#(and you're not aware of anyone else being in here with you)

[pretend-i-don-t-exist]

ok back to my sy as yang yixuan au bc the brainrot refuses to leave

Luo Binghe's shixiong and shijie do not like him. This is a fact.

Qing Jing Peak and Bai Zhan Peak have long-standing animosity with each other. This is also a fact.

Those two facts are the root cause of why Luo Binghe is desperately running away, ducking and weaving through the bamboo as four Bai Zhan disciples hunt him down during their raid.

He yelps when he trips over a portruding stone, landing harshly on his elbows. He's already scrambling away when one of the disciples grabs his arm, and punches him on the cheek.

Luo Binghe, with all the force he can muster, pushes him away and resumes running. It doesn't take long before he's cornered to a dead end, and he backs away, trying to find an exit.

He does not need to plan his escape any further when a boy– dressed in Bai Zhan blues and blacks, lands down silently in front of the disciples, and proceeds to solidly beat each and every one of them up.

He has them all giving up in just a few minutes.

"Ah, seriously..." this new boy— older than Luo Binghe, stronger and smarter, too— sighs, placing his hands on his hips. "None of you really listen, don't you?"

With one swift, practiced motion, he swings the four rambunctious disciples over his shoulder, looking unamused. "All of you are to present at the Hall of Reflection and copy down the scriptures fifty times, and I will personally oversee your training for the next two months," the boy says, authority dripping off of every inch of his body. "Seriously, you're lucky you haven't injured anyone or else you'll be facing a worse punish–"

The boy's eyes catch Luo Binghe's. Luo Binghe shrinks away, all too aware of the livid bruise on his cheek and the blood from his nose.

There is silence. Then there is a thud, and all the Bai Zhan disciples who came for the raid groan in unison. There are footsteps, and the boy is suddenly kneeling in front of him, his hands inexplicably tender and gentle.

The boy hisses at the sight of the bruise. "I apologize for my shidi and shimei," he says, soft. His hands are marred with callouses, strong and firm and powerful, but they are gentle when they touch Luo Binghe. "They are rowdy and a little feral after being left uncontrolled for too long. May I ask for shixiong's understanding?"

Shixiong? Luo Binghe nods, a little wide-eyed. The boy softens, perceptibly, and begins threading qi to his meridians. "This is to quicken your body's natural healing," he explains. "You should get it looked better, however– I can accompany you to Qian Cao Pe–"

"No!" Luo Binghe blurts out, cringing away. Da-shixiong's friends warned him against going to Qian Cao. He doesn't want to know what they'd do if he does go there.

A pause. "Very well." The boy stops his qi, finding the bruise to be sufficiently healed. He pulls out medicine from his sleeve, just like how his Shizun does. "This is for bruises, and this one for small cuts. All topical– externally applied on skin, not ingested. No, please don't worry, this is the least I can do."

Luo Binghe accepts the medicine under the boy's insistence. He cannot say anything, tongue heavy in his mouth, not to even ask for the boy's name or why he is helping him.

The boy rises to his feet. "Well," he says, hesitantly laying a hand on Luo Binghe's hair. Either he doesn't seem to notice the flinch or he ignores it, but that doesn't matter because the boy is– patting his head. Gently and softly, like he has not the power to defeat all of the disciples here in this clearing on Qing Jing Peak.

"We'll have to get going now," the boy says. "Don't worry, they will be reflecting on their actions and will be sincerely apologizing for them. Take care, shixiong."

With two disciples over his shoulder and two under his arm, the boy flies away on his spiritual sword. Luo Binghe clutches the medicine in his hands tighter, feeling the warmth of the boy's gentle hands lingering on his own, and tries to carve every line of the boy's face into his memory.

[liquidorcard]

Okay, to the anon who sent me the breakdown of what happened to Liquid Lily:

Thank you for the write up. I do appreciate you filling me in. But I'm going to use this as a chance to address the ground rules of how we address Courtney going forwards on this blog.

Let me be perfectly clear here:

Courtney's behavior as of late has been very upsetting. To me, to many of you, yes. I have very much privately expressed my own thoughts, feelings and frustrations on the matter in more private settings. There's no sneaky shade here, everything I've said I'd be more than willing to say to her face. I'll send her screenshots myself of everything I've said if she so requests it. I'm not here to gossip and bitch and not stand by it when confronted.

And Courtney on the off chance you're reading this, on the off chance you give a shit what I think of you and want to hash it out, my DMs are still as open to you as they have ever been. I'm not going to be brow-beaten because you don't agree with my perspective on things, I'm not interested in a pointless back and forth, but any concern you have with my presence in this cursed space I am always willing to hear you out on. The offer will always be there if you want me to signal boost something you want out there, of what little I can. It doesn't have to be a whole thing.

I'm also not going to wag my finger and tisk tisk on anyone else sharing their thoughts on Courtney's behavior. Nor do I want anyone to think I'm implying Courtney deserves to be coddled and babied because she's too fragile to handle people criticizing her.

With all that said. . .

Courtney will remain a no-poop-touching subject here on this blog. Obviously, she exists, bring her up when relevant, but we are going to refrain from name-calling and casting judgment. We are not making jokes now at Courtney's expense. We are not psychoanalizing her, speculating, making a circus side show. I will bring her up or respond to asks aboit her if I feel it's appropriate, relevant, or necessary.

Here's the thing gents:

Courtney and I have had some very similar life experiences. I'm not going to pretend to know her whole truth or suggest I'm an authority on her because of that, but. I know for me, having gone through what I did didn't help me become the most pleasant person on God's green earth either.

I never intended to hurt anyone, but I did. I have. I am very aware I have the capacity to do so again if I don't keep myself in check. I take full responsibility for the ways I have absolutely set bonds with friends, family and lovers on fire before. I hate it, I feel the full weight of that guilt to this day, but it's better to accept it and do what I have to to be better than pretend I'm a Saint. I've been told by people in flesh space and online how much they appreciate how "level-headed" I am. There isn't any kind of trickery afoot, I learned the hard way one too many times the cost of me not managing myself appropriately. I've put in the work to learn, and even then it's not like there's zero chance I won't eat shit and have a public meltdown caught in 4k. I hope that doesn't happen, lord knows I'm doing what I can to mitigate that risk-- but if it does all I can do is take the L and try to do what I can to fix it. I'm always hopeful the people in my life will forgive me-- and I'm thankful most do. But some don't, and I understand why. Some do, but it's better for both of us if we give each other a wide birth. Being a big boy do be like that sometimes.

And to be frank, if my abuser became an internet lolcow you couldn't fucking pay me to engage or come forwards. All of Lily's known victims are much braver than me. There's always going to be this extremely isolating disconnect when it comes to passive observers engaging with your abusers shitty behavior and you. The deep, crippling, profound panic and imminent sense of heightened danger is never going to feel the same. You might as well be on a different fucking planet, no matter how empathetic or accommodating they are. I can all but 100% garentee the histrionic way I'd be acting wouldn't paint me in a flattering light either.

I've heard some concerning information on some of the things that might be going on in Courtney's life right now. I trust the source it came from but have no way to verify if it's true. If Courtney publically confirms it I'll consider adding my two cents, having had lots of experience with what may be going on. Not that it justifies her actions, again, just very much contextualizes it.

I will say, I do think the sentiment of Courtney's frustration is more than valid-- I just think she made a lot of very poor decisions in who she directed those feelings at, then escalated things far beyond reason. I also empathize with her frustration over everyone and their mom telling her to log off because she's having an episode. I can tell you from my experience I would not respond well to anyone but a very close, trusted person in my life telling me that regardless of whether or not it was true. I've also seen plenty of OTHER dickweeds call Courtney "damaged goods" and the like all over the internet so I really don't blame her for shadowboxing ghosts now over it. You know who you are.

Being a victim doesn't make you incapable of harm or absolve you of personal responsibility. Lily's the fucking poster child for that.

The thing is, within reason, I believe in giving people a healthy amount of space to be messy bitches. Glass houses. It's one thing for me to comment on Courtney somewhere where there's little to no chance people will see it without context, it's totally different for me to put it out there in a space anyone can see it without knowing what went down.

Anon, I'm not scolding you, but I'm going to ask you be careful where and how you describe Courtney in the future publically. The last thing she needs is for more people to treat her like her trauma isn't relevant-- and unfortunately people routinely do expect victims to be perfect little angels. I'm not going to risk putting Courtney in the line of fire for that kind of behavior.

Thank you for your understanding.

[arom-antix]

Link to the other thread about this topic for anyone who hasn't read that version of the post. It explores stuff about Japanese spelling, unfounded expert bias, accepting mistakes, accepting other people, the whole acephobia discourse, etc. including responses from @rikeijo. Massive thanks to them for their take on the situation.

Anyway, I've been thinking about this reblog for a bit, and it's also not 4am now, so I'd like to add some context to this whole "off-putting attitude" discussion for those who aren't in the trenches. First, here's a link to the anon ask and answer mentioned by prev in case anyone hasn't seen that. If Samurai is reading this and is rushing to delete or alter that post, too late, I have it all as a screenshot. If anyone wants that screenshot, feel free to DM me. Feel free to DM me about anything regarding this or anything else tbh, whether it's to get a deeper explanation, to share your own screenshots without wanting to become part of the drama publically, or to rip my head off and call me a bigot. Use your free speech. Chop chop, Filip and give this debunker boy a treat to read (if you get that reference, I love you).

As has been established, Samurai cares a lot about engagement and has publically posted about this many times, specifically lamenting their inability to retain readership and whining about people not being eternally loyal to their fics. See below screenshots from their BlueSky to get an idea of what I mean:

(Fig. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9)

Break for those who want a usable dash.

Now, you might be wondering why I'm going so hard on this. Everyone wants engagement online, why is this bad? And you're right, it's not bad if that's the whole story. The issue I have with this is the eternal whining about people not paying enough attention but then also not actually acknowledging when people give you genuine criticism about why your way of posting is off-putting. And like prev said, there's absolutely nothing wrong with using your social medias however you please, but you also have to be aware that the readers you're trying to retain read these posts too. They see all of them just like they see the story updates and funny posts. That sucks, yeah, but that's the nature of posting everything on the same socials. If you want to separate your personal posts from your writing posts, you have to actually physically do that by having different accounts. Then the people who only want the writing updates can just not follow the personal update account.

And you have to realise that if a reader continuously gets updates from you that whine and moan about how you can't retain readership and how maybe you're just boring or how your fics are flops, they're going to feel accused. I don't care that you don't intend to do that. That's how it comes across. If a loyal reader is inundated with posts about how the support currently being given isn't enough and that that's making the author sad, then that reader is going to feel ignored and like their support is being belittled. I'm sorry, that's just how it is. You cannot both insist that you're an ignored underdog (see Fig. 16) that no one likes and hope to retain a large fanbase. That's not how humans work.

(Also the (I'm not fishing for compliments) addition under a post that's about AO3 bookmarks being treated like the end of the world is quite rich to me. You're allowed to be upset, of course you are, but removing a bookmark isn't necessarily a personal attack. People's tastes change. They clean up. Maybe they just don't like you anymore. With how many posts and statements you have about blocking people you don't like, I'd expect you to not take offence to others doing the same)

I'm also going to put these posts here. They just amuse me a lot considering who's posting/reposting them.

(Fig. 10, 11, 12, 13)

For anyone wondering about the post being referenced in Fig. 10, this is the one. I've already talked about the ace stuff in this post so I'm not going to repeat myself here. I just thought y'all should have the full context.

(Fig. 14)

And then there's this repost which is RICH coming from someone who routinely insults and belittles other members of the fanbase for simply having different takes. Yeah, Samurai. Stop being so critical. It's boring.

(Fig. 15)

Am I being petty? Probably. Do I care? Not really considering real people have been really hurt by this person's actions. They belittle the fandom they claim to be a part of, they criticise people for simply not approaching fandom like a master's degree, they claim to be so mature and yet is far more immature themselves to the point where I thought they were a teenager due to their seeming inability to take accountability and understand that their word is not law. I don't care that you like academic approaches. I don't care that you're sad you missed the "top-tier analyses" (Fig. 16) made in the past. This does not give you the right to demean an entire community simply because you're so high up on your horse that you can't just let people be and enjoy fandom however they please. You champion your own right to approach fandom how you like. Stop belittling other people's right to do the same.

If anyone is questioning their attitude towards the current YOI fandom and their percieved place in it:

(Fig. 16, 17, 18)

(Side note: Fig. 18 is such an underhanded dig at the fandom, I'm slightly flabberghasted that someone would actually type this with such a post history and general attitude. This is honestly embarrassing and kind of hurts to read. Don't even get me started on Fig. 17.)

And then this is the end of their pinned post on their blog:

(Fig. 19)

I'm sorry, but you can't whine and hide behind "I'm insecure" when people get mad at you for treating them like rubbish. If they have to be kind, so do you. The rules apply to you just as much as they do to other people. I unfortunately don't have a screenshot, but on BlueSky (iirc roughly a month or so ago?) you at one point posted about having anxiety and depression, and that's too bad, but I really do not care. Having a mental illness is not an excuse to treat others poorly (have diagnosed and highly medicated anxiety myself and don't look down on others for not doing what I want. Funny how that works). It might explain poor behaviour, but you're still responsible for your actions and rectifying any bad behaviour you display. You have to say sorry even if you did something on accident or while in a bad headspace. Just to make it extremely clear to you:

YOU DO NOT GET TO PICK AND CHOOSE WHEN THE RULES APPLY TO YOU.

