants had probably only gotten worse for him.

"Not until I've had my fill of you, sweetheart," he smiled before forcing his head between your legs. The moan you let out was guttural, almost feral, he lapped your folds like a starving man. He took long, drawn out licks up your slit before focusing on your clit. His lips kissed and sucked on your sensitive nub, sending waves of pleasure throughout you entire body. You couldn't pull away if you tried, he had wrapped his arms under your legs so you couldn't escape his assault on your cunt.

"Sh-shit, oh-oh my God Lucifer, FUCK," you moaned. You could feel a smile form on his face as this seemed to have made him pick up the pace. You screamed from his tongue darting in and out of you, feeling so close to snapping. Your thighs started to fold in on his head and you grabbed a fistful of his hair trying to regain some assemblance of control. “Fuckfuckfuck, mmmm…gonna c-cum, aaggghh, gonnacumgonnacum!” Lucifer’s tongue relentlessly circling your clit finally caused your body to spasm, your orgasm causing you to scream out in pleasure. Lucifer didn’t stop though, he let you ride out your orgasm and hungrily devoured your release. Once you finally came down from your high, Lucifer lifted his face from between your legs and flashed you a toothy grin, seemingly quite proud of his work.

“You alright, darling?,” he asked innocently, almost pretending like he wasn’t the cause of what you had just experienced.

“Y-yeah, I’m…I’m fine,” you breathed. “Just…Jesus, that was intense! Give me a little warning before you go all in on me like that again!”

Lucifer laughed. “I’m sorry, love, I couldn’t help myself.”

You rolled your eyes at him playfully. “Oh, I’m sure you couldn’t. Now, let’s get these off you, hmm?,” you said tugging at his pants.

Lucifer stood up from the bed quickly. He undid his belt and let his pants drop to the floor. From the outlines of his briefs, you were surprised that they could contain him at all. Before he could pull at the hem, you jumped off the bed to stop him.

“Allow me,” you offered, getting on your knees in front of him. You reached up and grabbed onto his briefs, snaking them down his legs. His cock sprang free of its cage and hung in front of your face, its tip already leaking. Without thinking, your wrapped your lips around the head of his cock. Lucifer let out a moan that you’ve never heard before, filled with absolute lust and need. You took one of your hands and grabbed the base of his shaft, slowly stroking up and down while your mouth continued to work on his head. You ran small licks against the slit, tasting and lapping all of the precum that was forming. You loved the taste of him.

“Love…f-fuck,” Lucifer panted, trying to fight through his moans, “if you don’t s-stop now, I-I’m gonna cum. I wanna…wanna feel you. P-Please…”

Reluctantly, you pulled your mouth away from his cock with a *pop*, pouting slightly. Lucifer leaned down to grab your torso and tossed you onto the bed like you were made of paper mache. That angelic strength of his always caught you off guard. Lucifer crept between your legs, planting a tender kiss on your lips.

“I promise,” he whispered against your lips, “next time you can finish what you started, but right now I need you. Need to feel you.” Lucifer brought his fingers to your needy cunt, feeling the slickness of your folds. Your breath caught in your throat at the sensation. He took his other hand and lined up the tip of his cock to your entrance. “Are you ready, my angel?,” he asked softly.

You grinned and nodded your head. With that, Lucifer closed the space between you once more with a fiery kiss as his cock entered you inch by inch. Your cries mixed with his as he finally entered you completely.

“You feel…amazing, darling, fuck…” Lucifer choked out. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you murmured, “I-I’m okay. You can move.”

“Anything for you,” he smiled. Lucifer slowly began to rock his hips into you, his cock filling you up completely with each thrust. You could feel every inch of him ruining your pussy, hitting just the right spot every time. It didn’t take long for his pace to become erratic and uneven. He buried his cock deep inside you, both of your moans filling the room.

“Lu-Lucifer, o-oh shit, Lucifer, I-I’m so close,” you pleaded. “Please don’t stop, p-please don’t.”

“Cum for me, darling. Wanna feel you cum.” Lucifer groaned. He bit down on your should as he continued to pound into you, biting and sucking your tender skin. You were shaking, he was going too fast, you were coming undone.

“Cuminme…FUCKCUMINME,” you screamed and wrapped your legs around him as your orgasm flooded over you. You felt your walls pulsating around his cock, it was too much for Lucifer to handle. You heard him cry out and felt him twitch inside you, filling you up with his hot cum.

Coming down from your highs, you both laid there for a moment trying to catch your breath. You played with Lucifer’s hair as he laid across your chest, completely worn out. A minute or two passed before Lucifer sat up and pulled himself out of you. He laid down next to you, staring at your flushed face.

“Are you alright?,” he asked. “Did I hurt you at all?”

“No, you didn’t hurt me,” you smiled. “That felt…really good. Thank you, for everything.”

Lucifer hummed and leaned up to press a gentle kiss to your lips. “No, thank you, love.”

You chuckled returning the kiss. “Would…you mind if I held you, Luci?”

Lucifer’s eyes widened, but he smiled wide. “Of course not, I’d love nothing more.”

