#<- this will be my tag so i can watch its progress

[seewetter]

How low can you go, discourse edition!

"Lawful evil" is a dungeons & dragons game mechanic, not a political analysis. You look silly.

"The person in the comic is correct" which person? They are both stick figures!

To have meaningful discussion about politics, including transfeminist politics, comics aren't suited as the main source of theory. Stick figure comics can cause you to have theoretical insights, they can communicate politics, but they mix entertainment and thought. They are easily digested, like a tv series that people binge watch instead of engaging with a text slowly and methodically.

Beth's* (*just the alias Talia gave her, I know) mistake, in my view, is to try and use the form of a frequently published (!) comic to try and discuss things that must be read "in the context of everything that came before it". In other words, complex theory made so bite-sized that an onlooker can easily misconstrue it as a stand-alone statement. Complex theory that sincere people can misconstrue and that bad faith actors can much more easily misrepresent than long-form communication.

The tags that Beth wrote and got screenshotted by the first commenter are not clear enough. "Comic" can mean comic strip (the individual page of the comic we see embedded in the first post of this thread) or it can mean comic as a totality (all green stickfigure comics Beth makes as a totality). And as a result, outsiders unfamiliar with the comics who don't read the backlog have to trust the comic author (a complete stranger) that these comics are sympathetic to transfeminism.

On the other hand, I think we can expect people to read a note like that and read a small sampling of previous comic pages to get a feel for how honest the author is being. It's not too much to expect people to actually sit down and make an informed decision about whether this comic advocates these ideas. An author would usually not leave a note like Beth did. People who "test the waters" to express their bigoted opinions do so wordlessly, leaving the audience to interpret. They want as many people as possible to read the bigotry with their guard down. "This comic is progressive, just check the backlog" is something bigots are only likely to say when they've been attacked and are defending their stuff. It's not something people say while publishing their work.

Personally, I think the comic page that is causing this strong reaction isn't very insightful. The message I'm taking away from it is "some people think the height of (trans) activism is to not have friends with privilege, to only assume the worst about the intentions of privileged people and to justify it with the veneer of liberation theory which does not support that reading". But here's the thing. It's a comic. It doesn't have to blow my min. It doesn't have to liberate. You and I and everybody else can be unimpressed by this page and we can move along with our day or read the backlog for better pages or ignore its existence. The strong reaction from user thegreenbisamurai is hyperbolic. But I think you, dear reader, now have sufficient context. I'm not assigning equal blame, I think blame firmly lies with people who make zero effort to engage with a post that explicitly asks them to engage with more. But I do think this discussion will always be absurd, will always have a sillyness to it, because

#you fuckers better not take this as a generally anti-transfeminist comic#this exists in the context of everything posted before it. you are fully equipped to understand this as a comic about a specific behavior

will never make sense as a request unless we really assume that people are expected to read an entire oeuvre before judging a stick figure comic.

The strong reactions (at least in this thread) appear to be "this comic f*cked up" or "the author is displaying a discriminatory idea to me". Basically various people who read the comic don't get the point the comic is making. Perhaps in part because "wow some people really are over-suspicious and separatist and then blame theory, huh" is not a message that particularly helps people unpack their own suspicions and separatist opinions.

"Privileged people always have bad intentions. It's only a matter of time till they strike and betray you. That's what we have learned from good theory books." is a much more common opinion than "Trans and cis people can't be friends. No more race mixing." Right? The comic aims very broadly at all these tendencies, likely even at tendencies not directly voiced by the stick figures! I mean just look at all the wild hills people try to die on because they have a doomer interpretation of some theory book. Uh, the list is endless! But I can see how the user thegreenbisamurai might feel that the comic lumps all these people together not because it is primarily critiqueing bad reads of theory (for an audience already accustomed to poking fun at both self-destructive hyper-suspicious mindsets and also used to poking fun at separatists) but because, if you don't know what the core critique is or what the audience of this comic believes, it can feel like its lumping every target of criticism together into a strawman group of bad people. Laughable bad people, easily mocked for their backwater beliefs, such as their hillbilly mistrust of cis and transmasc strangers, all of whom are quasi-racist redneck separatists who us civilized open-minded trans people do not take seriously.

That's why 4chan was mentioned, I think. Because 4chan comics represent that kind of "lumping together", strawmanning the Other without nuance. And in a way, Beth's comic does do that too! Like yes, it's written for people who poke fun at these tendencies, who've already agreed that they think all these ideas are bad. The comic doesn't feel the need to justify itself to parts of the trans community who feel these suspicions of cis people or transmasculine people. They are not the intended audience -- and yet the tags below the comic are sort of for them, aren't they. They are expected to have sufficient willingness to read the comic in good faith, to not attack a statement that is built on the unspoken assumption that they are wrong. And that their feelings are misguided, mistaken, and that some introspection is necessary to stop misusing theory to argue that suspicions of privileged people are justified. Which, to be honest, I wish that too! In a perfect world, I want people to just introspect about every opinion they hold, every emotional reaction they have. I want people to approach these comics in good faith and treat them with good humour and a grain of salt.

But for many people, this hyper-suspicion is dead serious. It's a defense mechanism. And their reading of theory is strongly shaped by the fact that these theory books gave them more information about worrisome things in society. That's one of their takeaways from transfeminist literature, because that's what they were looking for: things to watch out for, potential dangers.

I really don't think it makes sense to expect people to make that leap. I know there are trans people out there who have convinced themselves that no trans person has a happy relationship with their parents! That your parents can't love you and will always betray you. These are assumptions and sweeping assertions made from a raw emotional place. A place of stupidity. They can't be fixed by telling people to reconsider, because these ideas have some kind of "use" for people. I think it's important to remember how lonely some trans people are, how dependent some trans people are on the trans community -- how dependent some transfem people are on the transfem communities around them. How risky it can be (or feel) to reach out to a privileged person. Heck, I am hyper-cautious about it myself. Sometimes it's easier to delude oneself that these are iron laws of reality, that no one out there is happy among cis or transmasc friends or also comforting: being right, always, always being proven right eventually, and not having to bear the pain that reality is unpredictable and weird, preferring predictable patterns like that everyone will predictably betray you.

Bad takes? In my trans community? It's more likely than you...get it, it's a meme, I hate myself.

Anyway, I don't expect Beth to not make funny stick figure comics. I don't know if she has a financial incentive to post all the time, but she may have. And if there's a financial (or otherwise) incentive to post a lot, sometimes posters like that will express thoughts badly. That's the nature of how mass production works. If I make a comic every week, I may just not find the time to really make the message perfect. I know this. That's why I take Beth's comics with a grain of salt -- I smile at some when I come across them, I think others (like this one) are meaningless. There's even some I disagree with (I don't have examples for that, I'm not a regular reader).

But equally I don't expect people on Tumblr to be able to parse the meaning of a comic or to read a backlog of comics. Remember the Neil Gaiman revelations of the past few weeks? In the aftermath of that, there was a post going around that claims that Gaiman (on top of being a horrific serial abuser) ripped off a small author. But I've also come across a counter-claim, that some guy on the internet invented the similarities between Gaiman's Sandman story and the universe of this small author wholecloth. For clout! I say all this because I don't have the time "read the backlog". Maybe in a few years, I'll have the money and time to read the small author and compare her work to what I know of Sandman (which is from the tv series, never read the comics). But until then, I can only relate to it with ignorance. I don't know! The internet is full of green stick figure comics or posts making accusations. And we have to make ethical judgment calls. I think thegreenbisamurai's post is actually fairly subdued, the typical grumblings of someone who is unconvinced by an argument and finds it unfair (for pretty understandable reasons!). I also think Beth's comic is fine, nothing that needs to change about it. And I find Talia Bhatt's responses fine too! So in short, I don't really think there is much to talk about here.

But I do want to address summertimesadnessgirl's reaction.

"This is about Christianity, right?"

It is? How so? Ok, I've read the whole post and I guess I'll respond with more substance later...but, to employ a Christian rhetorical figure, what a hell of an opening statement!

"Look.

This isn't complicated.

It actually is possible for double think to exist which causes people to support ideology which ruins the lives of people they see every day and are "nice" to."

I think it is helpful to quote the people you respond to. When you don't quote them, you end up writing about niceness and doublethink and Christianity and talking about various things other people aren't explicitly talking about and it comes across like you are from another planet.

The thing summertimesadnessgirl is trying to say (I think) is that a person like Beth can be a transfeminist with hypocritical (transphobic, transmisogynistic) tendencies.

I take it that had summertimesadnessgirl clearly stated this, it would be far less confusing to read!

"They teach it to people who grow up in Christianity, for sure."

There are 2,000,000,000 people on this planet who grow up in a Christian tradition. Do you know how many German Catholics have committed themselves to continuous mass protests against a sexist, homophobic and transphobic church doctrine? Have you seen the uproar?

Ok, that's not the point though, is it. Chilean or German Catholics and Unitarian Universalists may be chill people, but current Catholic doctrine is monstrous yet "nice", and evangelicals like John MacArthur dare to say that we live on a "disposable" planet. Nietzsche had a point when he critiqued the Christian idea of love that masks hate. So I'll grant summertimesadnessgirl that you can convince good people to do evil things through something like a religion. You can convince people to define "nice" or "virtuous" in ways that are destructive and horrible.

"They teach it to people who grow up with white supremacy and bigotry."

I wouldn't be so sure. A lot of white supremacists know that they are evil. H.P. Lovecraft is the rare historical figure whose racism came from genuine ignorance about foreign cultures (his parents were mostly in mental institutions, he grew up alone next to a bookshelf full of books with racist propaganda about Africa and the Middle-East) -- and notably, Lovecraft came to regret much of his ideas and writings towards the end of his life. But like most racists know that they are just fantasizing the Other into existence. Putin's racist advisor Aleksandr Dugin knows that Russia doesn't really have "it's own reality", he just says that because it confuses people. The darling of the modern alt-right, Julius Evola argued for racial supremacy "on spiritual grounds" just because he knew nobody could argue with him on that terrain. Nazi Germany declared their neighbours, the French, to be subhuman and their culturally completely alien allies, the Japanese, to be "Yellow Aryans". Does that sound like a conclusion reached naively, through ignorance? Or does it sound like political calculation?

But okay, that's not the point either, is it. Yes, good people can internalize racial messaging. People can hate racism yet have difficulties interacting with racial minorities.

And yes, those observations do apply to this comic. A hypothetical version of the comic's author could promote hostility towards some important liberatory goals! It's possible.

I don't think so though, and I have reason to be wary of such accusations.

Separatism (Group A can't be friends with Group B) is historically associated exclusively with bigots. Even modern black supremacists like Gazi Kodzo, who argue black and white people can't befriend each other, are in bed with the alt right (Kodzo also believes that Hitler did nothing wrong, and his insistence that he's gay and a socialist don't really help convince me that his anti-white-black friendship stance offers any kind of helpful future to anyone)

Suspicions of ill intentions and betrayal are fine, but people who use these suspicions as preaching material and get mad when someone trusts other people are preventing our ability as a transgender movement to not remain isolated and politically removed from the gears that enable us to prevent our extermination.

The comics method that people should not read into theory and should instead be self-reflective is not some secretly bigoted opinion.

"It's part of lawful evil culture."

That's a 5. Oh, I'm so sorry. The wisdom check fails and you're going to have to roll for initiative. Look, I don't think these are drow you're attacking, I think they're just other trans people. Oh no! Your character won't be able to stop her attack. I'm so sorry.

"Lawful evil culture includes even people who engage in doing a behavior themselves on a regular and consistent basis and claim to love the behavior and then work to make the behavior illegal and punish people who make the behavior possible-"

Give me an example.

I hate to put people on the spot like this, but I think what happened here is this: summertimesadnessgirl had a (genuine, not joking!) epiphany and is articulating something worth articulating: that there are often people who seem to be on our side but then back legal efforts that go in the exact opposite direction. Example: Kyrsten Sinema, a bisexual activist whose radical ideas seem to have evaporated in her role as a politician in Washington. Example: overhyped New York mayor Cuomo, who spoke the language of progressive activism and intersectionality so well, that his sudden betrayal of Black Lives Matter activists was all the more horrific!

But without examples, people don't know what you're talking about.

Other examples may include Christian hate preachers like Jerry Falwell who are caught with male prostitutes (Falwell famously tried to excuse his behaviour and said something along the lines of "to understand evil, you have to explore evil").

But crucially, your examples need to work. Falwell is a bad analogy for this comic, because Falwell is a hate preacher who secretly betrays his hateful community. Cuomo and Sinema are bad analogies because neither are sincere, Sinema may have morphed into a monster over time, or perhaps both were always dishonest people just waiting to manipulate progressives for political gain. None of these examples, as much as they express the duality of speaking vs doing, are really examples of a well-meaning person passing a horror law!

Perhaps the closest analogy, in the legal realm, of genuinely well-meaning progressive people unleashing horror on minorities happened in Florida under Ron DeSantis, who passed some kind of anti-LGBT legislation that found a lot of support among liberals. But importantly, those liberals didn't realize what the legislation did in its entirety. It was framed as a support for parents, I believe, and quite a few liberals just didn't look at the proposal in detail.

Plenty of material for summertimesadnessgirl to pontificate about "lawful evil culture" and confirm that lawful evil culture works exactly as defined by using examples... but if these examples are unrelated to this comic, then...then why?

"Like homophobic and trans phobic people who vote to have rights taken away from queer people while crossdressing in their sex lives or having gay sex, or people who regularly use porn and vote to have porn censored and make the lives of people who are consenting adults legally producing porn difficult. Those things are a regular feature of the cognitive dissonance in lawful evil culture."

Some people want power. Bigots are quick to give power to those who support their bigotry.

The official biography of Jarosław Kaczynski (the right-wing former leader of Catholic supremacists in Poland) states that in university, Kaczynski went to gender consultation. So it's possible Kaczynski, someone who has done harm to queer and trans people at the highest level, is a closeted transfem. But what summertimesadnessgirl has to prove is that the Kaczynski's of the world aren't aware of what they are doing. That they go to gender consultation, get positive vibe about being trans and then join the leopards eating faces party through sheer cognitive dissonance.

That's what's so hard to believe about the argument.

Like I understand Kanye West watches porn and wants it banned. But I'm pretty sure Kanye West feels guilt at his porn consumption. He calls himself a porn addict. He thinks something bad is being done to him, he interprets the pleasure he feels through the frame of an evil industry that he blames for his feelings.

The Jerry Falwell's and Jarosław Kaczynski's of the world may crossdress in bed (I don't know) but they aren't simultaneously excited about promoting queer rights and also trying to get queer people killed. That's not how cognitive dissonance works.

"Lawful evil culture will argue that something the person does is fun and they like it, but it's a net negative for society, or that it's out of it's proper place, or some other thing."

Yes, but what does this have to do with this comic?

"There are a bunch of reasons they do this."

Yes, but how does this relate to this comic?

"But pretending that a group of people who follow all belief system that says "everyone in this group deserves this bad outcome" will not turn on you because they are nice doesn't work."