They either apply to everyone equally, or they don't apply at all. And don't come in here going "But what about this very specific case?" That's called whataboutism, and I frankly do not have the patience for your whining attempts to derail the discussion. I don't know whether you're even reading this, Samurai, and I don't actually care that much. I don't believe you have enough ability to introspect to understand what I'm trying to tell you, and this post is a lot more for the people who you've used and manipulated than it's for you. I don't believe I can get through to you. But I do believe I can get through to your mutuals and followers and anyone else who might be reading this, because they don't deserve to be dragged into whatever this shitshow that is your online presence is.

It's frankly embarrasing for you that you're in your 40's. If you were a teenager, I'd just have ignored you, because you'd probably have learned how to not be utterly insufferable with time. However, you might be a parent to people the age that you act like, and while I doubt this thread will make any real impact on your behaviour, I'm hoping someone else can take this information and use it to make sure they don't fall for your tricks or anyone else who might be more dangerous. You're not a dangerous person. You're frankly just an immature embarrassment, and I cringe at the though that any children you might have have to deal with having a parent as childish as you. Do better. You owe the world at least that much. And if you can't change, then don't come whining to the fandom you belittle when you get what's coming to you.

In case anyone isn't familiar with Samurai's type and how they present themselves, here's an introduction Samurai wrote in a Tumblr comment section (that I unfortunately don't have a link to but you get the idea):

(Fig. 20)

Don't fall for this. Regardless of whether Samurai believes they're actually like this, it's not how they actually act. "[...] try to dispel the myths that have been circulating in the fandom for ages." is code for "I don't respect other people's opinions and interpretations of canon." Samurai likely disagrees but I'm sorry, Samurai, that's what this is. That's what this means in terms of your behaviour. The same applies to "You won't find any weird takes on my blog." This is a classic example of someone having absolutely no selfawareness of the fact that their opinion of "weird" is not universal. It's an absolutist statement of an opinion as if it were fact, and as I mentioned in my original reply to Blonndiec's ask, that's not a new thing for Samurai to do. It's very much a pattern. Don't fall for it. If ANYONE (including me or people you trust) says stuff like their blog being free of "weird takes", do not listen, and do not believe them. That is an opinion. It is not a fact. Don't take it as one.

And just to add some more fuel to the fire, here Samurai is accusing someone of plagiarism:

(Fig. 21, 22)

(Link to Vic's analysis btw)

What's so bad about that, you may ask? Plagiarism is bad and should be called out and yes, that I agree with. The issue is that the plagiarism being alleged is, and let me make this very clear, an analysis of a canon event that is just about the most analysed even in a 12 episode show. I'm not saying plagiarism isn't real just because a scene is popular or a show is short, but this scene is literally about a minute long and is, again, a very talked about scene. Coming to the same conclusions about the same one minute of runtime is basically guaranteed to happen every once in a while, especially when you have eight years of fans doing this. These two analyses being posted close to one another in time is just as likely as it being intentional plagiarism. Calm down. You're not important enough for people to bother plagiarising you.

And considering Samurai believes their interpretations are the most correct according to canon and that anyone who doesn't share those views is illiterate (I can't find that screenshot rn, you're free to doubt my claim), shouldn't it be good that Vic came to the same conclusions? Doesn't that mean that Samurai's analysis is being backed up and that Vic is not illiterate? But Vic's analysis gained more traction and that's apparently enough to accuse the fandom of being a waste of time and energy (Fig. 22).

I'm sorry, Samurai, but as someone who claims to not be new to all of this, I thought you'd know that sometimes traction is random and doesn't have anything to do with quality or correctness. Sometimes you're just unlucky, and that's no one's fault. Or maybe the world is actually out to get you, and you're a victim of the universe and everyone in it. I can't prove or disprove that. But I will say that I don't blame anyone for not wanting to interact with your posts. I haven't seen your version of this analysis so I can't comment on how you phrased yourself or whether Vic was directly lifting your words into their own analysis, that could very well be, I have no proof for or against that. If anyone has a link to Samurai's meta (I didn't happen upon it in my scrolling for whatever reason), I'd love to read it and compare it to Vic's. But regardless of Vic's behaviour, I would not be surprised if the reason people aren't interacting with your post is because they find your tone and general demeanour off-putting. And, to be very clear: you do not have a right to people's engagement. People can choose to engage or not for literally any reason and they don't have to explain that reason to you. It is not a crime to simply not interact with people you don't like.

You talk about blocking the haters and yet when the haters block you, you get your nickers in a twist. Why do you care? Don't you hate them? Why do you want them to interact with you? In Fig. 8 you hypothesised that the person who took you off their "super-duper fic rec list" was a "dick" so why are you upset about no longer being in the recommendations of someone you personally dislike? I wouldn't want to be recommended by someone I dislike for the same reason I don't want to be associated with bigots. I don't want my name in any way tied to them or their awful behaviour. It feels like you're crying about nothing and making it everyone else's problem. But feel free to explain yourself if you want (assuming I'm not already a blocked hater which would only prove my point that you absolutely understand just removing things/people you don't like from your life. But apparently that's only okay when you do it. Funny how that works).

Oh and just as one last thing before I end this giant reblog for now, and because I'm petty. They've repeatedly talked about how you don't need an account to view their Tumblr posts (Fig. 22) but this is what pops up when you access it without an account now. Not so confident people won't see you for what you are anymore, are we?

(Fig. 23, 24)

Oh wait, right, you have less confidence than Katuski Yuuri (Fig. 18). I wonder what could be the reason for hiding your blog then if it isn't your confidence rapidly crumbling. You're just a little anxious fella who likes academia afterall (yes, I am being exceedingly petty, thank you for noticing, I hope you enjoy).

Hey, just wanted to reach out to say that I found you pointing out and calling this person was really great and you shouldn't have apologized. It was incredibly true what you said, and to be honest it seems out of touch with the reality of a great deal of the japanese fandom, the nuances and their culture. Also, it was as you pointed out, extreme and may I say rude. I want to mention too that the way it was written, as if entitled of the knowledge and the 'explanation' made it all worse in context of the 'fucked up'. The original poster always gets away by using the 'well-written academic'' statement of their 'metas' as an excuse to do or say and make everyone else agree and if not, uses victim narrative and discourses exactly selecting wording for people to agree on it or feel bad.

I don't know if they tagging you in the way they did made you reblog and apologizing/backing up, but no one thought bad about you pointing it out. On the contrary, a lot of people had been bullied and discriminated by this person when they called them out/disagreed going onto lenghts of sending their friends to harass people, and the other persons can't even defend themselves because they are effectively blocked. To quite a few people in the fandom has been done, even accusing them as 'acephobes' (when they're not) or even Nazis by spreading lies. So yeah, I just wanted to say that. I think you were right to call them out publicly.

Thank you very much for this ask. To be completely honest I agree with everything you said here and don't actually feel bad about pointing anything out. I mainly apologised because I didn't want any potentially poor phrasing from my side to cause unnecessary hostility and because I myself have gripes with this person's behaviour but didn't want to cause a scene.

My honest opinion is that they have a serious issue with taking accountability for their own mistakes and highly overestimate their own intellect. If you're reading this, @thegirlwhorideslikeasamurai, sorry if I seem harsh, but it's true. I saw your post lamenting how you're the only academic meta writer / fan in the fandom and I didn't interact then because I honestly do not care enough to start that drama but with the information Blonndiec has just given me, I think it's necessary that someone calls you out.

You're not an academic. You're not beyond the mental capabilities of other fans. You're actually incredibly childish in your metas and analyses and I am not kidding when I say that I was halfheartedly writing essays more academic than every analysis I've seen from you when I was barely a teenager. I don't know how old you are and I frankly don't care. You're not as clever as you think you are.

Also, don't think I didn't notice that you didn't reblog my correction (link here to my correction and here to their "response" for those who didn't see that exchange) of your post so that you could control what your followers saw of the exchange. You're the opposite of an academic. You control information to tailor the narrative, you don't cite your sources properly if at all, you don't format your posts in anything close to how an academic analysis would be, you make unbased claims, you reference posts and canon material without in any way indicating where that information is from, you reference your own (equally unacademic) metas and your conclusions from them without indicating what post it's from or that it's your own theory this new one is based on and instead present it as a common fact, and I could go on and on and on. Your posts are also riddled with logical fallacies and you talk in absolutes and opinions when there's no canon basis to claim such things. I'm sorry, but that's not academic in the slightest.

To be clear, you don't have to be an academic to post on the Internet. You don't have to be anything at all. You could up front be a genuine idiot with no remorse and that's fine. But when you claim to be an academic and also put down the rest of the fandom for not being on your level, you have to be able to back that up. It'd still make you sound like a prick but at least your arrogance would have a basis. It currently does not.

I haven't personally seen the discussions that Blonndiec is referencing and I'm not going to claim anything definitive (because that would be unacademic of me, take notes) but if what they're saying is true and did happen as described, which I have empirical, if anecdotal, evidence to believe could very well be (a friend of mine has personally been blocked by you after they criticised you without actually mentioning your name which I of course can't prove is the reason for the block but the timing is awfully convenient), you should know that you should be ashamed of yourself.

If there's context missing, feel free to enlighten me and call out any incorrect accusations. You have every right to defend yourself. However, I encourage you to cite your sources since you're such an academic. If you don't, then it's just your word against Blonndiec and anyone else who might comment's word and that doesn't prove anything. Don't misunderstand, acephobia and nazi rhetoric should absolutely be called out but only if it's actually happening. False accusations can ruin lives. I hope you know that.

I'm not a fan of calling people out publicly and, again, thank you for this ask, Blonndiec. But considering many of the issues I've personally seen and those I've been informed of by second hand sources were posted publically, I don't really feel bad about calling this out. I could do a full breakdown of just the insulting "academic" comments alone and how there's no academia to be found in said academic metas and, Samurai, if you give me reason to, I will show exactly what I mean point by point (and academically just to give you an example of even low level academia).

If you respond to this, do it in a reblog. That's what a real academic would do. If I'm wrong and you can prove it, you'd have no reason to not show my post in your rebuttal. If I'm right, you'd have every reason to be upfront about your mistakes and how you intend to rectify them. There's nothing wrong with being wrong but there's a lot wrong with refusing to admit to it in a way that lets others peer review you (academic thing, look it up) and come to their own conclusions about the situation. That's what you did when you just @'ed me instead of reblogging my response. A true academic wouldn't hide a peer review. You'd know that if you were one.

I swing in many academic spaces and yet that doesn't make me any kind of expert and I don't claim to be one because I'm not. But since you want to be one so badly, reblog this with a response and show us all how smart you are. I'm dying to know what your academic take on this is.

[asavt]

Something something, I woke up today with the need to draw these two. AU stuff that I don't know if I will elaborate on.

[mydr3aminvi0let]

i wear a lot of skirts and pink and whatnot as my style has developed with me & my personality but when one of those age regression girlies latch onto me....i do not like that

[yoakenouta]

ㅤㅤTHE immediate refute caught the master in a flinch and he found himself nervously holding onto the other side of his arm, gaze lowered elsewhere as if he were the picture of uncertainty. Honestly ... what was he so afraid of ? Being an ordinary person, he was well aware he had the privilege to love and be loved just like anyone else but standing here now, he couldn't help but wonder ... just what sort of person did everyone see across the glass ? Perhaps, all they saw was the ideal facade that the master had desperately maintained for as long as he could remember. It was the self that everyone flocked to because he was incredibly kind, helpful and most of all, willing to accept anything that came his way. But yet behind this ideal, he was an utterly selfish and miserable person who sought to act out of self-gratification ( it was the only way he knew to make himself feel like he was worth something ). So that's why, he was content to stay where he was, wearing that same smile while his true self remained behind the looking-glass self, detached from the world.

ㅤㅤBut to admit all of this ... would be pretty pathetic wouldn't it ? In the end, he was nothing more than a coward, afraid to have his true self acknowledged out of the fear that there was truly nothing worth staying for. Besides, why did it matter ? His own insecurities were practically miniscule in the face of the world. He was just but an ordinary person that didn't have anything worth going for him.

ㅤㅤ" ... Breaking that wall is pretty scary, you know ? " He finally, spoke his voice quivering ever so slightly even with a smile on his face. " I wouldn't want them to get hurt after all. " He was only making excuses ( after all, he was the one afraid of getting hurt ). " ... Maybe under normal circumstances, it'd be difficult for her to believe you when you act the way you usually do but I think if you're honest about your feelings like this, maybe you would get through to her. Even if it's just by a little. She and I are pretty different people after all so maybe you'd have a better chance there. " It would be pretty upsetting if she was anything like her master after all.