Lucifer rolled on his side, giving you the chance to push your body against his back and wrap your arms around him. You both didn’t move until the morning.

~~~~

Hope you enjoyed my second attempt at NSFW content lmaooooo

AND YEAH I MADE HIM THE LITTLE SPOON, IT’S WHAT HE WOULD WANT

[itneverendshere]

Can I request a Rafe x reader smut where she cheats on her bf with Rafe and at an event where she's with her boyfriend she notices Rafe staring at her and all the flashbacks leave her horny and needy for his touch and his touch only. Maybe some angst with her boyfriend catching them in the act.

little note: ok so I tried to do it all in one, but I got a little carried away/sidetracked and wrote ten pages so this is part 1, I'll do part 2 if you'd like :) but this is what I came up with at 4am lmao

should've said it - rafe cameron (one shot)

warnings: cheating; rafe being a dick but then sort of redeeming himself; smut; p in v; oral sex; rafe being hot; I'd climb this man up any DAYYY; ex friends with benefits; angst!!; heartbreak; mentions of drugs; i think that's it. ENJOY

here's part ii

Rafe Cameron used to be your drug. One touch and the intoxication was instant and mutual; one touch and it was over.

Whatever he wanted to do is what you two did and there wasn’t a thing you could do to stop him — not that you’d want to. Just his scent sent you into a heady trance, one that never ceased.

Once the door to his bedroom closed every pretense fell. The pretentious Rafe Cameron everyone knew was never present, it was just you and him. His other self. Truth was, you fell in love with a version of a person you created in your head. 

It was his fault.

Before the door was even closed, he wrapped his muscular arms around you from behind. One inhale of his scent and it was game over. His right hand dropped to your thigh, pulling up the skirt that hung so loose just above your ass. You knew exactly how to dress to get a rise out of him. Hell, you could be covered from head to toe, and he’d still drool at the sight of you.

You couldn't move even if you tried. He turned you around as you stumbled to his bed, his blue eyes searching yours. You smiled and kissed him back as he knew you would. You felt his mouth stretching wider than it should, fighting between grinning and kissing. You'd done this so many times and it kept on getting better.

The facade he’d show to the rest of the world melted away and all you wanted was to fuck each other's brains out. Every kiss was a raw intensity - breathing fast, heart rates faster. Then before you knew how it happened, you were both naked, skin moving softly together.

You felt his hand enter from below moving fast, tongues entwined in a kiss, and then he was inside, changing your breathing with every thrust, hearing your moans timed to his body. Then all at once he stopped and kissed your breasts to your stomach, his hands light, so different from what you were used to seeing; then he licked and used his fingers all at once, watching your reaction, feeling how your legs moved, watching your body writhe. 

“Gonna beg for it, pretty?”

You just let out a moan, unable to articulate a response. In seconds he was on you again, fucking you harder, just long enough to intoxicate your mind before stopping again. If it was begging he wanted, he was going to have to stop long enough for your brain to start working again first.

You felt electricity in your skin, hormones shutting down. From there on in it was all passion, intense, intoxicating. It was your release, your escape, your drug... the chemistry was always all-consuming, 

Until it wasn’t enough.

Until you wanted more, and he didn’t.

The argument grew from nowhere into a tornado.

He said nothing first, just looked at you. You could see the thoughts swirling around, see him decide what he was going to say. His entire demeanor changed, and your heart shattered.

“Pretty, you’re not in love with me.”

And that’s when you realized, you should’ve kept your mouth shut. Your chest burned at the fire in his tone, how he sounded so sure of himself. 

His stare hit you and you let out a shaky breath, forcing yourself to meet his eye, “I am.”

He grabbed your wrists then, curling his long, rough fingers around them and swiping his thumbs across your knuckles, “You don’t. You—you’re just confused, yeah?”

“Confused?” Your tone was accusing. You knuckles went white, “Are you fucking kidding me Rafe?”

He abruptly took a step back, making sure there was enough distance between you two. You bit the inside of your cheek, as you focused in on him. 

“It’s sex,” he let out, jaw clenched, “It’s just sex, between two good friends. Why are you trying to complicate everything?”

You clenched your fist, gripping the shirt you were wearing (his shirt), distracting yourself from the tears that kept welling in your eyes. The bitterness was rising like bile into your mouth. 

You were so sure he was in love with you. So sure, you’d created an entirely safe space for him in your heart and there he was crushing it like it meant absolutely nothing. Like you meant nothing, as if you were dirt under his designer shoes.

“You know what,” You’re not sure what was hurting more, the piercing ache in your stomach, or the crushing sensation everywhere, but you found the courage to speak, “You’re right.”

“Good, now can we stop this nonsense?” his tone was uncharacteristically harsh. Rafe Cameron never raised his voice at you before, “Come here—“

You interrupted, voice cracking as the white-hot anger mixed with all the sadness you felt in your chest burned you alive, “You’re absolutely fucking right Cameron. The boy you were, the one I fell in love with, my best friend, would have kicked your ass all over this goddamn room for talking to me like that. You were someone. You were that guy, and clearly, you’re not him anymore.”

That was your last conversation with Rafe Cameron over the past two years. The moment you walked out of his room, the moment he didn’t attempt to follow you or explain himself, ended whatever fantasy you’d created.

You blocked him everywhere, avoided spending summers back home, and most importantly, you never stepped foot in the same place as him. Ever again. 

Until that day. A week ago.

The summer night sky was clear, the moon shining it's light down on Outer Banks. It was a beautiful night, perfect for being wrapped in the arms of your boyfriend. And for a moment, you were able to pretend that you were happy, that this is where you were meant to be.

A kiss was pressed to your cheek, the arm around your waist squeezing tighter in what was supposed to be a loving gesture. It’s Blake. The son of a woman with more money than anyone in your hometown, was the same man whose arms were gripping you.

Blake has helped you when you needed it the most, and you’ve returned the favor over the years. He’s the kind of guy girls from your society dream to marry one day. He’s been there when you needed to cry, when everything was too much, and you’ve done just about the same for him. 

And it’s heartbreaking, truly heartbreaking how you’ve managed to fuck up the entire situation. A good, solid, year-old relationship, flushed down the drain for Rafe fucking Cameron. Again.

He walked in as if he knew he still held some twisted power over you as if he were a god and you wondered why the fuck the universe had led you there on that night. The sight before you, Rafe in a fancy suit, was nothing new but God did it make your heart feel heavy.

Eventually, before he could see you and ruin your life all over again, you came up with an excuse. Something along the lines of needing to use the bathroom and Blake, being the good guy he was didn’t even question you twice before letting you go.

Slowly, you walked along the freshly cut grass, keeping your head as low as possible. You needed to get Rafe Cameron out of your system, from your mind, but even years later it seemed like an impossible task. He always found his way to your heart and comfortably sat at the forefront of your brain. 

Once you reached the recently furnished kitchen you stopped in your tracks, the silence giving you some sort of peace. You leaned against the grey marble counter, pushing a fallen piece of hair behind your shoulder, taking another deep breath as you drew your head back, feeling a breeze rustle through the room, cooling your body from the warm summer heat. 

“Hi, pretty.”

You instantly tensed, recognizing the voice the moment it left his lips. For a few seconds, you deliberated between running back outside or scrambling for a weapon. But you knew you’d lose if you did. Years later, and your body was still used to him, letting your guard down.

Turning to him, you held your breath, your hands balled into fists. You blinked, warily taking a step back.

“Rafe.”

“It’s been a while.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. But you only swallowed. With each second you remained silent, his temper came to be shorter and shorter. You did it on purpose anyway. 

“Can’t imagine why.”

He gently parted his lips in retaliation but instead chuckled to himself. Your sarcastic nature only made him miss you more. His eyes scanned over you as he inhaled sharply, and it almost felt like you’d traveled back in time.

"I missed you." He looked deep into you eyes, in a way you thought you’d never see again. 

In a way that awakened too many memories. Too many emotions.

How did you even get yourself into this situation? Standing in front of the guy who broke your heart, after so many years, talking about how much he misses you.

 "I’m not used to you being so quiet." He chuckled, “I would expect dozen of insults coming my way at this point."

And then red.

All you could see was red.

“You want insults?”

Your feet moved, as if they had a mind of their own, pushing your body towards his. Your hands balled in fists as you attempt to take deep breaths, but the anger bubbling high in your chest wasn’t helping. 

Rafe reached his hand out to rest on your forearm, watching the way you flinched away from his touch. His blue eyes winced closed as if you were the one inflicting him pain, how ironic. His own heart ached.

“I’ll take anything you give me.”

“You deserve nothing, Cameron.”

He took a hesitant step closer to you, his hands out in surrender, feeling the way his stomach dropped. Rafe’s stoic face faltered as he watched your chest heave.

“I just wanna apologize to you.”

Your eyes began to well with tears, your heart clenched in your chest at the way your body still craved his.

“Too little too late for that, no?” You were using all you willpower to keep yourself from crumbling into his arms, “Apologize for what exactly? Fucking me and disposing of me like trash?”

Ouch. 

He winced at your harsh truth, “For not telling you I was in love with you.”

Your body lunged towards the boy (a man now) your finger pushing against his chiseled chest, the force caught him off guard, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Your heart hurt so so so much, you couldn’t understand how it was still beating.

“M sorry, I fucked up. I love—“

“Shut the fuck up! You don’t get to do this to me!” you hissed, “You’re absolutely bat-shit crazy. I don’t know if it’s all the coke getting into your head, but you need to stop this.”

Rafe chuckled, not seeming the least bit fazed by your dirty dab at him, shaking his head once before pursuing you again. “I’m sober now. Have been.”

His dark hair fell into his eyes, his dress jacket missing for some reason unknown to you. The sight knocked the air out of your lungs before you took a forceful breath and ripped yourself out of his reach.

“I’m happy for you Rafe, but you need to stop.”

“Why?” His eyes shined with an emotion you could almost pinpoint. Only because that’s how you’ve always looked at him, and you can’t help the overwhelming guilt you feel, “’M better now pretty, I got better for me and you.”

“It's too late, Rafael.”

There’s a long pause as he seems to gather himself enough to push through the conversation, the inevitable, his heart turning heavier with each second that passes.

“Because of him?” His voice comes out timid and low as if he was afraid of scaring you off. The Rafe you knew would be having a jealous fit by now, “Blake, is it?"

Twenty-year-old Rafe Cameron would be making inappropriate jokes using your boyfriend's name.

“Yes, and because you are you, and I am me. You shouldn’t be here in the first place.”  

“Do you love him?” he asked, a small smile playing on his lips. So different from the smirk you were used too. You blinked once, trying to speak, his question catching you off guard. 

You noticed how his eyes bore into yours, as they then flicker down to your lips. You couldn’t help but do the same, tongue pocking out to lick at your bottom lip.