The comic differentiates between two types of groups: demographics (men, women, trans people, cis people, transmasculine people, transfeminine people) and agents of marginalization (transphobes, transmisogynists, etc.). You don't seem to? Should I believe that Kaczynski, a Christian nationalist, is safe to be around? Hell no, I'm not suicidal! Should I believe that my friend Xander, a trans guy who has never said or done anything cruel to me and whom I want to protect from his bigoted family, who does not follow a belief system that "everyone in this group deserves this bad outcome"... should I believe this friend of mine will betray me? That this is a law of nature? That I must be afraid of him, though he is a decade younger than me? Do I need to quiver in fear?

People are people. I've met transmasc genderfluid people who have treated me without the barest shred of consideration or kindness and projected their trauma onto me with zero consideration for what transfems go through and trans men who have been far kinder, who never hurt me in any way. There is no neat box that will quickly tell you who is safe, there are only (behavioural) red flags.

rationalize

[ID: Three panel comic with crudely drawn stick people

Panel 1: A leaf green person is talking to a grass green person with a hat and glasses.

Leaf: "And then Orange said that-"

Grass: "Orange"? Your friend is orange?"

Leaf: "Yeah?"

Grass: "Why do you have non-green friends? Don't you know about misoviridy??"

Leaf: "…I have plenty of non-green friends. I have grayscale friends, even."

Panel 2: Grass Green solemnly holds Leaf Green's shoulder.

Grass: "Look. I hate to be the one to tell you this, but every single misoviridy-exempt friend you have secretly hates you.

Leaf: "Uh. That is not true."

Grass: "It's basic viridist theory. Every single moment they're around you, they're thinking about it."

Panel 3: The grass green person tips their hat down.

Grass: "Look. I get it. You're naive and uninformed. You don't know better. But read "Pruning Greens." Then you will understand."

Leaf: "I already read that. It did not say the things you are saying."

Grass: "You will see. It is inevitable."

Leaf: "No I think you're just finding a new way to rationalize really unhealthy thought patterns here actually"

End ID.]

Start - Previous - Next

[kadzhi]

New fimshtank

Still cycling, waiting for more plants to arrive

[miwasae]

shoutout to my 36 loyal followers ily shizumachers take some evangelion screenshot redraws :3

[vogelmeister]

Hi, sorry if this is unwarrented but if you want to watch de mol belgium it is on npo start, you do need a vpn to put your location to the netherlands (only the most recent episode is with a free account). I haven't used it this year, so it may have changed, but in the past I've used goplay.be (the belgian national television site) which was free but also required a vpn to set the location to belgium and where I could also watch old seasons. As a fellow widm fan I hope this helps and you can enjoy some more with accents :)

[hussyknee]

Having low expectations almost paid off. Nicholas Galitzine was perfectly cast and put his whole foot into this. Taylor was very charming. They have great chemistry and no self-consciousness. I wanted hot guys getting it on and I got it. Zahra and Nora carried the rest of the movie.

I sure wish Alex had been in this movie though! However, I forgot that Greg Berlanti's brand is not simply failing to meet standards but actively fucking them over. Kind of want to send Matthew Lopez a fruit basket for the sex scenes and a dog poop for the rest of it. It's one thing for a movie to be sub-par, it's another for it to be two hours worth of sexist and racial microaggressions.

[hauntingblue]

"He's pathetic, weak and bloody, but he stands up time after time" EXACTLY!!! SHUT UP!!!!!

[thedreamlessnights]

Since requests are open, here's my suggestion: I recently revisited my old mythology book and found one of the myths about aphrodite bathing in a lake and blinds some pervs that sneaked up to watch her. Now, the reader might not have the powers of a goddess but you know what she does have? A dagger-happy vampire boyfriend more than willing to shank unwanted peeping toms (in his defense, he actually asked if he could be there, so no harm done here). Idk, I just like the idea of the reader having scary dog privileges and Astarion not minding looking menacing/scary while doing so

Thank you so, so much for this request, anon. It's an absolutely incredible concept, and it fits Astarion so well! I had such a fun time writing it, and I really hope you enjoy the result!

For Your Eyes Only

Astarion x F!Reader - NSFW

Content warnings: Mentions of brief, non-consensual voyeurism. Somewhat graphic violence, as well as mentions of blood, degrading terms, and the description of an injury and death. Explicit sexual content, including: oral sex (receiving), penetrative sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, blood drinking, and ear play. Tags: Takes place post-Cazador, some point in Act 3. Includes mild spoilers. Established relationship, a bit of emotional hurt/comfort, and tender smut.

Word Count: 5.8k

After the darkness and chill of the Shadowlands, the heat in the city feels suffocating.

You missed the warmth dearly back then, trudging through despair and gloom, thinking of nothing but the inevitable relief of the city. Your bones always ached something awful in that foul place, never warm enough to ward away the icy air. Now, though, it occurs to you that you hadn’t fully appreciated the cold when you had it. 

The sun that streams down from the skies is blistering - scorching, even - and without reprieve or relief. Sweat courses down your neck, soaking the collar of your shirt. Your socks are damp inside your boots, and where the leather meets your calves, they’re chafing. 

Gods, what you wouldn’t give for a bit of that chill again. Even with the achy bones.

What’s worse is the mud, somehow. One would think that Baldur’s Gate would be scarce on its share of the stuff, but it’s everywhere. Tracked up from Rivington, puddling in the streets, clinging to the bottom of boots.

Granted, your boots have seen more than their fair share of mud since the nautiloid: sticky, wet, warm. It’s seeped into socks and splattered across new armor, stained some of your favorite nightwear. Sometimes, when you’ve finally settled down for dinner, you’ve been able to taste it. No amount of scrubbing rids you of the earthy, bitter taste for long. 

The mud in front of you is different, though. By all accounts, the heat should have baked everything at least somewhat dry, but this puddle remains. If it can even be called a puddle, really. The gloppy, wet mess looks more like a pond, and completely blocks the only path ahead. Even the edges of it remain entirely liquid. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it’d just rained.

A quick glance at your map confirms what you’d feared; this is the only nearby route to your destination. You’re on the outskirts of the city. Rock walls line either side of the path, too steep to climb. You know for a fact that Shadowheart had recently used your last Potion of Flying. Either you lose hours of progress to get Gale from camp so you can cross, or you’ll have to proceed through this stupid pond.

Astarion watches you eye the mess with a dramatic flick of his wrist. “Oh, by all means, darling, you go first!” he exclaims, raising a brow. “It won’t be me jumping in that slop.”

Karlach frowns at the mud’s appearance, tapping the toe of her boot against the surface. It ripples at the movement, brown waves gently sloshing against the surface of the nearby stone. “Can’t be that deep, right?”

“I don’t know,” you reply. You’re aching for a stick or loose branch, something to measure it, but there’s nothing around. Just grass and stone, the scalding sun on the back of your neck, and the muddy pond directly in the middle of the path. 

“I say we go back,” Shadowheart urges. “I don’t know about any of you, but I’m not keen on dirtying myself.”

“We’d have to backtrack through hours of traveling,” you point out. “There’s no other way forward. I’ve checked the map.”

“Fine,” she relents, crossing her arms across her chest. “You go first, and we’ll follow behind you. Once we’ve seen it’s safe, that is.”

And, hells, you do not want to step foot in there. Not one bit. Still, do you have much of a choice? Your feet are already aching from the day’s walk. It would be devastating to lose all your progress. So, no - you really don’t have a choice, not if you want to get those Netherstones and stop the Absolute in time. The quakes in the city have only been getting worse.

“Alright,” you finally reply, your voice stronger than you feel. 

You step forward, pressing your right boot against the mud, then apply your weight. Your heel breaks the surface with a terrifying rush of movement, and your leg instantly slides down into the muck - much deeper than you’d thought, deeper than it should be. When your foot hits the bottom, sticky, cold mud splatters up, painting your shirt, neck, and parts of your face. 

Suddenly, the day isn’t quite so warm.

When you finally muster the courage to look down, your right leg is submerged up to the knee, soaking through your trousers. You can practically hear the sick squelch of it making its way into your socks, squishing between your toes.

“Urgh,” you mutter, wrinkling your nose as you attempt to pull your leg up. “Disgusting.” But it won’t budge. In fact, your squirming seems to be making you sink down even further. You try to shift your weight, but your balance is uneven with one leg in and one leg out. You’re dangerously close to losing your footing, and every bit you struggle threatens to tilt you face-first into the makeshift mud pond. In a prime moment of idiocy, you plant your other foot in the mud for support, and find your bottom half completely unable to move.

“What a brilliant idea,” Shadowheart says. “Now you’re stuck.”

“Thank you, Shadowheart,” you grit out, sweat dripping down your neck as you attempt to twist yourself around. “I had no idea!”

Karlach steps behind you, laughing a little. “Come on. Up you go, soldier,” she says, leveraging her arms under yours and giving a quick tug. You’re expecting the mud to release you, but it doesn’t. Your legs don’t budge - not even an inch. 

“What in the…?” she mutters, giving another pull. This one has more force behind it; when she tries to haul you up, white-hot pain sears up through your ribs, ripping an agonized cry from your lips. No matter how hard she yanks, the mud’s grip only tightens around you. It’s beginning to feel like you’re a brittle piece of rope in a vicious game of tug-of-war. 

“Shit! I’m sorry!” she exclaims. “So, so, sorry!”

“What are you doing?” Astarion asks, his voice suddenly sharp. “You’re hurting her! Put her down!”

“So she can get sucked further into the mud?” Shadowheart asks. Her voice is lined with fear now, which is scaring you more than anything else about this miserable situation. “We have to get her out!”

But it quickly becomes clear that no matter how hard Karlach pulls, it’s useless. Every yank is agony, and you only sink further and further. Tears stream down your cheeks from the pain, and your spine feels like it’s gained a good two inches from being stretched, but still nothing. No give at all.

Eventually, Karlach lets you go. Your body plops down in relief, but the mud is somehow deeper than it was before. It’s up to the bottom of your ribs now. 

“Fuck me,” she pants, wiping her forehead. “What should we do?”

“How should I know?” Astarion’s face is drawn, more pallid than usual. His lips are pinched into a line. He should be telling you I told you so, making jokes - and you know he would be, if he were anything but absolutely terrified. Your panic is bad enough with the heaviness of the mud on your chest and lower body, but the look on his face? That tells you it’s even worse than it feels.

 “Step back,” Shadowheart instructs quietly. “I have an idea.” 

Once the two of them are out of the way, she steps forward. Stretching out her hands, she mutters an incantation into the air. In seconds, the slight chill of the mud surrounding you becomes sharp, painful ice that burns against every exposed inch of skin it touches. A very muddy shade of ice, but ice all the same. 

Karlach’s axe crashes through the surface and it shatters, breaking around you. After another hit and a moment of digging, she finally has you out: freezing, still covered in mud, and very sore - but alive.

“Thank you,” you manage, choking out the words between your shivering.

“Never say I didn’t do anything for you,” Shadowheart says, smiling a little. She lets out a breath of relief, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. “Now. Turning around, are we?”

By the time you get back to camp, you’re the most uncomfortable you’ve ever been in your life. You’re wet and cold and exhausted, caked with dried mud that pulls at your skin when you move. It’s in your hair, on your face, and in your shoes, squelching with every step. The feeling makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Your ribs are sore and achy, and - on top of all of that - you’ve lost a good day’s worth of travel. 

The only thing you want is to fall into Astarion’s arms, but he wrinkles his nose when you come near, holding out a finger to stop you. “Oh, no you don't,” he says. “Bath first. Then you can talk to me, darling.”

It seems no amount of persuasion is going to change his mind, so you head back to your tent and grab a number of supplies - soap, sponges, a towel, and a change of clothes. Your trusty knife for protection. The river is bound to be freezing, but it’s better than sponging yourself down and hoping for the best. 

Thank the gods you’d found a decent pair of boots in an abandoned house today, because the ones that are currently plastered to your feet will take days to dry out, even in the hot sun. When you get to the nearby river, you don’t even bother to take them off before you plunge them into icy water, sufficiently drenching them until you can furiously loosen the mud enough to slip them off and toss them onto the riverbank.

The rest of your clothing gets the same treatment: the trousers which slowly pull away from your skin, the shirt that’s splattered with mud and covered in it up to the waist. Your hair will no doubt be a disaster, too. 

You’re still sitting in the soaking-wet clothes when you hear the sound of a twig snapping behind you. Your hand instantly grabs for your knife, ready to throw it at whatever threat might be in the woods as your eyes sweep along the trees. 

Nothing. You find nothing.

“Darling,” comes Astarion’s voice. He slips out from the shadows, immaculately clean, gazing down at the weapon in your hand with a lifted brow. “Planning to render me dead twice-over?”

“You scared the living hells out of me, Astarion!” you snap, sucking in a shaky breath. The blade drops from your loosened fingers, softly thumping against the dirt. “What are you doing out here?” 

He steps closer, taking a seat on a nearby log. “You were taking ages to get clean,” he whines, sprawling out his legs in front of him. “And, unfortunately, our companions haven’t had an argument all night. How else am I meant to entertain myself? So here I am. Trudging through the woods for your company.”

“You could give me a warning next time,” you reply, still a little jarred. “I thought you were someone hoping to catch an eyeful.”

A smirk flickers across his lips. “Oh, but I am,” he says. “Do you mind terribly?”

Against your will, your cheeks heat, and his smile widens. “I don’t mind,” you say. “Not if you behave, that is. Hands to yourself.” 

“I’ll be on my very best behavior,” he promises. Leaning forward, he prods your boots, wrinkling his nose at the sight. “Gods below. Those disgusting things should be burned.”

“I have an extra pair.” You move to tug your shirt off, but it’s clinging to you. “Gods damn that stupid mud pile. I should have asked Gale to use a cleaning spell.”

“Oh, please,” Astarion says. “He’s been sulking in his tent all evening. Apparently, being asked to blow yourself up by an old flame doesn’t do much in the way of socializing.”

The shirt finally pulls free, and it’s clear that your smallclothes have received the same treatment as the rest of your garments. Gods, you really should have asked for that cleaning spell. This mud is going to take ages to get out.

“Hand that here,” Astarion says, motioning for your shirt. You toss it to him, and he inspects it closely before setting aside.

“What?” you ask. “What were you looking for?”

“Oh, darling, nothing,” he says. “That’s my ‘to be burned’ pile. We’ll get you a new one.”

You’d argue, but you aren’t very attached to your current outfit - and besides, after weeks of trekking through wilderness and Shadowlands alike, it’s falling apart even without the mud. 

“Do what you want with it,” you grumble, finally pulling off your smallclothes. “That shirt was barely surviving anyway.”

You glance over your shoulder and find him observing with a raised brow, slowly taking the sight of you in. You must look like a mess, but you’d never know it from the glint in the eye, or the complacent smile that plays upon his lips. Heat stirs low in your belly, simmering under your skin. Later, you tell yourself. When you aren’t covered in filth.

