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bitches be like:

and then 5 seconds later they're like:

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like i'm sorry but we as a fandom have to stay firm on our anti-AI values. we cannot suddenly start giving AI a pass when it's something we "want to see" like destiel kisses. it's not suddenly fine. we're not going to start using AI to make fanfic scenes come to life or audio AI to make characters "say" stuff we want to hear. you have GOT to be firm on your anti-AI stance. if you start making exceptions then suddenly anything will fly. fandom is for real art and creations made by real people. no AI fanfics. no AI art. no AI rendered "bonus" scenes. no AI audio. none of it has a place here.

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(sighing dreamily) so there's this old man

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whenever I like your self ship posts, please imagine me holding up pompoms and yelling "YEAH!!!!" every time.

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STAR CROSSED ; Oikawa x f!reader

The flutter of her long eyelashes; all the wishes for him not to leave her alone upon them. The unfathomable hurt and the betrayal in her gaze. The love, too.

contains: f!reader, hurt/comfort, ldr goodbyes, messy and complicated feelings, can be read as a sequel to colder, closer (but works as a standalone too), oikawa pov, don't be fooled by the bright header this is one of the fics where the author works through some issues

word count: 1.3k

You’re always leaving, Tōru.

Her words cut like glass because they are true. In all honesty he doesn’t know why she still puts up with him, but his love is selfish enough not to seek answers to that. As long as she still hiccup cries against his chest the night he’s heading to the airport, she still belongs to him, right?

It’s always the same, like a malfunctioning dance they had perfected by now. On his last day they’ll go out for brunch together and she’ll be overly chatty and cheerful, as if she wants him to remember her like that. The bright girl he fell in love with all the years back in high school, with their tables pushed together during lunch break and their feet nudging each other underneath them, the small wonky doodles in his notebook and their pinkies touching over their homework, so quiet and subtle. Even back then he wanted her all for himself. His sun, his girl, his everything.

Oikawa still remembers what the kiss tasted like, the one he stole from her lips during training camp, when she scraped her knee falling down the stairs and he put a band-aid on it for her in an empty classroom. Overly sweet, a little salty from her tears, and so full of longing. Looking back it’s almost ironic how he kneeled before her, sweet talking her nonstop so she’d stop crying, so he could bask in the light of her again. Greedy, but he meant them. All the things he told her that afternoon, he meant them.

You’re so brave. You can hold on to me. There, there, doesn’t hurt so bad when we’re together, right? Is that a smile? You really are the sweetest, aren’t you? Such a heartthrob. What, me? Nah, there’s only one girl I want. Yes, you know her. Who is she? I’ll let you in on a secret.   

How he slowly peeled her fists in her lap apart, his fingers tangling with hers, his thumb rubbing soothingly over her sore wrist. He had tried catching her by it before she fell but it was too late, and in the blink of an eye she slipped right through his grasp. Fleeting, like a dream. 

He used to kiss her pain away once. Now he only causes more of it whenever he tries.

Back at the apartment she’ll busy herself while he packs his bags, and by busying herself he means she’ll cry quietly in the kitchen or on the balcony, somewhere she thinks he can’t see or hear her. Sometimes she’ll let him wrap her in his arms and kiss the top of her head, sometimes she’ll flinch away from him when he tries. 

This home belongs to the two of them. There’s both of their names on the doorbell, his toothbrush next to hers on the bathroom counter, his custom-tailored suit hanging next to her backless gown in the closet. Photo albums with shared memories of them are stacked next to his nightstand, magnets of places they traveled together are pinned to the fridge, next to her desk sit the dried flowers from the bouquet he got her before he set off to Argentina.

His belongings are there, but he isn’t. He’s always leaving.

Iwaizumi got angry with him one night when he told him about the small velvet box he keeps for her, for the right moment, when things are less fragile. She’s a caged bird, Oikawa. Set her free. She’s hurting all the time and you know it. Oikawa is aware his best friend has been there for her at times while he was at the other end of the world, picking up the pieces he willingly shattered with his absence. He probably should feel guilty about it but he can’t; not when her love is the sole thing in the world that keeps him going. Her tears a fickle proof that her feelings for him haven’t changed.