“That’s none of your business,” Your voice came out sharp, coming across as annoyed because you really don’t need Rafe Cameron to crawl back into your skin. As if he never left. 

“You don’t love him.”

“Stop.”

He pulled you closer and you lost your balance, stumbling into him. He catched you by the waist and kept you upright. But this new position brought your lips an inch away from each other. You both stared at the other's lips for a moment wordlessly. You came to your senses and pulled away slightly while looking down at your shoes.

 Electricity crackled between you despite the distance. 

“Tell me you love him, and I’ll walk away.”

This was it. This was the part where you told Rafe Cameron you were in love with someone else, even though you were (are) clearly lying and he gave you one last fleeting look, saw you off to go back to Blake. 

Rafe hated the silence. But he’d take any part of you he could get, even if it meant being a friend at the very least. Even if it meant continuously breaking his heart because God knows he deserves it. He hates himself for letting you go. 

Time seemed to slow down, everything feeling fuzzy. You hadn't felt this nervous since you confessed to him two years ago.

“I hate you.”

It happened in a blur. 

Rafe’s lips were electric, wherever they touched your skin tingled in a frenzy of static. As his hands moved over your skin, one of them tipped your chin back as the other one reached for your neck. Your body had a transitory paralysis, your mind seemed unable to process the pleasure so fast. 

His head moved around to your left ear and he whispered what was coming next, lips brushing against your cheek, exactly where Blake had kissed you minutes ago.

“Let me show you,” He could barely form a proper sentence as your hands moved down past his collarbone, “Let me show you, please.”

His brain was on fire. His girl with fingertips of flames was touching him again. 

Suddenly your body was off pause mode and you pulled him back for a kiss, hands tangled in his shirt collar. The kiss somehow felt both soft and hard. Both of you moved in an intoxicated dance of limbs, forgetting you were in a public area where anyone could easily see you. And in any other scenario, you’d been scrambling to get away, too embarrassed to make a move, but it’s Rafe. 

You’re not sure how you two made it to a room, but there you were.

 He completely hovered over your frame, his hands on either side of your body as he rested his weight on them. The little hairs on the back of your neck stood straight as he kissed your neck, before continuing his speech with his lips against your skin.

“You’re sure?”

Your teeth gently bit down on your bottom lip “Yeah.”

It wasn’t the first time for either of you or your first time together. His soft lips moved against yours slowly, as you bit his bottom lip softly and an almost feral groan left his mouth before meeting yours again fervently. Your own arms went to wrap around his neck, using your hands to tug at the hair at the nape his neck. 

When he pulled back you chased his lips again subconsciously.

 “Let me taste you,” he was out of breath, hair disheveled, lips red and swollen. He looked beautiful. “Baby?”

“Mmm, please,” you whimpered, tightening your grip on his hair. 

That clearly wasn’t how you intended to spend the night. But when his hands lowered to the waistband of your panties and he looked up at you, mouth still on your neck as if to ask for permission. You threw every single coherent thought out the window, automatically lifting your hips to help him. 

“Fuck, look at you,” He brought his middle finger to push into your folds, “So fucking pretty."

You stretched back into the bed, back flexing as his mouth finally met home. The movement forced your pussy further into his face, and Rafe groaned into you, locking your thighs around his arms.

Your breathing hitched, choking wet in your throat as he kept those eyes on you.

“Rafe—“ you started, throwing an arm over your eyes, “God.”

Despite the tight grip he had on you, you were so lost in your pleasure you managed to buck your hips up, fingers tangling in his short strands of blonde hair to assist you grinding against his mouth, more specifically, his tongue. 

Your whimpers echoed through the quiet bedroom, feeling the pressure he was using to swirl your clit around.

“So sweet,” he groaned, the sound echoing through you, “Never getting enough of ya.”

Rafe still knew your body like the palm of his hands, he knew you liked it messy and dirty, and deep. He spitted into your wet pussy, using his middle finger to drag against your puffy hole. Your eyes were solely focused on his ring as his finger slips inside, pressing up and tight to the knuckle.

“Fuck, fuck.”

You were torn between never letting him stop or pushing him back so you could just ride him. He slowly dragged two fingers in and out, sucking your clit at the same time as your thighs started to tremble.

“That’s it, baby.” he cooed, as he looked up at you with his tongue in your clit, pressing his fingers tighter as your eyes rolled back.

“Rafe,” you whimpered, barely balancing yourself on your elbows, “’Mmm, god, don’t stop.”

“Never stopping.”

Your head fell back onto the soft silky pillows, griding into his mouth again, “Rafe, oh my god oh my—“

And you came around his mouth, whole body tightening with pleasure, clenching your thighs around his head, as you moaned his name, still coming, your slick coating his chin.

Honestly, he could die a happy man.

Before any of you could catch a break, your hands were pushing him upwards towards you, lips taking over his as you tasted yourself on his tongue, and for a second there, you almost came a second time.

You gripped the waistband of his trousers, eagerly trying to tug them down.

“’Trying to make me cum in my pants, pretty?”

“Need you inside me, now.”

It’s almost hilarious how you can easily recollect every single moment from that night, including the part when you ran off the second Rafe fell asleep by your side. Only when you stepped out of the bedroom, out of that house, did the guilt hit you like a ton of bricks. You should be ashamed, really. You are.

Kind of.

You have a boyfriend, but you fucked the guy you’ve been in love with for years, then proceed to leave him in the dust for an entire week, avoiding any sort of contact or confrontation. You’re terrified. 

Funnily enough, the fear comes from whatever you feel for Rafe, from not being able to control yourself around him. There isn’t a single bone in your body that’s slightly concerned about Blake finding out about your little randezvous.

The question is: how the fuck are you going to face Rafe Cameron again?

[piratefalls]

i'm incapable of keeping these short. it's my burden to bear. also, extra long and also early this week because next week is kind of up in the air.

list one. list two. list three. list four. list five. list six. list seven.

a hundred thrown-out speeches i almost said to you by ivysunna

Henry sinks down into his desk chair, groaning. “How could this happen to me? I meet the most beautiful, charming man to ever grace the earth, and he just happens to work for the store my company is planning to run out of business? In what universe is that fair?” “In none of them, darling,” Pez murmurs. “Did you tell him, by any chance?” “Of course not! What was I supposed to say: ‘Hi, I’d really like to take you out to dinner, and by the way, my family owns Mountchristen Books, the company currently running all small family-owned bookstores out of business? I hope that’s ok?’” “Maybe not in those exact terms…” “It’s doomed,” Henry moans, burying his face in his hands. “My relationship with Alex is ruined before it could even begin.”

Weighted by stripyjumpers

Alex gets Henry a very thoughtful birthday gift.

Minty Fresh by inexplicablymine

How do you ask someone you so ardently adore, to spend the rest of their life with you? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health. To ask a question. To ask the question. It’s the singular most defining moment of a relationship until the (hopefully inevitable) wedding bells. It’s defining, it’s definite, it’s dreadful.

What Forever Looks Like by politics_and_prose

The last thing he’s expecting once they’re home and settled in is Alex to say, “I think I’d want our kids to come by the shelter whenever they could.” Henry, completely caught off guard with a mouth full of pizza, asks, “Huh?”

just give me a minute by smc_27

Alex isn’t obsessed. He just thinks Henry is fucking beautiful and perfect and smart and so, so talented. He just thinks Henry’s fingers look gorgeous on his piano. He just thinks they like the same things and have similar opinions. And he just thinks if they could be in the same place at the same time, they might like, have something. Okay, he’s a little obsessed. Or: Alex is trying to be a GROUPIE here, but his kindness keeps getting in the way.

Ignite My Heart by absoluteaudacity

“So, I’m making you an account and we’re going to swipe right on some men and you can thank me later,” Pez says. -- The 'We met on Tinder' AU

i hit my peak at seven feet by HypnosTherapy

He told Phillip first. It was a tremendously stupid idea he can only excuse by the fact that he was thirteen at the time. He thought his brother might help him talk to their parents. He didn’t know how to articulate it feels like there are hands closing around my spine and twisting or sometimes my legs hurt so bad that walking feels like I’ve got glass buried in my feet. He trusted his brother, and even more than that he wanted the desultory and relentless agony to go away. Phillip didn’t tell their parents. He told their grandfather. --- Now that he’s taken a step back from public life, Henry can relax. Without constant pressure to stand up straight and smile through the pain, some cracks start appearing in his facade. Alex starts to notice. (AKA 3 times Henry dealt with chronic pain symptoms by himself + 1 time Alex was there to help.)

A Multitude of Instances by orphan_account

Henry’s taken notice of one of Alex’s verbal patterns.

A Stork Beneath London Bridge by MarvelMerlin

Henry was supposed to be enjoying his first fully American Thanksgiving, filled with first hand witnessing of the Turkey Horrors and strangely sweet vegetable dishes. But in a single whispered phrase the world turns immaterial, Alex is his only anchoring point, and the black suit carefully packed over every single trip is being laid out on the pretty pink bedspread.

Back, Bring it Back by @sparklepocalypse

Scowling, Alex closes the laptop and sits back in his chair in his guest suite at Buckingham Palace to rub his eyes beneath his glasses, then runs a hand through his gray-streaked curls. He’s the youngest American President since Obama, has helped usher in groundbreaking legislation protecting workers’ rights and shoring up long-outdated social justice policies, and has actually made headway on tax equity, and the instant he’s in London the entire focus is back on the worst day of his goddamn life. (A soulmate AU futurefic that pivots away from canon after Alex storms the castle, but aside from two tiny movie-specific details would work in both bookverse and movieverse.)

kiss it better by lem0nademouth

Alex had a long day. Henry is fine with making it a long night.

First Pillow Princess by lovelythething

While they had talked about spicing it up in the bedroom, it seemed despite being two guys who wanted to change the world, they easily slid into normalcy with each other. But they weren't in the bedroom. They were on a well-worn sofa, high on exhaustion, and blessedly all alone.

please don't ever become a stranger (whose laugh i could recognize anywhere) by coffeecatsme

Alex’s love language is physical touch. Henry knows this—has known it from the first moment he’s met Alex, all wild curls and bright eyes and a smile that could breathe life into Henry’s little, fragile life. He’d stuck out a hand at that first meeting, dejected when Henry didn’t even take it. Found a way to poke and prod Henry every single time they’d met after, sharp jabs hitting his shoulder and rough hits shoving him around. Now, Alex’s fingers are gentle as they lace around his. His arms hold him tight to his chest. His hair tickles the nape of Henry’s neck, and the couch is entirely too small for the two of them but Henry doesn’t have the heart to kick him out. Or, 5 times Alex clings tight to Henry and 1 time Henry finds out why.

Just come along, baby, take my hand by kiwiana

“Uh, yeah, because you put on a sex dungeon show.” “It’s not a sex dungeon show. She’s helping people prioritise their sex lives and make space for it, in whatever form they may want it. It’s reinforcing emotional connections.”

Lay All Your Love On Me by lucy_in_the_sky