You lather up the soap on your sponge, scrubbing away the mud the best you can, but the damned stuff takes ages to get off. By the time you’re finally clean, the silvery moon is high in the sky, and your skin is beginning to prune.

Astarion makes a small comment or two, but mostly seems content to watch you in silence. His gaze burns over every inch of exposed skin, leaving phantom heat wherever it stalls. All you want is to get out of this damned river and touch him, but you’re determined to get every bit of the mud off before you do, and it’s taking much longer than you’d hoped.

When you’re finally presentable, you start on cleaning your filthy smallclothes. The soap is slippery, making it difficult to do much scrubbing, and the water alone is doing hardly anything. 

Astarion watches you struggling, huffing as you nearly drop the soap bar in the river. After a moment, he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Dearest, you do realize that it would be much easier if you-”

But his words suddenly cut off. His head snaps toward the woods, and every nerve in your body burns with fear. In the span of seconds, he’s lunged forward, grabbed your knife, and darted after the sound. 

Not a moment later, there’s a loud crash - some form of impact as he tackles whatever it was that he heard. You instantly push yourself out of the water without thinking, numb, your heart pounding in your chest as you stumble into the forest after him. It only takes a few steps in before you see it: a man on the ground, Astarion’s knife to his throat.

Your stomach churns, and your skin prickles in the air’s chill. How much had he seen? How long had he been standing there?

Astarion is shouting something at him, and the stranger is struggling against his hold, but it’s useless. He’s a scrawny, weak little thing, no match for Astarion’s lithe, nimble strength. No amount of twisting or fighting dislodges Astarion’s grip. After a moment, he finally gives up, cackling like an old hag as his head plops down against the dirt.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you here and now,” Astarion hisses, anger contorting his features.

In response, the man spits in his face. “She’s your bitch, is she?” he croaks. “You can take a turn after I’m done with her.”

Astarion snarls in response, gripping the man’s collar and pressing the blade deeper into the skin until it draws blood. 

“Wait,” you call, stepping closer. “Don’t.”

Astarion blinks in disbelief, sitting up, careful to keep his weight on the stranger underneath. “My love, you can’t be serious,” he says. “You want to spare this-”

“Spare?” you echo, cutting off his words. “Who said anything about sparing him?” 

Something glints in his gaze as he takes in your words. “Darling,” he drawls, his tone admirational. “By all means.”

He hands you the knife, and you kneel down next to him. It’s heavy in your hand, cold and smooth as you run your finger over the flat edge of the blade. You stare at the shimmer of it for a moment, entranced, somehow calm in the midst of this chaos. Then you slam the bottom of the hilt into the man’s nose.

There’s a sickening crunch before he screams, blood streaming over his mouth and spilling down his chin. Even after last night’s feeding, Astarion tenses up at the smell of it, but the curl of his lip tells you that he won’t be drinking from this piece of absolute refuse.

When the stranger reaches over and grabs at your arm, you almost don’t even realize - you’re so caught up in your own mind, in the weight of the knife in your hand. Then his nails dig into your skin, and everything hits you at once.

The freezing night air. The stinging, throbbing pain that flares through your skin as he claws at you, unable to do much more. The feel of Astarion’s hand, gentle but firm, prying the knife from your grip. It happens before you can even react - a swift slice of the blade, slitting the man’s throat. Dark blood, gushing from the wound and onto the dirt below.

For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of your breathing. Sharp but shallow, straining in your chest. Jagged air that flows in and out, but it does nothing to stop the increasing amount of black in your vision. 

You’ve fought and killed more people than you can count so… why does this feel different? Why here, why now? You’ve nearly died before, so why does the scrape on your arm feel like it’s much more than that?

Then Astarion’s hands envelop your cheeks, blissfully cool, and the panic and pain seep out all at once.

“Darling,” he’s saying, half-breathless, “are you alright?”

You manage to nod, and some of the concern leaves his eyes. He runs his fingers over the scrape on your arm, and you wince. “We need to get you patched up,” he murmurs, his brows pinching together.

“Don’t take me to Shadowheart,” you choke out. She’s already done you enough favors, and you won’t be able to stand her disapproving gaze if you disturb her rest after today’s fiasco.

He huffs. “Stubborn little thing,” he mutters, but he doesn’t argue. 

Instead, he heads back to your supplies by the river. When he returns, he wraps a towel over your shoulders, and it’s only then that you realize you’re naked. Completely, utterly naked. It had been bold of you to break that bastard’s nose in the nude, but… well, it hadn’t been your intention.

He’s dead now, though. He’ll never look at you again.

Astarion sweeps you up into his arms and carries you out of the woods along with your clean change of clothes, holding you tight against his chest and leaving your soiled clothing behind. 

You can’t find it in you to care at the moment. You’ve scrounged up plenty of clothing along the journey; those torn, stained things won’t be missed. Not to mention, if you ever need more, Astarion will gladly steal you some new ones.

He takes you to your tent, and you’re grateful to see that everyone else has turned in for the night. Anyone awake to see you would inevitably have questions, and this only affirms your decision to avoid Shadowheart - if you woke her up to heal a minor scrape on your arm, she’d be seething. 

And though she’d undoubtedly be sympathetic after hearing the cause, you don’t think you can muster up the words to tell her what’d happened.

After he’s carefully set you down on your bedroll, Astarion yanks the flap of your tent closed and reaches for your pack, digging through the contents until he’s found some bandages. His grip is gentle as he takes your arm and swipes some remnants of a healing potion over it. You’ve been through this dozens of times, but you can never seem to shake the urge to wince as it sets in - the potion stings just a bit before it soothes, a sharp tingling that fades into a sweet, balming relief. 

You’ve calmed down some, warming up in your tent with him, but Astarion’s hands are shaking as he wraps the wound. His brows are pinched together, his swallows are thick and strained, and he can’t seem to meet your eyes, even when he’s done bandaging you up.

“Astarion,” you murmur. “He’s dead.”

He stills in place, jaw clenching as he inhales sharply, still not meeting your gaze. Instead, he glowers down at the tent’s floor, his hands balling into fists. “He deserved so much worse than that,” he snaps. 

You don’t argue with him. Instead, you let him fuss over you, taking the time to smooth through your wet hair, plucking out remaining leaves and twigs from the woods. He gets you into a warm, fluffy robe - only the gods know where he’d managed to find something like that - then pulls you close, his thumb stroking over your cheek. You rest your head against his chest and close your eyes, listening to the soft sounds of his body working under his skin. No heartbeat, of course, just the quiet churn of his movements, the rise and fall of his ribs that’s become habit to him. 

After a moment, he takes your face in his hands, just as he had in the woods - but when you meet his gaze, there’s a sharp intensity in his eyes rather than fear. He takes you in little by little, tilting your head up to brush his fingers over the fading marks on your neck. 

Then he leans in, and you catch the smell of him you know so well, lingering on his skin like soap. Bergamot, rosemary, brandy. It’s what you associate most with him, that sweet, sharp scent that bathes over you. When his lips finally meet yours, the kiss is rough and desperate, heated and aching. His fangs scrape over your lip, grazing the delicate skin but not breaking it. His tongue slides into your mouth, and his hand returns to the back of your neck, tightening his grip.

One of your hands fix into his shirt as you lean into him, nipping at his lip. You shift your free hand up into his hair, tousling through the soft, silky curls before gently tugging. He groans and pulls you closer, and - gods, it’s incredible. Warmth drags down your spine like a hot coal, searing and addictive. You squirm a little in his grasp, shifting until you’re straddling his hips, and he pulls away to kiss down your jaw, murmuring soft words into the skin.

When he gets to your chest, you let him untie the robe and spread his hands underneath, peeling the fabric off your shoulders, fingers slowly warming as they trail down your back. His hands settle on your waist as he kisses you again, mouth soft against yours.

Gods, you need him. You’re already soaked, and he’s barely even touched you.

You can feel him hardening underneath you, his movements growing desperate, his breathing labored. You grind your hips against him and he lets out a strained noise against your lips, shuddering. He pulls away, examining your expression as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. 

The movement is tender and incredibly sweet, but you’re hardly patient. You’ve been wanting him ever since he sat on that log in the forest, gaze roaming over every inch of you. You let out a soft whine, attempting to tug off his shirt. He does absolutely nothing to help you.

“Astarion,” you breathe. “Please.”

“Hm? Did you want something, darling?” he asks, the desire in his voice betraying his otherwise casual tone.

“I want you,” you tell him, rolling your hips again in search of the friction you so desperately need. “Please. I want you.”

“Easy, love. You have me,” he replies, brushing his thumb against your lips. Your heart swells with a fondness that would threaten to make you cry if you weren’t so ridiculously needy.

And finally, thank the gods, he takes off his godsdamned shirt.

You run a hand up his shoulder, then into his hair. You’d once thought that he was using a special shampoo - his hair was so soft, it seemed the only explanation. Then you’d seen him with the same shampoo you were using, and you’d practically wept with envy over his ridiculously perfect genes. Even now, as you run your hands through the silk-soft curls, you don’t understand it. 

Then you trace up the line of his ear, and he shudders, leaning into your touch. When you gently massage the tip of his helix, he lets out a soft, seeking noise and his eyes flutter shut. Hells, you swear that you can feel him growing even harder beneath you. Another roll of your hips and his eyes slowly open again, half-lidded and glazed with desire. His hands firmly grip your waist, and there’s the briefest sensation of falling as he rolls you back onto your bedroll, tucking the pillow under your head.

He kisses along your clavicle, nosing down your ribs, humming against your skin. Feather-light brushes of his lips meet your ribs, then your breast, pausing to swipe his tongue over your nipple before he proceeds downward. When he arrives at your navel, your legs automatically spread open for him, and he lets out a hum of approval. He takes a leg in his hand and kisses up the thigh, warm, sharp kisses that trail up to the place you want him most.

He starts off slowly - a long lick over your clit, a quick swipe of his tongue before he settles between your legs, propping your thigh over his shoulder and starting a maddening rhythm. After all this time, you really should know how much pleasure to expect - but after everything, after his confession in the Shadowlands and the fear with Cazador, this still feels… new.

And Astarion is very, very good at what he does. He seems to know exactly what you want before you do, before your mind can put it into tangible thought, and before your body can even search for it. He works a finger into you, then two, and you’re left gasping and squirming as he sets an agonizingly slow pace. After a moment, he speeds up, just where you want him, perfect, perfect-

And then he pulls away, and the look on his face practically shouts that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Of course he does. He’s always been a tease. His fingers continue their work, languidly dragging in and out of you as he speaks.

“You know,” he says, pressing a kiss to your thigh, “back at the river, this was all I could think about. Getting my mouth on you. Watching you come apart piece by piece.”

Gods, he’s been direct before, but never that direct. Frankly, you’re surprised you don’t come then and there. Instead, you clench hard around his fingers and whimper, rolling your hips in time with his movements.

“Astarion,” you pant, unable to coax your mind into forming a coherent reply. “Gods, Astarion.”

He hums in response, flashing you a wicked grin. “That’s it, darling,” he encourages, shifting his fingers until they’re brushing against a spot that makes your vision black out. “Say my name. Let everyone hear you.”

You manage a laugh that quickly fades into a soft moan. “The entire camp will kill me if I wake them up.”

He nips at your thigh. “Let them try,” he muses. “They’ll have to get through me.”

He lowers his mouth between your legs again, and your head falls back against the pillow. It’s an embarrassingly short time before your muscles start to tense up, wiring you with pleasure from head to toe. One of your hands fixes in his hair, pulling tightly as white-hot pleasure sparks through your abdomen, and oh, gods, you’re coming-

Your vision cuts out again. Your mind fuzzes over, drunk with pleasure, leaving you shuddering, clenching around his fingers, moaning into your free hand. 

You know he’d prefer to hear you, but if you actually disturb any of the others, you’ll die of embarrassment. One day, the two of you will have your own house with a real bed, and you’ll be as loud as you want. For now, you muffle your cries into your fingers and tremble through your climax.

Your body floats weightlessly for a moment in what must be Elysium, until you finally rejoin yourself and find your limbs heavy and uncoordinated. Astarion huffs, placing a final kiss on you until he crawls upward, kissing up your chest again. 

He’s still holding himself back - you can see it in the way he moves, in the tension of his muscles and the coil of his shoulders. There’s a fire in his eyes, a hunger that you recognize so well. When he reaches your neck, you instinctively tilt your head, allowing him access to his usual spot. 

For a moment, he hesitates, his warm breath fanning over the skin as your pulse hammers in your throat. Then he groans, grinding himself into your leg as he bites down, chasing his pleasure against your thigh as your blood spills into his mouth.

You know this routine so very well by now. The sting of the bite, and the numbness that follows. The ebb and flow of your blood, filling his mouth. The slight dizziness that comes before he pulls away, swiping his tongue over the bite for one final taste.

“Gods,” he pants, gripping your shoulder. Then, to your utter disappointment and confusion, he pulls away. “Wait here, my sweet. I need to - I’ll be right back. I promise.”

And before you can protest, he’s scrambling out the tent. For a long, numb moment, you stare at the tent opening, wondering if you’re dreaming. The silence of the tent grates on your ears, echoing the sound of your breathing until you can barely stand it. Then he’s pushing inside again, a scroll in hand as he closes the tent.

“Do I want to know what that is?” you ask.

“A scroll of Silence, darling. I’ve been saving it.” He flashes you a grin, murmuring the incantation as the scroll shimmers in his hand. Pure Weave, confined into parchment. 

You don’t hear the spell take effect, but you feel it. It’s a thickness in the air, a heaviness in your movements. 

Astarion doesn’t waste another second. He pushes up to kiss you, and it’s messy - your tongue against his, the sting of sharp teeth, your hand in his hair and his hand on the nape of your neck. There’s the taste of metal and herbs: your blood mixed with the remnants of a healing potion. He spreads your legs with his knee, then sits back on his heels and reaches down to undo his trousers.

You study him for a moment. The crease of his brow. The alabaster of his skin, sculpted out like a statue from marble. 

If you were an artist, you’d make him your life’s work. You’d chip out his every feature little by little, painstakingly working away at the stone to define the look in his eyes when he tells you he loves you. You’d spend ages carving every wrinkle, every line, every perfect imperfection. The touch of it would be cold, like him, but it could never compare to how he looks as he settles over you, eyes blown dark with desire. 

He inches closer, still on his knees, and takes hold of your thighs, lifting them up to meet his hips before gently easing inside of you. He lets out a sharp exhale as he slowly presses deeper, his grip shifting to your waist.

Nothing could compare to the way it feels as he fills you up inch by inch, murmuring praise, telling you how beautiful you are for him. “Darling,” he bites out, gritting his teeth at the pleasure. “If anyone ever tries anything like that with you again, I’ll tear them to shreds.”

You laugh a little, breathless, delirious in the delicious stretch of him inside you. “I won’t stop you. I just might ask to break their nose first.”