ㅤㅤ" ... But ... well ... it's not that I don't understand where you're coming from -- rather ... it's a bit hard to believe in myself. It might be a little hard to understand but ... " He trailed off as he found himself hesitant to continue. " ... I do appreciate the sentiment at least. " It seemed more like an apology rather an expression of gratitude. Even his gaze that flicked towards Dark's extended hand had followed the same sentiment.

ㅤㅤ" In the end, you don't really need to do any of that for me. It's not as if it's that big of a deal and besides, I'm already happy enough where I am. " He suddenly reached out, as if to finally take Dark's hand but instead, he seized his wrist to pull him into a tender embrace. " Still ... I'm really happy to have a friend like you. You and Daisuke both. " Perhaps on the surface, it could be perceived as an act of appreciation towards Dark's concern for him but in reality, this was his way of deflecting any attempts to peer into his heart ( this was his way of regaining the control that momentarily slipped from his fingers ). All he had to do was veil himself with the facade that everyone was so happily acquainted with. " So, you don't have to worry about me in the slightest. " He reassured with a gentle smile, squeezing his shoulders ever so slightly.

' it's not . ' immediate , and just as matter-of-fact . his voice nips low , a snarl without any bite . ' ordinary people ... ' and yet , despite the strength of his initial decline , the rest of the words start to feel strange in his mouth . would a thing like him really try to talk about what ordinary lives it hardly should have known ? even his most stubborn ideas about humanity were nothing more than ideals . and yet , he hisses and bares his teeth ; growls out his thoughts from between the long , razor points anyways . ' ordinary people are always allowed something beyond just that . what is it you're so afraid of ? ' the slit pupils of his eyes cinch , each thinning line trying to needle into the other , and yet it wasn't enough ; would never be to slice the master open and place all their parts into vivisection . all he had to work with were ritsuka's words ; vague confessions and self-lashings .

( ... so you're the same , huh . )

' in the first place , it should be enough that you're there . whether it's a servant or even an ordinary human being , there's nothing more precious than anyone's time . second , even if there's a wall , don't you want to try to break it ? to crack and smash it into pieces , just so you can reach person on the other side ? even if you think you have next-to-nothing to give , you can still give it your all for the sake of someone , right ? '

it would have been hypocrisy to call the master a coward , and yet it still might have been a truth . ' --- when i think about her , i want her to trust me . when i call her cute or beautiful , when i call her clever , even for insulting me ... even if she can't believe it about herself , i want her to at last believe me . it's only natural , then , that hearing the opposite would hurt , ' like the ache in his borrowed body , stemming from the heart and bruising him all the way down to the very bone . even this sense of violently being pulped --- was love , too .

' master , we might not be a couple , but we're still friends . if i can make a hole even just the size of my hand in any wall that springs up between us , then that's good enough for me . ' his fist raises and approaches , only to blossom its fingers into an open , waiting palm . ' a box that can't be broken from the inside might still be able to be broken from the outside . if you can find someone to accept things , then there's nothing wrong with living like that ... so believe in me . please . '

an empty thanks would never be enough . ' --- i want to meet you at least halfway . '

[somelazyassartist]

Hard to remember I exist sometimes and it feels like a lot of other people forget too and I don't really know how to feel about that right now

[paganinpurple]

AO3 Etiquette -UPDATED

Based on both decent and not so decent replies, I have made some changes to my original post below.

It would seem a whole new kind of AO3 reader/writer is emerging and it is becoming clear not everyone quite understands how the website community works. Here is some basic guidance on how most people expect you to go about using AO3 to keep this a fun community archive that funtions correctly:

As well as likes, kudos is for when the story was interesting enough to make you finish reading. If it sucked or was badly written, you probably left. If you finished it, you liked it - so kudos.

If you really liked it, you should try to comment. It can be long and detailed or a literal keysmash. Writers don't care, we just love comments.

No critisism unless the author has specifically asked or agreed to hear it (so use your notes to say if you want some constructive feedback). Even constructive critisism is a no-no unless an author note tells you it's okay. No, posting it online is not an open invitation for that. Many people write as a fun hobby or a way to cope with, among other things, insecurity and just want to share. Don't ruin that for them. I've seen so many authors just stop writing coz they can't handle the negative emotions the critism brings, and it's only meant to be a fun thing shared for free (pointing out tagging errors is not included in this).

Do not comment to ask the author to write/update something else. It's tacky and off-putting and will probably have the opposite effect than the one you want.

There is no algorithm, it's an archive. Use the search and filter function to add/remove the pairings/characters/tropes etc. you want to read about and it will find you the fics that fit the bill.

For this to work, writers must tag and rate stories. This avoids readers finding the wrong things and missing the stuff they want. I don't care how cringy that trope is in your eyes - it gets tagged.

The tag exception is if you don't want to tag a million things or spoil your story, you can rate it as "chose not to use warnings," and maybe tag the bare minimum.

Don't censor tags. How can someone exclude a tag if the word isn't typed out correctly? There are no content bans for terms so don't censor them.

If the tags are mostly content/trigger warnings, especially if they are things considered very fucked up or graphic, you might want to use "dead dove - do not eat" to ensure people know that you're not messing around with tags and what they get is exactly what you've warned them about.

Character A/Character B means a ROMANTIC or SEXUAL relationship of some kind. Character A&Character B is PLATONIC, like friendship or family.

Nothing is banned. This is an rule because banning one thing is a slipperly slope to banning another and another, until nothing is allowed anymore. Do not expect anyone to censor for you. Because of the tags system, you are responsible for your own reading experience.

People can create new chapters and sequels/fic series any time after they "complete" a story. So it's considered perfectly normal to subscribe, even to a finished story. You can even subscribe to the author instead just to cover your bases.

Do not repost stories or change the publishing date without an extremely good reason (like a complete top to bottom rewrite or an exchange youve written for going public). It's an archive, not social media. No one cares what's the most recent, only what fits their tag needs.

Instead of deleting a story you wrote if you hate it - consider making it anonymous or orphaning it so others can still enjoy it, without it being connected to your name anymore. If you still want to delete it, fair enough.

It's come to my attention that metaworks ARE allowed on AO3, which is something I wasn't aware of. So if you do post an essay or theory, please tag it as such so others can choose to search for it or exclude it. Art is also allowed.

The only reason this archive works is because NON ONE PROFITS. Do not link to your ko-fi or patreon or mention monetary gain in any way or you violate the terms and risk having your account removed. If anyone does link, it leaves the archive open to people claiming it's for profit and having the whole thing removed.

I KNOW there's plenty more I missed but I'm trying to cover most of the basics that people seem to be struggling with.

I invite anyone to add to this, but please explain, don't berate.

[shotmrmiller]

getting shot down by ghost without even asking him out or anything because he'd heard from one scottish bird that your type of guy was exactly like him and thinking back on it now, all the qualities you'd listed for your dream man do sound like as if you were describing him. yikes.

you don't take his rejection to heart, even though it does lightly sting but before you get a chance to explain that said scottish bird is an idiot and very mistaken in his assumption, ghost is telling you that it'd never work, you'd only get hurt and that you do take to heart because what does that mean, exactly? does he think you some dewy eyed farm girl looking for love? that you can't have casual sex with someone without eventually wanting for more?

"tha' ain't wha' i said. you'd get hurt, i mean look at ya." what about you? it's not like you'd let any of what happens behind closed doors affect your performance or anything, you and kyle always keep things professional while in the field.

also, is he aware that he doesn't have to have a reason to not want to sleep with you, or anyone else for that matter?

"you're small," he states, as if fact.

small? small where? your irritation dissipates, shoulders bleeding tension as genuine worry begins to set in. his vision might actually be going bad. could it be the black paint he wears under his mask? is it even safe to use on the face let alone near the eyes? did he read the instructions?

but then you realize he's looking at your legs, or specifically, what's between them and things click, and now you're wondering how someone so bloody brilliant could be this fucking stupid.

"while i appreciate your concern, lieutenant," you pointedly snap, "that's not even- i'd be just fine." he's a big guy, for sure. massive, if being honest. his neck alone is easily bigger than both your hands and you've caught him once or twice having to duck his head to enter the debriefing room but him being so endowed that it poses a threat to you is idiotic at best.

he hums, long and low in his throat, as he peers down at you through heavy lidded eyes, and raises his right shoulder in a shrug. "as you like," and that's the one and only warning you got.

simon had given you as much foreplay as needed, had lapped at your pussy until you forgot what day of the week it was, curled and scissored his fingers until his bedsheets were sodden and it still hadn't been enough. he'd only fit about a fourth of it in before he took pity on you and fucked your thighs instead until he got close, pushing his ruddy tip back into your aching cunt because "spillin' outside is a waste," and sent you on your merry way.

you're no quitter though and after some shopping online, your saving grace (dilators) will be here in a week.

(now to find soap and rip the rest of his hair right out his scalp for wagging his tongue.)

[loverslodge]

very discreet

summery: you and bucky have a relationship nobody is aware of. they keep trying to set him up with other women while bucky is trying to avoid them.

pairing: Grumpy!Bucky x Quiet!Reader

warning: SMUT, fluff, bad writing???, swearing

A/N: clearly i have a thing for grumpy bucky but i also have a thing was hidden relationships. you can read the asks for this fic at the lodge's BNB and also here is the steve's story in this universe

“Oh come on Bucky, how long will you stay single? Don't you think it's time you start looking for a partner?” Natasha pointed her knife at Bucky while they were polishing their weapons.

“I don't need anyone, Nat.” Bucky sighs and keeps on cleaning his guns.

“Bullshit!” Natasha stabs the wooden table beside Bucky. “We're all wrung out after missions and we all need a release. You know better than to stay holed up in a room with veins full of adrenaline. If not a girlfriend, get some beneficial partner.” Natasha shrugged.

“You might be doing that, Nat but I really don't need someone. I am happy where I am.” Bucky picks up his guns and arranges them back in their place. He wipes his workstation clean and walks out.

The mission today wasn't that bad but Bucky felt tired. The entire team has been on his case for over two months. How can he convince them that he doesnt need anyone? He's fine where he is. In fact, he is happier than ever and he would never trade this with anything else.

He walks in his room and wearily grabs his towel and sweatpants to take a shower. He turns on the water and stands under it till he hears his bathroom door being opened. He turns on the hot water to the right temperature and shuffles to make space. He hears some rustling and the shower curtain is pulled slightly open. You, very slowly step in and stand under the water source.

“I missed you, doll.” Bucky wraps his arms around you. You nod with a slight blush.

You pull out the loofah and pour the body wash on it. Bucky takes it from your hand and starts helping you clean up. Once you are covered in soap, you turn to Bucky and return the favor. Washing away the grime, dirt and tiredness of the day, you both towel each other dry.

“Bucky,” You point at one of his t-shirts from the wardrobe and look down thinking he might reject what you're asking.

“You don't need to ask me, doll. What's mine is yours.” He pulls a t-shirt on you and kisses your cheek. You nod and blush even more. You shuffle onto the bed and snuggle to your side of the bed, waiting patiently for Bucky to come.

“Tell me about your day, doll. Was it very draining?” he slips into the bed and brings you closer. You wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face in his chest and nod a yes.

He sighs in content and pulls the comforter up. Your legs are parted and one of them is resting on Bucky’s hips. He kisses your forehead and his metal arm slowly drags to your inner thighs. You weren't wearing any underwear, giving complete access to Bucky, as he plunged his metal middle finger into your core. You gasp and your hold around Bucky tightens. He pulls out his finger and rubs your clit, making you moan in his chest. His hold on your waist tightens as he pushes two fingers in you again and uses his thumb to caress your nub. Your moans and gasps fill the quiet room as you reach the edge. You twist a little and put your hand on your mouth as you come all over Bucky’s sweatpants. You sigh and push Bucky a little, signaling him to grab new sweatpants. He complies and snuggles back into the bed against you.

……………………

The kitchen was lively today. Nobody was on a mission so the atmosphere was very relaxed. But not everyone was relaxing.

“Bucky, come on, go on this date. She's really nice and totally your type.” Sam pushed the topic further.

“How do you know my type, bird brain?” Bucky walked behind the kitchen counter.

You were standing there, making lunch for everyone while Bucky helped. Bucky would discreetly hold your waist or find a way to keep close to you in the kitchen. You were a blushing mess but Bucky didn't mind. As he saw nobody was looking, he kissed your cheek and went to the fridge to pretend as if nothing had happened. You just stood there with eyes wide.

“Let me help out.” Bucky very subtly held your waist and moved you away from the stove and started stirring the soup pot. He knew he had shocked you enough and you needed to calm down.

“She's all goth. You grunt, she stares. It's like a match made in heaven, Tinman. Go out with her. Nat arranged the date for you.” Sam continued and Nat nodded.

You looked up and saw Bucky roll his eyes and shake his head. His hand went to his chest and caressed his shirt before going back to the stove.

“I'm not going anywhere. I've told you before, I do not want to go on dates. I am happy where I am.”

“Too late, Barnes. She'll be waiting for you at the cafe this evening. I've already arranged the date and promised her. You can't back out now.” Nat warned Bucky.