A lot has changed for his and Henry’s public persona since the emails leaked. Gone are the days they could shamelessly flirt with teasing touches and love-sick stares across crowded ballrooms, back when the whole world wrote off their relationship as a “bromance for the ages” since obviously they’re both incredibly heterosexual and are simply the best of friends. Now, wary of all the eyes suddenly scrutinising their relationship, they’ve taken to spicing up their sex life in different ways to still feel the thrill of clandestine hookups in the middle of important events and public appearances. Hence the whole ‘Alex wearing a vibrating plug that Henry controls while at a public function’ thing. And Jesus fucking Christ, it’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him.

Closer To You by bibliosoph

Some sexy times! Thanks to Len for the prompt! Happy belated birthday, Beth! This terrible smut is for you!

Just Business by bleedingballroomfloor

“I just need you to know that this is strictly a business relationship.” Henry blinks. His brain is taking a minute to process everything — meeting Alex. Dozens of pictures lining his office walls, each featuring a different persona of his. Brochures upon brochures, prices upon prices. It’s a bit overwhelming. “You’re asking for a lot here,” Alex continues, “and that means we’ll be spending a lot of time together. A Golden Tux. You’re asking me to pull off a Golden Tux, Henry. But I need you to know that this is just business.” Henry knows he’s asking for a lot. A best man. A wedding party. Time with his family. He knows that this should only be about business. He knows. (He also knows that Alex is very, very attractive, and he knows that this will be a long four weeks with Alex.)

choke me like you hate me (but you love me) by anonymous

What’s left for them to do? Something slaps against the skin of his chest. Ah. A classic. 

Really Fucking French by everwitch

Henry likes his men direct. It is, in part, why he so often indulges in setting his location on the apps to Paris — although the gratifying results he yields from that exercise are definitely partly down to a significant selection bias as well. But if Henry had never swiped on Parisian men, he'd never have connected with Antoine; dark curls and dimples and an absolutely lethal smile. Antoine is absolutely perfect. Too perfect. It's a pity that he must be a catfish. The man in Antoine's photos, however? He is very, very real. Or: the self-indulgent Paris romp we all need after this trying time.

from the mouths of babes by cricketnationrise

3 times Lina Claremont-Diaz-Fox didn't know what Henry does for a living and 1 time she absolutely does.

nobody panic, but i've broken my leg by annesbonny

He collects his phone from Cash who's been holding onto his possessions, and shoots off a text to the group chat between pained breaths. nobody panic, but i’ve broken my leg. Then he slips it away again before he can read June's outraged response. In which Alex Claremont Diaz breaks his leg at a charity Lacrosse game.

Subtle promises by viciouslyqueer

Alex breaks the kiss. His hand falls away. Henry blinks his eyes open, unsurprised. He’s panting, they both are, breathing heavily after kissing like they don’t need oxygen to live. Alex is watching him with flushed cheeks and red kissed lips, an unreadable look in his eyes. “Hey,” he says quietly. “Can we… Can we stop?” “Yeah,” Henry says immediately, anticipating the question. “Of course, love.”  — In which Henry starts a conversation and Alex realizes he's loved no matter what.

Most People Exist by SprigsofViolets

Henry Fox is a nurse at the New York Cancer Center. He’s happy with his job, content enough with his life, but it all gets turned on its head when he connects with a patient with a brain tumor—Alex Claremont-Diaz. ——— Henry is a nurse, Alex is a patient, I suck at summaries.

Never a Guarantee by clottedcreamfudge

Henry – Prince Henry, third in line for the throne of Windsor and Alex's goddamn betrothed – has very soft hands. Alex knows this because he is literally holding them in his, both of them standing in front of just about everyone with a title in either of their two kingdoms, while a man in an extremely large hat has them repeat oaths and other things Alex has been learning by heart since he got engaged. * Looking back on their time at the altar, Alex should maybe have read a little more into the way Henry kissed him like it was the last time.

Boy, I Fancy You by allmylovesatonce

When Alex has a break off of work, he decides to get away and spend that time in London. On his first day there, he meets Henry and sparks immediately fly between them. As they spend the summer together, touring the city and enjoying each other, Alex continues to keep a very big secret about himself: who he really is.

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy by cmere

"Would now be the moment," Henry says, breath catching, "to tell you about a little fantasy I've had concerning you and horses?" Alex snickers. "Uh, I don't know, babe. If this is going the way it sounds, I'm not sure you should say anything you won't be able to take back." "Oh, Christ, shut it," Henry says, laughing, still not stopping the motions of his hand. "The horse aspect is nonsexual." "Okay, well in that case. Yes. Obviously." Alex grips his own thigh, refusing to give in and touch Henry, or himself. For now. As long as he can stand it. As it turns out, Alex isn't the only one who has a thing for his beloved on a horse. Henry's birthday seems like a good time to make use of that new information.

Tattoo Guns & Roses by schmulte

Henry comes to Austin to escape. When he opens a tattoo parlor across the way from a flower shop run by Alex, they learn to work together to protect their neighborhood and their hearts.

under the tuscan sun by stutteringpeach

The villa is, in a word, perfect. Set into the hillside and built in the classic Tuscan style, all brick and white-washed walls, with just one small bedroom and an en-suite upstairs, a cosy sitting room and a tiny kitchen downstairs. There’s a large table on the patio where Henry can already see himself drinking tea in the morning and writing late into the night. There’s even a pool. There is, however, one slight problem. There’s someone else here.

love me forever (fix me right) by sherryvalli

Alex has the perfect life. The perfect job, the perfect apartment, the perfect boyfriend. Everything’s perfect. He’s never been happier. Except for the fact that his boyfriend’s dad fucking hates him.

my eclipsed sun by weather_stained

“Alex, is there any way you can come? We’ve sent our security over, but if…if I’m right about what’s upset him, I have a feeling Henry’s not going to want to see anyone but you.” “I’m already booked on the next flight out.” Alex zips up his pack and slings it over one shoulder, keeping Bea held to his ear as he bounds down the stairs. Cash is waiting for him in the car, ready to chase Henry across the Atlantic for the second time in four years. It’s almost nostalgic—or it would be if he could stop shaking. After an important meeting with Mary, Henry is nowhere to be found. Alex drops everything to make sure he's safe.

tread softly (because you tread on my dreams) by helenblqckthorn

His stomach drops though when he realises he’s still hard. Shit. Think of Gran, think of very unattractive old lady wrinkles, think of England— Henry's point of view of the Red Room scene (or: the Hamilton portrait scene)

in time of daffodils by iphigenias

“Alright, alright, I get it. The solemn duty of academia calls.” Alex laughs as Henry play-shoves him, curling a hand protectively over the rim of his mug to stop it spilling. “So are you mine now?” “I’m always yours,” Henry answers, devastating and matter-of-fact, like he so often is. Alex hears himself make a groaning sort of sound before he’s putting his coffee down on the windowsill and climbing over the back of the sofa to get right on top of Henry, who laughs, muffled into Alex’s shoulder. “Careful with the—” Henry starts to say, but Alex’s knee has already nudged the laptop from the cushion to the carpet, where it lands with a dull thump. “Never mind,” Henry sighs, and the tail of the word catches into Alex’s mouth as he turns their bodies just so, so they’re kissing.

What to Wear by @whimsymanaged

Henry is going to a dress-up party but has nothing to wear.

How wonderful life is (while you're in the world) by mlvdybug

The corner of Henry’s mouth. It’s disappeared now, covered by the oxygen mask fixed securely around his head, but if Alex concentrates hard enough, he can see it sprawled out in front of him. Every ridge, every bend and edge and turn of it.  He knows Henry’s heart. And that’ll be enough.  (or: the one where henry gets shot and alex is a goddamn mess.)

Baby, it's Halloween and we can be anything by sheisraging

Alex is furious. More furious than he should be about the whole thing, but still. Plans were made. Money was spent. Costumes were purchased—not even rented—purchased!

you make it look so easy, i know it's not by anincompletelist

Bea’s to his left, speaking frantically on the phone with who Henry hopes is the fire brigade or someone else trained to deal with these— situations. In front of him, Pez is fumbling frustratedly with the water hose, showcasing his colorful vocabulary with a flourish of jerky hand movements and chaotic pacing. On either side of the fence, his neighbors are peaking over the sides to ask if everything’s okay, and Henry feels the resolution to make a good first impression crumbling and slipping rapidly out of his grasp. Even David watches on from inside the house, his sage eyes and patriotic bowtie appraising the scene and looking back to Henry as if to say I told you so. And the fryer — the fryer itself is up in flames, thick gray smoke swirling up into the air and soaring high above the tree line now. In the distance, the echo of sirens. Henry may faint right here, in the middle of his backyard at his new home before he's even unpacked, with all the neighbors and his family and friends watching on, on his first official American Thanksgiving. It is, by all means, not what he’d envisioned for the day. 

'til the walls did crumble and by ninzied

So much for using the wrong fork at dinner. He’s pretty sure this is a thousand times worse. Hundred-thousand? Nora could give him the exact number. Also, he’s pretty sure there’s still buttercream on his ass. . Or, Alex has his bisexual awakening in a bathroom at Buckingham Palace, and also finds leftover cake in Henry’s hair. The two things are not not related.

Bisexual Disaster Alex Claremont-Diaz by TuppingLiberty

Five times Alex wears an amusing bi pride shirt to Brooklyn Pride, and one time both he and Henry do it.

Moon Bride (To Have and To Hold) by SatinBirds

When the man is brought before him, it’s as if the whole world stops. Clad in delicate gossamer, his apparent frailty is accentuated by the sheer fabric. It is likely a cheap attempt to entice him, yet it only elicits displeasure from the king. He already wishes to dress this fragile figure in the veil of his people, cover him from invidious and lustful eyes.

once, successfully by vibrantsaturn

ACD okay, so. full disclosure and just so you know, i'm not into men or anything HYou're literally on Grindr right now? ACD ok??? and i guess people who are lactose intolerant can't walk down the fucking dairy aisle, huh???? i'm just looking, man or, Grindr, once (un)successfully, etc., etc.

kiss me through the phone by violetbaudelairequagmire

[Unknown Number] *Attached image: a shirtless, tanned torso, cropped at the top of shoulders, holding up two brightly patterned ties* which 1? Excuse me? or, Alex accidentally texts the wrong number and then just never stops.

Risotto + Melanze + Dolce (a love story) by villiageidiot

Alex doesn’t necessarily need a job—a full course load (plus some) is more than enough to fill his time—but he hasn’t had much of a social life since starting law school, and his coffee habit could use a few extra dollars. When June tells him the restaurant is looking for help, particularly on their Thursday Spaghetti Special night, he halfheartedly agrees. Everything that happens thereafter is technically her fault, a fact he likes pointing out any time she tries to yell at him for something, like serving uncooked garlic bread, or accidentally making a grown man cry, or breaking public indecency laws. Or: Alex works at an Italian restaurant and is very bad at it. Henry is a customer and doesn’t seem to mind.

until next time! if you'd like to be tagged in future lists for whatever reason, let me know!

tagging: @starkfridays, @stilesgivesmefeels

[zenosanalytic]