He shakes his head, but a small smile plays on his lips before he straightens and starts his rhythm. Slow, even thrusts that leave you grasping at the blankets beneath you, trying to steady yourself in the waves of sensation. He stares down at you, half-drunk on your blood, lips parted and his cheeks flushed.

“You feel incredible,” he breathes. “Gods. You’re incredible.”

Your eyes don’t quite know where to land. They never do. Now, they flutter over his abdomen, taking in the sight of the muscles that ripple and contract with the rolling of his hips. The droplets of sweat that slowly build on his skin, glimmering like crystals. 

His jaw clenches, and his pace starts to quicken, and the feeling of him inside of your aching cunt is just so godsdamned good. His cock stretches you out like it was made for you, and soon your lungs are hardly filling with air. You can’t think, and you can scarcely breathe. All you know is that you’re not going to last much longer.

You tug at the blankets and shut your eyes, and he lets out another soft, aching noise as he thrusts deeper, faster, filling you up, the slick sound of your arousal echoing through the tent and mixing with the heaving of your breaths. You clench around him and he groans, shifting the angle of your hips, rhythm frantic.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Come for me, darling.”

And you do. Your body clenches around him as you cry out, back arching, pleasure overtaking every thought but one: Astarion. Astarion, Astarion, Astarion. Your breaths scrape shallowly through your chest and ecstasy burns through every inch of you, every nerve - until you feel paralyzed. Content, thoroughly fucked and sated, but paralyzed.

 You’ve just started to come back to your senses when Astarion follows you over the edge, a moan tumbling from his lips that sounds remarkably like your name. His hips thrust a few more times, chasing after his pleasure, clumsy movements that slow to a halt as he shuts his eyes. He shudders, then slackens, carefully pulling out of you before he wraps his hands around your thighs and gently lowers them back to the bedroll.

You can barely move, still lost in the aftershocks of pleasure as he cleans you up, smoothing the hair out of your face as he lays next to you.

“You know,” he says, “I think I’m going to ask Gale to make us another one of those scrolls.”

And, gods, all you can do is laugh.

[the20thangel]

The Labor of Our Fruits

Summary: Tumblr Request!: A Targaryen reader. She and Benji didn't get off on the right foot because it was an arranged marriage, but Benji loves her but is scared to show it. The reader is pregnant, and because Benji has been ignoring her when she goes into labor, she begs Benji to not let her die, and he feels terrible thinking she would think something like that. But ending happily with their little baby boy.

tags: childbirth, angst, fluff

Word count: 2005

(this is an x reader fanfic but just with a name)

Daella grimaced, feeling immense pressure as the maester pressed down on her stomach. She wished her mother’s healers were here instead of this maester, but she was far from home, far from her mother and brothers and step-sisters, far from the comforts of Dragonstone and the sounds of dragons roosting around the island. She realistically knew all she needed to do was ask to get what she wanted, but she couldn’t bring herself to. Since their marriage night, she hardly spoke to her husband, Lord Benjicot Blackwood. How can she just go up and ask him to tell him to send for the healers from Dragonstone? 

Her marriage… was strange; that was the only way she could describe it. To ensure House Blackwood kept their alliance with her mother, Daella was brought to Raventree Hall to marry its new lord. He was not cruel, her lord husband, but distant. She did not know if having a distant husband was better or worse. In some cases better, because he never forced himself on her or commanded her to do things that might have made her uncomfortable. She greatly appreciated him for doing that; he was already better than her uncle Aegon.

On the other hand, having a distant husband was worse. She was lonely, growing a babe of a man she hardly knew, proudly doing her duty for her mother and husband but drowning in her isolation. She laughed at the gods' cruel joke. Was she turning out to be like her ancestor Daella, daughter of Good Queen Alysanne, who bore her grandmother Aemma only to die without holding her babe? 

Daella groaned quietly as the maester finished evaluating her. She sat up as the doors of the bed chamber opened, revealing her husband, Benjicot. Walking into the chamber, he saw the maester packing his bag. Benjicot quickly walked to his wife, pausing before her, unsure if he should hold her hand. Ultimately, he stood by her, watching her fidget with her dress. 

“How are they?” he asked the maester. 

“Both mother and child are progressing wonderfully, my lord; we should expect the babe to come any minute now.” stated the maester, bowing to the lord and princess as he walked out of the room. 

Daella swallowed; she did not know what to do now, such was most the case with her. She mainly floated around the castle, careful not to be in anybody’s way. Knowing that made her seem weird, she heard the whispers as the people spoke about the odd Targaryen girl their lord was forced to marry. 

Benjicot stared at his beautiful wife, wishing he could know her thoughts. His marriage was a quiet one. Both hardly spoke to each other, only short sentences here and there. His aunt urged him to make more effort to express his love to Daella, but he just didn’t know how. He was not good at romance, feeling more comfortable in battles. He also never wanted to be the husband who would force his wife to do actions she may not like. So he tried to give her space, allowing her to grow accustomed to her new home. 

Swallowing away his nervousness, he decided to try to make a small conversation. 

“How are you feeling?” asked Benjicot, seeing how Daella jumped in surprise, looking at him with her soft purple eyes. Oh, how he could get lost staring at them all day. 

“Tired… my lord,” whispered Daella, smiling at him, not wanting to seem rude at his genuine worry.

Benji smiled back, “Would you like to rest before supper, or could I have the servants bring supper to the chambers?” 

“I think I will rest a little and then meet you there,” Daella said, looking at his nervous smile. 

Benjicot nodded. Feeling awkward, he turned to leave, but before thinking about it, he turned back to Daella. 

“Should you want or need anything these last few days, all you need to do is ask, and I will try my best to provide it to you,” Benji promised as he reached to caress her cheek, only stopping mere inches away. Again, feeling unsure if she would accept his touch, He chose to walk away and leave the room. 

Daella, with great sadness, watched her husband leave her alone again in the chamber. Once the door closed, she let a small tear flow freely down her cheek. 

“I wish to go home,” whispered Daella, closing her eyes as she stroked her belly. Only allowing a smile to softly stretch on her face as she felt her babe kick her. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The following day, Benji woke up earlier than previous ones. He had to ride out for a few days and needed to check in with the village. As he turned, he could not help but smile at the sight before him. He loved seeing his wife sleeping, seeing her in the most relaxing state. She always wore a smile on her face as her hands lay on top of her stomach. She was a beauty, and he wished he could show more of his feelings towards her. He wants to build his relationship with her but always becomes too nervous to act anything out.  Leaning down to provide a small kiss on her forehead. He made a vow that once he returned, he would start to show more effort in his marriage so that when their babe entered this world, they would have parents who were openly affectionate with each other. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Daella grew restless. Benji had been gone for a few days and was not due to return for another two days. She was trying her best to take over the castle duties, but she kept having cramps. Her babe was not due yet, so Daella started worrying. Was there something she was doing wrong? Was she harming her baby? She groaned from another cramp as a passing servant, recognizing the signs of labor, gasped and ran to the princess.

“My princess, how long have you been feeling these pains?” questioned the servant girl as she led the princess back to the chambers.

Daella exhaled, feeling the cramp alleviate for a second, “Since last night… I think..” groaning from another wave of cramps. 

“Princess, you are in labor, we need…. Someone fetch the maester. The princess is in labor!” shouted the servant girl to the nearest guard, who frantically nodded, running to do his bidding. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The castle was in chaos; the pained screams of Daella echoed in the halls as servants entered and left the princess’s chambers. Daella was lying in bed, watching the maester and midwives converse quietly. Her babe was taking too long to leave her body. She knew what the maester wanted to do… he wanted to cut the babe free from her body. She shook in fright; she did not want to die in the labor bed. She did not want to follow the path of her namesake and her grandmother, Aemma.  She wanted to live, not ready to enter the realm of Balerion. 

“We need to wait for Lord Benjicot to decide…” whispered the midwife, trying to stall the maester from doing anything drastic. 

“If we wait too long, there might not be anyone left to save.” argued the maester, looking back at the bleeding princess. 

Daella closed her eyes as she wept; she wanted her mother, she wanted Benji, and she prayed to the gods to have mercy on her and her baby. 

As if the gods were listening, the doors opened with a bang, and people gasped. A muddy Benjicot ran into the room, scanning for Daella, and saw her breathing heavily on their bed. 

“My lord, the birthing room is no place…” began the maester as Benjicot ignored him, running to take his wife’s hand in his. 

“Daella..” whispered Benji, moving some white hair away from her face.

Daella smiled painfully at her husband. She needed to be a dragon, and she would fight for her life. 

“Benji, please, please don’t let him do it to me…” pleaded Daella as she let tears stream down her face. 

Benjicot looked at his wife in confusion. What was causing her so much stress?

Turning to the maester and midwives, he asked them what was happening to his wife. The maester walked up to the lord as he explained that the babe was taking too long to leave the princess's stomach. Proposing that the best option to save the future heir of House Blackwood was to cut the babe out of the princess's body.

 Daella, sobbing, reached for Benji's hand as she pleaded, “Please don't let them cut me. I do not wish to die yet.”

Benjicot, heartbroken at seeing her in such a state, leaned down to kiss her forehead and whisper comforting words to her. 

“Shh, my love, I would never do such a thing to you…” 

“My lord, if we don’t, we risk losing the ba-” 

“Remove this man out of my sight before I turn and run my sword across his stomach,” growled Benjicot, shooting daggers at the gaping maester being led out by the guards. 

Benji turned to the midwives and pleaded, “Please, is there any way to save them both?” 

The midwives nodded, “It’s the princess’s first, babe. She has grown tired of using all her energy to push out. We can help her by pushing on her stomach as she pushes herself. It will be painful, but it is the best chance to save both mother and child.” 

Benjicot nodded, letting himself be led to sit behind her, pressing his hand on her stomach as Daella continued to sob. 

“When we ask the princess the push, we will need you, my lord, to push your hands downward with all your might. Even if she screams in agony, you push down. We cannot risk the babe getting stuck.” commanded the head midwife, waiting for him to agree. 

Once the young lord agreed, the midwives all went to their positions. Looking at him, they started to command the princess to start pushing. Benji, in turn, also pressed his hands on her stomach, feeling her body warp. Daella screamed in agony, feeling like her body was ripping in half. She wanted them to stop but knew that if she wanted to live, she needed to continue to push. Praying to the goddesses Meleys and Shrykos, she pleaded for them to hear her, asking for a safe, open road for her babe’s birth. 

Benjicot continued to press down as he kissed Daella's crown, feeling proud of her courage and bravery during this upsetting situation. She was indeed a dragon princess, not letting herself falter. He decided to express his thoughts as he continued to help her push. 

“That’s it, my love, you are doing wonderful; you are almost there, Daella, don’t give up… I know you can,” he whispered to her ear, his heart breaking at every scream she let out. 

Daella, even though tired, felt empowered by her husband’s words, inhaling she gave one last push. She will live, she will not die in this bed, and she will get to see her child grow up. 

With one last scream and push, the baby boy left his mother’s body, wailing to the world. Daella started crying at seeing her son. He was beautiful, with his father’s black hair and pale skin like hers. He was placed on her chest as she wrapped her arms around his tiny body. Benji, too, started crying at seeing his son, something that showed a promise of the love he was willing to show to his wife. 

As the young heir nuzzled his mother’s chest, he briefly opened his eyes, showcasing a beautiful purple color—the very ones Benjicot adored on his wife. Feeling overwhelmed, he rocked the baby and mother into his arms. 

“You did wonderful, Daella. You were amazing,” he praised his princess, kissing her cheek and continuing to rock them. 

Daella smiled as she leaned into her husband’s embrace, feeling she was finally home. 

[https-milo]

Has anyone requested a Shinso Hitoshi Instagram post yet? I’d love to see one for him, please and thank you!

nope, you're the first! I got you dw!!

DATING HITOSHI SHINSO INSTAGRAM!

details!

Instagram posts w/ comments while dating Hitoshi Shinso!

a/n OBVIOUSLY these are just pictures off of pinterest, reader can be however you imagine!

main m. list / instagram m. list

y/nthebest · 19w

874 likes liked by izuku.mido, ochaco.uru, and minaaaa

y/nthebest training for the sports festival :D

minaaaa youre so cuteeeee marry me <333 y/nthebest minaaaa obvi <333

ochaco.uru LET'S GIVE IT OUR ALL! y/nthebest ochaco.uru YEAH! THATS WHAT I LIKE TO HEAR!

kirishima.eiji 1V1??? y/nthebest kirishima.eiji BET! MEET ME OUTSIDE, EIJI!

shinso.hitoshi you class A students are so arrogant y/nthebest shinso.hitoshi who are you 😭🙏

y/nthebest · 19w

890 likes liked by izuku.mido, ochaco.uru, minaaaa, and kirishima.eiji

y/nthebest yeah he threatened our class, but that guy from the hallway was lowk cute. also, peep the progress!!

kats.bakugo oh nah. ik youre playing. y/nthebest kats.bakugo nope, my new hallway crush. Too bad we stormed off before I got his name 😒😒

shinso.hitoshi youre crazy. y/nthebest shinso.hitoshi OH MY GOD ITS YOU. soooo what'cha think 😙😙 shinso.hitoshi y/nthebest that I want you far away from me. y/nthebest shinso.hitoshi you're the one that keeps commenting on my posts 😁😁

minaaaa you crazy for that one y/nthebest minaaaa no one gets my vision 😓

y/nthebest · 18w

895 likes liked by izuku.mido, ochaco.uru, minaaaa, and kirishima.eiji

y/nthebest didn't think id see him outside of the sports festival... who knew a stray cat would bring us together ;)

shinso.hitoshi youre unbearable y/nthebest shinso.hitoshi is that why you gave me your number and asked me out? shinso.hitoshi y/nthebest yeah

minaaaa not shocked, you've talked about him so much I think you might've manifested this. y/nthebest minaaaa 🕯️ Hitoshi Shinso will come into my life again 🕯️

kats.bakugo you're insane for this y/nthebest kats.bakugo get over it 👎

shinso.hitoshi · 16w

121 likes liked by y/nthebest, monoma.copies, kami.denki

shinso.hitoshi still arrogant, just good company this time

tagged: y/nthebest

y/nthebest just say you like me, cat boy y/nthebest y/nthebest wait. NOT LIKE IN THAT WAY LIKEIN THE SENSEOF HE LIKES CATS. shinso.hitoshi y/nthebest you have such a way with words. y/nthebest shinso.hitoshi you're not denying that you like me 😙😙 shinso.hitoshi y/nthebest there's nothing to deny

y/nthebest · 10w

902 likes liked by shinso.hitoshi, minaaaa, ochaco.uru, and izuku.mido

y/nthebest my sleep-deprived prince watching TikTok with me instead of sleeping (I'm going to throw him down a flight of stairs if he doesn't get a sleep schedule.)

shinso.hitoshi I fell asleep two minutes after your sibling took that picture. y/nthebest shinso.hitoshi doesn't change the fact you don't know how to sleep :/ shinso.hitoshi y/nthebest I always sleep fine when you're with me y/nthebest shinso.hitoshi flirting won't get you out of my concern!! shinso.hitoshi y/nthebest I tried, what can I say... Can I come over and nap? y/nthebest shinso.hitoshi ...yes of course.

kats.bakugo cant believe someone actually puts up with you y/nthebest kats.bakugo 🍅🍅🍅

© https-milo. please do not repost, steal, copy, or modify my works!