“What the fuck, Nat! I told you I'm not interested. Cancel it. Im not going and thats final.” Bucky slams the stirring spoon on the counter and stomps out of the kitchen but not before subtly nudging you to follow.

“Talk some sense into him. He listens to you. Tell him it is a good idea to meet new people,” Sam pleads to you.

You just shake your head and grab some soup in two bowls. One for you and one for Bucky. The rest of the team gather slowly to grab the soup.

You stop in front of your door and knock. A furrowed eyed Bucky opens the door and side steps to let you in.

You hold out the soup bowl towards Bucky who has turned his back to you. “Bucky?”

Your quiet whisper of his name was enough to melt his brains off. He stands up and takes the soup bowl from your hand, putting it to the side. He hugs you and nuzzles his head in your neck, breathing in deeply. Your hand instinctively wraps around his waist and you start rubbing his back to calm him down.

“They just won't let it go. I'm sorry, doll. I wish I could give a better reason to them.” Bucky mumbles into your neck, sending waves of goosebumps all over your body.

“It's okay. Go.” You try to make him go because you know what it's like to be stood up and you know for the fact that Bucky will stand the girl up.

“I'm not gonna listen to you this time, doll. This is ridiculous. I am not leaving and that is final. Maybe I'll send one of those apology flowers you talk about to her through Happy.” he tightens his hold on you. You sigh. You knew it was pointless from getting him to change his mind.

You just wanted him to go and tell the girl that he is committed elsewhere but he is so stubborn that he won't even listen to what you have to say so you try to pull away to at least have him finish his soup.

“No. stop pulling away.” He sits back on bed with you in his lap, not even letting you go. You giggle and try to make space between the two of you so you can at least grab the soup bowl.

“Bucky, soup.” You manage to release your hand point at the bowls.

“Fine. but only because you are hungry and you made this with so much love.” His stomach grumbles and he makes a face, making you giggle even more.

His frown melts into a smile and he grabs your face, peppering kisses all over it, making you giggle and laugh. “This is why I'm not going anywhere. You are perfect, doll. I love you.”

……………………

“You piece of shit! Did you seriously stand her up? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Nat blasted at him and threw a punch at him.

Bucky ducked and svewerd to the side to keep you safe. You were standing very close to Bucky to hide the fact that he was holding your waist. But just as Nat threw a punch at him, he pulled away and moved away from you.

“Are you crazy? You could have hurt her.” Bucky pointed at you while dodging Nat’s punches. “And I sent flowers to say sorry. I told you I am not interested. When I say no, accept it.”

Bucky blocks Nat’s punches with his metal arm and pushes her away. Before she could do more damage, Steve walks in and stands between Bucky and Nat.

“Enough, both of you. This is not a dueling ground. Walk it off, Romanov. And you, Bucky, let's talk.” Steve nods at you and guides Bucky out of the gym leaving you sigh in relief.

That night, everyone had dinner on their own. You weren't very keen on cooking so you, Bucky and Steve got pizza together. They had put on Harry Potter since you loved talking about it.

Bucky couldn't keep his eyes off of you as you mouthed the dialogues with the characters. He smiled. Steve nudged Bucky and shook his head with a smile.

Steve loved seeing his best friend so happy. Steve loved you like a sister too. Your quiet and shy nature had calmed Steve in many situations and he was grateful. You had taken Steve’s side during the fallout and helped Bucky without a complaint. Surprisingly Bucky wanted to keep you by his side. Steve saw Bucky open up to you and you accepted him naturally. One day Steve found Bucky cuddled up with you and he knew this was his brother’s happy ending.

“I'm off to bed. Doll, take care,” Steve kissed your forehead. “Buck, please stop fighting with people. And think about what I said, both of you. I know where you come from but think about it before it causes more such issues.”

Steve closed the door behind him as he walked out and went off to bed. You turned off the movie and got up to throw the boxes away. Bucky took the boxes from you and walked out of the room to throw them off while you cleaned up the room and got ready to sleep.

Bucky walked in, took off his shirt and crawled in the bed beside you. “What are you thinking, doll?” He saw your solemn expression.

“Maybe Steve is right.” You whisper quietly, fumbling with the edge of the blanket.

Bucky holds your hand and pulls you close to lie on his chest. “Are you worried? I will do what you want to do, doll.”

“You have been doing what we want, Bucky, but after today, I didn't think it would get this serious.”

“Are you talking about my little tiff with Nat? It worked out at the end. You know that.” Bucky kissed your forehead.

“That and the fact that you got set up on a date. I-i know that you won't ever go but, it-it scared me. I-” Your voice started to waver.

You cried on Bucky’s chest. He lifted your face up and wiped away the tears, kissing your forehead.

“Doll, I get it. That's what made me more angry. They were talking about it to you as well. Trying to involve you in their little plans. I hated that you had to listen to all of that.”

“So? What do you think?” You lift your face and rest your chin on his chest, looking at him.

“Don't tell Steve I said this, it'll get to his head, but he is right.”

You rise up to give him a peck but Bucky pulls you for a deeper kiss. You moan and straddle his waist. He lifts your (his) t-shirt up and throws it on the floor, without letting his lips leave yours. You grind against his clothed erection.

“Didn't wear any panties, doll? My perfect girl.”

He flips you and removes his sweatpants. He aligns himself against your folds and slowly pushes himself in. your back arches on the bed and a loud moan escapes your throat. He flips the pair of you again and gets you on top of him, pushing his cock deeper into you. You slowly start to grind against him, making him moan and hiss. His hands are kneading your breasts and pinching your nipples as he starts pushing himself into you. You start bouncing over him to match his rutting speed.

“Fuck, doll. You're being so good right now.”

You whimper as you get closer to the edge. “Bucky, im gonna-”

“Cum, doll. Ive got us.”

His speed increases and soon you both cum and he fills you up while you're gushing down on him. You pant as your body falls on him. He caresses your back as you both catch your breaths.

He slowly gets up, taking you with him, to the bathroom to clean up. The cleaning up in the shower turns into another session and later you both fall on the bed, naked and exhausted. You pull yourself a little further from Bucky and pull out a dainty gold band from the bedside table.

You hand the ring over to Bucky who chuckles and slips it on your finger. You sigh with content and snuggle into the blanket with Bucky’s chest against your back, all tucked in.

……………….

The New Year’s party by Tony Stark is always iconic and it was just as this year too. You and Bucky came to the party together. Bucky was immediately called over by Tony to meet some people while you made your way to the corner of the room. Steve saw you and stood beside you with beer in his hand.

You look at Steve with beer and giggle.

Steve looks at you and rolls his eyes. “I know. But I enjoy the feeling of the bottle in my hand. Makes me feel normal, y’know.”

You nod and pat his back. He relaxes. You point at his hand and he shakes his head. “Not today.” Steve instantly changes the topic. “Bucky told me about your plan today. I'm here for support, you know that, right?” You nod your head vigorously, making Steve laugh out loud.

Hearing Steve laugh, Bucky turns his head in the direction to see a smile on your face while Steve laughs. He relaxes a little and goes back to the conversation. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not get to you the entire night. Someone either dragged him away or you were occupied with conversation with the teammates, but mostly it was the first reason.

It was time for dinner and you started digging around the buffet table to find your favorites. Bucky subtly joined you and handed him the plate.

“I'm nervous, doll.” He whispers in your ears. You look up to him and his stale blue eyes are staring deep into yours. You look around to see if someone isn't looking and pull him in a very secluded corner. You peck his lips and hug him tightly. He releases the breath he didn't know he was holding and wraps his free arm around you.

“Thank you, doll, I needed it.”

You take the plate from him and walk back to the buffet table and gather more food before moving back to the corner of the room. Bucky looks at you as you go with a bounce in your step. He could tell you were happy with the decision and he smiled.

……………….

People were counting down and Bucky was dragged to the other side of the room. You stood in your corner and tried to find Bucky in the crowd. You could have pushed through but he was too surrounded. You shift from one foot to another. The heels were killing you and Bucky had promised that you'd leave immediately after the countdown was done.

Bucky dodged and stumbled against the crowd to reach you. He heard many women in the crowd saying they had a chance with him and he did not want to give it to them.

3

Bucky came across one woman who tried to grab his shirt.

2

Natasha pointed at some woman behind Bucky who would like a kiss but Bucky distracted her

1

Almost there

Happy New Year!

Your back was to the crowd. A hand slipped around your waist and pulled you around to face your blue-eyed man. “Happy New Year, doll.”

He kissed you deeply. He was pouring out all the adrenaline that had flown into him while reaching you. Your hand cupped his face and pulled him closer. His metal arm held the back of your head to angle it better while his flesh arm held you tightly against his body.

You heard the entire room gasp and then pin drop silence. You needed to breathe so you tapped his shoulder twice. He pulled his lips away from yours and rested his forehead against yours.

“I guess it's time, doll.”

He moves to your side and pulls you closer to him. But before he could get a word out, Sam jumped in.

“You and her? When did that happen?”

“Well, if you would be quiet, I would tell you.” Bucky pulls you to the couch and sits down, taking you on his lap. You try to slide down beside him but his hold won’t budge. “Well, this is a family matter and I assume the rest of you got the message.”

“Right, well, thank you all for joining the party but I guess it ends here today.” Tony starts shooing people away.

Steve comes and sits beside Bucky and you. He slaps Bucky on the back supportively and you smile a little before burying your face in Bucky’s neck out of embarrassment.

“Everyone is gone. Out with it, Tinman.” Sam jumps onto the adjacent sofa with Nat and the rest of the team in tow.

“We're married.” Bucky pulls out his hand from around your waist and grabs your left hand to show off the matching wedding bands.

“What the fuck!!!” Natasha jumps out of the seat and comes close to check the rings.

“Since when?” Tony asked.

“Three years now, right doll?” You nod.

“Three years! Right under our noses?”

“When did you get married? Where? How? What?”

Everyone was very confused with the revelation.

“We met during the fallout and well, i started to fall in love with her. She felt the same and we got married in a city hall in New York.” Bucky explained in short terms. You were still in his lap and nodded to everything he said, supporting his statement.

“But, why were we not invited? We were with you the whole time! How did we not know about this?” Sam almost screamed his head off.

“You werent there all the time. Remember the day Steve sent you all to stakeout? He helped me and the doll get to the city hall and we got married. Captain America as our witness.” Bucky chuckled at the last statement, earning a small whack from you on his chest. Steve just rolled his eyes.

“You knew!” Natasha pointed at Steve who shrugged. “It wasn't my story to tell and I just wanted to see my best friend happy. He was happy with her so I stopped them.”

The discussion went on for almost an hour. Your little stifled yawn caught Bucky’s attention and he got up with you in his arms.

“Alright kids, my wife and I are tired and I have plans for our third anniversary tomorrow.”

“Bye.” You wave at them and slump back in his arms.

“Wait! At Least tell us your anniversary date.”

“It's January 1st. It was dead winter and my wife showed me that I can be happy during the cold too.”

He lets the elevator door shut on everyone’s faces. Seeing a sleepy you in his arms was all he could ask for this New Year.

................................

this fic is open for requests

[hwnglx]

pick a pile - you in your own eyes vs. you in your fs' eyes

welcome lovely reader! let's take a peak into how you view yourself, compared to how your future lover will view you. breathe slowly, take your time and use your intuition to go with the pile that speaks to you the most. remember to take what resonates, and leave what doesn't. 𓆩♡𓆪

°❀⋆.pile 1ೃ࿔*:･

you in your own eyes

you see yourself as someone who isn't very easily impressed or satisfied. you might struggle with chronic pessimism and seeing the brighter side of things sometimes and seem aware of it. you are manifesting a better life for yourself.

you might lack substantial belief and trust in yourself to do well, and see yourself as someone who's more of capable of hoping and wishful thinking, rather than courageously taking the initiative and acting on your desires.

you believe you don't have the needed tools to follow your dreams just yet (financially, mentally or in terms of maturity) you also might be afraid of change; this could result in a habit of just staying in your comfort zone in the end.

you might see yourself as someone who's still too immature and inexperienced. not sure why this came through, but some of you might even think that you just aren't overly smart. (spirit is telling me you're wrong!) you might feel like a late bloomer who's been a little stagnant in their life or slower in your growth compared to others. a lot of comparing yourself to other people here.

i heard “dreamer with a heavy heart” from the song cruel world by faye. perhaps you could connect to that song; it talks about feeling like the world just challenges you continuously, but the dreamer inside of you remaining alive despite the hurt.

you might think that you're quite alone in this world. someone who's just used to being on your own, doing things on your own. you see yourself as a person who tries lighting their own path instead of relying on anyone else.

you see yourself as someone who's constantly wishing to learn from the things that life throws at you, and turning every life lesson into something that helps you grow.

you might experience fomo sometimes; fear of missing out.

it does seem as if you're still trying your best to hold on to this glimmer of hope within you.. you're aware that you're someone who could make it happen, if only they took a leap of faith.

you're very humble, dedicated and eager to learn at heart, so deep down you acknowledge that the potential and desire is there. you just aren't sure how to translate it into reality.

i think you're in the midst of slowly healing from negative experiences, which have had a profound impact on you. you're trying to practice self-forgiveness and letting go of the past, but still might struggle with self-doubts and insecurities.

you in your fs' eyes

your fs will see you as someone resilient with a strong personality, who's had to endure a lot of challenges and conquer many obstacles in their life. this gave you thick skin.

they might look at you as a person who wasn't as easy to get to, because you do have your walls up at first, and people need to prove themselves to you before they can get past them. they look at you as someone who's protective of their own space, and doesn't allow people to access them as easily.

their first impression might consist of seeing you in snappy defensive mode, where you had to stand up for yourself.

they'll think that you're someone independent who challenges the status quo; focused on first and foremost, going after what you set yourself up to, unafraid to stand out and be different. a person who's more interested in following their own rules, instead of joining the crowd or blending in.

your fs looks at you as a person who's determined to build their own financial stability and independence before relying on anyone else to do it.

which is interesting, because i do think this person could be relatively well off and wanting to provide you, but you don't seem very interested in basking in anyone else's money.

they could see you as marriage material quite quickly and think about building a future together, but soon after might realize you're not someone eager to jump into a commitment as such, if you don't feel secure in yourself first.

this has the potential to humble them quite a bit, and awaken the realization that you're someone more self-sufficient; and if anyone feels the desire to be with you, they gotta remain patient and consistent in their efforts.

you seem like a person who can make people work for your attention in order to understand the value of it, which your fs is likely to take notice of and feel even more intrigued by.

it's possible your fs isn't really used to people playing hard to get with them, which is why you might stand out a lot.