I've been thinking about how to articulate a thought I had about a possible Doylist/non-diegetic reading(EDIT: I originally wrote "Watsonian" here, which is the opposite of what I meant X| X| Brain, you Tricksome Jester *shakes entirely metaphorical fist*) of Eridan's Trollian handle, caligulasAquarium, in response to a post of @mmmmalo's, and I think I've got it.

Ok So: the popular perception of Caligula is as a "Mad Emperor". One of the points used in this depiction is his "War on the Sea", which is taken as obvsl absurd and empty and irrational(and possibly hubristic). Eridan chooses to call himself "caligulasAquarium" and he lives in a wrecked ship(a feature commonly put in aquariums)... on the surface.

So like: maybe the title is meant to be taken by the audience as ironic. Eridan's claim to an "Aquarium" is as absurd and empty and irrational as Caligula's claim to have warred upon the sea(in the common understanding of those events; as a matter of history this seems to be a Telephone distortion, from the sources I can find).

A few more points that have occurred to me since I started writing this:

Caligula "Made War on the Sea"; Eridan wants to "Make War on the Surface" by Killing All Landwellers, carrying forward the themes of inversion btwn Alternia and Earth.

Also: "Kill All Landwellers", "Kill All Humans": he's lampshading common evil-alien-overlord tropes

...Which in itself is sort of dunking on HIM, since Eridan is nobody's overlord he's just some GUY. Like: Yes, he's "Nobility" due to blood-caste, but he has no influence, no power, no RESPECT from anyone we meet, no friendships let alone alliances with other socially powerful individuals(other than Feferi, who seems to have foresworn all that to monastically care for G'lybgolyb) that he could USE to have influence; he's just a loner with his grand-dad's gun and allot of pretension.

...which you could argue furthers his parody of USian internet white-supremacists? Like: He is THEM: a gun-humping loner who only feels comfortable talking to the people he claims to hate, with no idea how unpleasant he makes himself to interact with, and even less interest in introspection or self-awareness, fetishizing past genocides as a way to claim for himself a "Glorious Past" he had nothing to do with.

As Feferi(and possibly other characters I'm forgetting) point out, Eridan's ambition to Kill All Landwellers is more than a little absurd. He's never really DONE anything to plan or prepare for it, and aside from Fef he exclusively hangs out with and befriends Landwellers, as well as LIVING ON LAND(well: a sandbar or reef). This could be taken as furthering the Caligula "War on the Sea" parallel.

Expanding on the last: Caligula, THE EMPEROR OF ROME and Grandest of Nepo-babies, was rather notably disdainful of and hostile towards the Roman nobility and inherited wealth/rank. This connects to Eridan in two ways I can think of: 1) his avoidance of other seadwellers, and 2) his philosophical hostility to landdwellers while Being, in practice, A Landweller. Basically: both Hate things about themselves shared by others.

Reinforcing #3: the choice of Caligula, a Troll-Emperor. Again: Eridan is Just Some Guy; he does not command armies, he does not command society, he can't even command Equius, who GETS OFF ON being ordered around. This is Pretension.

...which, I guess, you could connect AGAIN back to Caligula via the popular memory of him wanting to be treated "As A God", but it should be noted that 1)everyone who wrote anything about him hated the guy and was explicitly dunking on him, so we don't know how accurate these charges are, and 2)in the Roman context, while legal apotheosis was reserved for after death, imperial Divinity was already de facto given that sacrifices and prayers to the Emperor's health and success were legally mandated civic religious duties, AND 3)that classical Greeks and Romans, contra the Abrahimic societies which would later create this popular memory, considered apotheosis a real possibility for notable individuals.

[pedge-stuff]

thermos (pedro pascal x gn/m!reader)

a/n: same vague universe as “marked.” drop a line if you have a sug. (:

summary: sometimes, love boils on the stove. (set 2021.)

————————————————————————

It had been a long fucking day.  Delayed table read, late picks, emergency rewrites—  the perfect storm at SNL.  

The steady pressure in your temples had gradually increased throughout the day, despite the Excedrine you'd taken early on. This had morphed into an ache at the back of your throat, because of course it had— bad things always came in waves. 

Halfway through the last-minute pitch meeting post-rehearsal, you'd missed a call from Pedro. The same time he called every day,  usually timed well with your walk home from midtown. Sending him to voicemail was out of character. 

Sorry, you'd texted. Rehearsal tonight. Lightly sautéed, gonna crash after work, talk tomorrow? Love  you very much x 

He'd shot back a " :( " and then had been typing for several minutes, the little bubbles appearing over and over. OK, he finally said. Love you too. 

It tweaked your heart, a bit. The two thousand miles between your phones was hard to stomach, sometimes. Alberta felt, for reasons unknown, so infinitely farther than LA, though the mileage was comparable. You picture him, alone in his trailer, reading glasses perched on his nose as he scrolls his phone, waiting for wrap to leave and tuck his old bones into bed.

Ultimately, you are a little too tired, and achy, and frustrated with work, and maybe a little cranky, to dwell on the finality of his "OK."  There's nothing he can do for you, from Alberta; it's not worth worrying him. 

You drag yourself home, resigned to making a weak cup of tea and curling up with the dogs. (Home is your studio apartment, while he's gone, though he maintains a steady campaign for you to just move into his. You haven't yet been able to articulate how fucking lonely his Brooklyn townhouse is without him.) Politely squeeze past the elderly couple who have pushed their sidewalk table all the way in front of the door to your building. Check the mail, of which there is none. Climb the stairs, a slow shuffle, fumbling with your stupid keys, music still playing at street volume in your headphones, eyes burning, lock turning— 

Fuck, fuck. 

Pedro turns the stove off, offers you a shy smile. Your bag drops to the floor. Something inside you snaps, pulls loose. You burst into tears. 

"Oh," he says, and you forcefully close the distance, wrapping your arms around him as you try and stifle quiet sobs. Wonder, for a moment, what the fuck is happening. "Surprise?" 

You laugh, weakly. Run a hand down your face. "Sorry, sorry." 

He pushes you back, apprising you with a gentle and skeptical look. Holds your face in his hands and thumbs away the fresh tears. Frowns. Presses his palm to your forehead. "You didn't tell me you were sick."

Leaning into his hand, you shake your head. "Not sick. Just tired." You pull back. "I can't believe you're here. Jesus. How long are you here for?" 

His attention is drawn back to the stove, beside which he has set your green travel mug. He smiles sheepishly. "Was trackin' ya on Find My." The kettle spits a small whistle as he pours the water. Your heart clenches; this stupidly thoughtful man. 

"I can rally," you offer, even as he ushers you into the bedroom. There is a suddenly conspicuous absence of dogs. 

"They're in Brooklyn. Figured you'd wanna get some shit here, and then we Uber that way?"

"You really thought this through, huh?" There are clothes and toiletries at his place ("our place," he calls it, though the studio is decidedly "your place."), but you pack a few things, just in case. 

It's not a secret that he doesn't love your apartment— it's a little cramped, for two men and two dogs. Plus, his apartment is more of a full condo. And the bathroom's nicer.

He watches you pack, perched on the edge of the bed. It's hard to focus on anything other than studying the soft lines of his travel-weary face. The rise and fall of his chest. Bits and pieces of him that the front-facing iPhone camera cannot pick up over FaceTime. 

— 

In the back of the Uber, mindful of the rearview mirror, you have his left hand trapped between both of yours. The skin of his palm has toughened, calloused slightly from whatever they have him doing in the woods of Canada. It still feels the same as you press your lips to the center. 

"I'm still a little confused," you whisper, "but I'm so happy you're here." 

His steals his hand back, to card it through your hair. "Me too. Was going crazy, trying to keep it a secret. We've got the long weekend off for Veteran's day, so I thought..." 

"Mm. Do you have an agenda this weekend?" 

The Uber makes its final turn. "Yeah. I would like to sleep for one million years, in a bed, with you. And probably see Oscar and Elvira, at some point. Also maybe order Empanada Mama. I ate a Canadian empanada last week that legitimately made me sad." 

You hold onto his hand as you exit the car, cross the street, key in. The tea put you at ease, but with the shock of the surprise wearing off, the weight of the day resettles as an ache across your shoulders. 

The dogs bound down the hallway as you key in. Pedro's suitcase has not made it much farther than the front door, though it has been cracked open and partially rummaged. "I was in a rush," he said sheepishly.

"Mm. You showerin’?” 

“Probably should. We heading up?” 

You nod, kneeling to re-zip his bag; the duties of young knees. (The age gap is disregarded, unless he plays the old card to his advantage.) Edgar pounces on you while you’re accessibly low. Ten different questions die in the back of your throat. Every step between you and the king sized bed on the third floor feels impossible. 

— 

He smells clean, as he wraps his arms around you, skin still damp and warm from the obscenely hot showers he prefers. You have a long day of rehearsal ahead of you tomorrow, then an even longer show day— but none of that matters now.

"Thank you for coming." You mumble, sleepily, into the worn fabric on his shoulder. Fingers card through your hair, brush gently over your temple. You've got a hand beneath his t-shirt, splayed across the base of his ribs.

Pedro makes an indignant noise, low, from his chest. "Not a place on Earth I'd rather be."

[raethereptile]

"You use a scalpel, I prefer a hammer."

I am having so many thoughts about this line because sure Ethan is a scalpel but like no he's not he's...well ok let me try and meta for a second

Because Mission Impossible 1, he's a scalpel. By god is he a scalpel. He manipulates and deceives and seduces and tricks and betrays and sets people up and pulls off these delicate and precise maneuvers and leaves without a trace and he shows people what they want to see whether that's being flashy or subtle or dumb or smart or

And he survives the worst time of his life by using all of these skills as they're being used against him and he hates it

I think thats why I'm fascinated by his interaction with Max, because they're using the same playbook and they are aware of what the other is doing so they have a little fun with it. Like, Ethan is living through hell and he's desperate, and he's pretty scared of Max underneath that boyish grin. But it's fun. They're both being a good sport about it. Because it's mutual. But it's mutual in a very different way to Jim/Claire's manipulation of him is mutual. I'm not sure I'm expressing this well.

He hates it, just a little at first, and then by the end I think he hates it a lot because

Mission Impossible 2 happens and (if memory serves right because I haven't seen the film in years) he's trying so fucking hard not to be a scalpel. He's trying to be a hammer.

And he's rough and abrasive and reckless and little bit feral. He's split lips and bruises knuckles. He hits hard and expects to be hit harder, because he's punishing himself and punishing the world and it shows. He learns violence as a tool and learns how to use it. And he hammers his way through the problem because he can't stomach the thought of being a scalpel anymore.

And then, slowly, through mi3 and beyond, we see him walk the path back to being a scalpel.

He'll never forget what Jim and Claire did to him but maybe he doesn't let the wound fester anymore and let's it start to heal.

But he can never be a scalpel again.

Because he's learned the advantages of a hammer too.

Sometimes you need to be a ghost but sometimes you need to make a scene.

Because a scalpel could never fight the way Ethan fights. To the bitter end, blood between his teeth, and not necessarily his own. Would never drive a car off a building to get to the bottom faster, wouldn't drive a car post drowning to death, wouldn't crash a helicopter on purpose. Could never do the most extreme of the stunts that Ethan pulls off.

I mean, he's better at them because he can be a scalpel while doing them. But to do them at all...