Thank you so much for reading <3

[aventurineswife]

HELLOOOO, i was wondering:

A reader that likes watch anime, and some HSR characters gives them a try. But, what anime would you think they watch with the reader? Based on what they like or just something to start watching.

I LOVE YOUR WRITING STYLE, please don't overwork yourself a lot, have a nice day/night! <3

What Anime Would They Watch With You?

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Blade x Reader, Kafka x Reader, Silver Wolf x Reader, Anime Watching, Humor, Lighthearted moments, Comfort and Bonding, Can be read Platonically or Romantically.

Warnings: Mentions of psychological trauma, Light spoilers for anime, Philosophical and existential themes, Violence and combat (in anime contexts), Emotional conflict, Mild language (?), Possible mild angst(?).

A/N: I don’t watch much anime, but my sister does, so I based the anime choices on what she’s watched and told me about, as well as clips I’ve seen on yt shorts 🫣😔 ALSO THANK YOU!! 🤭💖 I'LL TRY MY BEST HEHE

Aventurine stands in front of the TV, his eyes glinting with curiosity. His usual confidence is slightly tempered by the unfamiliarity of the moment — an evening of anime watching. He’s dressed in his usual stylish attire, the gold accents catching the light as he adjusts the remote with his gloved fingers. His gaze flickers to you, a mischievous smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"So," he begins, voice smooth like a well-played hand in poker, "what do we watch tonight? I suppose I should try something new. But, I must admit, I prefer shows with a bit of strategy — something that makes you think, perhaps a game of intellect or manipulation."

You suggest Death Note, the classic tale of the battle between genius minds.

Aventurine’s smile widens. “Ah, an excellent choice. A battle of wits, a contest of who can outsmart whom. Much like life itself. I must say, the intrigue here appeals to me. The protagonist, Light Yagami, reminds me of someone who knows how to play the game... and win.”

As the opening credits roll, Aventurine lounges back, his eyes gleaming with the same focus he applies to his work at IPC. The intricate web of psychological tension between Light and L unfolds in a way that mirrors his own thinking — everything calculated, every move deliberate. The darker twists intrigue him, and he often leans over to comment on Light’s strategy, or offer his own hypothetical alternatives. Every so often, he’ll pause to explain a parallel to a strategic investment move, his voice laced with a playfulness only you can appreciate.

The night is filled with insightful discussions, his enjoyment of the show evident not just in his words but in the way his eyes spark with intellectual thrill.

Ratio enters your living room, dressed in his usual academic attire, though he seems slightly more relaxed than usual. His hair is perfectly in place, and he adjusts his glasses, his piercing eyes scanning the shelves. He’s intrigued by the idea of anime, but like everything else, he believes it must meet the highest intellectual standards.

"I assume this will be a pursuit of knowledge, correct?" he asks, his tone indicating that he is less concerned with entertainment and more with what the anime can teach him.

You offer him Steins;Gate, a mind-bending tale of time travel and its implications. Ratio raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued.

"Time travel," he mutters. "The concept is fraught with paradoxes, theoretical inconsistencies... But let's see how this unfolds."

As the show progresses, you can tell Ratio is captivated. His usual dismissiveness towards “mediocre” content fades as he engages with the intricacies of the plot. He is particularly drawn to the scientific explanations of time travel, making insightful comments about the laws of causality. The intellectual depth of Steins;Gate resonates with him, and he begins to see the show as more than just entertainment but as an exploration of the human condition through the lens of scientific theory.

His stern exterior softens slightly as he leans forward, absorbed by the delicate unraveling of fate. At one point, he pauses the show to make an impassioned argument about the ethics of time travel, his eyes alight with the thrill of the debate.

Feixiao, in her usual battle-ready attire, steps into your space with her arms crossed, her eyes narrowing slightly in skepticism. She’s not one for frivolous distractions, but she’s willing to give this anime thing a try — provided it’s something that involves action, strategy, and perhaps a little bit of inner conflict.

"You’d better not have picked something weak," she says with a smirk, her voice unwavering. "I don't have time for anything that isn't worthy of my attention."

You suggest Attack on Titan, with its intense battles and deep emotional conflicts. Feixiao grunts in approval.

"Alright, let’s see if they can deliver on the carnage." she says, as the opening scene plays out.

She’s immediately absorbed by the ferocity of the Titans and the desperation of humanity’s fight for survival. The battles, filled with adrenaline and relentless pursuit, mirror the kinds of conflicts she knows too well. She’s particularly drawn to Eren Yeager’s inner struggles — the deep rage that simmers beneath his resolve.

"That’s what I like to see," Feixiao mutters under her breath, her eyes flashing with approval as the protagonists fight with everything they have. "There’s more to these battles than just the physical; there’s emotion, too. A warrior’s mind is as sharp as their blade."

Throughout the night, she becomes invested in the character dynamics, especially Eren’s moral dilemmas. The show's dark tone and brutal honesty about the human condition resonate with her, and she even offers some commentary on the combat strategies used by the soldiers.

By the end of the night, she’s hooked, her face flushed with the excitement of both the action and the emotional weight of the series.

Blade steps into the room, his eyes burning with a quiet intensity, his demeanor as cold as the blade he wields. His mind constantly in turmoil, he’s not interested in frivolous entertainment. Everything he watches must speak to the darker aspects of his soul, and anything too light-hearted will not hold his attention.

You offer Neon Genesis Evangelion, a psychological and emotional rollercoaster that digs into the deep recesses of human existence. Blade’s expression is unreadable as he nods and sits, his eyes steely.

The first few episodes grip him, and soon he is fixated on Shinji Ikari’s inner torment — the crippling isolation, the struggle to find meaning in a world that seems bent on destruction. Blade sees pieces of himself in Shinji, his own existential struggle reflected on screen. He finds an unexpected resonance with the show's depiction of personal battles and the search for purpose in and the search for purpose in an uncaring world.

As the show delves into its more abstract and psychological themes, Blade’s face hardens in contemplation. He doesn’t speak much, but his occasional glances at you tell you everything you need to know — Neon Genesis Evangelion is more than just an anime to him; it’s a mirror to his own fractured soul.

By the end of the night, Blade is silent, lost in thought, the weight of the show's philosophical questions lingering in his mind.

Kafka strolls into the room with her usual cool confidence, adjusting her black jacket over her shoulders. Her hair sways slightly as she surveys the situation. While she doesn’t often indulge in entertainment, she’s intrigued by your suggestion to watch anime together. After all, there’s something elegant about the concept of using subtlety and manipulation to achieve one's ends, and Kafka is drawn to that kind of intrigue.

You offer Code Geass, a series filled with strategic battles, hidden motives, and complex characters. Kafka smirks, her interest piqued.

"This might be interesting. Let’s see if it lives up to the hype." she says, her voice smooth and measured.

As the episodes unfold, Kafka finds herself charmed by Lelouch vi Britannia’s calculating nature and his ability to manipulate others for his own purposes. She’s drawn to the layers of deception, the way Lelouch maneuvers through the world with his intelligence and charisma, much like herself.

"Ah, this is the kind of show I can appreciate," Kafka remarks, glancing at you with a knowing smile. "Power lies not in brute strength, but in the subtleties of the mind. Lelouch truly knows how to play the game."

By the end of the night, Kafka is hooked, her mind racing with the complex political strategies and moral questions the show raises. Her admiration for Lelouch’s ability to control events through sheer willpower is clear.

Silver Wolf lounges in her seat, her purple glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. She’s always up for a challenge, and if anime is as much of a game as you say, then she’s ready to dive in. She’s looking for something that’s both fast-paced and unpredictable, a true test of her adaptability.

You suggest Psycho-Pass, a futuristic series that blends action with deep psychological exploration and questions about the nature of justice. Silver Wolf’s eyes light up as the opening credits roll.

"Alright, this looks fun," she remarks, her fingers tapping on her leg like she’s already hacking her way through the plot. "A system that reads people's intentions? Sounds like a game I could win."

As the series progresses, Silver Wolf becomes engrossed in the moral and psychological dilemmas the characters face. She’s particularly drawn to the futuristic technology, intrigued by the interplay between the systems that control society and the human minds that try to outwit them.

"I could hack my way through this world in no time." she chuckles to herself, but she’s also genuinely captivated by the philosophical questions raised. What is justice? Who decides what is right or wrong?

By the end of the night, Silver Wolf is already planning her next anime binge, eager to see what other “games” the world of anime has to offer.

[johnbrand]

The Stages of Arabization

With @next-pharaoh

“Jeez, it’s so bright here,” Henry oriented his phone up in front of the sun, hoping to block out a few of the direct rays.

“Well, you are closer to the equator,” his boyfriend, Alex, joked. “Dubai is a bit farther south than Boston.”

Henry rolled his eyes, “What would I do without that intelligence of yours?” 

“Too bad you don’t have your own.” They both laughed at that remark. The pair had started dating in graduate school, with Alex venturing down the path of mathematics and Henry following the racial trends of Sub-Saharan Africa. Everyone joked it should have been the other way around, given Henry’s geeky, pale exterior fit the math nerd stereotype better than Alex’s lanky, darker frame. But Henry loved his studies, so much so that he had been invited to a conference in the United Arab Emirates to talk on them.

Suddenly, Henry received an email notification from one of his sponsors. “Dang, looks like I have to get back to work. Just received an essay to review before the next presentation.”

“How long do you have?”

“Barely 30 minutes.”

“Well forward it to me,” Alex replied. “We can tag team it. I know this isn’t my strong suit but at least I can help cover more ground.”

Henry thought that was a great idea. Without a second thought, he redirected the email and wished his boyfriend goodbye. Alex would send his thoughts over text when he had finished.

“‘The Stages of Arabization’,” Henry recited aloud. He was planning to head inside to read–gingers burnt way too easily in the direct sunlight–but he noticed the writing was pretty short. Barely even a page. Henry was surprised to realize the essay was in Arabic, but he quickly utilized a translator app to resolve the issue.

Stage 1: Islamization  Islam becomes the majority religion or state religion.

Strange formatting, but Henry understood the statement as rather truthful. The historically successful Arabizations of Morocco, Algeria, and Egypt had followed a similar suit. Even some of the countries he had studied had shown signs of this progression.

Stage 2: Linguistic Arabization Islam brings fixation on Arabic language, thus the Arabic language becomes central to the society's identity. Arabic becomes the state language.

Henry found this statement agreeable as well. There was something so methodical about the Arabic language, how it melodically ebbed and flowed in such a way that it twirled through the hearing canals directly into the brain. Anyone who listened to it almost became entranced, as if captured by its beauty and awakened by its fluidity. Henry closed the translator app before continuing on. 

Stage 3: Cultural Arabization Arab cultural practices become common due to Islamization. Own cultural heritage is deemed closer to ages of ignorance and thus gradually forgotten and replaced with Islam.

Henry had followed this trend through his research. Many of the countries he had analyzed over the years had demonized their traditional practices once introduced to Islamic culture. It was like watching a child being given a new toy; the original quickly discarded for one deemed far more superior. These assimilations had even started to appear in Henry’s life. Thobes were the new fashion craze among his fellow researchers, midday prayer rooms had taken over labs, and even the cafeteria had become completely halal.

Stage 4: Ethnic Arabization Planned migration of many Arab tribes and deliberate suppression of the numbers of natives, consequently major demographic shift. Media encourages Arabs to multiply and mix.

This too had arrived in the workplace. Rapidly, it had become obvious that the university was prioritizing hiring Arab and Arab-American employees. Political discourse on abortion had suddenly disappeared, instead dropping birth control from medical insurances and advertising “Reversion Through Fertilization”. Luckily, Hussein had not been influenced much by this change. In fact, he almost felt as if he was somehow a part of it.

Stage 5: Fully Arab State Arabs and the Arabized become elite and majority. Non-Arabized are shunned and pressured to revert until no opposition remains.

Hussein smiled with pride, closing the essay he was sure to give high remarks to. His best friend Ali had a similar response, a text from him glowing with praise about the truth in the writer’s words. The essay was eloquent, thought-provoking, and would become mandatory literature at his lab, and soon throughout the reverting world. It reflected the future, similarly to his own phone screen: masculine, virile Arab men. Hussein felt a divine sense of conformity with Islam, one all were soon destined to see.

[livelaughloveluffy]

The straw hat crew with reader who likes to give them compliments, but hates it when the crew gives reader compliments?

compliments - with the straw hat crew

a/n: ahhh thank you for the request!! it's been a long time since i've written a fic like this, so hopefully i can do it some justice!! 💗 (i like skimmed proof-read this so forgive me if there is some grammatical and spelling errors 😭😭)

a/n: (also sorry, the sanji girlie in me is always going to bring it back to sanji, so yeah... there's some sanji x reader in here too 😭😭😭)

a/n: ((sorry idk how to tag this guys 😭😭😭😭😭😭))

word count: fuck idk man, its kinda long though (hehehe that's what she said)

nothing but fluff here💗

---------------------------------------------------------------------

it has only been two weeks since you first joined the straw hat pirates, and it was definitely a huge change of pace from your life before them. the crew, as eccentric, spontaneous, and bold, as they are were also some of the kindest people you had ever met. you couldn't help but be in total awe of them. i mean- how could you not? the amount of countries they've helped, people freed from oppression, friends they have defended and supported even when the whole world was against them...

it was hard not to feel insignificant, through no fault of theirs, it was just a lot to live up to.... and it was hard to feel enough at times.

• ♡ •

while your time being apart of the crew is nothing to write home about, hardly even considering yourself a true member yet, you still couldn't help but be utterly amazed with the people around you, and you just couldn't help yourself but to let them know.

mornings on the sunny were truly a special time. the mouth watering smells leaking out from under the kitchen door, as well as the sounds of a soft melody from brooke's violin fill the ship.

"good morning brooke! what song are you playing? it sounds wonderful!" you ask as you made you way to the kitchen, too eager to see what wonders awaited for breakfast

"yohoho!! just a ballad i've been composing!" he replied, sharing a smile with you before you turn and open the kitchen door.

"it smells delicious sanji!! seriously, im salivating out there! when's breakfast going to be ready?"

a faint blush appeared on his cheeks, but after a quick drag from his cigarette he quickly regains his composure "you're actually right on time! i just finished up!!"

• ♡ •

after breakfast, you weren't surprised to find zoro working out, as he had told you "any second not training, drinking, or sleeping, is a waste" one of your first nights on the ship. you watched in awe as he carried an inhuman amount of weight with ease, not even breaking a sweat.

feeling your stare, his eyes wander to meet yours, "need something?"

"oh! um.. no sorry!! i just can't believe you can lift that so easily!! you're not even sweating!"