°❀⋆.pile 2ೃ࿔*:･

you in your own eyes

you see yourself as artistic, creative, passionate and warm.

you might believe that you're the type of person who's quite sure of what they want in material or financial terms, ready to realize your ambitions and goals in a bold manner; but with a soft spot when it comes to their emotional world.

like you usually have a strong character, but some sappy little things might still get you all sensitive, teary-eyed and emotional. some of you might be a little embarrassed about this too. (don't be, it's very endearing)

i feel like some of you might have fire suns with water moons

you might see yourself as a dreamy person, who's in love with the concept and idea of being in love. someone who often finds themselves seeking romance and everything it entails.

you look at yourself as a person who tries to find beauty in everything they do; just loving to romanticise life and its little things. you might love and identify a lot with art, music, etc.

at the same time, you seem to be aware of how you definitely are not as easy as you appear to be, and for sure find yourself cautious of people trying to take advantage of you.

like i see you as a person who can be willingly delusional sometimes just to beautify life a little bit, but absolutely not as a person who's easily fooled or played with.

it's almost like the more people get to know you, the easier it is for them to spot your more sensitive and soft side. the rest might see more of your more fiery and strong sides, since that's usually how you present yourself to the outside.

it seems like as time went on, you've learnt to be more wary of people's motives and intentions, and understood the importance of cultivating clear boundaries in terms of how closely you connect to others, and how much you let them in.

you can have your outgoing and social moments, but it's likely you've become good at keeping a healthy inner distance to a lot of people you're surrounded by; almost like making them believe they're your friend, when in your eyes they're not really.

you also might see yourself as someone who's not afraid to fight when necessary; a person who will not allow others to step all over them. you'll step over them twice as hard.

i see a lot of this inner fierceness inside of you coming from potential trust issues; not always feeling like everyone has your best interests at heart. you might have been betrayed a few times, which has taught you to be more cautious, and just keeping certain, more personal things to yourself.

you in your fs' eyes

your fs sees you as a vibrant and charismatic person, who has this very radiant and captivating presence to them.

they might feel like the world stops whenever they look at you; you make everyone and everything else feel less important.

their first impression is likely to consist of you being this attractive, charming and confident person, who has an inspiring and intriguing effect on them.

similarly to pile 3, they're likely to look at you as a person who's quite different to them in a variety of ways; whether that's your ethnicity, culture, views, beliefs, lifestyle, upbringing.

your fs sees in you, someone who can pull this spark of energy and motivation out of situations others would feel sad about.

like the type of person who's just eager to gets the spirits up if the mood ever gets too gloomy and negative.

they look at you as a bright and powerful person, who doesn't like dwelling on the past and isn't easily beat down by their losses, but on the contrary, sees them as an opportunity for a new and potentially even better start.

example, they might watch you go through a break up and wonder how much it'd affect you emotionally, just for you to get back up and appear as confident and vibrant as ever.

you're giving a person who has the best break-up glow ups.

like you wanna prove to whoever lost out on you, that it in no way is your loss, but definitely is theirs. it's giving princess diana black revenge dress.

as the connection progresses, it's likely for your fs to see you more and more as someone they'd want to settle down and start a family with.

for my girls out there; your fs might quite literally, want you to be the mother of their children. they're likely to look at you as someone who has great potential to be a mother, because you're so multi-facetted and wellrounded.

in your fs eyes', not only are you a strong, independent and self-sufficient character who's capable of confidently taking charge of situations, but you're also immensely nurturing, caring and kind towards the people dearest to you.

they think that you hold a lot of empathy and genuine love for the special people in your life, and have this natural ability to make them feel understood, and taken care of.

i thought of this moment when justin bieber talked about seeing hailey bieber with a baby and thinking “she is the one.”

also, this keeps coming through; they just think you're beautiful. like.. so so pretty. they might stare at you a lot.

“i could look at you all day and never get sick of the sight.”

°❀⋆.pile 3ೃ࿔*:･

you in your own eyes

you see yourself as a bit of a lone-wolf, someone who doesn't feel understood by many people, and doesn't really feel like they always fit into too many places.

a person who's in continuous search of their true belonging, and their spot where they feel safe and comfortable.

you think of yourself as a deep, reflective and introspective person who seeks profound understanding of yourself and life. you might be aware of how you need alone-time, as well as times of peace and quiet to recharge.

you long to find your own identity and true purpose, outside of what other people want or expect from you.

some of you might even feel the desire to move overseas in hopes that the change of environment could help you step into your power and strength more. there's some feelings of.. feeling like you're not where you should be, and believing that your current environment doesn't serve you. this isn't where you see your best self thriving and blossoming.

some of you might be using your spirituality to manifest a better life, and spend a lot of time on the internet trying to find guidance and ways to manifest your dream life.

you simply do not see yourself as a person, who's okay with just allowing others to take control of what you do, or your life.

you see yourself as a very driven person, who once they set their mind to something, absolutely have to get it done. like tunnel vision, this is what i want and nothing else.

while at the same time, you usually aren't someone who acts on a completely impulsive whim; you try your best to make all your decisions based on logic and reason.

you might recognize yourself as being a fairminded person, who's eager to balance your focus on your goals and your strong determination, with the importance to remain responsible and just in the way you get there.

there might be a struggle in you, between following the path you deem as best for yourself, while also making sure the people around you don't have to suffer because of it.

this dilemma between serving yourself, and serving others.

the dilemma between standing out, and fitting in.

you're strong, pile 3.. i know the road here wasn't easy, but you're persevering and doing an absolutely applaudable job.

you in your fs' eyes

your fs will view you as someone who's quite different to them. a person who's like a breath of fresh air.

they might notice that you hold beliefs different to them, proceed with things differently or approach certain situations differently, and therefore intrigue them majorly.

they'll look at you as a person who can transform them. someone who has the potential to change their life in a significant and impactful manner.

they also could see you as someone quite unpredictable, who always brings something new and fresh to the table.

your fs could be someone with masculine energy, potential earth sign. they're someone who's work-oriented, mature, possibly older than you in age, good with money and has a strong sense of responsibility.

they will see you as a person who's much more in tune with their emotions than them, and has this beautiful sense of empathy, and compassion for the people around them.

a loving person who supports others in a gentle and caring manner, and has a comforting and warm effect on them.

they will like how you bring this new sense of affection into their environment.

you could help them steer their gaze away from work work work, and make them believe in the beauty of love again.

like this person will literally have their fantasies awakened because of you. you will make them believe that soulmates are real, and that they finally found their person in you.

the puzzle piece they didn't know was missing in their lives.

it's almost like “how am i so attracted to pile 3.. when they're so different to me?” you'll quite literally have them wrapped around your finger.

this person might be someone who's usually quite stubborn and stuck in their ways, but something about your unique existence will change that; they'll want to understand someone else's opinions for a change.

they'll truly feel this desire to put themselves into your shoes and look at things from your point of view. you might quite literally teach them what empathy means.

both of you give the vibe of someone more independent, but are likely to change that for each other.

like you will make your fs want to be alone together with someone; that person will be you. and vice versa.

you'll find home in each other.

oh i could go on & on about this pile, the energy is so sweet

even as i started shuffling, i already began going into full on dreamy lovey-dovey 🥰 mode

[jay-wasreblogging]

If you're in Australia and Jewish, please be aware that in Victoria, Melbourne a synagogue was firebombed with worshippers inside this morning.

Thankfully no one was killed however this is a horrific attack that could lead to copycats and or an escalation of hate crimes against Jewish Australians. I am in no way qualified to talk on how to handle such an event as a non-Jewish person. I cannot begin to think of the many Jewish Australians who are now fearful of their life in public, in their place of worship and in their home. I can only provide you some resources that may help ease you.

Here are some helplines that are catered to Jewish people and for anyone else impacted by the attack to call or use;

JewishHouse: 24/7 service offering support for those experiencing a crisis. ➡️ 1300 544 357

JewishCare: 9am to 5pm service offering counselling. ➡️ 1300 133 660

HeadSpace: provides online counselling and telephone support for young people aged 12 to 25. ➡️ 1800 650 890

Kids Helpline: 24/7 telephone and online counselling service for young people aged 5 to 25. ➡️ 1800 55 1800

Mental Health Line: 24 hour mental health telephone access service for adults and children. ➡️ 1800 011 511

Lifeline: 24 hour telephone counselling service. ➡️ 13 11 14

Please don't hesitate to reach out for support or to connect with the people in your community. I believe that as people we can always find comfort and strength in one another to get through tough times.

Edit: I'm turning reblogs off since some of you guys don't understand that I can want both Palestinian and Israeli/Jewish people to be free of harm and death. I do not believe that either group needs to perish in order for the other to flourish. The fact that some of you equate me wanting Jewish people in my country to be aware of what has happened and providing helplines to now being anti-palestinian or that because I want palestinians to be free that I am a antisemitic is very telling on the type of person that you are. I want a world where everyone can be happy, safe and healthy - as naive as that makes me sound, I'd rather be naive. That's it. That's all.

[deebris]

From annoying to beloved

Homelander x fem!Reader

Synopsis: The new member of the Seven annoys Captain Patria with their habit of doodling in the corners all the time, but he didn't expect to end up liking it.

During the fourth season, it can be read as both romantic and platonic.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of murder, the reader has the power to control plasma, fluffy.

The reader is also kind of anxious.

Word count: 2.9k

"You gotta be fucking kidding with me." Homelander interrupted abruptly upon hearing snores in the room. "Is Noir sleeping?"

"Mmhmm," Firecracker murmured in agreement, but the masked superhero jolted awake when The Deep kicked his chair.

"Oh, shit! Sorry, guys." Black Noir straightened up, while the Captain shook his head in disbelief, unable to fathom what he had just witnessed.

"Ah, what the fuck." The blonde furrowed his brows, eyes darting around the room quickly, then fixing on a specific point when something else caught his attention. He had noticed you earlier with a notebook and pencil, but now you're not writing but drawing. The irritating sound of the graphite scraping against the paper had been bothering him for some time, but he had tried to ignore it, assuming as a newcomer you were taking notes.

He wouldn't lie. Though he found taking notes utterly stupid, he liked to think someone was that focused on what he said. Not that he needed it, just opening his lips and everyone would be watching him. But as if that weren't enough, he finally realized you were dressed in regular civilian clothes.

"Radiance, where's your suit?" He asked slowly, but angrily. "Can't anyone do anything right around here?"

You finally tore your attention from the paper, meeting Homelander gaze directly. It's not that you weren't paying attention—in fact, you were, maybe more than anyone else there. It was easier to absorb things while doodling, a way to calm your nerves. Well, that or rubbing your sweaty fingers together until they hurt.

No one ever understood. Even back in school, your parents used to receive complaints about you drawing during class, no matter how high your grades were or the fact that you were the top student.

This was your first meeting with the Seven, and the last thing you wanted was to give the impression of being careless or not caring about being there. It could be said that one of the best days of your life was yesterday when Vought sent you a notice, letting you know that the greatest superhero of all had personally chosen you to join the team. After so many "retarded" - in his words - he had been forced to accept into the Seven, Homelander saw in you, above all, the opportunity to make up for Firecracker's ridiculous weakness.

When Ashley began talking about your powers, he had no doubt the last spot was yours. It was simply brilliant. Who the hell would have imagined someone would have powers to control a state of matter? You could maneuver fire, generate electrical discharges, disrupt magnetic fields, and damn it, you could split atoms as if slicing butter.

Vought's scientists said they didn't know if it was possible, but you could destroy the damn out of a star one day. Homelander wasn't a science guy, but in one of his moments of boredom, he got curious and did some research. He didn't even know that plasma crap was all that, he thought it was a cell thing or whatever.