But a hammer could never put on a mask and become someone else. Could never seduce a target. Or interrogate someone without them ever figuring out they were interrogated. Or break in somewhere to steal what they need and leave without a trace.

Walker could never have done what Ethan did in Paris. Because Lark and Walker weren't two different people. They were the same person with part of themselves hidden behind a vail so they could blend in. But Ethan. Ethan thought "I need to be Lark" and then became him. Dead eyed stare and "I slaughtered women and children with smallpox" and the White Widow trapped in his gaze terrified down to her marrow. A hammer couldn't do that. Only a scalpel.

Ethan swings between scalpel and hammer as needed and becomes something of the two combined, becomes something terrifying

It's what marks him, out of all the IMF, as the living manifestation of destiny. As the mind-reading, shapeshifting, incarnation of chaos. The one they tell stories about, the stories that surely can't all be true

So Ethan's not a scalpel. And he's not a hammer. I'm not sure what he is. And maybe Ethan wonders about that sometimes too.

Side note: I would like to invite the king of mission impossible 1 meta @deanwinchestersfloralwallpaper to way in, since I'm sure they'll be able to articulate all of this much clearer than I have

[ekingston]

Your reply on ao3 about your wife’s screenshot and being a cheerleader stuck with me, because I’ve realized I don’t actually articulate enough how amazing some writers (read: you) are. I finished the most recent chapter of soup (after eleven-thousand unacceptable distractions), and I was going to plunk together a quick comment that would absolutely not do enough justice to express the genius I find your writing to be. So instead I opened a google doc and started smashing my keyboard which resulted in a pretty long-winded... something, but allow me to fan-girl for like, a second:

The quality and style of your writing floors me every time. There is an effortlessness about it that makes it totally and completely bingeable but also something that gives a little more each time I read it. For me, it’s the most replayable form of literature: I can go back for the plot, for the character rapport, for the punchy dialogue, or for the voice of the narrator. It fits all the moods. It charms me. It amuses me. I want to hug it.

Your work excites me, and when I think of authors and works that excite me, I’m lumping you in with like, Heartburn which is an all-time favorite for that exact reason: I can binge it in a day or go back and sip on it and discover something clever and witty and just impossibly gorgeous in execution.

And speaking as someone who CANNOT for the life of me write something that doesn’t eventually tumble into a vat of angst, I also just adore the way you manage tension without losing the light-hearted reading experience. Holiday wine is a masterpiece, AND I think Soup is almost better because you juggle so much more: the chorus of characters are taking on their own plot lines, the stakes are higher, you add danger and adventure, you weave a more complex, interconnected storyline, and you massage it all beautifully to act as a supporting cast to the core of the story.

Which brings me to the trope (and a complete tangent): miscommunication. Like, ok look… I usually can’t stand it. But that’s mostly because of the execution: the obvious interruptions, the clear misdirection and disregard for natural intuition, the not asking the right questions, the very blatant ham-fisted forcefulness of it just… I can’t.

AND THEN YOU WENT AND MADE A MASTERCLASS OF IT.

You took every complaint you didn’t know I had and put in the work to make it believable. Kara is charmingly oblivious but not for lack of trying. She perfectly talks past Nia and Alex and Lena not just once but every. time. and every time is just so well-conceived and articulated and *gesticulates hands in the air wildly trying to find the right word* gah. The world of her confusion and misguidedness is so believable and commendable and *gesticulates again* gah. This is the absolute genius of the work. I will give kudos till I’m blue in the face about the story as a whole, but I will die on the ‘Easter crushed the miscommunication trope’ hill.

And this is just ONE EXAMPLE of how you knock it out of the park every single time. I could go on about how solidly you write the characters, how charming your prose is, how epic your one-shots are, or how I don’t even care that I can’t trust your chapter count anymore but this is already a run-on and I'm running out of air.

I don’t know how you write, if there is one draft or a million, if you just stream–of-conscious this into existence, or if you summon the words through a ouija board, but it’s brilliant and commendable and THANK YOU for doing what you’re doing.

so. this message is. a miracle? and you are a GIFT. and i’m not going to be able to elaborate much beyond that, because unlike you, i am terrible; at writing attentive notes, at handling compliments, and—hilariously, maybe, since i’ve finally started thinking of myself as a writer again after a decade of self-loathing false starts—at writing down my thoughts in an easily digestible way.

can i say it’s the nicest thing i’ve ever gotten from someone who isn’t (yet?) a close personal friend? that the timing of it was almost implausibly perfect because it arrived in the middle of the deep breathing exercises i was doing after being made aware of some deeply stupid twitter discourse around Soup that was going on right as i was getting ready to post its final chapter?

i think i’ll stick to the important stuff: like THANK YOU. like how your (AMAZING) note completely obliterated the bad stuff and made me excited not just to wrap up this fic, or even to jump into the next, but about doing it all in the first place. that it was a very needed reminder of what an immensely privileged position i’m in to be able to put something out online that brings people (you) enough joy that you want to come tell me about it. and, obviously, that the specific things you chose to highlight are extraordinarily flattering, and i am absolutely not immune to that kind of thing.

i went back and forth on publishing this ask because it feels almost embarrassing, and boastful. but whatever, you know? you made me feel good about my writing again and provided important perspective and ultimately you put thought and effort and overall awesomeness into it and i’m not going to hide that away when you intended it to be shared.

thank you. SO MUCH.

[sylvies-chen]

top five moments of 6x02 ♡

OMG I CAN ONLY PICK FIVE?? OK LET’S GO:

lie detector (tim’s ily) — I think this moment is my favourite part of the episode by far, because first off you have the question about the bugs which was SOOOO cute and so encapsulating of chenford’s relationship that it had me giggling at my tv and twirling my hair lol. but then lucy takes the time to seek out confirmation of his love out of her own will, not because she needed to be proven right but because she wanted to hear it 🥹 and he immediately says yes! he loves her! we finally get to hear it and the lie detector shows it’s true and it’s just so gratifying for chenford fans to finally get this

cop cutie! cute and on duty! — GUYS I KNOW IT’S CORNY BUT HATERS WILL HATE, DADDY COP IS A BANGER!! this was so funny and such an earworm— and to those saying they thought it was an old episode when it opened on that scene, lemme just say SAME lol— but then to up the ante by pulling out the choir as if literally singing for and rejoicing the 100th episode was just so perfect and classic rookie: a little hokey but well executed and fun and all around heartfelt. 10/10 I need it on spotify right now.

if I ain’t got you by alicia keys (lucy’s ily) — okay I’m scared some of you chenford girlies are going to tar and feather me for not putting this at number 1 or 2 but HEAR ME OUT: I’ve expressed my problems about this temporary argument solution!! I think this whole scene is so gorgeous for so so so many reasons: lucy and tim dancing as a couple for the first time, the matching outfits, the kiss, ugh all PERFECT I love my babies 🥹❤️ that being said, I don’t like how so much of the resolution/peace between them relied on tim being completely in the wrong when I feel like it’s a more nuanced issue than that and denies lucy any opportunity to critically reflect on her own feelings about this. and also, it does seem weird to me that she wouldn’t have said ‘I love you’ back to tim when he first said it?? they smile at each other but then they’re back to looking awkwardly from afar at the wedding (prior to this scene of course) and so I’m a bit uneasy at the implication (which the writers did not necessarily add on purpose) that lucy’s ily depended on him admitting he was wrong in any way. but idk maybe I’m just being too nitpicky here, I still ADOREEE THIS SCENE FOREVER AND EVER I want it on my grave k thanks

tim down on one knee — need I say more?? this imagery of him on his knee with the ring staring up at lucy was a glimpse at chenford’s future and it was such cute teasing, god I love writers and showrunners when they add messy fun little teaser moments like this! plus tim totally kicked ass, all covered in blood and ready to pass out, and ah, I do always say the best kind of lust is bloodlust 😌

bailan wedding vows — I actually cannot believe the day has come where a bailan moment is in my top 5 episode moments but these wedding vows showed me how the writers are finally able to articulate what works about them as a couple!! with someone as impressive and as versatile and skilled as bailey, I think literally any other man would feel threatened or emasculated, but nolan really is just Some Guy™️ who’s really into her and obsessed with her and is very sturdy ground for her to come home to. I wish we dove more into her past as a survivor of abuse because I feel like that previous situation informs so much of why she loves john even though, let’s be real: she’s eons above his league holy shit it’s not even funny how out of his league she is. but also she could never be with anyone else! she really just loves him and they have such a nice soft relationship which the wedding really sold me on. I liked it a lot even though I had my qualms about her and him as individuals and together.

honourable mention to wade and luna because I love them so much y’all they are adorable!! anyways, here’s my list and lmk if you agree

[wisellamawerewolf]

What's that? HOT single dad with BIG naturals in YOUR area Hazbin Hotel tag? More likely than you think!

Ok, jokes aside, I've decided to try something new for myself and redesign HH Lucifer. I'm gonna preface this by saying that I'm not a professional character designer (in fact I can barely draw), but I tried anyway just for the fun of it.

Sorry I took your goofy tumblr sexyman wannabe and turned him into a depressed dead-beat dilf, who's deeply unamused by the shit happening around him. Also he is trans and doesn't even bind (like a king he is) because I have to represent Viv's biblical lore as accurately as possible.

*Disclaimer: under the cut you can find an obnoxiously long text detailing my design choices. It's probably poorly articulated and not at all amusing, so you can just skip it. Also there's a badly drawn hat somewhere down there, so beware.*

I'll begin with the most obvious: Lucifer's main inspiration for his look was the ram. Mostly because the goat is supposedly already taken by Satan if I remember VivziePop Lore correctly, but also because it's a direct reference to a sacrificial lamb. I used images of a Jacob sheep as a reference, for multiple reasons: 1. Their fur often has a two-colored pattern (usually black/dark brown and white, which will become important later), 2. Sometimes they can grow as much as four horns, which kinda gives me this occult, almost demonic vibe, I was going for. 3. They're kinda cute. Look at them majestic beasts:

Moving on.

In the hellaverse the seven deadly sins are supposed to be themed after different types of circus performers, and Lucifer wasn't an exception, his outfit clearly being inspired by a ringmasters' costume, while his white face with red cheeks are supposed to resemble a clown makeup.

I've decided to keep the circus theme and run with it (maybe a bit too far, as you will see in a second).

My first point of reference was the same as in the original: the ringleader. Given the chosen theme it kinda makes sense, since he is supposed to be a main ruler of hell. You can really tell that he runs this circus. Awful jokes aside, his upper wear is obviously inspired by a circus ringmasters' outfits, with a mix of trates from another character that can be sometimes found performing in a circus, which brings us to:

Pierrot. Now, although his character originated from the Italian theater, pierrot can be considered a clown in a more modern sense. (At least I think so. If I'm wrong clown experts can kick my ass in the comments, I probably deserve this)

Pierrot often characterized as a melancholic, a sufferer and a tragic lover. When it comes to the humor in the circus setting specifically, it usually comes from the pierrot's melancholic nature and often involves his clumsiness and kind of self-deprecating slapstick, which I find quite fitting for a man who fucked up so bad that he isolated himself from the rest of the world and who's wife left him because of that. Lucifer's whole life after the fall has been one giant unfunny joke, and he isn't coping well with it.

Elements of a pierrot costume can be observed in the white jacket, the coat lapel of which is mimicking a frilled collaret. The fur pattern on his face is also a reference to a pierrot's make-up: a white face with black (well, brown in our case) tears.

Lastly, you probably have noticed the shirt, which has the main colour accent to it. It's actually inspired by a strongman singlet.

I've decided to give it less stripes for simplicity (also because I'm lazy). He's supposed to be wearing shorts and a sleeveless shirt underneath his costume, but I'm too tired to draw another image, so I guess you have to use your imagination on that one. I'll be frank, it's mostly supposed to be a little nod to the fact that Lucifer is supposed to be a strongest being in hell. Yeah I included it into my design because of a bad pun.

On a second thought, it's probably not great that I've tried to crum in three different types of circus performers into one character, but I'm not a professional character designer, so I legitimately do not know if that's ok. More experienced people are welcome to critique or correct me in the replies/comments.

BONUS:

While finishing the first image I randomly thought to myself that besides the ringleader elements, there's may not be enough clues that he's a monarch. So I decided to do a separate image where I clown around to try and redesign his crown/tophat, so here it is:

And if I decided to break down my thought process designing Lucifer himself, I might as well do it here also.

I've decided to keep the crown and ringmasters' tophat elements. I used images of a ringleaders' tophats and the imperial state crown as my main points of reference.

All the metallic elements of the "crown" are actually made out of pyrite, also known as a fool's gold (you can really tell that I'm a fan of dumb puns). I decided to used it to further showcase how Lucifer ruling the hell is treated like a joke.

Chains surrounding the tophat are supposed to represent how Lucifer was unwillingly thrown into this position and it weighs him down.

These two rings at the bottom are supposed to look kinda like a snakeskin (yes really), which is a reference to that scene where he turns into a snake to give Eve an apple. Speaking of which:

At the top is placed an imperial orb, with a upsidedown star (pentagram) instead of a cross. It carries the same meaning as a regular imperial orb in a sense that it shows monarch's power, but it's also kinda mocks the regular globus cruciger. (Fun fact: russians sometimes call it something like a "monarch's apple". I just thought it was kinda funny considering the context I'm using it in.).

The rest of the elements are taken from a regular tophat ringleaders' usually wear.

Anyway, that's all I have. Feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments or replies, I'll gladly read them.

[kvetchinglyneurotic]

ok i just finished season 1 of daredevil and i will have articulate things to say about it at some point but for now here's the stream of consciousness notes i took while i was watching:

-I like Jack Murdock as a portrayal of a loving but flawed parent — like he clearly cares for Matt so much and he’s doing his best but there’s some parts of a “normal” childhood he just doesn’t really have the resources to provide. That being said being stupidly self-sacrificial clearly runs in the family. Just take the dive and collect your money my guy 

-“you shouldn’t be sneaking around at night you could get hurt”/ “we need to do this within the legal system” Matthew you fucking hypocrite (affectionate)

-weirdly fascinated by the way Fisk & co. translate for their sketchy group meeting that always seem to take place in abandoned parking garages, especially with how Wesley gives the general idea of what they’re saying instead of a direct translation — ok update i suspected this was because Fisk actually understood what everyone was saying and I was right!

-I like Foggy but I disagree with him about the purpose of a defense attorney — he wants to represent people who aren’t guilty/were justified in what they did but everyone deserves representation even if they 100% did the thing and were 100% wrong in doing so 

-Honestly probably worked out better for Matt that Stick was only around for a couple of years at the most. Also symbolic that he left before teaching Matt to use knives — Matt never fully goes down the road of lethal force (I mean some of the things he does definitely would kill people in real life but in real life he’d also be dead so it evens out) or fully cuts off the people he cares about. Also are they implying that the reason Matt doesn’t permanently have broken ribs and/or major blood loss that he meditates? I mean suspension of disbelief obviously but that is. very funny 

-Fisk is, on the one hand, very detail-oriented, but he’s also impulsive and emotionally reactive, so he has to come up with plans to cover for it. Also I feel like his and Wesley’s relationship is going to implode at some point. Or one of them (probably Wesley since Fisk is like. the main villain) is going to die

-are they sponsored by Dell 

-obviously I know why they do this for cinematic reasons but it’s very funny that in-universe Fisk gives his entire speech in 1x08 without actually saying his name until he dramatically announces at the end. Although maybe that’s just for dramatic effect and in-universe he's just repeating it? Also don’t throw your computer Matt you have no money 

-Matt’s smug little smile when Karen says the man in the mask looks badass flipping around :3 

-“the whole wounded, handsome duck thing” 

-i love how much they dwell on the actual implications of finding out your friend is secretly a vigilante/has had superpowers the entire time you’ve known each other, and that knowing they go out at night to beat people up, even if it’s for the “right” reasons, would still be alarming 

-actually not bad on the nighttime colour-grading front! I can see what’s happening which is better than most shows 

-I appreciate that there’s an actual plot about/explanation of how Matt gets his body armour 

-Wow who could have guessed leaving the gun in the middle of the table was a bad idea. I kind of liked Wesley but honestly what a dumbass way to die. Do admire the bluff though “you don’t really believe I’d put a loaded gun where you could reach it?” 

-love the approach to superhero realism here — not necessarily in the abilities or the way the plot is constructed (although that’s good, too) but in the characters’ reactions (Foggy finding out about Matt; Karen when she kills Wesley, Fisk when he finds out Wesley is dead) 

-“I thought your days of being relevant were past” ouch 

-reasons Wilson Fisk is evil: murder, drug dealing, doesn’t like cat videos 

-I do like that Fisk kind of gets the power of friendship thing though? But like it makes him worse 

-I’m very much not the most qualified to make this judgement and I’d want to check what people who actually *are* in a position to judge have to say about it, but I feel like this show has a bit of an… orientalism problem, I guess? But orientalism that also includes Russians, and also I know this is partly an extension of her being a very minor character but Doris (Ben Urich’s wife) is the only character who seems like she’s *only* there to like. encourage others through her wise words and doesn’t have much of an internal life of her own (besides the priest I guess but I feel like with priests that’s kind of their job) 

-Did Foggy not go to Ben’s funeral? 

-Fisk is also going to kill Leland. Maybe stop killing all your allies Fisk 

-I think it’s cute that Matt still holds onto Foggy’s arm when they’re walking even when it’s just the two of them and Foggy already knows that he doesn’t need to do it 

-Why does Marvel keep naming wise mentor figures who die Ben? Matt and Peter Parker should make a club (is Ben Urich in the comics? I haven't read the comics)

-“while actively being arrested” has got to win some sort of award for worst marriage proposal but I guess I admire that he just went for it? 

-Ominously large number of minutes left in this episode after the seeming resolution 

-Matt’s dumbass little horns <3

-Fisk: “You think one man in a silly little costume will make a difference?” bro *you* thought one man in a silly little costume would make a difference when you were the one man. Also I hope the silly little costume protects Matt from blunt force trauma 

-I’m honestly still not entirely sure how/if Nelson & Murdock actually made any money

-I feel like that bit near the beginning where Karen and Matt both have secrets and Foggy’s like “I wish I had a secret” describes their dynamic basically

[ronearoundblindly]

What if Ari comes to pick us up from work and a male coworker who is just being nice holds the door open and we laugh at some ridiculous joke and have 0 interest in said Co worker we have Ari but Ari being Ari ...what does he do

Well well well if it isn't ye ol' green-eyed monster fic time...

Warnings for SMUT but it's short and sweet with very vague language... 😉 MINORS DNI. *also not edited

Quick and Dirty, a Bedrock and Blueprints drabble

New guy? I think he looks like DIS:

So he's definitely cute, but hey, you're dating Ari--Ari who's known you for a decade and really should trust you by now.

After that incident of Philip's return though, Ari's been extra protective. He has this moment of seeing this guy. You're laughing, then looking very closely over his shoulder at something he's showing you on his phone, and Ari's sitting in his truck, dirty from his day's work.

This dude is pristinely dressed, well-groomed, articulate, and funny (ok, he's assuming the last two, but whatever). Ari is...super rough around the edges, so he wonders if that's something you like better. He doesn't say anything to you when you get in the truck, though, just asks if you had a good day.

"Great day actually," you beam.

Ari smiles but is a little jealous that greatness wasn't because of him

It's all pretty fine and forgotten until one day you have to stay late at work, can't take your regular bus, and instead of waiting the extra forty minutes for the later (less frequent) bus, you accept a ride home from Boyd.

That's his name. Ari grumbles it back to you when you explain. You didn't tell Ari to pick you up because who knew how long the meetings would take, so he's home and cooking dinner when you are dropped off in some very, very swanky car that Ari just barely sees drive away.

Boyd.

Ari can't help but be a grumpy old fart the rest of the evening. Randomly, mid-movie on the couch, Ari asks, "so is this Boyd married?"

You shift up to look at him, head resting in Ari's lap.

"Or gay? Maybe both?" He's trying to sound casual and failing miserably.

"I don't think so, why? Want his number," you tease.

"He's just very...clean."

"Oh yikes. Lock him up. That's a war crime in this house, I know."

"I only meant--" what the hell does Ari mean? "--he...is very clean."

"Yeah," you exaggerate, sitting up and leaning one arm all way across Ari's lap, landing beside his hip. "You said that."

His stormy blue eyes meet yours in the dim light of the TV. He's not going to ask if you think his beard is unkempt or his hair is too long or his clothes are too--oh.

Your other hand rubs up and down the seam of his sweatpants.

"So if he's clean, then you...are dirty?" Your voice stays low while Ari's head falls lax against the cushion and his breathing turns ragged. "Is that right, Levinson?"

"I...I just..." Ari sighs heavily, growing thick and hard under your strokes. He stares at the ceiling until he feels you straddle him.

You whine his name just the way he likes, and he grips at your thighs and pulls you close just the way you like.

Harsh and heated friction builds between your bodies. Silent minutes later, Ari moans your name in warning, licking his dry lips, but before he can close the distance between you, your fingers are in his hair and pull.

"How could you think that? Huh? You know I love you, don't you? Know I love you here with me."