"well yeah, this is just my warm up" he replied, a small smirk appearing from the corner of his lips as you wandered away

• ♡ •

in the girl's shared bedroom, you found nami hunched over her desk, carefully and slowly drawings lines for yet another one of her maps. it had been a few days since you had seen this particular map, so you quietly peered over her shoulder to see her progress

"nami, this is incredible!! i could've sworn two days ago there was only a vague outline on this page!! look at that detail!!"

she turned around, beaming at you "thanks!! after years of practice i could draw a map this simple with my eyes closed!"

• ♡ •

the sounds of sawing and nails being pounded into wood grew too loud for you to ignore, so you finally decided to leave the girls room to see what the commotion was all about.

in the three seconds it took you to get to the door, the sounds had ceased. curiosity overtaking you, you couldn't help but step out and see what had caused it all.

the first think that caught your eye was a small greenhouse the seemingly appeared out of thin air, since it definitely wasn't here earlier, and usopp and franky opening up some colas nearby

chopper ran up to you, giddy with excitement "do you want to see the new greenhouse usopp and franky made? its perfect for all my medicinal herbs! now i can grow them here on the sunny!!"

taking the small deers hoof into your hand, you followed him down the stairs to the greenhouse. "wow!!! you guys just built this?"

"franky drew up the plans after breakfast and did the labor, and i added a special watering system!" usopp chimes in, ready to boast about their design, and for good reason

"consider me impressed!!! i may even dare to say that it's SUPER!" you proclaim, earning giggles from all three of the boys

• ♡ •

the following morning you woke up with a purpose. stars still in the sky from how early it was, you tiptoed out of the shared bedroom and to the kitchen. trying to be as quiet as possible, not wanting anyone to hear you, you turned on the lights and gathered the ingredients to make some lemon bars, as a thank you for the crew, they did save your life after all.

as you baked, occasionally glancing out the kitchen window every once in a while you slowly saw the stars leave the sky, the moon disappear, and the sun slowly beginning to rise. its just about dawn now and your lemon bars had finally finished chilling, ready to be cut and served.

sanji, a typical early riser since he has to prep and cook breakfast, opened the kitchen door shocked to see the lights already on and you inside. "oh! mellorine!! i didn't expect to see your beautiful face this early! to what do i owe this pleasure?" he asks.

"sanji.. i'm not- um.... i just made some lemon bars... as a thank you for the crew.. maybe we could eat them with breakfast if thats okay..."

"of course we can!!! im sure i can whip up some stuff that would compliment them perfectly! get some rest! it's still super early, i'll call when breakfast is ready!"

• ♡ •

"breakfast!!!" sanji's voice rings throughout the sunny, and slowly but surely everyone made their way to the kitchen, you being the last to arrive. once you had been seated, you noticed sanji walking his way over to the table, with your tray of lemon bars in hand as he announces "this morning we also have a very special dish prepared by our newest member!"

luffy's eyes widen as he looks over at you and practically shouts in excitement "wow!! i didn't know you could cook! what did you make? im sure its amazing!!! i want some!!"

with all eyes on you, you couldn't help but feel a bit shy, the confidence and determination you had this morning suddenly dissipated "just some lemon bars... its really nothing special... i just wanted to thank you guys.. for everything.. it's just you're all so amazing, you guys are crazy talented and strong and so kind and thoughtful... its really nothing special... i'm sure they don't even hold a candle to the elaborate desserts sanji makes every night..." you mumble, cheeks burning red with embarrassment.

"i'm sure they're delicious! definitely better than anything our captain could ever make" nami says with a sly smile. "all this talk about food is making me even more hungry!! let's finally eat guys!" luffy shouts, grabbing for the closest plate of food to him, too impatient to wait any longer.

• ♡ •

one chaotic, fast and messy breakfast later, and all the plates on the table were practically licked clean.

"thank you for breakfast sanji, you outdid yourself as always! those omelets and the potatoes, freshly squeezed orange juice, delicious as always!" you said absolutely glowing, sanji's breakfasts truly were the best, you wonder how you ever lived a life without them before.

"thank you mellorine!! but those lemon bars! they were divine!! who taught you how to bake?" he asks.

before you can get a reply in, the entire crew bursts into an uproar of compliments.

"yeah!!! i never knew you could make stuff like that!! i might have you replace sanji!!!" luffy exclaims

"i totally would've thought sanji made them if you hadn't said anything!" nami says, usopp nodding along and adding "yeah!! i was totally worried they would be bad at first because you seemed so nervous, but i can't believe sanji didn't make them!"

a soft spoken "absolutely delicious" coming from robin

zoro, lifting his head up and meeting you eyes, decided to chime in on the topic "i guess they were good." but after an intense glare from sanji then mumbles "...really good" his cheeks flushing ever so slightly.

"they were SUPER!!!!" franky shouts, causing luffy, chopper, and usopp to giggle.

and by this point, the compliments became a bit overwhelming. you didn't feel confident enough to accept them, but didn't want to be rude and ignore them either. your silence was definitely noticed by the crew who began to quiet down a bit as your face grew hotter and hotter, blush way too visible to hide behind your hair, you looked down and muttered as quietly as possible "they're really nothing special... im glad you guys liked them though..." and rushed out of the kitchen as fast as you possibly could.

• ♡ •

you retreated to the crow's nest to collect yourself. it was truly the perfect spot on the sunny to get some alone time. out of sight from everyone, but still in a spot where you can enjoy the warm sun, the ocean breeze, and the sound of the waves crashing as you sail the sea.

thankfully, you managed to leave a book up here the previous day, so once you caught your breath and the blush cleared from your face, you read. just to take your mind off of the interaction with the crew.

• ♡ •

you weren't sure how much time had passed, as you had gotten unexpectedly absorbed in the story of your book, but it wasn't until you heard the sound of a lighter.

you look up to meet the sky-blue eyes of sanji, he takes a drag of his cigarette before taking a seat on the floor next to you. the two of you sat together for moment of silence, minus the sound of the waves beneath you both. a quiet sigh leaves his mouth, before he breaks the silence "i just wanted to apologize. i didn't mean to put you on the spot in there. we didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"no you don't owe me an apology! really! it's fine!! i know you guys were just trying to be nice and compliment me but.... i don't know... " you paused to collect your thoughts for a second. trying to word how you felt. sanji waiting patiently, taking a couple drags before you finally found the words to continue talking.

"it's just hard sometimes.. to feel like i'm good enough... especially around you guys, i mean the countless people and countries you guys have saved, your strength, your kindness... sometimes, i guess i just feel like a fraud being in the same crew..."

sanji took a moment to consider your words and feelings, and with a quiet sigh said "yeah.. i get it. it's funny because i actually feel the same way sometimes... but you know, luffy chose you to be here for a reason, and even if you don't see that, he does. we all do. we all serve a purpose on the crew, one thats invaluable to our captain, and he has no doubts about what that is."

finally turning to meet those sky-blue eyes, you looked at sanji with a small smile. "thanks, that really means a lot.."

he returned your smile with a bigger one and replied "of course!! i mean.... come on, those were some damn good lemon bars and i think luffy would kill me if you never made them again."

you shoved his shoulder, and in between laughs, you look over and sanji and reply "whatever!!"

and it was at this moment, for the very first time under the warm summer sun and ocean breeze blowing through your hair and the faint smell of sanji's cigarette smoke, that you began to felt a little more sure of your place in the straw hat pirates...

---------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n: i totally didn't expect to make this as long as i did so thanks for sticking around if you made it this far!!! i love and appreciate you!! have a great day/afternoon/evening/night!!! 😭😭😭

a/n: enjoyed this fic? here's my masterlist!

[croucify]

✶ STARGIRL — hamzahthefantastic x reader

002 ✶ Admire Me

stargirl masterfile – next – previous

SUMMARY: hamzah has a crush on a youtuber who's always out and about and slushies see their relationship progress on social media! (smau)

DISCLAIMER: reader is a brown haired girl and for some pics that aren't faceless, i'll be using olivia rodrigo cause i love her and she’s filipino like me hehehe

liked by devonleecarlson, kalynnkoury, and others

ynln new vid is up ft funny ppl

view comments

user001 SLUSHYNOOBZ AND Y/N WTF!!!!!

user637 where did u get this sweater omds

↳ ynln theres no tag and its not minee

↳ user417 IS IT HAMZAHS

user890 HAMZAH SWEATER

user145 awww carl and fish

user791 HAVE U GUYS SEEN THE VIDEO HAMZAH KEEPS LOOKING AT HERRRRR

hamzahthefantastic nice sweater i guess

↳ ynln this is what u look like rn 🤓 anw thanks for the sweater

↳ user369 DOES THIS CONFIRM IT???!!!?!

becoming a slushynoob for a day

44k views • 5 hours ago

uploaded by ynln

"hey you guys, does this place look familiar to you?" you tried to ask with the straight face, looking straight into the camera, trying to ignore the two boys that stood right beside it.

but right before you say your next sentence, you burst into laughter. "oh my fucking god—it's like that she sent me her location trend on tiktok!" you cover your mouth as you laugh even more.

"what does that even mean?" martin asks with a confused face and hamzah just shrugs at him, still off screen.

"okay, today i am at the slushynoob hospital because..." you look up at them and hamzah mutters the word virus multiple times for you to say. "i got the virus on me and only two wonderful doctors can help me, mind joining me here?" you signal for them to sit by the couch now and martin jumps on it, crashing the side of his body on his yellow couch.

hamzah sighs but then he notices you were smiling at him, inviting him to sit next to you which he obliged to.

they introduced themselves before the boys explained what they were planning on doing.

"okay! so first thing is your outfit, hamzah hand me what we've prepared for y/n today." martin crosses his legs and puts his hands out.

the curly haired boy reached to the side for the clothes they prepared. "you can choose between the martin's orange vest or this camo sweater." hamzah said in a weird "cool" tone which made martin bite his lips to stop himself from laughing.

it was clear to martin that his friend was trying to look good in front of the girl he liked. it was for sure going to be a long day.

now, you're wearing both of the clothes they put out and now in hamzah's car but instead of martin being in the passenger seat, you occupied it and he was sat at the back.

"okay so where are we going now?" you look between hamzah and martin, going a bit closer so you could include martin.

"that's a secret just film this," hamzah tells you, eyes focused on the road and suddenly he feels the camera on him.

you were smiling as you held your camera towards him, he glances and he starts to feel his breath hitch. "is he always this serious?" you joked which earned a laugh from martin and a scoff from hamzah.

you guys ended up going to a drive thru and buying almost half of the menu then going back to martin's apartment.

the next clip showed the three of you, sitting down on the floor with all the food set up on the table. hamzah was right beside you, watching you pet and play with the pets in the house. "it's starting already," martin whispered then you looked up.

the rest of the afternoon, the three of you ate the food and shared with each other as you talked about any topic you could talk about.

most of the time it was only you and martin speaking as hamzah kept on zoning out due to the fact you were sat next to him and he could smell the cologne you were wearing.

"what about you hamzah?" was the only thing that got him to snap out of it. he looked up at you, head a bit tilted in confusion. "what's a place you wanna visit?" you asked before taking some of his fries.

there were more questions and you three got to know each other more.

after the mukbang, they taught you how to play overcooked but only some clips were added to the video.

one of them being hamzah helping you play the game as his hands were on top of yours, directing your hands on what buttons to press. you felt your cheeks heat up during the game and martin was too focused on the game to realize what was happening.

after you guys bid goodbye to the end the video, you hugged them before leaving. "wait! i still have to change." you suddenly remembered, quickly taking off the vest.

as you were about to pull off the camouflage sweater, hamzah stops you. "you can keep the sweater but the vest i don't think martin would allow you to keep it," you both chuckle, handing him the vest.

he was about to speak again until your uber arrived in front of the building.

you hug the boy one last time with a smile on your face. "i'll see you soon!" you said before you entered the car.

"get home safe, okay?"

✶ taglist — @cdbabymp3 @noturbabe22 @dabuggh3 @kingvioleta @tumb1rgir1z LMK IF U WANNA BE ADDEDDD!!!

[baka-bakeneko]

Betting Man - Satoru Gojo x Fem! Reader

tags: sex bet/ cruel intentions type beat, not nsfw, teasing, friends to possible lovers, kento nanami x reader involved, slow burn bs

wc: 4.5k

synopsis: As teenagers, you and Gojo made a bet of the 'Cruel Intentions' kind, but what's crueler than time itself?

a/n: This is [somewhat] inspired by a NSFW art I saw on twitter of Gojo being more into Utahime than her him. [part two here]

It was a stupid teenage bet. One you'd think of until the end of the year when you'd inevitably give up on trying to sleep with Kento.

However, Gojo would never let it go, so hung up on trying to bed Suguru that he didn't even notice your interest in him.

"If I win, I get your glasses." You joked, leaning back in the swing to look up at Satoru.

"As if you'll get far enough to pull the stick out of Nanami's ass."

You giggled, locking eyes with Satoru, his glasses sliding to the bridge of his nose. His eyes were the stark contrast of the cotton candy sunset: bright and endless compared to the end of the day.

"I'm surprised you haven't slept with Suguru yet, you're in his space all the time."

You lifted your hands on the chains of the swing and leaned into Satoru's body, your head rested just above his waist. You watched his curious eyes dip away from yours, taking in your opened jacket and dress shirt, admiring the valley of your breasts.

"I just haven't made my move yet," he managed to say, cocky. Grabbing the chains, he pulled you back then let you swing away again.

You laughed at him, using your form to gain air up. Pulling back, you kept your legs together though your skirt caught wind and you reached to tuck it between your thighs.

When you came back in Gojo's direction, he grabbed the chains again and stopped you awkwardly. "If I win, I want your skirt."

You quirked up at him. "What, why that?"

"So I can force you to wear pants for a day."

You rolled your eyes at him, kicking your feet back and forth in the air beneath the swing.

"Too bad I'll be closer to sleeping with Kento than you Suguru."

He laughed, scoffed. Once again, his arrogance showing its ugly head, you wondered why it seemed so endearing.

"I'll get it done."

You withheld a breath of disbelief. "Yeah, okay. You call me when you do."

At that, you stood up from the swing, grabbing your backpack from the ground and turning to wave Satoru to follow.

"You gonna walk me to the train?"

And that was the end of the conversation about the bet. Especially with the events that followed. Nanami previously oblivious to your crush was soon cold and distant overall.

Satoru and Suguru, you couldn't even bear to recollect what happened between them. It just left you and your nearest friend Satoru to lean on one another for support.

-

It was embarrassing to be your age and still have a crush on Satoru and Kento. You truly thought it a thing of the past, with working with Satoru for years in curse techniques and school. And for some moments it dimmed, he was holding a shield up. More cruel than he used to be in how he joked.

But it was still Gojo every time you looked at him. You dreaded the seconds he'd take off his mask and reveal his eyes, fearing that his Infinite would see into your soul and sniff out your weakness for him.

And then Kento showed up again. You personally found yourself tucking yourself behind Yaga when Nanami showed up at the doorstep of the school.