He always thought someone with a power as peculiar as yours, and at your age, would be arrogant or just plain dumb. But you were actually the complete opposite. You didn't speak unnecessarily, and while you seemed very aware of your own actions, you had no clue how powerful you were, or perhaps ignored that fact. The blonde thought you were an idiot for it, but he appreciated the inferiority you submitted to, especially in relation to himself.

"I don't have one, sir," you replied to his question, feeling small with everyone looking.

"What the hell?" He continued, focusing on you with incredulous voice, he couldn't believe it. How did someone end up here without even having a superhero suit?

The truth was, you had never been part of any team before, nor had you received any sponsorship during your life, or even attended Godolkin University. The only thing you had were your powers, which were indeed impressive. You never chased after any position, nor were you ever obsessed with being a famous superheroine, but lately you thought it would be a good adventure to radicalize your life. That's when you applied to join the Seven.

"How do you have a name and not have a fucking suit?" He asked, boiling with anger, fists clenching tightly behind his back.

"They gave me a name when I filled out the application," you answered honestly. That day, after they chose to call you Radiance, a random and easily commercial name, you couldn't complain much and didn't want to bother, so you left it at that.

"You'll be introduced as an official member of the Seven tomorrow, how do you not have a suit?" He took his hands off his back, moving them as he spoke to express his confusion, and for a few moments you followed it movement like a child who can't keep their attention on anything for long. "Who's handling your marketing?"

You couldn't answer, so you stayed silent and no one else dared to say a word either. You had no idea who was handling your marketing, not knowing you should even have that. You glanced quickly around the table, perhaps seeking some kind of help for the situation, but everyone looked down when they realized you were staring at them. They were enjoying themselves, and that made you exhale through your nose in embarrassment.

"You know what? Fuck it, doesn't matter." Homelander brought his fingers to his furrowed forehead, letting out a loud sigh as he calmed down. "Just... don't show up like this in public until someone gives you a suit."

"Yes, sir," you replied tensely, relieved that he had resolved the matter.

Sister Sage widened her eyes in relief when she finally saw the superhero sitting beside her. She opened her mouth to begin speaking, as she had intended from the beginning, but when some sound was about to come out of her mouth, Homelander spoke to you again, this time pointing an accusatory finger at you:

"And stop drawing, damn it," he ordered, causing you to slowly drop the pencil on the table, as if caught doing something wrong with the weapon of the crime in hand. You stared at your lap throughout the entire meeting, embarrassed for messing everything up on your first day.

When the meeting ended, you followed most people out of the room, but stopped nearby in one of the hallways. You slid down the wall, crouching in a hidden corner, and lightly tapped the sketchbook against your forehead in annoyance.

"Stupid," you murmured softly to yourself. It was so ridiculous, yet it embarrassed you so much. Maybe this first day wasn't so bad after all. You would have plenty of time to prove your worth to everyone, no need to dwell on this situation. Even though you had been corrected in front of some of the most iconic supers by Homelander himself, this situation could be overcome. It was thinking about it that kept you from letting the burning tears fall.

"I can hear you whining," Homelander voice made you jump to your feet, startled to be caught once again doing something you shouldn't. He didn't seem happy, and his expression was so intimidating that you felt like Mariah Carey performing for a crowd of Eminem fans.

He approached you in slow steps and you held the sketchtebook protectively to your chest, as if that could protect you from something. He glanced down to briefly see the object in your hands and looked at you with disgust.

"If you don't straighten up, I'll kick you out. Got it?" Everything about him exuded threat. Maybe if he weren't so imposing and powerful, that sentence would have sounded a bit like the janitor from your old school scolding you for spending too much time in the bathroom during class.

You were paralyzed standing there and all you could do was a nod. But your gesture made him more aggressive.

"Answer with your mouth. Are you mute or something?" And there he was, hands behind his back again. He seemed to enjoy that pose.

"I won't mess up, sir," you said, swallowing your saliva.

"And get rid of that. Or burn it, do whatever, just get rid of it. And I better not see you with that again," he said referring to your notebook, walking away faster than before. "These kids..." you heard him mutter distantly.

After that happened, you didn't destroy the sketchtebook, but you were afraid of being caught and kept it safely tucked away in the back of a drawer in your room. What the eyes don't see, the heart doesn't feel, right? You mentally made a promise to yourself not to use it anywhere else but here, to avoid causing more trouble.

It's been a week since you've been with the Seven, and several strange things have happened. You quickly realized that Homelander wasn't the pristine and merciful hero everyone believed him to be. But the truth was that deep down you already expected that. Everything about heroes always seemed too perfect and pure, there had to be a catch. Despite everything, you still remained yourself, never intentionally hurting anyone or getting involved in murders and conspiracies.

You were comfortable helping out with some minor crimes that Vought sent you to solve, but by now you suspected that sooner or later Homelander would ask you to do some of his atrocities. It was still hard to think about how to feel about it, but you weren't naive, you were already mentally preparing to submit to it or else be killed.

During that time, as you adjusted and interacted with the team, it didn't go unnoticed by Homelander that you were drawing on your own hand, or on napkins and on random sheets you found lying around, even though you hadn't shown up with your sketchtebook again. This was starting to wear on his last nerve, but he tried to ignore it. As long stayed as you were, without asking too many questions and obedient, he made an effort to continue overlooking your makeshift drawings.

"Meeting's over," the blond suddenly declared, interrupting another of the Seven's weekly gatherings while cutting off The Deep's rambling about his ideas.

"But I haven't even talked about the flying shark yet," he tried to defend himself.

"Shut up," Homelander's voice rang out sternly in the room, issuing a warning that the man promptly obeyed.

"Right. Meeting's over." Ashley nervously moved to gather the portfolios on the new soda advertisement she had come to present, but as soon as she touched the first folder, specifically the A-Train one, the superhero exploded in rage:

"Ashley! Get out!" She immediately dropped the folder in place and hurried out in her heels, unable to run in them. "All of you! Get out of here."

Everyone got up from their chairs, even you, and filed out through the front door, leaving the folders on the table. Sister Sage hesitated, thinking she might be an exception, but when his scowl deepened, she understood she should leave too.

With the room empty, Captain Patria took a few minutes to admire the view from the tower. He enjoyed staring at it sometimes, even when bored.

"Bunch of idiots," he muttered to himself, shaking his head in denial, indignant. If he had to spend one more minute with these morons, he would have a heart attack, even though that was technically impossible for him.

He threw his cape back as he turned to leave, looking down and not focusing on anything in particular. But his eyes caught something different from the other folders. It was obviously yours, with a huge drawing covering the text and images printed on it.

That was the first time he actually saw something you had scribbled. And damn, it was perfect. It was a drawing of everyone in the room, with him in the center looking angry. Just as he was. His ego flared up as he noticed that his figure was more detailed than the others'. You must have started drawing him first, hence had more time to detail him. The idea of you making him the main focus of this particular drawing made his pupils dilate. He used his super hearing to check if anyone else was around and secretly took that sheet for himself.

The next time he saw you drawing in the Seven's room, he couldn't help but wonder if you were drawing him again. As soon as he noticed you sneakily reaching for a pen that belonged to Ashley, he looked in your direction. The noise that used to annoy him now sparked curiosity. And after staring at you for so long, it didn't take long for you to look back at him too. The blond thought you would be embarrassed, like most people, but you just grinned as if you were used to being caught looking. And indeed, you were.

You began drawing Homelander more frequently when you realized he never caught you watching him. It was easier and avoided awkward situations with other people. After two whole weeks of drawing him continuously while taking advantage of this freedom, you felt capable of drawing his face without even needing to see a photo, having memorized most of his distinctive features.

Well, it seems he's finally noticed you.

Sometimes, when alone in your room, you took out your sketchbook and started practicing the memory of his facial features you had developed. Just like every other time, you became absorbed in the drawing, focusing only on the voices around you to understand what was being said. This was also a way to keep yourself engaged during conversations, so you wouldn't get restless from being still while being a mere spectator of everything. After all, you never participated much or gave opinions; Deep already did enough for two.

The meeting had already ended, but you stayed in your chair, even as everyone else left, to finish just a part of the hair. You thought no one would mind, and then you would leave as usual, but a voice caught you by surprise:

"Can I take a look?" Homelander asked, for the first time, using a gentle voice beside you. His expression was enigmatic, somewhat relaxed, and shy at the same time.

You turned the stack of post-it notes, also taken from Ashley, for him to see what you had drawn, fearing what he would say. You weren't ashamed of drawing people, much less of them catching you doing it. You feared because he found your habit annoying.

He observed the drawing, seeing his posture from the side, upright and imposing. He wondered if you drew him exactly as you saw him, or if it was just another caricature of reality, like those Photoshopped pictures spread around. He looked much better than he imagined, though he had that superiority complex that made him see himself as a god.

For a moment, he was offended to see his image stamped on such despicable things as scraps of paper and these damn post-it notes. Your fingerprints were also visible stains, and the paper was slightly wrinkled from his sweat. He had noticed that sometimes you drew calmly, as if you had all the time in the world, and other times it was like drawing on a boat in a storm. Today seemed to be the latter situation.

"Do you like drawing me?" He glanced at you.

"I do," you shrugged. That was the simplest and most truthful answer you could give. "Sorry, I won't do it anymore," you said, thinking he was bothered by it.

"Why?" He ignored your apology.

"You're drawable... I guess," you stared at the table, not understanding the flow of the conversation.

"And what the fuck does that mean?" He asked in a louder voice, turning to face you, obviously confused. "Is this some artistic shit?"

"It's just that you're easy to draw because you have unusual characteristics. It's a good thing," was your answer, and it inflated his chest with narcissistic pride. Unusual, that's what you said, but to him, it was like being called extraordinary.

"Next time you draw me, try using a sketchbook," he said sternly, pretending to reject your work, but deep down, he just didn't want to show that he really liked it. That statement was his way of encouraging you to continue, but at the same time, it was so ironic, considering he got mad at you just when you were drawing him in the sketchtebook that day.

"But you asked me to get rid of mine," you said simply, your voice dwindling with each word of the sentence, not wanting him to find out that you had never thrown it away.

"I'll get you a new one," he said dismissively, taking the entire stack of post-it notes with him, including the drawing, as if you wouldn't notice.

[bayjaruchel]

Underneath The Strobe Light

－－－

Pairing: Mike Schmidt (2023)/AFAB Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You're aware of your feelings for Mike, but you're unsure if he feels the same. A single late-night conversation changes everything. (4.2k | originally posted on ao3 | Masterlist )

Extra Notes: Posted October 29, 2023

－－－

You know Mike, sometimes. Mainly in bits and pieces. 

You know he has that poster of Nebraska above his bed; you know he's got a soft spot for terrible eighties cartoons. You know he likes his steak well done. Maybe it's generally useless information — but you've tucked it all away in a dear corner of your brain, in a well-worn cardboard box with his name scrawled fondly on the side in Sharpie. 

He's been busy nowadays, especially with his awful new job at that abandoned restaurant. You've always been there if he needs someone to watch over Abby. It's a strange juxtaposition— spending more and more time at his house, but spending less and less time actually talking to him. But you know he's exhausted, both mentally and physically. 

You don't expect much. You don't need much. Even though Mike's always offered to actually pay you for babysitting Abby, you've always declined. 

However— needing and wanting are two very different things. 

And you want. So, so much. 

Sitting here, on the couch in his living room, your mind always wanders back to him. Abby's a really nice kid, even if she's a little on the eccentric side. Whenever you're sitting with her, watching her draw or watching the television, you can't really focus on Mike. But now, with her safely put to bed … There's nothing to stop you. Nothing to distract you from the empty spot next to you on the couch. 

You blink, already bleary-eyed from the hour. There's some mediocre sitcom playing on the television. It's practically white noise, and you can feel yourself slowly but surely being lulled to sleep. The stubborn part of you wants to fight it. The tired part of you wants to just let it happen. You fumble for the remote instead, switching the channel. 

World News Now? 

Not bad, you think wryly, slumping back into the pillows. You liked the guy playing the accordion and singing about the news, polka-style. Hopefully they'll bring that back. Maybe large broadcasting networks actually do know their audiences. 

Yeah, no. 

You stifle a yawn, tugging your blanket a little tighter. The room's dark, so the only real sources of light are coming from the kitchen and the bluish glow of the television. The only sounds besides that of the T.V. are the occasional car passing by, joined by the gentle chorus of crickets. It's quiet, but not in a discomforting way. 

It's kind of perfect. Like your own little bubble in the world. Untouchable. Not until the sun rises, anyway. 

Your bubble suddenly pops when a car pulls into the driveway, tires crunching on the pavement, and your heart skips. 

It couldn't be anyone else. 

About a minute later, there's the sound of keys turning in the lock. The door swings open and then shuts behind him. Softly. He knows Abby would wake up if he slammed it. Then there's the thump of him setting down his stuff— carelessly. 

The couch cushions squeak a little when Mike sits down next to you. Silently. He's gotten rid of that stupid security vest. 

"Hey," you offer. 

"Hi," he obliges. 

You're sure he's not really paying attention to the T.V. "How was work?" 