Back then, it was easier. Held hands on their way home from school, kisses that tasted like popsicles and honey melon, confessions written with sunscreen on her bare back. Her head resting against his shoulder during hours of bus rides, shared earphones and his thumb spelling L-O-V-E in the palm of her hand. Her airy laughs fawning over his skin when he kissed her neck, idle fingers tangling in his hair and her entire heart on his tongue. 

For one summer, they were allowed to dream that they were indestructible. 

It’s the dead hours between him shutting his suitcases and putting on his shoes for his departure that he loves the most; when the apartment gets eerily quiet and they find their way back to bed again. With her weight on top of him and her face hidden in the crook of his neck, whispering all these sweet things against his skin. Their legs tangled under the sheets and his fingers dancing up and down her spine, his other hand on the back of her thigh to pull her impossibly closer against him. It’s the moments her love for him feels the most palpable.

She’s waiting–she’s always waiting–and some days Oikawa gets scared that she’ll get tired of it. Tired of him. Tired of pouring love in a broken vessel. Tired, tired, tired.

He loves her. In the solar system of their universe they’re two moons, always facing and orbiting around another, forever drawn to their counterpart. There’s no him without her. When she sinks into his arms, he feels a faint sense of coming home, of belonging. It drowns out everything; the fears and the doubts and his useless pride. A lunar eclipse in his embrace. 

“You’ll love me forever, right?”, he murmurs into the dark, trailing kisses along her jaw, coaxing her to look at him. He has her face memorized from touch alone, the ghost of her underneath his fingertips when he was alone again. She’s still here, her heart still drumming against his ribcage with his arms wrapped around her. 

He’ll never get used to that look in her eyes, he thinks. It’s the same she gave him when he told her about going to Argentina after high school. The flutter of her long eyelashes; all the wishes for him not to leave her alone upon them. The unfathomable hurt and the betrayal in her gaze. The love, too. 

“What about me?” she asks, her voice wavering a little, and it’s like they’re eighteen again and she’s too prideful to ask him to stay and too lonely to walk away. They’re one of a kind. “Will you love me forever?”

Oikawa scoffs, as if the underlying doubt in her words was absurd. In one swift movement he rolls her on her back, pinning her down underneath him. He likes how her legs come apart to make room for him between them, and he likes the way her breath hitches when he grabs her chin to make sure her eyes stay on him in the dim light of the bedroom. Her lovesick gaze mirrors his own. 

“Sweet girl… really now?” he hushes her with a condescending click of his tongue before he leans down, lifting her hips to meet him. His lips find her neck and leave a mark for every day they’ll be apart again soon, and his fingers write all the things he can’t say to her yet against her bare skin till she comes undone underneath him. It’s what he does. Taking her apart, over and over again, making her forget all the ways he shatters her heart with one kiss after another. 

She’s a siren song, he thinks. Impossible to resist and drowning him slowly, but he lets her. As long as it means that he gets to have her, he’ll let her. He loves her more than life, more than the entire sun, more than his own vain beating heart. 

a/n: i need to throttle him

gen taglist: @kentocalls @wyrcan @nekozaki @kittygirl11829 @bakingcuriosity

@bakery-anon @jodercriis @chaotic-neutral-ig @kitsune-kita

gen taglist is open! fill out this form to be added (or removed, no hard feelings) ♡

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reblog if it's okay for your mutuals to message you and create an actual friendship, not just interactions

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Love Letters from the 19th century

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we need to be weirder & so so earnest now more than ever

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i'm Sat

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My first fic of 2025 is in the queue!

I wonder what it could be about... 💊❤️

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sorry for finding it hot when people's hair goes grey. as if im wrong

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i would've made for such a good fucking cat life's so unfair

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to anyone missing my writing please know i am also missing my writing

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@nanamis-bigtie @lemonloaves

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mwaaaah ! In these trying times.