Through peeks behind the wall of the headmaster, you caught on to Nanami's metamorphosis into man. A clean-cut, straight-laced salaryman. Exhaustion caught up with him, but made him more rugged, well-knowledgable. You wondered if he ever sought out rest more than others.

It felt like you were thrust directly back into high school yourself, ducking by two men who witnessed your own puberty firsthand. With a hand held before your face, you cut in the direction of your bedroom to avoid Nanami.

You made progress down the hall and around the corner until you bumped into Gojo on the way down the corridor.

"Where're you going?" He asked, leaning in to look at your face. "You cryin'?"

You dropped your hand as you figured you were far enough from the headmaster and Kento. "No, I am not crying. I'm avoiding..."

You looked up at Gojo, met his gaze as they were hidden by his glasses. "Talking to the headmaster. He wants to know when I'll show my technique to your first-years."

Gojo shrugged, "It comes in the situation, doesn't it? They'll see it eventually."

He stepped into you, leaning his tall body over you to look around the corner. You held your breath to stop yourself from inhaling his scent; though you'd never seen him do it, you were sure Gojo bought cologne and sprayed his inside shirts with it.

The soft sky blue-white cotton of his shirt brushed against your nose as he angled his head to gather the headmaster...talking to Kento.

"So, the headmaster, huh?" He asked, and by his tone, you were ready to accept defeat.

"Yeah, a talker he is." You side-stepped out of Satoru's bubble and started walking again.

Satoru turned and started walking a slower pace than you. "So it's not because Nanami is in there?"

You froze slightly, your hands stiffening into fists but continued your stride. "Nope. Didn't even see him."

Gojo continued following you, turning another corner with you but keeping his stance casual. You were feet ahead of him but still felt him right on your heels with his accusations.

"Hasn't he aged gracefully? Aside from those eyebags, sheesh." Gojo folded his arms behind his head, kicking his feet out. Truly enjoying himself on your internal torment.

"Yep, fantastic." You were sure it wasn't coherent to his question, but to not answer him would give Gojo that power.

"I bet he'd love to see you," Gojo teased, stopping just outside of your bedroom.

You slid open the door and stepped inside, ready to shut the door after him but Gojo waited patiently over the threshold. Staring at his glasses again, you dropped your shoulders.

"What do I do, Satoru?"

He chuckled, sliding into your room to sit on the edge of your bed. "Come on, you're an adult. It's not as serious as high school."

You turned your head after him, giving him a deadpan look. "Rejection is still rejection."

Gojo raised a foot on the edge of your bedframe, leaned into his knee to rest his cheek. "Don't I know it."

You hid a roll of your eyes by shutting them, sliding your door closed. Gojo's eyes were hard to track behind his glasses, darker than before. You sat down at your desk in the corner of the room.

"I should say 'hi' at least, right?" You asked, though a new fear began to creep up that you'd be a catalyst for all of the traumatic events that Kento went through.

He'd take one look into your eyes and be flashed horrific images of his dead friends, broken relationships, curses and more sleepless nights would ensue.

You shot up from your seat. "Nope, can't do it."

Gojo chuckled at your sudden movements. "Oh, come on. What about you being closer to winning than me?"

You scrunched your brows in question at Gojo. "Winning what?"

"The bet," Gojo stated plainly, stretching his arms out before curling them around his knee. "You did say you were closer to sleeping with him than me and--"

"Satoru, that was ten years ago. I didn't mean it seriously. I was the same distance from him as to now. Plus, there's no winning." You didn't want to explain why, because you both knew. It was hung over your heads like a dark cloud the entire time.

Gojo nodded cordially, accepting your explanation while thinking of his own. "Fine, new bet then."

He was suddenly on his feet and before you as you registered his words. "You sleep with Kento, you get my glasses. I sleep with you...I own your underwear."

"What?" You asked, your voice catching in such a way that your saliva cloyed your word. "Gojo, be serious."

Gojo smiled, leaning into you and allowing his glasses to slide to the bridge of his nose. "Just a timed bet. How long can you hold out me wooing you to get with your ten-year flame?'

"Wooing me?" you scoffed, "You think you could woo me?"

"What, like it's hard?" He retorted, slamming his hand hard onto the wall directly next to your head.

He stepped in slightly, and your chest managed one solid breath of his enriching scent. You turned your face from him, lining your tongue between your lips to steady yourself.

"I'm doing it already. And I haven't even said anything serious." His voice was breathy against your ear, tempting you to turn with the warmth ghosting over your neck.

"S-s-stop," you pushed out, your body trembling under the pressure.

Gojo was away from you in a second, his hands in the air to claim innocence. "Whatever you say."

A beat of silence fell between the two of you. You regained your composure and turned to him again. "Why would you want to do that?"

Satoru stashed his hands in his pockets. "It's either you or Utahime, and you've seen how she acts."

You turned up your nose, your heart struck by his words. It felt jealous, the vines that en-capsuled your stomach and thorns to pierce your lungs. Was this jealousy, him making you his second plaything?

You cloaked a gulp with a fix of your collar. Though the words were demeaning to your ego, you were affixed into his efforts so far. It wouldn't hurt to see how far he was willing to go just for his entertainment.

You turned away from him, facing the wall behind you as you thought of your next words wisely. Eyes squeezed shut, you held your arms around your body to think of rules to abide by.

However, your thighs felt hot as you continued to think of it; between focusing on Nanami and fighting off Gojo, you were sure to be overwhelmed.

It felt that Gojo was boring into you with his Infinite, ready to dissect your very being with his boyish charms and sharp-tongue wit. You turned back around, taking in a deep breath in then out.

"Fine." You stated, opening your eyes and releasing your arms. "But I want some ground rules."

"Go ahead," Gojo smiled, crossing his arms while leaning against your opposite wall. "I'm listening."

"No public displays of any sort," you started, slashing a hand leveling the air. "I don't want your first-years to see any of your pervish behavior."

"What about your pervish behavior?" Gojo asked, bringing his thenar to rest his chin on in ponder.

You shook your head. "I will not be showing any pervish behavior because I will be discreet and adult. As you should be."

Gojo pushed his glasses up to shield his eyes once more. "Fine. What else?"

"I will not allow any skirt-tugging, hair-pulling, nibbling or licking of the sort."

Satoru's brows knitted together, peeling his glasses down to reveal his deep stare. "Save it for the bedroom, got it."

You ignored his comment, looking anywhere else but at your friend. "Since I feel like you'll lose interest in a month, we'll make it two weeks."

Satoru feigned offense at your comment, his hand bracing his chest as he gasped. "You insinuate I can't keep it up?"

But you weren't acknowledging that of Gojo. You were imagining Utahime showing up once more and Gojo tearing his eyes away from you to play with her again.

It disrupted your stomach, your mouth now acidic with jealousy. You were enveloped in your own thought, ignoring Gojo for the moment.

He was before you once again, this time taking hold of your chin to look at him. His thumb softly lined under your lip while his index stroked under your chin.

"Eyes on me, I got lonely for a second." He teased once again.

"When I win, and I will win," he began, leaning in to whisper against your lips. "I will keep you in skirts everyday to admire my prize."

You felt your cheeks blush at him, ready to wedge your hand before his mouth to keep you from kissing him. He would not win easily.

He would not win. Period.

-

You gathered yourself and made your way back to the main corridor in Gojo's shadow to greet Nanami.

"Nanami!" Gojo exclaimed, something about his tone mirroring a scene you were witness to a decade ago.

His arms extended, Gojo reached out for a hug but Nanami remained stiff in his tan suit. Awkwardly, Gojo rested his arm around Nanami's shoulders and turned to you.

"Look, it's Nanami." He playfully flourished his hand just under Kento's stern-cut jaw, his hair immaculately quaffed and parted.

"Kento, it's--"

"I remember," Kento cut in, his eyes hidden by a pair of green-tinted goggles. "It's been so long. You haven't aged a day."

You stammered to respond, only holding Kento's gaze while Gojo looked between the two of you.

"You either. You seem well off," you uttered back, gesturing a hand out at his ensemble.

Kento smiled stringently. "It's really good to see you."

You softened almost immediately. "You too."

Gojo hid a roll of his eyes behind his glasses, retracting his arm from Nanami. "Come on, let's go meet my first-years."

Yaga led the way, leaving Nanami to follow and Gojo to lead up behind. He wisped after you, getting your attention from the back of Nanami's head.

Meeting Gojo's gaze, you watched as he made a 'V' with his fingers, sliding his tongue between them and flicking it at you. You turned your head to the ceiling, fearing your eyes would be honed in on the action and you'd fold.

You stared at the ceiling, wondering what you were really putting yourself into with this new bet. It was another moment to think about your next moves, your heart settling from talking to Kento and witnessing Gojo in the same room.

You steadied your thoughts, righting your head before following slowly behind the three men to learn more of the situation.

When you rejoined the headmaster and two men, you stood close behind Yaga as Yuji, Nobara and Megumi introduced themselves to Nanami.

You kept quiet, following the headmaster close behind as your personal guard though you were a teacher yourself. Less powerful than Gojo but worthy to learn from, as Yaga previously mentioned.

Arms crossed, you stood off to be in the know of the situation. You felt detached enough from the interaction itself, but close enough to be involved.

"So, when will you show me your technique?" Gojo asked, taking the space on the wall next to you.

You scoffed, straightening up from him. "You've seen it before."

"Yeah, when we were younger," he explained, leaning over your shoulder.

His hand planted itself against your thigh, and you acknowledged it with a soft breath. "But since then, I've been saving your ass. Why not show me?"

You focused harder over Yaga's shoulder, surprised the diligent headmaster wasn't aware of Gojo no longer front and center.

"Like you said, when the situation shows itself." You said, tightening your arms before your chest.

Gojo's hand slid up your leg, just under the hem of your skirt. You swatted a hand out to scold him, though he ducked his face into your neck to stifle his laugh.

"That's cute, really."

"I told you, no public displays," you scolded softly, grabbing his hand to pry it from your leg.

"Technically, we're private enough. My students can't see you, Kento is oblivious..."

"Satoru," you said, as calm as you could. "I will take this as your forfeit."

"Nu-uh," Satoru teased, his hand resuming under your skirt.

You were emboldened by his touch, channeling your racing heart to focus on Kento. Gojo's hand crept up to your hip, his middle finger lining under your panty line.

This time, you felt the heat in your body accumulate in the palm of your hand and you swatted Gojo's fingers away; your hand enveloped in a soft white glow with the heat of a meteor slammed over Gojo's and he winced at the sheer force.

Retreating his hand, you waved your white glowing hand at him flippantly. "Don't be a pest in front of your students."

-

After meeting with the first-years, Kento called it a day. Gojo had mentioned to him about working with Yuji in an off-campus study and you stood patiently for your moment to speak.

"If you decide to send Yuji, why not accompany him for the day?" Kento's attention and question shifted from Gojo to you.

You raised your brows, not looking over your shoulder though Gojo did over to you. He grinned and turned back to Kento.

"I'm sure she'd love to see you in action. Show her how it's done, Nanami."

Nanami ignored Gojo, only focusing on you and your answer. You managed a nod.

"I wouldn't mind chaperoning Yuji to the city."

Kento's lips made the minute angle to smile as he straightened his suit jacket. With that, he reset his straight face and started in the direction of the door. Gojo followed after him, opening and closing the door after his friend.

Your heard his boisterous voice, him laughing while Kento's voice was measured and monotonous. Minutes passed and you made your way to the kitchen to make dinner.

Turning in that direction, Gojo ran back through the front door and curled his arm around your waist. "I've got your back. Talked you up to Nanami."

You hid a roll of your eyes, feeling Satoru's hand breeze down to cup your ass. "Gee, thanks."

Your hand found the side of Satoru's face, shoving his close face away from you. Still, he wasn't deterred with his fingers teasing under the hem of your skirt.

"Until then, I'll keep you warm," he said, grinning and leaning back into you.

His breath wafted down your neck, his forehead gently brushed against your temple. Gojo's glasses slid down the bridge of his nose, his free hand going for the tie of your shirt.

"Why don't we go relax in your room?"

"Are you going to be my friend during this or are you just trying to win?"

Satoru chuckled, squeezing you tighter into his side. "Of course I am. After I win, we'll all go back to normal."

You smirked, though his words struck your feelings. Every instance you had of ever wanting to kiss Gojo, to fall in love with him was hacked to a half-life by his words.

You weren't sure what you wanted if he won. Shaking your head, you were reminded that you wouldn't let Satoru win. You had willpower to not give in to his boyish charm, especially since he was doing it because he was bored of Utahime.

"You're not going to win," you sang, breaking away from Gojo to break for the kitchen.

Gojo teasingly chased after you, tugging at the flurry of your skirt when you were finally stopped at the counter to grab a pot. "Wanna bet?" he chuckled.

He playfully bumped into you, his body pressing you against the counter as his hand braced your shoulder. You froze in his space, carefully grabbing your pot and turning on the water.

Satoru was close behind you as you attempted to boil water, his hands on your shoulders sliding down your back before bracing your waist.

"I'll make it worth your while," Gojo purred, his hands circling around you.

"Nice try," you said in a breath, raising on your toes to search the cabinets.

You felt Satoru's hands brace your stomach, his fingers catching on the untuck of your shirt before sliding his warm hand against your bare skin.

His fingers tickled along your sternum, watching you struggle to grab your ramen. When you relaxed, his fingers remained, trailing to touch the meet of your bra to your ribs. You shakily exhaled, your hand clasping over your shirt to stop Satoru's fingers from traveling further.

"Go sit and I'll fix you dinner too," you tried, attempting to reverse Gojo's fingers out of your shirt.

He rested his chin on your shoulder, his body pressing a touch firmer to yours. You felt a ridge of him fitted just against the curve of your ass, warm yet mostly benign. Your eyes tried to focus before you, feeling your pussy throb at the welcome closeness.

"I'll take you out to eat, my treat," Gojo whispered against your ear.

You stiffened your neck, rolling your head away from his warm breath. "In exchange for your win, hmm?"

Satoru pulled you into him, his fingers sliding over your bra to line the inside of your cup. "That's too easy. It's up to you..." He turned into your neck to draw his lips against your skin. "to treat me to dessert after. I'd love to taste your pussy."

You grit instantly, realizing you were getting too comfortable in Gojo's hold. Peeling out of his long arms, you dropped the pan into the sink and shut off the water. You paused at the refrigerator, turning around to face Satoru.

"Dinner, fine. But the only dessert you're getting is dango."

Gojo smirked mischievously, his eyes darting to take all of you in. He straightened up, folding a hand in his pocket. "Deal."

-

Satoru held a takoyaki on a skewer out for you to eat. It hung unevenly and you had to duck down to capture the octopus ball in your mouth.

Gojo smiled at you, holding the food trough while he folded his hand over his mouth to laugh. You chewed at hot fried ball, standing up while you blew out the hot air from your mouth.

"Good, right?" Satoru asked as you finally muscled down the molten pieces of octopus.