It's bland small talk at best, and brutally annoying at worst. But it's the only way to move into interesting conversation territory. And he didn't just trudge past you to go flop down on his bed, so you're assuming he does want to talk. You might pretend not to know, but you're well aware of his social life— or lack thereof. Everyone needs to talk, sometimes. 

"Pretty dull." Rolling his probably stiff shoulders, he lets out a small sound of discomfort. Sheepishly, he murmurs: "I kind of … I kind of just napped, to be honest." 

"Aren't you supposed to be a security guard?" You tease. "That's a really important job, you know. You have to stop all the dangerous teenagers from breaking in and spray-painting dicks on the walls." 

He huffs out something reminiscent of a laugh. "Honestly, the pay's too low to take it seriously." 

"And yet … " 

"There weren't any kids, okay?" Mike shakes his head. When you turn to look at him, though, he's smiling. It's faint, but it's there. "No dangerous teenagers that I had to fight off. It was fine." 

"Fine?" 

"Fine." 

You don't want to let the silence set in. 

"Oh, yeah, we finished the leftover spaghetti earlier. For dinner. I hope that's okay." 

"No, it's terrible," he deadpans. "I hate you." 

"Asshole." 

"Whatever." Mike snickers, and you bask in its gloriousness. "Yeah, it's okay. I know that I probably wouldn't have eaten it anyway. Did you, uh … " He pauses for a split second. "… Did you like it?" 

His tone makes you wonder, but you hastily brush it off. "Yeah, I did," you clarify, "the sauce was pretty great. Was it store-bought, or?" Because if it was, then where can I get it?

"Yup," he replies, popping the 'p'. "Great stuff, for something that's canned. But I always add a little more garlic powder, too." 

"Oh, really?" 

Mike hums an affirmation. "It's like magic, I'm telling you. Doesn't even take a lot to add flavor." 

"That's cool." You rustle with your blanket again, adjusting it more out of habit than anything else. That, and it's kind of cold. "I'll try and remember it for later." 

He's almost cheeky when he speaks. 

"It's life-changing." 

You can't help but snort. "You sound like an addict." 

Incredulously, he glances at you. "To what? Garlic powder?" 

"Pretty much, yeah." 

"I can't believe that you'd say that." He slowly shakes his head, for the second time in the span of roughly a minute. "Especially as someone who's experienced it firsthand—" 

"—you're the one talking about how life-changing it is—" 

"—you can't possibly ignore the irresistible savoriness of garlic powder." 

You look at one another for a moment. The sheer absurdity of the situation sets in all at once. And, well. He starts giggling, and you can't hold it in, either. How could you? Even though he looks at least part zombie, his eyes are still very much alive. Despite the blatant awkwardness and lingering shyness that always follows him around, he's still got a very contagious laugh.  

After you both calm down, he lets out a long sigh. 

"It's getting really late." 

You cling to what little stubbornness remains. "Yeah?" 

"Are you gonna head home?" 

Again, there's something there. Despite his nonchalant attitude, it's almost like— 

—but you're probably overthinking. Wouldn't be anything new. He has to get some rest, and so do you. The drowsiness repeatedly threatening to tug your eyelids closed is a testament to that. Normally, you'd just pass out on the couch or something, and take off early in the morning; before Mike and Abby wake up. But now, it's different. Now, you actually have to make a choice before your sleepy body makes it for you. 

"Um." You rub your eyes again. "I mean. I could, if it's bothering you—" 

"It's not." 

He interrupts you so quickly that it catches you off-guard. It seemingly catches him off-guard, too, judging by the way he promptly averts his gaze and pretends to care about the guy on the television going on about some sort of plumber strike in the city. 

"Oh." You need a second to process. "Oh, okay. Well, in that case … I don't really think that it'd be safe for me to drive right now." You laugh, a little too airily for it to be completely genuine. "I'd probably fall asleep at the wheel or something." At least that's the truth. "I'll just take the couch. As usual." 

"Okay," he says. He's back to murmuring. 

"And I'll be gone before you eat breakfast." Subconsciously, you're fiddling with the slightly frayed edges of the blanket. It's well-loved. "As usual." 

You think you hear him suck in a breath, seconds before: 

"Why don't you stay?"  

Your own breath stutters in your chest. 

"... what?" Is all you can manage, without horrifically humiliating yourself. 

"I mean," he rushes to correct himself, "you come by sometimes because you want to spend time with Abby— she likes you a lot, you know, sometimes I think she likes you more than she likes me . I think—" He's properly nervous now, his knee bouncing up and down. But he's already continuing before you can get a word in. "I think she'd like you to be here in the morning. And you don't accept pay, anyway. You just— won't." 

His nervousness is spreading to you. "Hey, I—" 

"Why are you here, anyway?" 

The question sounds like it's been a long time coming. He's demanding you now, brow furrowed and eyes sparking with emotion. "Is it out of pity? Do you feel sorry for me? Do you feel sorry for Abby? Because if you do, then— then you can just—" 

"It's not!" You exclaim. 

Immediately, you realize that there's a sleeping girl not too far away, and shamefully lower your voice. 

"... It's not, I promise. I just—" It takes a little while for you to gather the right words, and when you do, you don't drop your gaze from him. All of his previous frustration is all but gone, replaced by a slightly wide-eyed expression that's making your heart ache a little. "I genuinely really like spending time with Abby, okay? She's really sweet, and creative, and just a really great kid. And I—" 

You stop yourself. 

"And you what?" Mike asks, gently. 

Might as well, huh? 

"And I really like spending time with you, too," you admit, finally unable to meet his eyes and focusing on your lap instead. 

There's an incredibly tense beat, in which you swear your life flashes before your eyes. 

Then: 

He's barely audible when he speaks. His knee has stopped bouncing, but he's playing with his thumbs. Clearly, your confession— vague as it was— resonated with him, in some way. You hope he understands what you meant, because you couldn't possibly put it all into words in a way that would make sense. 

"Feeling's mutual," he mutters. 

Your head almost snaps up at that. Maybe you had expected it, deep down— you're not oblivious, duh— but it's one thing to have a hunch, and another to have that hunch proven. And out loud, no less. 

"Yeah?" You dare to ask. 

Slowly, he looks up. He meets your eyes. 

"Yeah," he repeats breathlessly, like the wind's been knocked out of him. 

You let your blanket fall from your shoulders, and it slides all the way onto the floor. 

You reach out. 

He lets you lace your fingers through his. 

Mike's palm is sort of clammy— and he's shaking a little— but he still squeezes your hand. On instinct, you guess. It still makes you smile. He doesn't return it, but his lips are parted a little, and you really, really like that. More than you probably should. You like a lot of things about him more than you probably should. 

You scooch a little closer, and he doesn't move away. You let your gaze drop back down to his lips again, making your intentions clear. Still, you don't know if it's clear enough. You lean in, just barely. 

"... Can I?" 

His reply is almost instantaneous. 

"Please."  

You swallow all of the witty quips you could make, and kiss him instead. 

He's very tentative at first. Like he hasn't done this for a while. But you ease him into it— and before long, he's got one hand on the back of your neck, the other somewhere near your waist. He tastes like coffee and something else you can't really put your finger on. It doesn't really matter, though. Because you are kissing him, damnit! 

His eyes are still shut when you part— with a soft smack — but they flutter open after a second. You're not sure if you're supposed to say something meaningful. Luckily, he leans in instead, and your thoughts are immediately transported elsewhere. 

You kiss like this for a while. It's really nice, and you know he needs it. So do you. 

However— when you start losing track of time, lost in the moment, he makes a noise. 

It's quiet, definitely. But it's nothing like the little hums and sighs he's been making so far. It makes you shift closer, pressing more insistently into him. And he responds, enthusiastically wrapping his arms around you, closing the little distance between your bodies that there was. You can practically feel his heart jackrabbiting in his chest when you slip your tongue past his already kiss-swollen lips. 

He moans.  

You indulge yourself. For a little longer. And Mike chases you when you part. 

"We shouldn't do this in the living room," you whisper, nearly panting. "The couch is a little—" 

"Okay," he whispers back, already sounding wrecked. "Okay." 

You've been in his room before. You've sat on his bed— you've even laid on it before. But you've never straddled him on it before. It's a position that makes your head spin a little, and you occupy yourself with kissing him again. His hands fit perfectly on your hips, but they don't stay there for long, tragically— they trail upwards, up your waist, to your back. To your shoulders, and then back down again. It's as if he just can't get enough. You can't either. You need more. 

So, you tug at his shirt. He gets the message right away— hands scrambling to pull it up and over his head. He's still rather slim, but with a slight softness, mostly located in his midsection. There's a light dusting of dark hair on his chest, as well as the provocative happy trail leading down from his navel. You drag your eyes downward, admiring him, and then decide that you're wearing too much clothing. Your top comes off, dropped onto the floor near his. 

Mike takes more time to admire you when your torso is completely bare. His hands are warm on your bare skin, and slightly rough. Like before, he's hesitant at first, but when you encourage him— either literally or with physical indications— he grows bolder. His stubble scratches gently against you when his lips find your collarbone. 

You squirm a little, not even realizing it— and you feel him. Simultaneously, you both gasp. He's not fully there, but he's at least half-hard— and it can't be comfortable in those jeans. 

"Should I—" 

"Yeah—" 

With steady fingers, you unbutton his fly, and then unzip him. It's a little awkward when he shimmies out of the jeans, and when you wriggle out of your bottoms— you both snicker a little, but he's back to comfortably breathless when you settle back onto his lap. Under normal circumstances, you would tease him again. And yet, you can't bring yourself to. Not right now, at least. 

All you want to do is keep going. 

You roll your hips, testing the waters. His breath audibly hitches, and his hands fly up to settle back on your hips. He looks up at you, eyes already half-lidded— and they close when you grind down again. And again. His lips are clumsier this time when you kiss him, but he still reciprocates all the same. The sensation of him directly underneath you like this is intoxicating. You can feel every little twitch and every little jolt. 

"Fuck," he breathes, long and drawn-out, " God, I can— I can see the spot on your—" 

"Yeah?" You encourage, grinding down again, drinking in his answering groan. "You like that?" 

  "Yes —" 

"You want me to take 'em off?" 

Mike's pupils are blown wide, even though his eyes are already dark as is in the dimness of the room. He nods, once, then twice. "Yes," he murmurs. "Please," he adds, for good measure. 

He stares openly when you get off him, just enough to peel off your last remaining layer of clothing. And when you sit back down, well. It's obvious that you'll have to give him a second. "Can I," he says, finally, "can I touch you?" The way he's looking up at you again is just so sweet, so needy, that you consider saying no. Your throbbing core quickly shuts that idea down. 

"Go on," you encourage. 

He helps you move so he has easier access, and—  

His fingertips find your slit, already wet for him.

"Look what you did to me," you murmur. 

He visibly flushes— and then carefully works one finger into your slick heat. The feeling, combined with his thumb brushing against your clit— it's relief that you've needed this entire time, and you can't help but let a quiet sound escape your lips. It's apparently enough incentive for him to quicken his pace a little. Deliberately, he continues massaging your sensitive nub in a firm but easy pattern as he gently pushes a second finger inside you. 

Mike may be out of practice, but evidently, he still knows what he's doing. He peppers kisses up and down your neck, some more open-mouthed than others. Crooking his fingers, he maintains his diligent rhythm. A thought floats through your mind, unbidden— he must have strong hands, if he's been able to keep up like this—   

Two becomes three, and you're spreading your thighs a little wider for him. He's still transfixed, but speeds up at your urging, breath hot against the divot between your neck and shoulder. You chance a glance down, and you can see the visible outline of him through his boxers. You did that to him. He's desperate— for you. 

"Mike," you gasp, "nnh—" 

"Yeah, c'mon," he mouths, against your neck, "c'mon—" He's not letting up in the slightest, and when you tell him to, he speeds up again. He needs to see you cum just as much as you need to feel it. Your needs and wants are rapidly blending into one. You squeeze your eyes shut, but open them to look at him. His dark curls are a mess, his hand working tirelessly between your legs. 

  "Mike —" 

He says your name in return, like he's the one in the vulnerable position. 

"Mike , 'm gonna— 'm gonna—"  

"Please," his breaths are ragged, debauched, "cum, please, c'mon, lemme see it—" 

"Oh —" 

The tension snaps, and you spasm around his fingers. Your hips twitch, and you moan, your mouth falling open as you ride out your orgasm. You're rising— falling — molten honey pooling in your core, before flowing throughout your body. And Mike keeps going throughout it all, letting you enjoy the sensations until you're fully satisfied. 

Nearly boneless, you sag backward. His fingers, soaked with your glistening release, slip out of your cunt with a wet noise. He doesn't waste any time in bringing them up into his mouth, cleaning them off with his tongue— at the taste of you, he groans, even though it's muffled. Your mind takes a moment to catch up again with the world, but another thought manifests itself— how would he react, if you let him use his mouth on you? How would his head look between your thighs? He would be noisy, wouldn't he? Enthusiastic, pliant, and—

Your desire, although it waned for a short minute, comes back tenfold. But you take one look down again and— you can do that later. Right now, you want him inside you. 