Ari grunts, trying to nod against your hold.

"Yeah, baby. You know that?" You grind long, slow, full-length rolls across his bulge. "I love you, and I love you--" bent forward, your lips ghost his "--dirty."

Ari's torso tenses beneath you. He's keeping it together but just barely.

"Can you do that for me, Ari?"

Right into his lips, right before you capture him in a kiss, you finish him off. "Make--" grip "--me--" grind "--dirty."

Done. He's done.

Into your mouth, he moans, "fuuuuuu, hhnnnnnyy," and his arms circle your waist as you continue sweet, gentle rolls against him.

After you stop and the kisses become weak pecks here and there, your fingers still massaging his scalp, Ari finally opens his eyes.

His blown pupils and dopey smirk look good on him. He feels pretty great, too. Dirty, sure, but it's a great night. It's early yet.

A few months later, there's a stupid work party.

Ari wears the nicest clothes he has, but they're still old...like he feels.

Ari also feels like a bit of a dud next to you all dolled up and beautiful, a feeling which compounds when Boyd shows up in a perfectly tailored suit and no date.

Ari avoids the introduction for as long as possible, but eventually, your social circulation in the crowd lands him right there with Boyd's hand out expectantly.

"Mr. Levinson, so nice to meet you," Boyd starts with surprisingly genuine excitement.

"Likewise," Ari says tightly.

"You're basically a legend around here," the man continues.

What?

"Can't fix a damn thing myself, but, man, the way your girl talks about you--all that stuff you've done with y'all's house? I mean I wish I could do half of that shit." Boyd holds a hand up to his mouth. "Oh, man, sorry. You curse?"

Ari snorts, loudly and enthusiastically. "Yes, I fucking do."

He'd never thought about it that way, never considered all the stuff he could do that Boyd can't. Ari assumed that since you and Boyd share similar careers, you'd be similar to each other, but this dude is bouncy and chaotic, probably best experienced in small doses.

It's the best scenario he could ever hope for.

"Well," Ari drawls, grinning as he brings his whisky to his lips but doesn't sip, "anytime you need somethin' fixed..."

He likes Boyd. Boyd the Boy. The Boy who can't maintain his own house. The Boy who knows you're Ari's girl. The Boy who addressed him as 'Mr. Levinson.' Yes, he likes Boyd.

Suddenly, the party isn't so bad, and Ari wonders aloud if Boyd plays poker.

Later, while you lean on his shoulder on the ride home, you let out a long breath.

"Told ya so," you mumble, "my dirty, old man."

Oh okay. That's how you're playing it? Ari might just have a few more points to prove tonight...

bwahahahahahahaha

[Main Masterlist]

[longeyelashedtragedy]

Frank James Lampard OBE 👀

ougughgh, you whipped out the order of the british empire? 🫡 😳 maybe i was wrong to judge them teaboos back in the superwholock days (that's a JOKE)

@protect-daniel-james i'll respond here but i might use your ask to post some more Photos cause i'm not sure how to pick just one photo of the Long Eyelashed Tragedy

favorite thing about them: uhhh...so much? he gets me right in the FEELS, man. he tells on himself constantly and seems to be completely unaware. sadboi footballer with pretty dead eyes who loves to Read and took a little notebook with him on the team bus. the intersection of having it easy/privileged childhood & traumatic things that shouldn't have happened--i relate. exhilarating to watch his old performances and he seems like he'd be fun to have a conversation with. fascinating to analyze, this all feels sort of reductive...i'm very Fond of him and some of it is hard to put into words, but i feel very "what's not to love?" about him lol. and he has such a Narrative. he's very easy to write about though it probably doesn't turn out well at all (sounds great and deep in my head though)

also i find a lot of footballers hot but don't really experience significant attraction to them but he is an exception you know what i'm just going to end this here

least favorite thing about them: he lost weight after everton BOO HISS

favorite line: omg, frank james lampard OBE is funny because he's often so intelligent and articulate and then just whips out the WEIRDEST/most cringe thing out of nowhere. some examples:

-his "fight" with klopp on the touchline

THIS wtfery:

these BANGERS:

this classic example of childhood trauma "too old when you're young and too young when you're old" (what some ppl would call "entitled male athlete" but like..i know better than that lol). it's also just patently RIDICULOUS he was like 36...bolding is mine for the classic lines

But it was while on a night out in Manchester during pre-season that the ex-West Hamer star showed his new American team-mates exactly how ex-Premier League stars like to party.

Columbus Crew centre-back Josh Williams was with NYCFC at the time and he told the story to the Athletic.

...“This place is packed, multiple levels. And as soon as we walk in, you could see everybody recognise Frank. And it’s just me, my teammate and Frank and all the energy is just on him.

"He picks up a bottle, this huge bottle of Grey Goose, picks it up, opens it, just starts downing it. Passes it to me and goes, ‘Boys, we’re not putting this down until it’s fucking gone.’”

The trio passed the bottle around three times when the rest of NYCFC showed up.

After about an hour in the club, Lampard approached Williams and asked him about 'that game you Americans play where you throw the little balls — he’s talking about beer pong.'

ok let's see...

brotp: random one but i recently learned that he and ian wright are friends? and i just love that so much both as a gooner and a person. wrighty complements him well and is very...respectful lol. if we consider lamperry to be only one-sided romantic, then definitely lamperry

notp: franko x steven gerrard...there's only One situation in which i've enjoyed that ship (and it was an au). it does nothing for me normally, and i personally don't find stevie g attractive, so! again, it's like an "ew get it away from me" notp, it's just not my vibe.

otp: i mean...lamperry requited. franko x cousin jamie jamie jamie ....maybe someday they can give romeo and juliet their happy ending. and of course, frank and mason...i just really like this ship so much and it keeps my brain so entertained...even though it's not "healthy" and doesn't end well. these ships are all SO good!!!

random headcanon: oh gosh idk...i don't think i have any "headcanons" because everything he says and does in public just kind of tracks. bet he's done coke lol. idk

unpopular opinion: HOO BOY!!! here we go!!! i am aware that i have a wooby nature, but i actually like that about myself. i'd rather approach someone--anyone with softness and then tone it down when i decide they're a dick, than be uncharitable for no reason. that's my way and that's how it's gonna be! so that said...franko gets accusations of "arrogance" and i...i don't see it at all. it might come from his disingenous press conferences at chelsea and everton, but i see that as a man who has horrid self-esteem, was used to being treated by media and fans like a Starboy, and once he started doing badly, had no idea how to handle professional failure--not one single idea. remember on "diary of a ceo" over the summer when he said his first chelsea sacking was the first time he's ever failed professionally? that's insane. Like, imagine making it to age FORTY-TWO and not having a legitimate school or career disaster. that's insane to me. so he just put up a front and got cranky and defensive and funky about where he placed the blame (and to be honest--he has not done a good job as a manager, but he also wound up in some pretty dismal positions. taking chelsea caretaker manager was really shooting himself in the foot because that season just needed to be put out of its misery lol). i'm not saying he's a bastion of humility, or some misunderstood coaching genius, but i don't see him as any more or less arrogant than someone else. idk--i see a weird level of contempt for him that doesn't really feel deserved? he's just a sad sack. sort of a hubris tale in a sense, but also a tale of a man who is still stuck as a kid in some ways...i need to stop before i write a really bad dissertation lol

uh that said...

song i associate with them:

finally a footballer i can give a good answer to this for!!!

name me a better combination than me x lamps x pink floyd x this summer! comfortably numb, shine on you crazy diamond (all of it, but particularly sections vi-ix), wish you were here...

(i know this sounds basic...i know there are more i'm not remembering)

"money" in some ways because i listened to it while writing "visited upon the sons" (it hit me afterward that the fic and the song are structured in the same way...the chicken or the egg?)

from the oooold first days of the lampardverse:

behind blue eyes/a well respected man

also! wouldn't it be nice kind of reminds me of him and cousin jamie loool

favorite picture of them:

dude idk! i really love looking at photos of him! this is granit levels of difficulty...i Cannot choose so let's go with this sad sack from the blessed everton days:

[fangirlmedstudentblog]

Ok, so now that I've watched the msp our skyy eps and slept on it, my thoughts are finally a bit more than indecipherable sobbing at every tinngun scene lol.

Spoilers for anyone who hasn't seen the our skyy 2 my school president episodes yet

Me after just looking at tinngun pics yesterday after the ep ended

But i will say one thing they've done well in these 2 eps is UNDERSTAND how to do a life swap au. It was one of my bigger fears about the our skyy msp episodes. Because life swap/role swap aus are often hard to get right. And I'm happy they understood the assignment 😃

Because i absolutely LOVE how they've swapped the lives of Tinn and Gun and how you can see it's changed so much about them, but yet at the core they're still the same tinn and gun we know and love!

I really appreciate how they've just kept the fact that Tinn is still so much more confident and ready to *go* for something despite the fear of rejection and Gun's still more hesitant, still the same boy who is still afraid of *why* he's so loved. (I have a feeling that his dad isn't alive even in this universe, though I'll be happy if that's wrong)

I've seen meta saying how Gun not having that creative outlet as in the original universe has kinda made him more subdued (he's still bratty). And it's so true.

Also there's something to be said around Gun's willingness to pine away from afar and just be happy in the moments he gets with Tinn that is so *him* but also a little nod to those in real life who are not as bold as the original Tinn. Gun's insecurities are something MANY of us have irl.

Gun always has been the one who's a bit more hesitant and it's always been Tinn who quietly but steadfastly just patiently waits for Gun, has always seen Gun and just aaahhhhhh it's so GOOD the way these two ALWAYS support each other 😭😭

Like how @bengiyo says it in their our skyy ep 2 recap, these eps show just how much of Tinn's trust and confidence in himself and his feelings were critical to the way the og msp unfolded and gave us so many of the moments we squeal about.

Also credit to @lurkingshan and @distant-screaming for their thoughts on this episode who are articulating what i feel much more concisely and without ending up writing a mini essay lmao

With that who talk of Gun and Por in the school bench scene (Never Let me Go school I see ya!) it's such a beautiful talk. The whole sequence is such a nudge to Gun and to those of us who are hesitant in real life to do a particular thing that there's not much use just thinking about what your alternate universe self will do and instead just try to go for it in your *own* universe.

I also loved all the references to aof's past works in the mv and the ost as usual are bangers. (Someone please buy me the ost album 😭)

If I had to say, maybe there's just three things I'd complain a little about these eps:

One, there should have been more i absolutely LOVED it

Two, i would've liked TinnGun to maybe have (1) new scene and a small cheek kiss at least (this is a bit more of a personal thing) maybe at that 1 year point ? I would've liked to see it at that point at least but that hand holding was also excellent 10/10 sobbed a lot

Three, I would've liked a glimpse into the lives of the original universe and how they are doing now (I miss them so much MY BABIES) and if that time skip scene had been for the original universe TinnGun somehow i would've loved it even more

Anyways that's all i have to say about these our skyy eps for msp (for now) and thanks for reading through my ramblings 💜