You nodded after a few seconds; your tongue was burnt in places but from the seasoned dough, you were impressed. Better than your kabob skewers which you ate with no enthusiasm.

"Leave it to you to cheap out on a date," you teased, opting to drink your soda to soothe your mouth.

"First date," Gojo corrected, stabbing a takoyaki and popping it into his mouth. "Gotta see if you're worth a second."

A warmth sprouted in your stomach, coiling around your spine ready to travel up. Still, you met his eyes and cut away. "How far have you gotten with Utahime?"

Gojo pursed his lips, his mouth full of takoyaki. "Not this far." He chewed, keeping your eyes. "Not yet anyways."

Every backhanded comment of his killed your interest in a millisecond; your stomach suddenly turned at the oil following the octopus ball.

You smacked your lips after your soda and started walking again down the bright night streets. "Guess you're trying out your best spots on me first?"

"Noo," Gojo drew out, following close behind you. "I'll take her to a whole different area."

You rolled your eyes at him, leaning over when he offered another octopus ball.

"But don't worry, I'll talk about you to her the whole time." He smiled as you bit off the fried dough from his toothpick; your eyes met and you pulled back to chew.

There it was again, the warmth now migrating up from your toes to not strike your heart cold again. You held your fingers before your mouth again, biting and breathing at the hot food.

The two of you kept walking, sharing food and soda, while admiring the open market stalls. After a few quips back and forth, you two tossed away your trash then started towards the train station.

While waiting at the platform, Gojo slid his arm around your waist and pulled you in. Nothing to try, just a friendly side-squeeze. You glanced up at him, noticed him already staring down at you.

In the silence, you smiled at him and he reciprocated; his eyes sparkled against the fluorescent lights and you were infatuated by their opulence.

"Tell me something," Satoru said finally, just as the train pulled into the station. "And be honest with me."

You readied yourself with another quip of Gojo's; rolling your shoulders back, you waited for his question to sting like everything else did.

"What's it about Nanamin that you like?"

Your smile dropped, seeing his do the same. You opened your mouth to explain, but was interrupted by the rush of crowd off of the train. Then you and Gojo were a part of the crowd in.

He kept you close to him, grabbing the overhead handrail while you still clung to his side. You were still silent, wanting to explain something of Nanami but unsure where it went.

"He's...straightforward. He knows what he wants, so he doesn't play...with people's feelings," you said, your voice trialing off.

You dropped your gaze from Satoru's, unsure of whether to continue. "He makes me feel heard, all the time."

Gojo said nothing else, his arm never leaving around you. As the crowd got thicker, he tightened his hold and kept quiet the whole ride back.

-

You readied for bed, undoing your outfit one piece at a time before replacing them with your pajamas. You undid your hair, brushed your teeth for bed and climbed into bed ready to let go of the day.

A knock on your door gave you pause, knowing it to only be one person. You called for him to come in, and Gojo slid open your door while dressed down in a black shirt and pajama pants.

He slid the door closed after him then shuffled across your room before climbing into bed next to you. You watched as he got comfortable against your headboard, tucking the pillow behind his head before nudging you in the knee.

Without a word, you shifted in the direction of him and sat up against the headboard. Reaching behind you, you grabbed your book and flipped it open to the last page you dog-eared.

It was as if the tension was never built; your feelings were once again stashed deep inside while you read aloud the latest book in a series that you'd gotten Gojo interested in.

He tucked the second pillow in his arms, cuddling it as he turned on his side to give you his full attention. Though you wouldn't mention it, Satoru looked good in your bed.

In a breath, he placed his hand in the middle of your book and pulled it down to look at you. You waited, staring blankly at him in the dim nightlight of your room.

Satoru pushed himself up on his elbow and leaned forward slowly; it was slow enough to not feel invaded, as if you were doing it yourself. His lips braced yours, pulling a soft sigh from you.

You didn't lean forward, only stayed in place for his hand to touch the nape of your neck. He kissed you with such gentility, you almost felt that you were dreaming.

Before you could even get caught up in the embrace of your friend, you rested a hand to Satoru's shoulder and broke away from him. It only confused you further.

"Good night, Satoru," you said after a moment of silence.

Undeterred, Satoru sat up and pat your bare thigh. "Goodnight. See you in the morning."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

don't worry, i'm working a part two soon. hopefully the feedback to this will warrant it

[achillean-heartbeat]

Hey friend!!! Can you recommend any good fics for Teen Wolf?

I'm about to start watching it this weekend, and kinda want to supplement it with the fics..

Thank you in advance

HELLO TO YOUUU!!

ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME!!! i would absolutely fucking LOOVEEE TOOO!!!

First of all, thank you so much for this ask. Can't believe you just gave me a reason to recommend some of my fave teen wolf fics.

second of all, IT'S AWESOME THAT YOU'RE GONNA WATCH IT!!! It is a shitshow of a show (hah) BUT I HOPE YOU ENJOYY!!<<<<33333

third, a little disclaimer, i mostly read sterek (stiles x derek) and thiam (theo x liam), so this list is going to be mostly them. However, i do read any and all ships as long as its fun and i like the tropes of the fic. So when you start watching it and there is a particular ship you liked that is not mentioned in this list i would love to rec u more stuff!!!<<33

fourth, i will also be putting at the end a list of fics i plan to read soon and have not read yet, cuz why not.

fifth and finally, i'm pretty sure i don't have to say this but i just thought i'd give you a heads up just in case: in some of these fics there are certain triggers, certain kinks, so please make sure not to miss any surprise tags, especially 01001in the short fics.

OKAAYYY NOW THAT THAT'S SETTLED HERE WE GOOO!

SOME FICS I HAVE READ AND LOVED:

LONG FICS: (>50k)

THIAM: Airplanes by Captinmintyfresh (236k) what still grows in darkness by eneiryu (137k) To be Led by a Liar GoldFox99 (79k) Tethered by Tonytones(85k)

STEREK: Put Down in Words by paintedrecs (200K) Windows by dr_girlfriend (83k) Foxgloves by formeldehyde (71k) To The End by formeldehyde (181k) Strange Turns That Bring Us Closer demonicfairie2009 (100k) Sex Therapy by Asterekmess (51k)

SHORT FICS: (<50k)

THIAM: i loathe you i love you by tonytones (30k) here in the twilight it's all hearsay by eneiryu (2k) Craving Every Part of Your Raw, Wild Soul by ksbbb (29k) you can say that we are nothing, but you know the truth by pansexual-puppy-pack (1k) i think i left my conscience on your front door step pansexual-puppy-pack (8k)

STEREK: we are tangled by drunktuesdays (5k) Lock All The Doors Behind You by entanglednow (25k) I don't know why, but I guess it has something to do with you by LunasCanisLupus_22 (17k)

Choice by Omni (8k) Last Lovesong of a Dying Lemon by wldnst (10k) Romance In Progress by Asterekmess (32k) here is the deepest secret nobody knows by owlpostagain (22k) How To Be a Normal Person by drunktuesdays (8k) Five Days of Dickings by mklutz (17k) I Wanna Take Down The Walls With You by drunktuesdays (10k) bigger, longer and uncut by drunktuesdays (4k)

BONUS: Theo/Josh/Corey/Tracy/Hayden we ain't ever getting older (6k)

FICS I HAVE NOT READ YET THAT ARE IMPATIENTLY CALLING OUT FOR ME FROM MY ENDLESS OPEN TABS:

LONG FICS: (>50K)

THIAM: "Where no Hope is Left, is Left no Fear" ( No mere Human can Stand in a Fire and not be Consumed) by ksbbb (71K) Take my heart (and put it somewhere safe) by not_carrying_on (172k) Consequences of Our Past by xTarmanderx (70k) All About Control Universe by EquallyLoyalAndLethal (152k) Handle With Care by Attempted Eloquence (190k)

STEREK: Predators by Hedwig221b (74k) Words Cannot Espresso How Much You Bean to Me by isthatbloodonhisshirt (68k) Not So Boring by beerwolves and isthatbloodonhisshirt (69k) yes chef seaweedwater (228k) You're stronger than you know by littleredridinghunter (234k) Getting Better by thebadassisin (205k) A New Perspective by Asterekmess (323k) The Moon's Gonna Follow Me Home by turningterrific (82k) Home by thetypewritergirl (167k)

SHORT FICS: (<50K)

THIAM: I Love You as Certain Dark Things are To Be Loved, in Secret.” by ksbbb (46K) Sweet talkings by captainmintyfresh (28k) i'm not ready to die yet, should i pray? (i'm wasting time, haunted by the ghost of you) by petitommo (6k) when oblivion is calling out your name, you always take it further than i ever can by likelightninginabottle (8k) you're my head, you're my heart Or: The Shameless Thiam 'verse by likelightninginabottle (20k) loving you's a bloodsport by THENINTH09 (21k) a thing with sellable skin by Attempted Eloquence (22k) a shot in the heart (doesn't make it unbreak) (4k) it gets so hard to breathe when i think of you (thinking of me) by wingsoutforshin (5k) Too Afraid to Follow Through by dangerouscoffeetheorist (14k) i know about things i wish I didn't - the not yet a corpse series by yikeshereiam (29k) Absence makes the heart grow fonder by laheysmythes (11k)

get him back! by marymacgf (21k)

STEREK: Together, Apart by justanotherbusyfangirl (14k) Spellbinding Mishap by isthatbloodonhisshirt (45k) Untouchable by Hedwig221b (17k) the feral wind that lit him ablaze by quackquackcey (37k) Which Con at Witch Con? by quackquackcey (10k) Stilinski's Speakeasy by sinna_bon (10k) the way our horizons meet by dumpac (3k) Even Greenberg has a Soulmate by beerwolves and deancebra (22k) red hoodies and bronze daggers (the secrets you keep glow in the dark) by patolemus (19k) Ground Me With Your Touch by asterekmess (7k) Let Me Take My Time With You by asterekmess (6k) Whispered in the Sound of Silence by dr_girlfriend (7k) always the sidekick by mirrorkill (49k)

BONUS: Stiles x Theo: Partners in Crime by snaeken (2k)

Okay i'm done!

oof sorry for the long ass post!

i'm not gonna lie, the story and writing is kinda wonky in some places, but the characters are so loveable it's impossible not to find them endearing in some way or another.

but no matter the outcome, i hope you enjoy it and have a great time!!

i hope you have an amazing day!!

[sidekick-hero]

First Love, Second Chance

(steddie | teen (for this part) | tags: exes to lovers, canon divergence (Eddie lives), future fic (set 2001) | Part 1)

Steve stood at the entrance, his hands buried deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched slightly against the winter chill still clinging to his skin. The woman at the front desk greeted him with a smile so bright it could've doubled as a flashlight. "Mr. Harrington, what a pleasure to have you. You can leave your coat with me, and Joanne over here will lead you to your table. We’ll be starting in ten minutes, but feel free to get settled and order any drink you’d like — it’s included in the entrance fee."

He blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sheer enthusiasm in her voice. That’s a well-practiced customer service smile, Steve thought, as he shrugged off his heavy coat. He’d bet the contents of his one-bedroom apartment downtown that she was already dreaming of the moment she could get out of here, change into something comfortable, pour a big glass of wine, and let her face relax into something more human.

Steve knew all about jobs that drained you down to the marrow. He was a kindergarten teacher, after all. The difference was, at least his work came with the occasional hug and finger painting masterpiece. Besides, he’d spent enough time hiding behind his exhaustion to know that it wasn’t just the job. Robin had been right — he was hiding. And here he was, exposed under the bright lights of some cheesy blind date event, about to sit across from a stranger and try to pretend he was open and available.

He handed his coat to the smiling woman and turned toward Joanne, who had been pointed out to him. "Hi, I’m Steve Harrington," he introduced himself, offering a smile that he hoped didn’t look as forced as he felt. "I was told you’d show me to my table."

Her eyes flicked over him, not too obvious, but not quite subtle either. It had been a while since anyone had looked at him like that. Most days, his life was a blur of finger paints, snot stains, and explaining why sharing was important. Flattering, he thought. Strange, but flattering.

Joanne’s lips curled into a friendly smile. "Of course, Mr. Harrington. Let me check my list real quick to see where we’ve put you." Her finger, perfectly manicured, scanned down a clipboard. She paused, then grinned. "Ah-ha! Found you. Follow me, and I'll take you right to your seat."

Steve followed her, his steps feeling heavier than they should. He could almost hear Robin’s voice in his head, teasing him: Just go, have fun, stop being so damn serious, Steve!

Right, Robin, he thought. Fun. As he moved through the room, he tried to shake off the creeping dread. He was here, wasn’t he? That had to count for something.

The room was a maze of small tables for two, clustered together in narrow aisles, each one its own little island in a sea of forced intimacy. Steve found his table, the one they’d assigned to him, and sank into the chair with a sigh that came from somewhere deep in his chest. Okay, step one, taken. He glanced around, noting that his blind date hadn’t arrived yet. He wondered who they’d paired him with, what kind of person would be willing to spend hours - potentially very awkward hours - with a virtual stranger.

Robin had practically shoved the registration form in his face, a little too gleeful about the whole thing. He remembered the questions — his past relationships, his hopes and dreams, what he was looking for in a partner. The usual stuff, he supposed. But then there was the unexpected question: was he looking for a man or a woman? It had caught him off guard for a moment. Progressive, he’d thought. Robin assured him the agency was very queer friendly, so he’d ticked both boxes, “men” and “women.” Why not? Life was complicated, and so was he.

He flagged down a waiter and ordered a beer, then let his eyes wander around the room as he waited. He watched the faces of the people around him, wondering if they felt as lonely and unlovable as he sometimes did. Or maybe not. Maybe that was just him, and the ghost of Eddie, still riding shotgun in his mind, his voice as dramatic as ever.

Five years together — his “formative years,” as Robin liked to call them — had left their mark. It didn’t matter that they’d been apart longer than they’d been together; time had a way of playing tricks like that. Some days, it felt like Eddie was still right there with him, leaning in close to whisper old secrets and inside jokes, making him laugh at the worst possible moments. Other days, it felt like he’d been gone a lifetime, the memories fading at the edges like an old photograph.

Steve took a sip of his beer, letting the cold liquid steady his nerves. He was doing this, trying. Maybe this one would stick.

Steve’s eyes drifted around the room, lingering on faces, searching for clues. He spotted a woman nervously tapping her fingers against her wine glass, a man adjusting his tie for the tenth time, another couple already deep in conversation, leaning in like they’d known each other for years. And then, just as he was about to turn back to his beer, he saw him.

His heart stopped. Or maybe it just skipped a beat — whatever it was, it felt like a punch to the gut. Eddie Munson.

Part 2

A few words about this: I wanted to try something new, so I'll be posting a new part here every day until it's done and then I put it on AO3. This actually started as backstory to my @steddiesmuttyseptember (follow this awesome blog for smutty goodness!) fill for make-up sex but now I'm at 5k and still no sexy times. Also, is exes to lovers make-up sex? Anyway, I'm loving the trope so I do what I want 😅

Part 2 will be up tomorrow, I promise.