Mike lets you tug him down for another kiss. He lets you feel the worn fabric on his thighs, almost playfully. When you palm him through them— he hisses through his teeth, hypersensitive even though you've barely touched him yet. You're going to fix that, though. Hooking your thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, you tug them down. 

You were right. He's desperate. As soon as his overheated skin meets the cool air, he lets out another quiet hiss. And when you take him in hand— 

"Mmh —" A firm stroke from base to tip, and you've already got him. He's average in length, but a little girthy. You know he'll be perfect. There's a little drop at the head of his cock, and you resist the urge to lick it off, focusing instead on warming him up a little. He whispers your name, once, when you pump up and down, twisting your wrist. 

"Got a condom?" You ask, stilling for a second. His eyes snap to you. 

"Oh my God, " he quickly mutters under his breath, before raising his volume, "uh, yeah, I think so. Lemme—" And he's already scrambling off the bed, opening the drawers of his nightstand with speed, but somehow simultaneously managing not to make much noise. He rifles through them, but soon emerges victoriously with what he was looking for. It's a little funny, how he doesn't waste any time in ripping it open and tossing the garbage into the mostly-overfull pail near his bed. Hastily, he rolls on the condom. You think he's expecting you to lay back or get up on your hands and knees so he can fuck you like that— you wouldn't be entirely opposed to it— but that's not what you want right now. 

You place your hands on his chest and push him back down so he's sitting against the headboard. He goes without complaint, even shifting when he understands what you want to do. He's flushed almost down to his neck. 

When you sink down on him in a smooth slide, still slick from earlier, you both moan. He sounds strained— he's biting his lower lip, squirming until he finally bottoms out. You have to take a moment to catch your breath, too; the fullness is just how you imagined, but it's so, so much, especially because of your lingering sensitivity. 

"I'm not—" He audibly swallows, hands tightening on your waist when you move just a little, "oh, fuck, I'm not gonna— I'm not gonna last long." He's babbling a little. "You're tight, fuck." 

You rock back and forth, once, and it's enough to force a choked noise from his throat. You watch his face, observing every little twitch, the clenching of his jaw. You can't hesitate for much longer, though— so you begin lifting yourself and dropping yourself down on his cock. Just in little movements at first, so you can get used to the feeling. His eyes squeeze shut— 

"Look at me," you demand, and he does. He doesn't try and thrust up into you when you really start to move. Up and down, up and down, with lewd plaps that accompany your sounds; his grunts—  you swear you hear him whimper .  His eyelashes flutter open and closed, as he struggles to follow your command, wanting to be good. For you. Even though you can see his thighs flexing as he holds everything back. You ride him for all you're worth. 

True to his words, you can tell when he gets close. Maybe he's been on edge this entire time. You thread your fingers through his hair— he buries his face into the crook of your neck, maybe out of embarrassment. You can feel how flushed he is, a thin sheen of sweat covering both of your bodies. Your muscles are aching, but you're determined to make him cum. You're determined to do this for him. 

He says your name, but it's more of a whine. "Please — I'm gonna— I can't — "  

"Go on," you pant, "you can. Don't hold back." Your arms are wrapped around his neck, now, holding him tight; just like his arms around your waist. The contact is almost too much, but somehow it's still not enough, despite him being inside you. "Go on," you repeat, after he whines again, the sound sending white-hot heat straight to your core. "Cum." 

Mike twitches, and you can feel him pulse— the sound he lets out is high-pitched, muffled into your skin. You slow your movements— the aftershocks of his orgasm last longer than yours. It might've been a little while for you, but it had definitely been longer for him. 

He doesn't let go, even after his breathing's slowed down. 

Gently, you pull his head back so you can look at him. He looks up at you with slightly wet eyes. The kisses you press to his cheeks and forehead make him scrunch up his face. 

"Hey," he rasps, "I gotta throw out the condom. Hang on." 

"Yeah, okay." 

When he slips out of you, you both sigh a little. With unsteady fingers, he ties up the condom before chucking it into the pail. 

The sheets are cool on your skin when he pulls them over you both. The room reeks of sex, but both of you are too exhausted to care. When you turn to lay on your side, he's behind you, throwing an arm over your waist. Tugging you closer. Almost absentmindedly, there's a kiss pressed to the back of your head. 

"Thank you," he mumbles. 

You stare at the far wall, unable to close your eyes just yet. 

"For what?" 

"For—" A pause. "For everything, I guess." 

The awkwardness is back. But you let it in. You smile. 

"You're welcome." 

He doesn't respond, but shuffles nearer, chest pressed up against your back. It's not long before you're both fast asleep. 

[jessica-problems]

Seeing @thydungeongal constantly wrestling with people interpreting her posts about D&D in ways that seem completely alien to me has convinced me that there are actually multiple completely distinct activities both being referred to as "playing D&D" Before we begin, I want to stress that I'm not saying one of these groups is Playing The Game Wrong or anything, but there seems to be a lot of confusion and conflict caused by people not being aware of the distinction. In fact, either one works just fine if everyone's on the same page. So far, I think I've identified at least two main groups. And nobody seems to realize the distinction between these groups even exists. The first group of people think of "Playing D&D" as, well, more or less like any other board game. Players read the whole rulebook all the way through, all the players follow the instructions, and the gameplay experience is determined by what the rules tell each player to do. This group thinks of the mechanics as, not exactly the *whole* game, but certainly the fundamental skeleton that everything else is built on top of. People in the second group think of "Playing D&D" as referring to, hanging out with their friends, collaboratively telling a story inspired by some of the elements in the rulebooks, maybe rolling some dice to see what happens when they can't decide. This group thinks of the mechanics of the game as, like... a spice to sprinkle on top of the story to mix things up. (if you belong to this second group, and think I'm explaining it poorly, please let me know, because I'm kind of piecing things together from other people saying things I don't understand and trying to reverse engineer how they seem to be approaching things.) I think this confusion is exacerbated by the fact that Wizards of the Coast markets D&D as if these are the same thing. They emphatically are not. the specific rules laid out of the D&D rulebooks actually direct players to tell a very specific kind of story. You can tell other stories if you ignore those rules (which still counts as "playing D&D" under the second definition, but doesn't under the first)And I think people in both groups are getting mad because they assume that everyone is also using their definition. For example, there's a common argument that I've seen play out many times that goes something like this:

A: "How do I mod D&D to do [insert theme here]?" B: "D&D is really not built for that, you should play [other TTRPG] that's designed for it instead" A: "But I don't want to learn a whole new game system!" B: "It will be easier to just learn a whole new system than mod D&D to do that." A: "whatever, I'll just mod D&D on my own" And I think where this argument comes from is the two groups described above completely talking past each other. No one understands what the other person is trying to say. From A's perspective, as a person in the second group, it sounds like A: "Anyone have some fun inspirations for telling stories about [insert theme here]?" B: "You can't sit around a table with your friends and tell a story about that theme! That's illegal." A: "But we want to tell a story about this theme!" B: "It's literally impossible to do that and you're a dumb idiot baby for even thinking about it." A: "whatever, jerk, I'll figure it out on my own."

--- Whereas, from B's perspective, the conversation sounds like A: "How do I change the rules of poker to be chess, and not be poker?" B: "uhhh, just play chess?" A: "But I already know how to player poker! I want to play poker, but also have it be chess!" B: "what the hell are you talking about? What does that even mean. They're completely different games." A: "I'm going to frankenstein these rules together into some kind of unplayably complex monster and you can't stop me!" ---

So both people end up coming away from the conversation thinking the other person is an idiot. And really, depending on how you concieve of what it means to "play D&D" what is being asked changes considerably. If you're only planning to look through the books for cool story inspiration, maybe borrow a cool little self contained sub-system here or there, then yeah, it's very possible to steal inspiration for your collaborative story from basically anywhere. Maybe some genres are kind of an awkward fit together, but you can make anything work with a little creativity.

If, however, you are thinking of the question in terms of frankensteining two entire board games together, then it becomes a massively difficult or even outright nonsensical idea. For example, for skill checks, the game Shadowrun has players roll a pool of several d6 at once, then count up how many rolled above a target value to see how well a character succeeded at a task. The whole game is full of specific rules about adding or removing dice from the pool, effects happening if you roll doubles, rerolling only some of the dice, and all sorts of other things that simply do not translate to rolling a single d20 for skill checks. On a basic level, the rules of the games work very differently. Trying to make them compatible would be much harder than just learning a new game from scratch. Now, neither of these approaches is exactly *wrong*, I guess, but personally, I find the rules of TTRPGs to be fascinating and worth taking the time to engage with all the weird little nuances and seeing what shakes out. Also, the first group, "TTRPG as fancy board game" is definitely the older and more widespread one. I kind of get the impression that the second group largely got into D&D through actual play podcasts, but I don't have any actual data to back that up. So, if you're in the second group, who thinks of D&D as basically a context for collaborative storytelling first and a game second, please let me know if I'm wildly misunderstanding how you approach D&D. Because I'm pretty sure it would save us a whole lot of stupid misunderstandings.

[trappolia]

SUNDAY IS FOR REST ── sunday x halovian!reader, 918

"do be careful, my dove," he murmurs as you straighten out the light feathers behind his ear.

"you haven't preened yourself in a while, have you?" your voice is soft, a hint of chiding to it that makes his heart flutter — there's a groggy rasp to your tone as well, having just stirred from your own dreams. sunday dares not look back at you, for there is a sweet domesticity to be found in the impression of rumpled bedsheets against your cheek and the heavy-lidded eyelids that make it known that you would love nothing more than to go back to sleep — proper sleep.

a hum resonates in sunday's chest as he allows himself to be fully immersed in the moment; early morning, messy hair and feathers, the sleepy press of lip against lip. his head tilts to the side, allowing greater access for you to tidy the feathers in question.

"you are correct. there's no need for me to do such preening in the dreamscape, though i prefer it when you offer your generous help," he replies, a mix of contentment and fondness pervading his voice.

"i'll help you only if you stay still," you grumble. your hands, which were straightening out his feathers, are now hovering just above them as sunday tries very hard not to shift in place again.

he cannot help it, truly. it is not just the factor that sunday is unused to, well, anyone touching something as intimate as his halovian wings, but also the fact that the slightest brush of your skin against his is a sensation like no other.

not that he would ever tell you, of course.

sunday nods, a silent affirmation that he will try his best to remain still, although a trace of a smile dances upon his lips. as you resume tending to his wings, each brush of your fingers brings a newfound appreciation for the sensation of your touch. he can feel the slight tingle, akin to electricity, every time your skin makes contact with his wings.

"my apologies," he murmurs, a chuckle slipping past his lips — as if he is not willing his chest to rise and fall rhythmically, having to manually breathe under your intimate ministrations. "i shall endeavour my utmost to be an inanimate statue. your wish is my command."

"haha," you say dryly.

in spite of your tone, sunday cannot help but chuckle at your jest. a cruel man he is, to find amusement in your grumpiness in the early morn. your nimble fingers gently untangle his feathers, and the sensation is a mix of tingles and warmth that spread across his wings. the act of having someone, especially someone he holds in such high esteem, tend to these parts of him that are reserved for only the most intimate moments is endearing, to say the least.

as you work, your movements deliberate and precise, your lover muses softly, "only you could make tending to feathers feel like a luxury."

"it is a luxury when you are not the one doing it yourself," you huff, hands moving around with practiced ease: smoothing a feather here, tugging a broken one out there.

sunday's chest rumbles with barely suppressed laughter at your huff of annoyance, but he remains true to his word and does all he can to keep still. his skin feels electrified with each brush of your touch, even more potent than before, and he wonders idly if it's because he's aware of how much effort you're taking in taking care of him. he is always the one caring and fussing, rather than being cared for and fussed over. it is strange, for the tables to be turnt. strange, had it been anyone else but you.

"perhaps," he manages to say between bouts of laughter, reaching back to catch one of your wrists and presses a chaste kiss upon it. "we could make a habit of this."

"is it truly proper of the head of the oak family to make a habit of keeping himself less than pristine?" you murmur.

how embarrassing; the passing thought occurs to sunday at your words. indeed, it is unbecoming for him, who stands at a position of such power and authority, to be so unkempt, so careless around you. it feels… freeing.

and so his response is a gentle tug upon your wrist, guiding your arms to wrap around his shoulders and link with his fingers. with a smile full of affection and a touch of teasing, he gently brushes his thumb over the tender flesh between your thumb and forefinger.

"i am simply indulging in the pleasure of being cared for," he answers in that same gentle rumble. "and if that means i am a tad bit less than pristine as a result, so be it."

"i suppose so," you hum, and from where sunday sits in between your legs, he feels you lean forward, hooking your chin over his shoulder. your own wings tickle his cheek, like a lover's kiss in the early morning. "preen me next?"

a low rumble resonates somewhere deep in his chest at the feeling of your breath against his neck. the closeness you've allowed between you is not something sunday takes lightly, and he relishes in it with every beat of his heart.

"with pleasure," he answers, unable to help the upwards tug of his lips as he squeezes your palms.

"let me take care of you, my dove — as you do to me."

© trappolia 2024